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  No way was she going to ruin it by crying.

  She shoved her emotions down. Closing her eyes, she inhaled his scent—Polo and a warm, male body, the smell of a man who’d been outside, taking in the sun.

  Then there were his arms around her—holding her close, holding her the way a father should hold his little girl. Holding her like she’d never been held before.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m glad you’re here, Dad.”

  “Me too.” One big hand rubbed her back. “Because nobody cooks like you do.”

  Laughing, she pulled away and smacked his shoulder. “Sweet talker.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The beginning of the week flew in a haze of work, morning jogs, and that crazy John book, the one that wouldn’t leave her alone. Between Melissa Leach’s call on the last Relentless books and the steamy romance she was editing, verses kept popping up.

  I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness: Make straight the way of the Lord.

  Behold! The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!

  Jesus answered and said to him, “Before Philip called you, when you were under the fig tree, I saw you.”

  Because I said to you, “I saw you under the fig tree,” do you believe? You will see greater things than these.

  Greater things… What had Dillan seen? What had Tracy seen?

  Miska texted Tracy verses that captured her, and Tracy explained the story John was sharing about this Savior who hadn’t come to free them from Roman oppression but from the oppression of sin and its judgment.

  She thought of Mark. Kendall. Had Jesus freed her from them? Was that what had happened?

  A full week had passed since Mark told her not to call him. It was like he was gone, like he’d never been. Would he ever darken her door again?

  Did she want him to?

  If it meant keeping her home, yes. Mark was no Dillan—that was a given. He’d made a stupid move by letting Kendall beat her. A smart woman wouldn’t take him back.

  A desperate woman would.

  His team would be in town late Thursday night, maybe early Friday morning, for a series with the White Sox. The real question was, would he stop by?

  When you were under the fig tree, I saw you.

  Did this God see her? If he did, then he knew all that she’d done.

  The possibility made her dive back into her work.

  Storms rolled in late Tuesday and lasted throughout the night, thunder rumbling comfortingly in the distance. For the first time since Kendall’s attack, Miska slept well and woke completely rested.

  Outside, rain poured. She dressed, grabbed her keys, and took the stairs to the seventh floor gym. The place was packed, every elliptical, bike, and treadmill filled. On two treadmills in the corner, Garrett and Dillan ran side by side. Garrett caught her eye and flashed five fingers. She nodded her thanks and picked her way through the machines until she was behind them.

  “Hey,” Garrett panted.

  “Morning, Garrett. Dillan.”

  He jerked his chin at her.

  They were flying on their machines, running as if they were racing each other. She listened to the treadmills’ hums, to Garrett’s and Dillan’s pounding feet, watched their arms pumping—

  Dillan’s cast was gone.

  He moved too much for her to get a good look, but his forearm was clearly pale and a bit scrawny. Her gaze trailed past his elbow to the tanned biceps and triceps that showed from his gray sleeveless T-shirt.

  Something beeped, and they slowed their machines, Garrett slowing to cooling-off speed. He pulled his T-shirt up and wiped his face. “How you been, Miska?”

  “Good. You?”

  He shrugged. “Okay. Heard Ethan hit on you Sunday.”

  “Was that what that was?”

  Garrett chuckled.

  Dillan glanced her way.

  “When’d you get your cast off?” she asked him.

  “Yesterday.”

  “How’s it feel?”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine?” Garrett snorted. “You should see the broken dishes. He keeps dropping things. Says his arm’s ‘weak.’”

  “Dillan? Rebuttal?”

  “Dropped one glass.”

  “Then all that skin came off.” Garrett shuddered. “You should have seen it, coming off in sheets—”

  Dillan reached across the gap and shoved him.

  Garrett kept his balance. “Seriously, sheets. I think that’s the reason his arm is smaller. All that dead skin—”

  “All right, all right. You’re grossing me out.” She remembered how disgusting Wade’s leg had looked after his cast came off, how he’d chased her around the house, threatening to put skin crumbs in her hair until Mom yelled at him to stop.

  “She look grossed out to you, Dill?”

  Both watched her over their shoulders.

  She wiped the smile from her face. “High school memory. I’m back.”

  Garrett’s treadmill stopped, and he stepped off. “And I’m done. All yours.”

  “Huh-uh. Wipe that thing down.”

  “What?” He grinned. “Like you’re not gonna get sweaty.”

  “It’ll be my sweat. Not yours.”

  Miska stretched while he cleaned the machine.

  When he finished, he held his hand out with a flourish. “All yours to dirty up.”

  She stepped onto the machine and programmed it.

  Garrett left, stopping near the door to talk to someone. A woman on an elliptical eyed him.

  Girl, he is not worth it.

  While she warmed up, Dillan ran silently beside her, his labored breathing hard to ignore. She sped up to her favorite speed, then realized her feet and Dillan’s were pounding the treadmill together. Just to be different, she slowed, but her forced attempt made her falter, and she caught herself on the rails.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just stumbled.” She stood outside the tread and watched it whir beneath her. For once, she couldn’t think of anything to say to him. What was the point? He didn’t want to talk—

  “Ethan hit on you, huh?”

  She looked at him.

  He was slowing his machine.

  “He did. Seemed to recognize my name. Any idea why?”

  “Nope. I avoid the guy.”

  Silence fell again, as awkward as the silence between Garrett and Dillan had felt right. She stepped back on the treadmill. “Tracy and I are reading John.”

  His treadmill stopped. “No kidding.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “No, I mean—” He shrugged. “That’s cool. What do you think of it?”

  Verses that had come to be her favorite ran through her mind. “I like it. Frankly, it’s raising more questions than answers, but—”

  “If I can help, let me know.”

  Really? Where had this come from? Or was this what pastors did? Her burst of happiness dimmed. “Thanks.”

  “Any time.”

  He took the spray bottle off the wall, grabbed a wad of paper towels, and returned to the machine.

  She lowered her speed. “Can I ask a question now?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “We just finished the second chapter.”

  “Where Jesus turns water to wine and drives money changers from the temple.”

  She raised her eyebrows. He knew that? Just by her saying what chapter they were in?

  He chuckled. “What’s your question?”

  “What was the point of all that? Especially the part in the temple? He seemed angry over nothing.”

  “Well, it wasn’t nothing. The temple was where the Jews worshipped, and the money changers were in cahoots with the priests, forcing people to buy sacrificial animals at inflated prices. They needed to go.”

  “Why weren’t they allowed to make money?”

  “They weren’t just making money. They were ripping people off, like a combination of collusion and kickbacks.”
/>
  Interesting. “What was the point of the water to wine?”

  “To prove he was God come down to earth. He came as an ordinary man, you know? Nobody special, they thought. But then there were his miracles—healing the blind and crippled, bringing the dead back to life—”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Keep reading. You’ll get there.”

  “What chapter?” she teased.

  He blew out a breath, searching the space between them. “Somewhere in the middle. Try eleven or twelve.”

  “You’re messing with me.”

  “Am not.” His smile created one of her own. “It’s what I do all day. Study the Bible, learn what it says. Stuff like that.”

  “Huh.” She’d seen Tracy’s Bible. Big book. He knew where everything was? “So the water to wine was a sign that he was God.”

  “It was.” He pursed his lips. “Anything else?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “Sure.” He slung his towel around his neck and grabbed his empty water bottle. “Have a good day.”

  “You too.”

  He stepped around occupied bikes and ellipticals.

  The same woman surveyed him, eyes darting up and down.

  Miska turned up the speed and prayed for dry skies in the morning.

  *****

  Miska was reading John?

  Dillan leaned on the pedestal sink in his bathroom, staring at the mirror. First church, now a Bible study with Tracy. He would have bet money that would never happen.

  Garrett’s footsteps approached.

  Dillan pushed off from the sink. Time to shower and scrape off the dead skin that kept flaking off his arm.

  Garrett stopped in the doorway. “You got plans for dinner?”

  “Probably not until after church. You want to get Chipotle?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll order it.”

  “Great.”

  Garrett didn’t move.

  “What?”

  “Don’t you think it’s interesting? Miska being at church again?”

  “I guess. Why? You gonna’ ask her out? She is single.”

  “Dude, I’m pretty sure she’s got a thing for you.”

  Dillan rolled his eyes and grabbed his razor.

  “You wouldn’t be interested if she became a Christian?”

  “Would you marry a woman like her?”

  Garrett blinked at him.

  Oh. He scratched his arm. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean…” Sheesh. Foot in mouth.

  “Guess my dating options are thin, huh?”

  Dillan shrugged.

  “No, it’s true. I felt it when I moved back home, and, man, do I feel it now. Got to date the new women before they hear too much. I was going to ask Amanda out, but Cam—”

  “Beat you to it?” Dillan grinned. “Me too.”

  “You like her?”

  “No. I mean, she’s fine. I guess I was thinking that if you ask them, they’ll be the one.”

  “Got it.”

  Which sounded stupid, now that he thought about it. “You and Tracy are really over?”

  Garrett rubbed the edge of the doorjamb. “I made a mess of it. She’s done.”

  “No second chance?”

  He shook his head, eyes thin, mouth twisted.

  Despite the stupidity of what he’d done, Garrett had really seemed to love Tracy. Now he seemed… less without her.

  “Did Pastor tell you we’re meeting each week?”

  Dillan raised his eyebrows. “No.”

  “Thursday nights.” Garrett cleared his throat. His gaze stayed glued to the chipped doorjamb.

  “Pastor’s idea?”

  “Mine. We’ve already met once.”

  “Good for you, man.”

  Garrett’s shiny eyes met his, then slipped away. “I’m sick of struggling. Will you pray for me? That I kick this thing once and for all?”

  Garrett had never asked him to pray. “I’ll pray, man.” Hard.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  So this was Jordan’s and Tracy’s Bible study.

  A crowd of twenty- to thirty-somethings filled a roomful of metal folding chairs. Jordan and Matt sat in the back row, lost in conversation, and at the opposite end Cam sat next to the redhead from Dillan’s party, his arm across the back of her chair. He lifted a hand in greeting, and Miska waved back.

  Seated in front of Cam, Miska glanced around the packed room. Lots of familiar faces, but where was—

  There. Near the front. Dillan sat hunched over, elbows on his knees and fingers linked while he talked with someone.

  One of the men on the front row walked to the podium. “Guys, we’re going to get started,” he said, adjusting the podium’s height.

  The chatter dwindled.

  “We’re on chapter three tonight in our study guide, which also covers the third chapter of John.”

  Miska sent Tracy a puzzled look.

  Tracy leaned closer. “We’re studying John for the summer.”

  No wonder Tracy knew so much about the book. “Who’s the guy?”

  “His name’s Austin. He’s doing an internship. Why?” Tracy grinned. “You interested?”

  Miska rolled her eyes.

  Behind her Cam began reading about a man named Nicodemus who asked Jesus how he could be born again. Then Matt took over as Jesus asked this man who was a teacher of Israel how he didn’t know these things.

  Miska’s finger stayed next to one of the verses Cam had read, and when the group finished the chapter, she went back to verse two and reread what this man had said—that they knew Jesus was from God because no one could do the signs he’d done unless he was from God.

  Just what Dillan had said that morning—which meant this conversation was probably important.

  The discussion began, people sharing answers to the book’s questions and asking questions of their own. Concepts swirled around her, the idea of the world being condemned, of God sending his son so that anyone who believed could be free of condemnation.

  God and Jesus had always been a swear word, an outdated lifestyle, but now she wasn’t sure. Living like Dillan, like Tracy—where was the bondage in that? Tracy hadn’t slept with Garrett which turned out to be a good thing, and Dillan waited for a woman who would be loved more than any woman she’d ever known. His waiting now seemed like the most wonderful thing ever.

  When the discussion finished, they divided into groups to pray. Amanda—the redhead dating Cam—joined Tracy and Miska. People huddled together, heads bent close, voices rising throughout the room as they prayed to this God who was far wiser than anyone she’d ever met.

  While Tracy prayed for Amanda’s new job, for Matt’s friends who’d just deployed, and for some other guy’s sister who was away from God, Miska sent up her own frantic prayer—that somehow God wouldn’t ignore her, that she’d be good enough for him, that he’d look past everything she’d done.

  That somehow he’d give her a chance.

  *****

  What did God think of women who slept with married men?

  She’d always comforted herself with Mark’s words, that the marriage was about to end. She hadn’t been the one to break it up; Darcie had done that.

  The truths she knew now didn’t match Mark’s story. They were trying to have a baby. They were known to go to NBA games. None of that sounded like a marriage about to end.

  Had Mark been stringing her along? All this time?

  More importantly, would he show up at her place tonight?

  After giving her condo a thorough cleaning, Miska met Adrienne at a salon for a mani-pedi. Adrienne went on about a new author they’d signed, how good the book was, how great the sex scenes were, but the details didn’t thrill Miska like they used to. All she could think of was what the poor woman would deal with when she was all used up and discarded. Because that’s how it would end in real life. That’s how it always ended.

  Even with Tracy and Garrett.

  So what’s the point? />
  The thought hounded her. She picked up a Lou Malnatti’s pizza on the way home, sans garlic, and bought an extra one for her freezer, just in case Mark wanted some.

  While the pizza cooked, she watched SportsCenter for details on Mark’s game in Colorado. It had gone into extra innings. She checked the clock. Another hour until his plane left, an hour and a half for the flight. She calculated time for the plane to be emptied onto buses, for the buses to reach the hotel, for him to get his room like he always did, and pack a smaller bag for her place. Four hours from now she’d know where she stood with Mark.

  But where did he stand with her?

  She still needed him. She hadn’t felt the financial pinch yet, but give it another month, and she’d have to make some decisions. If Mark showed up, well…

  She blew a deep breath against her fists.

  Tracy had asked about her plans for the weekend. She’d answered as truthfully as she could, that it depended on Mark.

  “Will you be safe?” Tracy had asked.

  Mark wouldn’t hurt her. “I’ll be fine,” she’d answered. No matter what happened.

  *****

  At one in the morning, Miska slipped out of her body-hugging skirt and beaded tunic and went to bed.

  *****

  On Friday, she stayed up until midnight. The game against the White Sox had been over for two and a half hours.

  *****

  On Saturday afternoon, she watched him pitch seven innings and give up three runs. The clock slowly ticked from six to seven to eight to nine to ten.

  He wasn’t coming.

  One last game tomorrow at one, but as soon as the game ended, the team would drive home to Milwaukee. She checked his schedule. He didn’t come back to Chicago until late July, his last Chicago trip of the season.

  What was she going to do?

  There was no point in borrowing trouble. Maybe by his next trip he’d have forgiven her. She could make it until then.

  She put her glass in the dishwasher and turned off the lights. Warm, rectangular lamplight from her bedroom fell on the living room hardwoods, guiding her to her bed, to sleep, to a new day that was empty because she’d cleared it for Mark.