Kept Page 21

  If Adrienne was involved, then— “By seeing, you mean…”

  “Oh, yes.” Tracy looked out the window. “You got it.”

  How could Adrienne have done this? “Tracy, I am so, so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. I knew you’d have said something if you knew.”

  She was definitely going to say something. “How did this happen? When?”

  “All those evenings he had to work? Came home for dinner, then got called in?”

  All those nights she and Tracy had spent together, becoming friends, her sister and best friend had been destroying the couple. Miska pictured Adrienne hunched over her phone, texting someone, then telling Miska she had a date. All that time…

  “Remember the night my car had a flat?”

  “He stayed with Adrienne.”

  “He did.”

  Miska sagged against the cushions. “I don’t understand it. Adrienne hates men. She’s not the kind of girl a guy brings home. Why would he do this with her?”

  Tracy looked down.

  Was it because they were waiting? Was that what she was going to say? That if she could do it over, she wouldn’t make Garrett wait?

  Don’t say it. Tracy was right; Dillan was right. They had to wait.

  The really good men did.

  “You asked me once what Garrett’s past was. If you knew, it would make sense.”

  “What is his past?’

  Tracy rubbed her forehead. “I’m so mad at him, I don’t even care. He was in a sex club in law school. A couple underage girls got in and cried rape. It was big news out there. Garrett was just fortunate that he’d never… been with them. But a couple friends were arrested. It shook him up. Made him think. Or so he said.”

  If that’s how he was, Garrett and Adrienne were a better match than she’d thought.

  But what about the night Miska’d propositioned him, the night he’d been a perfect gentleman? “I don’t—I don’t get it.”

  Tracy grabbed another Kleenex and blew her nose. “Don’t get what?”

  “You were three months from getting married. How could he throw that away?”

  “If not Adrienne, it would’ve been someone else.”

  “How do you know?”

  “There’ve been warning signs. He’s been—he’s not the man I met.” Tracy grabbed another tissue.

  It popped out of the box, leaving an empty hole.

  She leaned over the box and peered inside. “Really, Miska? Three Kleenex? Three?”

  Miska stifled a giggle. Tracy met her gaze. Her lips tightened, and she burst into laughter. Miska’s own laughter erupted, and they doubled over, laughing until they hurt.

  By the time they calmed, tears streamed down their faces. Miska found another Kleenex box, and Tracy made a show of pulling out the first three tissues, finding a fourth, and nodding in satisfaction. The laughter began again.

  “My stomach.” Tracy wrapped an arm across her middle. “Between crying and laughing, there’d be room to spare in my wedding dress.”

  The comment killed Miska’s giggles. “How did you find out?”

  “I had yesterday off. “ Tracy set the Kleenex aside. “I decided to surprise Garrett for lunch since we never get to do that. So I went to his building and waited in the lobby. I heard his laugh and looked up, and there he and Adrienne were, coming out of the elevator.” She sniffed. “He had his arm around her, and they were rushing, like they were in a hurry.”

  They probably were.

  “By the time I got outside, they were getting in a cab.”

  “Where’d they go?”

  “A hotel. Honestly, I’m surprised the driver didn’t get in an accident.”

  Miska closed her eyes. Adrienne…

  “I spent the afternoon cancelling everything but the church because that would get back to Dillan before I could get to Garrett.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “I went to his building and waited until he left work. And you know what got me?” She sat up, her finger pointing. “He walked right up to me, that stupid smile on his face, and tried to give me a hug.”

  “I wish I could have seen you light into him.”

  “Oh, I did. I’m not necessarily proud of it now, but I let him have it, right there in the lobby.” She flopped backward. “It was horrible.”

  Miska shook her head. Adrienne had messed with relationships before, but she’d never done it to one of her friends. “Wait until I get a hold of her.”

  Tracy shrugged. “He was ready for some woman, any woman. I see it now. I don’t completely blame Adrienne. It’s not like she forced him.”

  Still.

  “When I met Garrett, he was only months removed from the club, from seeing his friends arrested. He was quiet, serious.” Her smile gave away the ache she felt. “He was where I’d been, way back in high school. I hurt for him.”

  “You wanted to fix him.”

  “Maybe. I knew how different my life was. I wanted it for him, but now I wonder if he’s just like he used to be, you know? Over the last few months—since we got engaged really—he’s been changing.”

  “How?”

  “Comments he makes, innuendos, jokes. Trying to go farther than we’d agreed to.”

  Wasn’t that how guys were?

  Not Dillan.

  She thought back to his kiss, to the way he’d seemed to pray for help right before he left, seconds after she’d been so sure she’d be his first.

  Oh, God. Help.

  Dillan never said God’s name like that. Never. His words were a prayer—and his prayer had worked.

  Did that mean Garrett hadn’t prayed? Or that if he had, he and Tracy would still be together? That didn’t seem fair.

  But then there was Tracy’s prayer that Miska would be free—right when Miska wondered about God. “Tracy, do you believe in prayer?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “How does it work? Or does it work?”

  “No, it works.” Tracy tore the corner of her tissue. “Miska, God is my heavenly father—a perfect father—and prayer is how I communicate with him. So every time I pray to him, talk to him really, I know that the answer he gives will be what’s best for me.”

  “Okay, but how do you get what you want?”

  “Prayer isn’t about what I want.”

  “But you prayed that I’d be free today. And the other day Dillan prayed—” She squeezed her hands together. Couldn’t go there.

  “Dillan prayed what?”

  “He prayed for something, and it happened. Right away.”

  Tracy raised her eyebrows.

  “I know. I didn’t catch it until today—I didn’t realize he was praying. He just… said something.”

  “Here’s how it works.” Tracy’s eyes, dry and clear, focused on her. “When we pray about something, God says one of three things—yes, no, or wait.”

  Dillan had prayed for help, and a second later he’d been out of her arms, racing for his place. “What determines the answer?”

  “What’s best for us. What God’s will is.”

  “God’s will.”

  “Like when Garrett’s grandfather passed. We prayed that God would heal him.”

  “What was wrong?”

  “Just old age. He’d had a third heart attack. We prayed for healing because they didn’t want to see him go. But at the same time, they knew he’d be in heaven. He’d be better off there. So we prayed, ‘God, heal him if that’s your plan,’ knowing that it might be God’s will to take him to heaven.”

  “So your prayer didn’t work.”

  “No, it did. We made our request known, but at the same time it was with the idea that God’s will be done. Our prayer for his healing was for us, so he would be here longer. Eventually we all die. In his case, he’d lived a long, full life. His body was weak. What was best was that he went home to be with God.”

  Miska held her lip between her teeth. She thought of Liam, of Tracy’s prayer that she’d be f
ree to talk, of Dillan’s prayer for help.

  Help to get away from her.

  It had been answered. Which meant what was best for Dillan, God’s will for Dillan, was to keep away from her.

  Her nose tingled. Her eyes filled.

  “Miska?” Tracy grabbed her hand. “What’s wrong?”

  She shrugged. How could she say it? Tracy would probably agree. She wasn’t good for Dillan. Wasn’t right for him. God, if he were real, had made that clear.

  “Honey. Tell me.”

  How calm Tracy was, how concerned for her when twenty-four hours ago she’d caught her fiancé cheating. Miska shook her head again. “I can’t.”

  Tracy studied her.

  Now her nose was running. She held out a hand for the Kleenex box. Tracy passed it, and Miska pulled out three tissues, nodding when another popped up.

  Tracy smiled.

  Miska blew her nose and dried her eyes. “I shouldn’t be crying.”

  “Miska, can I tell you something?”

  She balled the tissues. “What?”

  “Do you know I prayed about you? Before we even met. And God said yes.”

  She swallowed, that annoying tingle returning. “What did you pray?”

  “That you and I would be friends. That I’d be able to tell you about God.”

  Here they were, true friends, and she’d listened to Tracy talk about God more than once. “Why would you pray that?”

  “Because I knew you were lost.”

  She closed her eyes. How true that was. “I’m tired of feeling lost, Tracy.”

  “I know.”

  “How does God fix that?”

  “He fixes it by making us his child. We humans who rejected him, who sinned and cut ourselves off from him—for us God sent Jesus to pay our punishment. On our own, we’re heading for hell. But when we accept Jesus’s sacrifice and give him our lives, then we become God’s child—and we realize how free and safe we are, that everything we’ve been searching for was in him, was him.”

  “And that’s why he’s home?”

  Tracy smiled, tears in her eyes. “Exactly.”

  God, are you real? Miska closed her eyes. This was crazy, talking to someone who wasn’t there. But it had worked for Tracy, for Dillan, the people she respected most in the world. She swallowed her uncertainty. Tracy’s starting to make sense. Is that because… you’re there?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Feet propped on top of her headboard, back flat on the mattress, Miska prayed to whoever was out there that this phone call with Mark would go well, that they’d both sense they were right for each other. “How’s your shoulder?”

  “Bad, and I’m just resting.”

  News about his injury had hit the media Friday afternoon. The article she’d read said he’d had two MRIs, one with contrast and one without—whatever that meant—revealing mild strain in some muscle.

  “When did you throw last?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “That’s three days ago.”

  “Yep.” He sighed. “Not good.”

  “You’re worried?” He’d sounded so calm before. Maybe it was more serious than he’d let on.

  “It’s not the usual pain, you know?”

  “Can’t say that I do.”

  He chuckled. “You know what the good side of this is?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I can come see you.”

  Her feet slipped off the headboard, and she pushed herself upright. “Oh. Umm—”

  “You okay?”

  “Sure. I just— Hang on.” She opened the drawer of her nightstand. “Sorry. I’m getting my calendar out.”

  “Why? You busy?”

  “Actually, yes.” Where was her Mark-and-Kendall calendar? “Lots of editing.”

  “That’s great. Last we talked you were losing a client.”

  She mashed her lips together and made a fist. Right. “Still losing them, but I’m overbooked right now. Trying to make money while I can.”

  “You’ve got to have a few free hours.”

  She found the calendar and flipped it open. “I’m swamped, Mark.”

  “Miska.” He groaned. “I want to see you. What about Tuesday?”

  Kendall was arriving that noon for Wednesday’s game. “Tuesday doesn’t work.”

  “Wednesday?”

  “No. Not Thursday either. I have a big deadline that day.”

  “What book?”

  Seriously? “You know I can’t talk about them.”

  He sighed. “What about Monday?”

  “This coming Monday?”

  “Yeah. If I head out when Darcie leaves, I can be there by ten. We can order in. I can leave by one.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. She had to make it work. “Monday should be okay—”

  “Oh, wait. Got a meeting.”

  Relief spilled through her. Having them here so close together was risky. She needed to end things with Kendall.

  But the money…

  “Miska?”

  She startled. “I’m here.”

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes. Monday doesn’t work. Sorry I’m so busy.”

  “I’ll have to settle for thinking about you.”

  She smoothed the hair on the back of her head. He sounded okay with her no. “If I get my work done early, I’ll call you, okay?”

  “Please do. Hey, Darcie’s back. Gotta run.”

  They hung up. She lowered the phone and let gravity pull her across her bed. That had been close.

  But she’d prayed. How’d that go, God? What answer fit best? Yes, no, or wait? And how long until she found out?

  Chapter Thirty

  When Dillan came in from his run Wednesday morning, Garrett stood in the living room, knotting his tie and watching SportsCenter. “What’s it like out there?” Garrett asked.

  “Kinda cold, actually.” Dillan wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “For June, anyway.”

  “I hear it’s summer in the ’burbs. We should visit Mom and Dad.”

  “Maybe they’d feed us.”

  “That’d be spectacular.”

  Behind the TV, something thumped against the wall.

  Garrett stilled. “What was that?”

  “Got me.”

  He muted the TV. “Sh.”

  A faint voice broke the silence. A man’s voice—angry, raging. Another thud. Another sound. A cry?

  Dillan stiffened. “Miska?”

  They dashed for the door.

  Garrett reached the hall first, only to freeze.

  Dillan slammed into his back. “Garrett—”

  Mark Scheider slumped against the wall but jerked upright at the sight of them.

  Sounds of a fight filtered into the hallway.

  Dillan tried Miska’s door. Locked. “Who’s in there?”

  “Kendall Sullivan. I walked in on them—”

  Something shattered. Miska screamed.

  Dillan shook the knob, threw his shoulder against the door.

  Garrett kicked it. “You call the cops?”

  “No. No cops.”

  “Are you kidding?” Dillan pounded the door. “Call them now!”

  Garrett held out a hand to Mark. “Hey, your keys.”

  Dillan flung himself against the door.

  “Your keys!”

  He spun.

  Mark stared at Garrett.

  What was the matter with this guy? “You coward! You got in there, didn’t you?”

  “She can’t have us both. She has to learn—”

  Garrett rammed Mark against the wall. “Gimme your keys. Before I take them.”

  Mark dug them out of a pocket.

  In seconds Garrett unlocked the door. “Call the police,” he hollered.

  Dillan pushed him forward, and they raced inside.

  The living room looked trashed—Miska’s desk toppled, a lamp shattered beside it. An end table destroyed, her coffee table flipped—


  Beside the master bedroom, Kendall jerked Miska up.

  “Hey!” Dillan hurdled a toppled chair, relishing the startled expression on Sullivan’s face. Garrett went around the couch, and Sullivan dropped Miska to face them.

  Blood streaked her face.

  Dillan got to him first. He grabbed Sullivan’s shirt and shoved him into the wall.

  Sullivan swore, fists flying.

  Dillan blocked his right hand, but the man’s left got past his casted arm and connected with his cheek. Pain flashed through his vision, and he stumbled back. He blinked away the sting in time to see Sullivan double Garrett over.

  That was it.

  Sullivan turned to him, throwing another right hook.

  Dillan let it fly by, then drove his fist into the unprotected side of Sullivan’s face. The blow rocked through his hand, but it sent Sullivan toppling to the floor.

  Gritting his teeth, his hand throbbing, Dillan hauled Sullivan up.

  The man’s head wobbled. He wasn’t a threat anymore.

  Behind him Garrett coughed. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Nice job. What’d you do there? Trip him into submission?”

  “This clown didn’t know he was fighting a lefty. Isn’t that the first rule, Sullivan? Know your enemy?”

  “And here he thought he was fighting a woman.”

  Sullivan shook himself.

  Dillan let go. “You’re a real catch, beating her up like that.”

  The loser wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “What do you know, huh? Or maybe you’ve slept with her too.” He glared at Miska, curled in a ball in the doorway. He called her a name and kicked her leg.

  Dillan grabbed him again, plastered him against the wall.

  Sullivan’s head banged the doorway’s trim, and the man grimaced.

  Pleasure soared through Dillan. “Do it again, Sully. Let’s see how you leave then.”

  Sullivan raised his hands in silent agreement. Dillan let him go, and the man eased away.

  In her bedroom doorway, Miska pulled herself to a sitting position, bent over, shoulders shaking. A red slice glared across her exposed back. Only then did what she was wearing register, a silver, lacy spaghetti-strap nightgown with a low back.

  And probably a low front.

  The bed’s silky red comforter caught his eye. He stepped past her, tugged it free of the sheets, and draped it around her shoulders.

  She clutched it tightly.