Return to Poughkeepsie (27 page)

When he let her catch her breath, she said, “I’m freaking freezing.”

“I’ll warm you up even if you’re mean to me.” He helped her stand and opened his arms. She cuddled against him and took a glance around. No sign of Wren.

He held her face, warming her cheeks with his hands. “You laughing? Damn. That’s a beautiful sound.”

It was a gorgeous setting, and he was an amazing guy. She felt like someone else. Someone she’d once been, maybe. Or might have been. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. This job was going to hurt like a bitch when it was over.

Beckett tossed the slimy tennis ball for Gandhi at the local beach. It was a gorgeous slice of the world. Technically he was at a riverbed, but damn it—it had sand and water so it was a goddamn beach. In the distance was that huge, impractical bridge, set there obviously to scare the shit out of drivers, but also to make his view stunning. Gandhi farted and snorfeled his way back over.

“You’re so damn ugly, buddy.” He took out his phone and snapped a proof of life picture—and a freaking fantastic life at that—and sent it to Kristen. “You know that lady likes to keep tabs on you.” After five years, however, he knew her concerns for Gandhi’s wellbeing had pretty much been put to rest. But he kept in touch anyway. He liked being Mouse to somebody, somewhere in Poughkeepsie.

Gandhi spit the ball out at his feet. Beckett picked it up, trying to touch it as little as possible. Still the sand stuck between his fingers. The dog loved it when he chucked the ball close to the edge of the water so he could splash a bit in the surf.

Beckett loved this freaking dog so much. He brought him to the liquor store, out on little fucking errands, just anywhere he could. How an animal could have so much personality, he didn’t know. This self-imposed seclusion was only bearable because of the damned dog. But sure as shit, he missed his brothers. He missed
her
. He’d Google-stalked her a few times, but of course he found nothing.

A high-pitched squeal from the dog snapped his attention back to the present. Gandhi dropped his beloved ball and ran as fast as he could to Beckett, hurling his dumpy body at his shins. Beckett crouched and checked G for seizure symptoms. The best the vet could come up with was that a previous dogfighting head injury set G’s mind on fire a few times a year. Both Beckett and the dog hated the seizures. He’d wrap Gandhi in a towel or blanket and ride out the spasms with him, petting him and sitting on the floor for up to an hour if he had to.

But this was different. And then he knew. Beckett scanned the beach and sure enough, here came a huge Doberman, off leash, with a jogging owner not far behind. The animal was well trained and ignored the whimpering Gandhi, trotting by at a dignified pace. But Gandhi was shaking so hard his whines were almost yodels. Beckett waited for the jogger to pass before scooping the dog up like a baby. Between whines, Gandhi used his big sloppy tongue on Beckett’s face. He shook his head. He could only guess, but it’d happened a few times at the dog park and once on a walk—certain breeds of dogs set Gandhi off. He became a shaking wreck.

After grabbing the tennis ball, Beckett carried the nervous dog up through the steep woods to the parking lot. He didn’t put him down, just juggled the dead weight while he found his keys in his pocket. He got the car started and the air conditioning on. With it at full blast, he eased back the driver’s seat, took a deep breath, and sang Gandhi the only lullaby that ever settled him down in times like these, channeling his inner Eminem.

It took ten minutes of cuddle-hugging before the dog went boneless in his arms. Gandhi’s huge tongue lolled to the side as he fell asleep. Beckett shuffled his pet to the passenger seat before throwing the car in reverse. He almost smiled as his blood boiled. He knew he’d never know, but if he ever found out who fought his dog and scared him to his soul, it’d be real tough not to kill the shit out of him.

21

Good Ones

C
OLE
H
ELPED
K
YLE
back into the apartment. She could see dishes in the sink—and bloody pajamas in the center of their living room floor.

“Do you want a shower?” he asked in a whisper, but it still seemed like he was shouting into her nervous system with a megaphone.

She wished she could be numb. An epidural to the brain. She didn’t answer him. Irrationally she wanted to hit him. She wanted to hit Cole until she couldn’t do it any more, even if he was smart enough not to mention all the things she didn’t want to hear:

“It’s okay.”

“You’re young.”

“You can get pregnant again.”

He propped her up in the bathroom, leaning her against the sink. He set the water temperature and removed his clothes.

“You don’t have to stay.” Her voice cracked, and she couldn’t look at him.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to.” Cole undressed her carefully.

As he slid off her yoga pants, she looked at her thighs. They were still stained red.

He led her into the shower and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her. All the times she’d cried in here, it seemed somehow he knew, because he was braced for her collapse. He knew how the water did something to her—made her safe to cry or released her firm grip on hope. Either. Both.

She sobbed and screamed and half drowned in the spray of the shower. He pulled her backward so she could take a breath. He didn’t say anything, just held her. She turned and began hitting him. She slapped his face and punched his chest.

Tears rolled down his face, and she had to stop.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “You’re so brave.”

“Don’t say that to me. I didn’t even finish the first trimester. I killed our baby.
I killed our baby.
”

“No. God needed the baby.”

“Fuck God and fuck you. He can’t have my baby. I know she was a girl, and I want her back. I had so many plans for her, for us. I want her back. I didn’t even get three months. Please make her come back? Help me.” She bent over, hugging her traitorous middle. “I think I want to die.”

Though she flinched when Cole reached for her, she allowed him to pull her to standing. He was angry now. This man, so beautiful. So broken. Naked in front of her.

“No. You look at me,” he said, his voice rock solid. “Kyle, damn it, look at me. What we did, what we made was beautiful. And loved. So much. Has a baby ever been loved so much?” He was yelling to her now, determined to be heard over the pounding water, the blood in her ears, the crashing sound of her world falling apart.

“I loved the baby. I promise. I loved her.” She could hear how desperate her voice sounded.

He held her face close, kissing her lips as she tried to shake her head.

“The baby we made will make us stronger. You’re a mother, and I’m a father. You are a mother, and I am a father. And we’re good ones.”

She crawled onto him, hearing his words and trying to get closer to them.

“And we’re good ones.”

Kyle petted his face, touched his lips as he kept saying it.

“And we’re good ones.”

He hugged her hard, mouth moving on her hair. “And we’re good ones.”

Livia handed the baby to Blake and stretched her back. Kellan had wanted to be held all day. Emme wanted an elaborate fort built for all of her stuffed animals. And now Blake was hungry. She closed her eyes briefly. If she didn’t get four freaking minutes to cut her toenails and throw in a load of laundry, she was actually going to cry.

“I think there’s burgers in the freezer. Want me to start the grill?” Blake tickled Kellan’s belly with his nose, his messy hair flopping in the baby’s face.

Livia nodded distractedly, in the midst of making a list now that her hands were free. Blake and Emme could go for haircuts together if she got a second to book an appointment…Then Kellan giggled.

Blake looked at her, delight all over his face. The day Emme first laughed had been one of his favorite days on the planet. He repeated the motion with his hair and four-month-old Kellan definitely giggled.

“Oh my God. Do it again. Wait. Emme! Wait. Where’s my phone?” Livia looked around her messy house, not seeing her pink iPhone case anywhere.

“Emme! Come see. Come look at Kelly!”

Livia was searching under junk mail when Emme came around the corner holding the iPhone. She’d likely been deep into one of her animal apps.

“Make it do the video, please!” Livia scooped up her daughter and sat her on the counter. Emme deftly flipped the phone’s camera to video and handed it to her.

“Okay. Do it again. Today is Friday, April nineteenth.” Livia held her breath.

Blake snuggled Kellan and waited. The baby started in with the giggle. It almost sounded like he was crying, but the gummy smile gave his emotion away.

“What’s he doing?” Emme gently touched her brother’s foot.

“He’s laughing, gorgeous. Kellan’s life is so awesome right now he’s laughing. You try.” Blake held the baby closer to his daughter.

Emme recreated his motion and Kellan laughed again, kicking his feet. “He’s laughing!”

Livia sighed in relief when she saw that Emme had also pressed record for her, because she would have missed the moment otherwise.

“You try, Mommy!” Emme clapped her hands while Blake shifted Kellan to Livia’s arms.

Kellan’s eyes focused to her, and he smiled at the sight of her face. She mimicked Blake’s maneuver and at first got nothing. But the second time Kellan busted out, and she hugged him to her chest and kissed his sweet face. Cluttered kitchen or no, they had their moment. And Livia knew this would be one of Blake’s favorite days as well. She stopped the video and handed the phone to Emme, who wanted a replay.

“So he’s a person now, Daddy? He laughs?”

Blake tried a few more times for a giggle but Kellan was busy watching the pattern of his shirt now. “Yes, pumpkin. He’s been a person this whole time, but now he’s a laughing person.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. You’re hilarious.” Emme pressed play on the video again.

Livia and Blake’s eyes met and they mouthed, “hilarious?” Emme had a fantastic vocabulary. They loved it when she slid a whopper of a word into casual conversation.

“Okay, listen, I’ll take Kellan, and you start the grill,” Livia announced, back to business once again. “I have to do things to my body so I’ll be considered a human woman again, and then I’ll make a salad.” She took the baby in one hand and grabbed his bouncy seat with the other. As long as Kellan could see her, she could get five or six minutes out of him for a brief beauty session.

“I’ll make the salad. Do what you have to, but you’re gorgeous no matter what.” Blake winked at her.

“I smell like a dinosaur puked on me, and my toenails might have to be classified as weapons in some states.” Livia puckered a kiss in his direction. “Pumpkin, can you stuff my phone in my pants? I’m going to play that music Kelly likes.”

“Do not call my son Kelly.” Blake gave her a glowering stare.

Emme popped the phone in Livia’s pocket before she climbed Blake like a tree and grabbed his face. “Mommy says Kelly is a boy’s name.”

Blake growled at Livia before focusing on Emme. “Well, I guess I’ll call Mommy Fred from now on.”