A Crazy Kind of Love (26 page)

“True, though the thought is tempting from time to time,” Mike said wistfully. Then her demeanor shifted and her eyes narrowed. “So I’m guessing that Justin’s making you nuts?”

“In a word.” Grabbing up a handful of wet grass, Bree shredded it between her fingers, making green confetti that she threw skyward as soon as she was finished. “The man’s a fool.”

“And you love him.”

“I do,” Bridget snapped. “So I don’t know which of us is the bigger dolt.”

“Never an easy question.”

“And you? Does that coldhearted man of yours make you happy?”

Mike stiffened. “He’s not cold, he’s just—”

“Heartless?”

“You know,” Mike said, her voice low and tight, “I came over to see if I could help and you’re just really starting to piss me off big time.”

Bree looked at her for a long minute, then blew out a disgruntled breath. “I’m sorry. It’s not
you
I’m furious with. Your only sin is being handy.”

“Been there, done that.
Many
times.”

Smiling a bit, Bree watched as Mike, too, pulled up a handful of wet grass and shredded it absently. “Why would you be offering to help?”

“Good question,” she said, taking her time about answering. “I guess Lucas is as important to me as Justin is to you. I thought maybe we could look at it like women versus men. Never hurts to have a little backup, does it?”

Some of the tension in Bridget’s chest eased a notch or two and she took a long, deep breath to enjoy it. “It’s kind of you,” she said, “and I’m glad to have the offer. But this problem with Justin is not so easily solved.”

“Why not tell me the problem and find out?”

“Fine, then.” Bridget ground her teeth together, feeling the anger creep back into her heart. She’d needed someone to talk to. Someone to understand. Mike’s offer of friendship had come at just the right time. “Justin’s not only dying, he’s dying
stupid
.”

“Well, he
is
a man,” Mike reminded her.

A reluctant smile curved Bridget’s lips briefly. “Too true.”

“What’s he done?”

“It’s what he
hasn’t
done that matters,” Bridget said,
with a furious shake of her head. “What he
refuses
to do. I’ve told him. All I want from him is his name. I don’t give a flyin’ damn about his money or anything else. Just his name. I want to be his wife. But he won’t do it. Said he won’t make me a widow at twenty-six.”

She glared at the back of the house as if she could stare right through the walls and peel a layer of skin off the man she loved with just the heat of her stare. And then more words rushed from her as if they’d been dammed up too long, and now that her walls had been breached, there was no way to keep them locked away anymore.

“As if
not
being married will make me less of a widow when he leaves me. Does he think that I won’t mourn?” she demanded, wagging a finger at Mike. “Does he think that as long as I’m single, I’ll be fine? Doesn’t he know that by marrying me, he’ll be helping me?”

Her shoulders slumped, her chin hit her chest, and she felt every bit of air slide from her lungs, as if she were slowly deflating, disappearing.

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” Mike whispered.

Bridget’s head whipped up and she stared open-mouthed. She considered denying it, but then asked herself why she should bother. It wasn’t as if she were ashamed. She loved Justin. Knowing that she would have his child—something of him after he was gone—was the only thing holding her together.

“Aye, I am. Justin doesn’t know,” she said before Mike could ask. “I thought to tell him, wanted him to know that something of him would live on. That something of
us
would live on. But I can’t. Can’t bring myself
to tell him, knowing that he’ll never see his child. Never hold it. Never love it.” She inhaled sharply as if she couldn’t quite get enough air. “I don’t want to add to his misery. Isn’t it enough that he’s dying? Would he want to know that he was leaving a child who’ll never
know
him?”

“Oh God, Bree . . .” Mike’s heart broke.

She dropped both hands to her still flat abdomen and lifted her gaze to Mike’s again. “In Ireland, things’re changin’. Slowly. But still, an unwed mother has a hard road. If I had his name, the baby’s life would be that much easier.”

Mike went on instinct. Moving in close, she wrapped her arms around Bree and held on tight. The other woman cried, softly, desperately, and Mike wondered if life was ever going to right itself again. She wondered if there was a saturation point on pain. Bree’s tears soaked Mike’s shirt and all she could think of was Justin, dying, not knowing what he was leaving behind. And Lucas. What would he think, to know that his brother’s child was alive and well? When Justin was gone, would Lucas ignore the man’s child as he had the man himself?

She closed her eyes and said again, “God, Bree. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not,” she whispered, shaking her head even as tears clogged her voice. “Not about the baby. Only about losing Justin this way. And not being his wife.”

“Baby?” a deep voice asked from close by. “What baby?”

Lucas stared down at the two women and held his breath while this latest bit of news dropped to the pit of his stomach like a stone.

A
baby
?

Trust Justin.

Even dying, he’d not only managed to find love, he’d made a baby.

Bitterness filled his mouth, his heart, and he wanted to shout. To curse whatever fates were handing out joker cards, because he’d sure as hell been given a full deck of ’em.

“Didn’t hear you come up, Rocket Man,” Mike accused, as though he’d sneaked up on them deliberately.

“You were a little busy talking. About a baby.”

“Sounds as though you got an earful,” Bree snapped. “Do you often listen in on other people’s conversations?”

“Hey, I’m walking across my own damn lawn here.”

“Lucas, chill out.”

“Chill out?” He echoed Mike’s words and felt the top of his head lifting off. “You expect me to relax? I find out Justin’s up to his old tricks again and I’m supposed to chill out?”

Mike glared at him. “What’s up with you?”

“You don’t know him,” he said, words rushing from him as anger pushed them out his throat. “This is just so damn typical. He does whatever the hell he feels like doing and screw the consequences.”

“Consequences?”
Bree glared at him. “My baby is not a
consequence
.”

He shook his head and laughed. “Hell, you’re being left holding the bag and still you’re defending him.”

“I am, and I will,” she said, “to you and to anyone else who thinks they can say what they will about Justin.”

“Damn it, I’m on
your
side in this.”

“Who asked you to be on
my
side? And if you were, by the way, you’d be a damn sight kinder to your brother.”

“Kind? Justin doesn’t need kind. Justin needs his ass kicked,” Lucas told her hotly. “The man goes through life with a damn shield around him. Nothing gets through. Nothing hurts him. He just leaves misery and chaos in his wake like a . . . damn garbage scow, leaking crap into the ocean.”

“Crap now, is it?” Bree’s voice was thin and dangerous.

“Lucas, swear to God, you’re digging a hole you might not get out of.”

“Damn it, Mike, the man causes turmoil and never has to pick up the check. Nothing gets past his armor. He walks through minefields and comes out shining.”

“Not now he’s not,” Mike pointed out quietly.

The simple truth of those words plowed a hole through the middle of his gut and Lucas had to take a
step back as reality crashed down on him. For years, he’d held a grudge against his twin. For years, he’d cursed the fact that no matter what, Justin sailed through life, untouched by the chaos that surrounded him.

But now . . .

“Your brother’s
dying
, man,” Bree said, ignoring Mike and focusing solely on the man she’d been taking little bites out of for days. “But he might as well already be a ghost as far as you’re concerned. He’s dying with every breath he takes and you won’t
look
at him.”

Lucas shook his head, vainly trying to find a footing from which to continue his fight. “Looking at him won’t change anything. Talking to him won’t change anything.”

“It would give him peace,” Bree argued.

“And why do I
want
him to have peace?”

“Jesus, Lucas . . .”

Stunned disbelief colored Mike’s tone and he wanted to defend his position. The one that he’d been defending for five years. But suddenly, his defenses seemed petty. Small. His chest ached and his lungs heaved for air that didn’t seem to help.

Bree stared at him for a long moment. “I know he hurt you. He’s told me. But don’t you think he’s being punished enough? Don’t you think he’s suffering enough? How much more does he have to endure until you’re satisfied?”

He reeled and had to stagger to keep his balance. Was he punishing Justin? All these years, he’d been convinced that he was protecting himself—but maybe that wasn’t really the truth. Maybe it had been more about meting out penance than about self-preservation.

“And if you don’t give
him
peace, do you think you’re likely to find any when he’s gone?”

“You’re right,” he said softly.

“Ah, I’m right, am I?” Bree shook her hair back from her face, unmoved by whatever Lucas was going through at the moment. “Me being right changes nothing. You saying it changes nothing. If Justin were drowning, would you throw him a life rope, or watch him sink?”

“Okay, Bree, that’s it.” Mike’s words were short, sharp, and to the point. “You’ve had your say. You’ve made your point. You don’t have to hit him over the head with it.”

Instantly, the Irish woman turned her hot, fierce eyes on Mike. “And what do you know of it?”

“I know Lucas. You don’t. So why don’t you just dial it down a notch or two before this gets ugly.”

A small stab of warmth pierced his heart as Mike defended him—even though he knew there was no defense for what he’d been doing.

“That’s fine. The two of you building a wall against a man who can’t fight back.” Bree pushed herself to her feet, brushing damp grass off the legs of her jeans. “Mind you, though, I
can
fight for him. And I will, if either of you brings him more pain than he’s already living with.”

“Man,” Mike muttered, jumping up herself to look the woman in the eye. “I thought
Italians
were drama queens. Listen up, Bree. No matter what you think, Lucas is not the ogre you’re making him out to be.”

“That’s yet to be seen, isn’t it?”

“If you can’t see it,” Mike countered, “then you’re
as blind as
he
is.” She jerked a thumb at Lucas. “You’re seeing only Justin’s side just as Lucas is seeing only his own. How does that make you right and him wrong?”

Bree’s mouth clamped together, her lips thinned into a grim slash. But she didn’t argue again, so maybe that was something.

“Can we get back to the point of this?” Lucas demanded, and wondered how he kept losing control of every damn conversation.

When they were quiet again, he looked at Bree.

“You’re pregnant?”

“Yes,” she said, tears still staining her cheeks and fire leaping to life in her eyes. “And as it’s none of your business, you’ll not be mentioning this to Justin.”

“No.” He shook his head, then glanced into Mike’s pale blue eyes. “You were right before. Is
everyone
pregnant?”

Mike’s eyes flashed. “I’m not.”

Damn it
.

She couldn’t have children. And he’d forgotten. Moron. Idiot.

“I’m sorry,” he said and squeezed her hand briefly. “I’m just—”

“Surprised?” she offered, with a hint of a smile.

“There’s that word again,” he said, holding on to Mike’s smile like a starving man grabbed at a steak. Somehow, she’d become the one stable point in his wildly rocking world.

Shifting a look at Bridget, he asked, “What’re you going to do?”

“Right now,” she said, “I’m going inside to make a
nice pot of tea and see if I can get Justin to eat something.”

She started past them and Lucas grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. She let her gaze fall to his hand and he got the message, letting her go instantly.

“Bree,” he said carefully, walking as wide a path around this woman’s temper as he did Mike’s. “Why don’t you let me do that?”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Mike echoed.
“What?”

He sucked in a big gulp of air and swallowed it while he tried to think of a way to explain himself. He hadn’t exactly welcomed Justin into his home. Hadn’t found the time to talk to him. To listen to him.

If he were going to be honest, at least with himself, he could admit that he hadn’t wanted to give Justin the chance to ease his conscience. Hadn’t wanted to make it easy on him.

Easy
.

God. The man was dying a little more every day. Nothing about this was easy.

Truthfully, he wasn’t real eager to do it now, either. But the plain fact was, he was losing his brother . . . his only family. If things didn’t get said now, they’d never be said.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Letting go of Mike’s hand, he shoved his own hands into his pockets and rocked uncomfortably on his heels as the women watched him. “It’s just—you look like you’ve been crying . . .”

Bree instantly lifted her hands to her cheeks, swiping away the last of her tears.

“I thought maybe you and Mike could take off—”

“Trying to get rid of us?”

“—go to town,” he said, emphasizing the last word for Mike’s benefit. “Get some coffee. Get a break from . . .” He nodded in the direction of the house.

Bree tilted her head to one side and studied him for a long minute or two. “I’m to believe that you’re suddenly willin’ to look after Justin?”

His jaw clenched. He felt Bree’s and Mike’s gazes on him and wanted to flinch. These women had a way of seeing too much. Of looking into his heart, his soul. And right now, he wasn’t sure it was much of a view.

“I’ll look after him. I give you my word.”