Kept Page 6
He adjusted the sling around his black splint, wincing again.
“How will this affect your work?”
“It’ll make typing difficult.”
“You type a lot?”
An elevator opened, and he motioned her ahead of him. “When I’m working on stuff for church.”
“Stuff?”
“Youth group lessons, Sunday School lessons. Stuff.”
She held up a finger. “Ah, stuff.”
He rested against the wall and watched her.
She held his gaze.
“Thanks again, Miska. You didn’t need to wait at the hospital, but I appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
“Somehow I’ll—”
“Make it up to me. I know—you keep saying that. We weren’t there that long, and it made no sense to leave when they were close to releasing you.”
“So how do I make it up?”
“Dillan.”
“Humor me.”
“Fine. Next time I hurt myself, you take me to the ER. Deal?”
“Deal.” He stuck out his left hand, and she shook it. His fingers were long and slender, his palm smooth, his hand so different from Mark’s.
He let her go as the elevator opened to the seventh floor. A fifty-something man, straight from the gym, entered and sent Dillan and his blood-stained shirt a double take.
Dillan nodded at him. “Know how to get blood out of a shirt?”
The man frowned. “Pretty sure you wash it in cold water. Better Google it, though.”
“I will. Thanks.”
The man nodded.
Dillan smiled at her over the guy’s head. Miska bit her lip into submission.
The elevator stopped at ten, and the man left.
Dillan shifted. “So what are you up to?”
“Just—stuff.”
“What kind of—oh. Hah. Funny. Editing stuff?”
“Friend stuff. I took today off.”
“And I messed it up.”
“Will you stop? You didn’t mess up anything. My plans aren’t until later.”
“Good. There’s nothing worse than messing up someone else’s stuff.”
“So true.” She gestured to his arm. “Much better to mess up your own stuff.”
“Except it hurts.”
“Poor baby.”
He raised his chin. “I’m tough, though. I can handle it.”
She laughed. “No painkillers for you.”
“Not while people are looking, anyway.”
Her smile faded. How was Dillan single? He was that wholesome, surprisingly attractive guy next door who would do anything for his lady. He was someone a girl could grow up with and suddenly view as a man she could—
Could what?
At the least, he seemed to be a man she could trust.
Which was saying something. After the debacle of her fifteenth birthday slumber party, she’d never trusted her brothers again. And her brothers’ friends—guys you wouldn’t leave any girl alone with, no matter how much you disliked her. Then there was Dad, all of Mom’s boyfriends. Men in general—untrustworthy.
So what made Dillan seem trustworthy?
He was single, and not once had he come on to her.
Then again, she’d caught him watching her a time or two. Maybe instead he was the worst kind of pervert, lulling you into false safety with the real man hidden from the light of day.
The elevator opened. Dillan held out a hand. “After you.”
He couldn’t be a pervert.
In their hallway, he adjusted his sling. “Next stop, bloodbath.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“You have seen my shirt, right?”
“Tell Garrett your arm hurts. He’ll have to clean it.”
“Except he’d get Tracy to do it.”
Dillan’s door opened. Garrett stepped out—tie flung over his shoulder, dress shirt rolled past his elbows, wadded paper towels in his hand.
Dillan glanced at Miska. “I stand corrected.”
“Next time you don’t want to deal with a delivery, just say so,” Garrett said. “I walked in and thought I was on a slasher set.”
“That bad?” she asked.
Garrett gestured to the door. “There’s a bloody handprint back here. Do you have any blood left?”
“It was touch and go. I saw a bright light, heard someone calling my name—”
“But you had too much left to do, right?”
“The Memorial Day cookout is coming up.”
“Lucky for you. Hey, Miska, did you see he bled all over your door?”
“He what?” She feigned shock. “I can’t imagine how that happened with blood spurting out of his eyebrow.”
“Spurting?”
Dillan sighed. “She exaggerates.”
“He had a towel over his eye when I opened the door. He lowered it to show me, and the blood went—”
Her door opened. Mark poked his head out. “Miska, I’ve been—” His gaze traveled from her to Dillan and Garrett.
He was already here? “When did you get in?”
“Hey, it’s you!” Garrett pointed at Mark. “Dillan, it’s him. It’s déjà vu all over again.” He whacked Mark’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “See how I did that? That’s a baseball quote. Yogi Berra. Nice, huh?”
Mark sent him a look as he stepped into the hallway and spoke to Miska. “Ten minutes ago.”
“We really need to stop meeting like this. In case you forgot, I’m Garrett. My brother, Dillan. This should make you thankful he only collided with you. Obviously it can be—and is—worse.”
Mark eyed Dillan. “What happened to you?”
“Paper cut.” Garrett set a hand on Dillan’s shoulder. “Bad one. He almost didn’t—”
“Will you shut up?” Dillan shook his head, his face an emotionless mask. “Broken arm and stitches. Miska was kind enough to drive me to the ER which is why there’s blood on her door.”
Mark pointed out the drops. “I saw that. I was starting to wonder if you were okay.”
“You were worried?” She laced her fingers through his. “That’s so sweet.”
Mark raised his eyebrows at the guys.
Fine. Like they didn’t know what was going on. “Garrett, I hope your couch makes it in one piece—”
“It’s here. Come try it out sometime.”
Flirt. He’d said that for Mark. “Dillan, no more running with paper. If you need anything, I’m next door.”
His gaze bore into her doorknob. Did he think she was making fun of him?
“He’s a big boy.” Mark tugged her toward her door. “He can take care of himself.”
“And if he can’t,” Garrett said, “I’m here. You and Mark go have fun.”
Mark smirked and pulled her closer.
Yes, Mark was here. Mark was the one who mattered.
Not Dillan. Not the boy next door. Not those dark, trustworthy eyes. She let Mark lead her inside and wrapped her arms around him as the door fell shut.
*****
When Miska walked into the living room after fixing her hair, Mark was bent over her laptop. Her heart jolted. “What are you doing?”
He jerked upright and spun, shielding her desk from view. “Miska.”
“Yes, it’s me. Surprise.” She stalked toward him. “What are you doing to my computer?”
“Just checking the radar. Heard it might storm—”
She reached around him and opened the computer.
A wad of cash lay across the keyboard.
Her shoulders slumped. “I thought you were messing with it.”
“Why would I do that?” He held her close. “I just wanted to leave you a gift. It’s getting hard to find new hiding places.”
She accepted his kiss. “Why do you have to hide them?”
“You want me to hand it to you? As I walk out the door?”
Good point. But some part of her wanted to push him. “Why not?”
“I don’t think you want that. Wouldn’t it make you feel…”
She ran her tongue over her teeth, crossed her arms. “Feel what?”
He plopped onto the couch and tugged her onto his lap. “I just want to take care of you. I don’t want it to come across any other way.”
“So take care of me.”
He grinned and snuggled her close.
“We’ve already done all of that. There’s more to taking care of me than sex.”
“I know. I want to take care of you. I want to give you everything.”
Did he? She studied his blue, blue eyes. “What’s keeping you?”
“We agreed to wait until August.”
“I said that was the longest I’d wait. But if you know you want to take care of me—and you know I want to take care of you—”
He kissed her again, pressing her tightly against him.
Miska shoved him back. “Mark!”
He swore. “What is the matter with you?”
With her? “I’m sorry. What was I thinking, trying to have a conversation? Will you answer my question instead of trying to start things again?”
“We agreed on August, Miska. Don’t push me.”
“Push you?”
“After what I witnessed with those two idiots, you think I’m ready to make that call?”
“Wait, you—what? What are you talking about?”
“You flirting with Beavis and Butthead. Makes me wonder how close you’ve been with them since I’ve been gone.”
Miska slapped him.
He dumped her onto the couch and shot to his feet.
She jumped up, her hand stinging. “Get out.”
“With pleasure,” he spat.
He glared at the island and stalked there, grabbed his keys and phone, and shoved them into his pockets. He stormed back to the laptop and grabbed the pile of cash. Shook it in her face. “Here.”
She crossed her arms.
He swore again and threw the money at her feet.
He marched away, his words stinging worse than her hand. Her gaze landed on his wallet beside her laptop. She looked up—he was at her door, his hand on the knob. “You left your wallet.”
Mark stilled. Tilted his head back. Frustration screamed through his clenched fists.
She waited. He wouldn’t leave without his wallet.
Slowly he turned and made his way back.
She picked up the wallet before he could. “All I did, Mark, was be a good neighbor. I’d think you’d want a woman like that, a woman who cares about others.”
He yanked the wallet from her hand. “All I want is a woman who’s faithful to me. Forget everyone else.”
He left, slamming the door.
Miska stayed where she was, hoping he’d come back to apologize, but after a minute passed, she figured he was really gone.
She collected the money scattered across her floor. Each bill was a fifty, and she counted them, finally ending at two thousand dollars. He’d never left this much. Not for one day.
And she’d ruined it.
Her mind ran through all the ways the money could sustain her. Health insurance. A mortgage payment. Utilities. Advertising if work ran low. Gas. Taxes. Yeah, taxes.
She rested her head against a couch cushion. Don’t ever call them, she could hear her mom saying. If they walk out, let them. If you beg them to come back and they do, you’ll never feel secure.
Sitting on her bed back then, thinking her seventeen-year-old life had ended, she had listened and nodded. Mom knew everything.
Today she wondered.
One marriage that lasted four years. Then one man after another. She could still see their faces, even though none of them stayed.
Even when they’d been the ones to come back.
No one stayed.
No one.
Her shaking became hard jerks that jolted her, and tears dripped from her chin before she realized she was sobbing.
It had been so long since she’d cried over a man. Gotten angry, gotten drunk, gotten even—yes. But tears…
Because Mark wasn’t coming back.
Chapter Seven
“I can’t believe Scheider showed up again.” Garrett chuckled from the kitchen where he scrubbed newly found dried blood off a lower cabinet. “I love messing with that guy.”
On the new couch, Dillan adjusted the pillows beneath his arm. He didn’t want to think about Scheider. Or Miska. He focused on the TV. “Celtics are down by five.”
Garrett grunted and kept scrubbing. “Dude, I seriously wonder how close you were to bleeding out.”
Tracy smiled from the oversized chair where she worked on the wedding’s guest list. “People don’t bleed out from cuts above the eye.”
“I don’t know, my little Florence Nightingale. Miska said it was spurting. Must be why he had her take him to the hospital instead of calling 911.”
Tracy sent Dillan a puzzled look. “Why didn’t you call 911?”
“Because I couldn’t find my phone. Couldn’t think straight. Started feeling… fuzzy.”
“Like you were going to pass out?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t repeat that.”
She smiled and returned to her list.
Garrett turned on the faucet. “So what do you think about Miska and Mark? Think we’ll all be friends someday?”
Dillan held back a snort. “No.”
“Me neither. I don’t think Miska likes me.”
“Miska?” Dillan turned. “You mean—”
Garrett grinned at him. “What gets me is that you still felt faint after you saw what she was wearing.”
“I did not feel faint.”
Tracy set down the pad. “What was she wearing?”
Garrett had to bring that up. But the truth was that Dillan hadn’t even noticed until they left the ER. Then the sheer shirt over the low, white camisole, the shoulders of the shirt cut away with the billowy fabric covering her forearms, the skin-tight jeans that hugged… everything— Dillan fiddled with the Velcro on his sling.
“Sheesh, guys. Bring it up then don’t tell me, why don’t you?”
He focused on the basketball game as if he hadn’t heard.
“She was—” Garrett bumped a cabinet. “Just a… I don’t know. She looked like she bought her wardrobe from Victoria’s Secret. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
No kidding.
“How was the baseball player?” Tracy asked.
“Fine.” Garrett plopped onto the other end of the couch and stretched his legs. “A little friendlier than last time.”
“Which isn’t saying much.” Dillan snickered. “That dumb Yogi Berra quote. I have to say, Tracy, it was fun watching Garrett press Scheider’s buttons.”
Tracy laughed while Garrett ducked his head in false modesty. “What can I say? I’m quick on my feet.”
“I’d like to be quick on my feet and avoid her,” Dillan said. “I’ve run into her too much.”
“Dude. You’d be dead without her.”
Tracy laughed again. “It can’t be that bad, Dillan. What, is she trying to seduce you all the time?”
He shook his head. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Yes, well, she’s lost. What do you expect?”
“I expect to run along the lakefront and enjoy some peace and quiet. You should have heard the way she jumped all over me when it came out that you two weren’t living together.”
“That came up?” Tracy pursed her lips. “Interesting. What’d she say?”
“She confessed that Mark was married and said I shouldn’t judge her.”
“Dude.” Garrett made a face. “What’d you say that brought that on?”
“I said, ‘Oh,’ or something like that.”
Tracy picked up her bag and searched through it. “She feels guilty.”
“She should.”
She pulled out a DVD case and stared at it. “I can’t stop thinking about her, wondering if may
be God put us here for her.”
Nope. Not him. What if warm weather came, and she dressed for that? “I don’t see it.”
“See what? You don’t think she could be saved?”
“God can save anyone he wants to. I just don’t see her being interested in God.”
“So you think she’s too much for God.”
“No—”
“That’s what you’re saying.”
Dillan glanced at Garrett who held up his hands. “I’m not here.”
Tracy made a face. “I’m serious, Dillan. I don’t think avoiding her is the way to go. Be smart, yes, but don’t avoid her. She needs what we have.”
So he’d smartly avoid her? That would work.
“Garrett.” Tracy tapped the DVD case. “You’ve been around her type. How does someone like her think?”
Dillan stilled, waiting for a reaction. Been around her type… yeah, that was one way of putting it.
But Garrett only shrugged. “Sometimes they don’t have much of a personal life. They’ve got men and maybe some close friends, but those friends are like them—always on the prowl. She’d have some downtime to think, but my guess is that she’d try to avoid it.” Garrett glanced at Dillan. “I did.”
Who was this Garrett look-a-like? Dillan couldn’t remember a more honest, open moment from his brother since… well, since they were twelve and eleven and huddled in the basement while tornado sirens went off and trees doubled over.
Maybe Garrett had changed.
And maybe Tracy had something to do with it. She was obviously good for him, accepting him despite his past. Brotherly love for her surged through Dillan.
“I wonder how many girlfriends she has.” Tracy focused on Garrett. “If it’s all about men, all about the next fling, maybe she’s kind of lonely when she has those down times. Maybe…” She tapped the DVD again. “Is there some Rambo or Predator movie on?”
Garrett’s mouth fell open, and he spread his arms. “I knew it! I converted her! Come here, baby.”
Dillan laughed.
Tracy rolled her eyes. “Please. No. I’ve got a girls’ movie. Someone at work gave it to me. I can use you guys as an excuse to see if she wants to hang out. You know, you’re watching Rambo and basketball, and I’m about to pull my hair out.”
Garrett worked the remote. “Rocky started fifteen minutes ago.”