could have the last few minutes together, although whether they deserved it was now debatable. Wait till she got Terrell alone. She peeked in the bathroom, expecting to find his hand towel on the floor and toothpaste globs in the pedestal sink, but the towel hung over the rod and the toothpaste cap was snapped shut, the sink damp but glob free.
So very nice.
As she left the bathroom, Mike met her and followed her to the stairs.
She spoke before he could bring up Terrell’s prayer, her skin heating at the thought of it. “Terrell’s kindergarten graduation is coming up. He wants you to come, but I told him I didn’t know how that fit with your schedule.”
“When is it?”
“June first, a Saturday.”
“What time?”
“Morning. I can find the exact time for you.”
“I’ve got a night game that day. Tell Terrell I’ll be there.”
“Thanks. And lunch afterward, if you can.” She stopped at the front door, hand on the knob. The next step was simple—open door, say goodbye, lock door behind ex-husband, then find something else to do besides wringing child’s neck.
But Mike’s eyes twinkled. “Are you kicking me out?”
She opened the door in answer. “Terrell’s in bed, Mike.”
“I know.” He wiggled his eyebrows and let his gaze roam the room. “Isn’t this alone time nice.”
If he liked talking to himself. “Goodbye, Mike.”
“Stop it. Come sit with me.” He closed the door and started for the living room, grabbing her hand when she didn’t move.
His fingers felt warm and familiar—no. She yanked her hand from his. “Mike!”
He huffed his frustration. “What is wrong with two adults enjoying conversation?”
Nothing, unless that conversation included a certain ex-husband.
“You’re scared,” he said.
Maybe that too. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, gaze locking onto the dark floor behind him. “That’s silly.”
“So what we went through—that’s over and done for you? No unresolved issues?”
He had to mention that.
His hand tipped her chin up.
Meg jerked away. What right did he have to touch her?
“Some night, Meg, we need to talk.”
No, they didn’t. What he’d done, what he’d said—he’d hurt her enough. Filling in the why s and how s wouldn’t heal anything.
What she needed to do was change the topic. She forced her eyes to his. “I have something for you. Wait here.” She tried not to run up the stairs. Maybe giving him his yearbooks and baseball scrapbook would end wherever Mike expected their conversation to go.
Being alone with him terrified her.
She ransacked her walk-in closet in her search, not caring that she messed up perfectly organized shelves. The sooner Mike left her house, the better.
Her eyes welled up, and Meg cleared them with her palms. She would not cry in front of Mike. She would not let him know how much she still hurt.
She clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling the sob that shook her. She hated what he’d done to her. With one decision, he’d changed how she thought and acted and how she viewed everything and everyone.
And now he was back, acting as if they could actually forget the wounds they’d inflicted on each other. Was he really that crazy? That insensitive?
Sniffing, she pulled her yearbooks from the box and dropped them on the floor. She’d deal with her closet later. She lifted the awkward box and started down the hall.
Right now, Mike had to go.
He stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs and took the box from her arms. “I was about to come after you.” He looked from the box to her, eyes narrow. “What’s this?”
“Some things of yours I didn’t realize I had.”
“Like?”
He set the box on the floor, bent to open it.
“Mike, no!” He couldn’t look at them here. One bittersweet memory and she’d lose control again.
“No, what?”
He needed to take them home. He needed to leave. Her vision blurred. Maybe her tears would scare him away. “Please go.”
He took a step
So very nice.
As she left the bathroom, Mike met her and followed her to the stairs.
She spoke before he could bring up Terrell’s prayer, her skin heating at the thought of it. “Terrell’s kindergarten graduation is coming up. He wants you to come, but I told him I didn’t know how that fit with your schedule.”
“When is it?”
“June first, a Saturday.”
“What time?”
“Morning. I can find the exact time for you.”
“I’ve got a night game that day. Tell Terrell I’ll be there.”
“Thanks. And lunch afterward, if you can.” She stopped at the front door, hand on the knob. The next step was simple—open door, say goodbye, lock door behind ex-husband, then find something else to do besides wringing child’s neck.
But Mike’s eyes twinkled. “Are you kicking me out?”
She opened the door in answer. “Terrell’s in bed, Mike.”
“I know.” He wiggled his eyebrows and let his gaze roam the room. “Isn’t this alone time nice.”
If he liked talking to himself. “Goodbye, Mike.”
“Stop it. Come sit with me.” He closed the door and started for the living room, grabbing her hand when she didn’t move.
His fingers felt warm and familiar—no. She yanked her hand from his. “Mike!”
He huffed his frustration. “What is wrong with two adults enjoying conversation?”
Nothing, unless that conversation included a certain ex-husband.
“You’re scared,” he said.
Maybe that too. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, gaze locking onto the dark floor behind him. “That’s silly.”
“So what we went through—that’s over and done for you? No unresolved issues?”
He had to mention that.
His hand tipped her chin up.
Meg jerked away. What right did he have to touch her?
“Some night, Meg, we need to talk.”
No, they didn’t. What he’d done, what he’d said—he’d hurt her enough. Filling in the why s and how s wouldn’t heal anything.
What she needed to do was change the topic. She forced her eyes to his. “I have something for you. Wait here.” She tried not to run up the stairs. Maybe giving him his yearbooks and baseball scrapbook would end wherever Mike expected their conversation to go.
Being alone with him terrified her.
She ransacked her walk-in closet in her search, not caring that she messed up perfectly organized shelves. The sooner Mike left her house, the better.
Her eyes welled up, and Meg cleared them with her palms. She would not cry in front of Mike. She would not let him know how much she still hurt.
She clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling the sob that shook her. She hated what he’d done to her. With one decision, he’d changed how she thought and acted and how she viewed everything and everyone.
And now he was back, acting as if they could actually forget the wounds they’d inflicted on each other. Was he really that crazy? That insensitive?
Sniffing, she pulled her yearbooks from the box and dropped them on the floor. She’d deal with her closet later. She lifted the awkward box and started down the hall.
Right now, Mike had to go.
He stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs and took the box from her arms. “I was about to come after you.” He looked from the box to her, eyes narrow. “What’s this?”
“Some things of yours I didn’t realize I had.”
“Like?”
He set the box on the floor, bent to open it.
“Mike, no!” He couldn’t look at them here. One bittersweet memory and she’d lose control again.
“No, what?”
He needed to take them home. He needed to leave. Her vision blurred. Maybe her tears would scare him away. “Please go.”
He took a step
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