Seducing the Wolf (28 page)

“Hey, that’s great, buddy,” Manning praised him. “High five.” 

Micah clumsily slapped his palm against Manning’s and then squinted at his sister, bewildered that she hadn’t acknowledged his latest accomplishment.

“Can you play a song for me, Taylor?” he asked plaintively.

Taylor looked irritated, her brows furrowed and her lips pressed tightly together. “In a minute, baby.”

“But I want you to play—”

“Not now, okay? I’m in the middle of something.”

“I don’t care,” Micah whined, tugging insistently on her arm. “You
have
to—”

“I said not now!” Taylor snapped.

Dejected, the boy turned away with slumped shoulders and slowly trudged back to the playroom.

Taylor watched him go, her eyes softening with regret. “Damn it,” she muttered.

Manning felt guilty as hell. It was his fault that Taylor had lost her temper with Micah, something she never did. Ever.

“Look,” she said, her angry gaze returning to him, “if you see nothing wrong with going to the prom with Nicole, maybe we should just call it quits.”

“What?” Manning was stricken. “You can’t be serious, Tay!”

“I am serious.”

“I can’t believe you’d break up with me over something so petty!”

“It’s not petty to me! The fact that you think it is says a lot about—”

Suddenly Micah shot past them in a blur of yellow and blue. As he raced up the stairwell, Manning and Taylor frowned at each other.

“Micah?” Taylor called, starting after her brother. “Micah, where are you going?”

Manning was right on her heels, charging up the stairs after her.

When they reached the landing and saw the front door standing wide open, Taylor gasped in alarm. “Oh, no!”

They raced outside.

Manning’s heart rushed into his throat when he saw Micah chasing down a ball he’d kicked into the street.

“Micah!” Taylor screamed, her voice hoarse with panic. “Micah, come back!”

A dark vehicle was coming down the street, moving much too fast in the residential neighborhood.

Manning and Taylor started running across the front yard. He quickly overtook her, his heart banging against his ribcage as he chased after her brother.

“Micah!” he shouted, fear clawing at his throat. “Micah, get back here right now! MICAH—”

But it was too late.

As if in slow motion, he watched the car plow into the boy, the impact launching his small body into the air like a ragdoll.

“NOOO!” Manning yelled at the same time that Taylor let out a bloodcurdling scream, a sound of raw anguish he knew he would never forget.

Manning jerked upright, his lungs heaving for air, his eyes darting frantically around the dark room.

“Manning,” a soft voice murmured.

His gaze swung to his side. “Taylor…?”

“Yes, it’s me.” She sat up in the bed, a silver band of moonlight slanting across her face to reveal her concerned expression. “You were having a bad dream.”

He stared at her. His skin was clammy with perspiration and his throat felt raw. He must have been screaming. Screaming for a child who’d been dead more than two decades.

Taylor placed a gentle hand over his chest, her touch soothing him and calming his raging heartbeat. “It’s over,” she reassured him.

He swallowed hard, forcing down the bile that had risen from his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled so low the words were barely intelligible. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s all right,” Taylor said softly. “I’m not used to sleeping through the night anyway.”

Manning stared at her. Struggling to shake off the last vestiges of the dream, he lifted a trembling hand to her hair. She went still for a moment, letting him stroke the soft, disheveled curls before she turned away and reached for the bedside lamp.

Manning closed his eyes against the sudden illumination. Against the guilt and shame he felt.

When he opened his eyes again, Taylor was staring at him with an expression of quiet sorrow. “You were calling out for Micah,” she whispered.

Manning said nothing.

She shook her head slowly. “I didn’t know…I didn’t know you had the dream.”

He swallowed tightly. “It’s…been a while.”

Taylor looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

He didn’t want to. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until the sadness left her eyes, until the memory of her anguished screams receded from his consciousness. He wanted to pretend that everything was perfectly normal between them. But the thing about faking normalcy was that sooner or later, you reached an expiration date.

Pushing out a shaky breath, he leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes for several moments.

Taylor patiently waited.

Opening his eyes, Manning began quietly, “For a long time after Micah died, I had the dream almost every night. It got to the point where I dreaded going to sleep because I knew what would happen. During the day I could suppress the memories, try to distract myself with other things. But at night, when it was dark and quiet…”

“You couldn’t keep the ghosts away,” Taylor finished in a whisper.

Manning nodded slowly. The haunted look in her eyes made his heart ache. She sat beneath the covers with her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms linked around them. She looked so small and vulnerable he wanted to pick her up and cradle her in his lap.

“Go on,” she gently urged.

He sensed that she needed to hear whatever he had to share, so he kept talking. “Sometimes I’d try to stay awake for as long as possible. But eventually, of course, I’d fall asleep. And I’d dream about that day. When I woke up shouting, my parents would come running into my room. They’d hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay. My brothers went out of their way to be nice to me, and Mama Wolf came to stay with us for a while. We’d talk for hours, and she’d pray over me and ask God to heal my spirit and bring me peace.” He held Taylor’s mournful gaze. “That was her prayer for you too.”

Taylor bowed her head for a moment, her nostrils flaring with suppressed emotion. “You said it had been a while since you’d had the dream.”

Manning nodded mutely.

“Do you think…do you think I’m the reason you’ve started having it again?”

Manning didn’t respond right away. For the past twenty years he’d been haunted by memories of Micah’s death, but Taylor’s sudden return had brought everything into sharper focus. Sitting there with her…the grief, the pain, the guilt were as acute as ever.

“It doesn’t matter why I’m having the dream again,” he finally answered. “He was
your
brother, Taylor. Whatever I’ve gone through pales in comparison to how much you’ve suffered.”

“That’s not true.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “You loved Micah, and he loved you. I’ve never forgotten how good you were to him. So kind and patient and caring. You accepted him as if he were one of your own brothers.”

Manning’s throat tightened. “As far as I’m concerned, he
was
one of my brothers.”

“I know,” Taylor whispered tearfully. “And that’s why you were his hero.”

“
Oh,
God.
” Overcome with raw emotion, Manning sat up and hauled her into his arms, clasping her tightly against him as she let out a muffled little sob. They clung to each other, irrevocably connected by the devastating tragedy that had shattered their lives and driven them apart.

Without releasing Taylor, Manning lay back against the headboard. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest, her cheek damp against his skin. He held her tight, rubbing his face back and forth across her hair as he savored the soft warmth of her body.

Until that moment, he hadn’t realized just how lost he’d been, how slowly he’d been dying without her. He wanted to ask her how she could have written that letter, how she could cut him out of her life after everything they’d been through together. But now was not the time for questions or recriminations. Now was the time for reconnecting and healing. Once he’d regained her trust and won her heart back, he’d get all the answers he’d been seeking. He just had to be patient and take things slow, which was easier said than done.

They lay there for the longest time not speaking, just holding each other and reflecting on the years they could never get back.

Taylor was the first to break the silence. “I’m glad your family was there for you, Manning. But I knew they would be. You and your family have always been very close. And it sounds like Mama Wolf was your therapist.”

“She was,” he murmured. “I couldn’t have gotten through those days without her and my parents.”

“That’s good.”

Manning gently caressed the curve of Taylor’s spine. “I thought of you every day and hoped that you were getting all the support you needed. Please tell me you did.”

She was silent for a long moment. “It was…complicated. I didn’t know how to cope with my grief, so I shut everyone out. In hindsight I know it wasn’t fair to my parents. They were grieving as much as I was. From the day Truman joined the army, their biggest fear had always been that he would be killed in the line of duty. But as devastating as that would have been, at least they could have taken solace in the fact that he’d died heroically serving his country. But to lose little Micah so suddenly and senselessly—” She broke off, her voice cracking.

Manning kissed the top of her head and hugged her closer, guilt and sorrow tearing at his soul.

“It was too much for them,” Taylor continued in a tremulous whisper. “Just two weeks after I’d been sent to live with my mother, she asked my father to come stay with us because she was worried about me. He agreed, so the Bureau immediately reassigned him to the D.C. field office. With the three of us living under the same roof, I thought we could be a family again. I thought mourning for Micah would bring my parents together, help them reconcile. But I was wrong. They argued more than ever. They were mad at the world and even madder at each other. I’d hear them from my room, and I’d play my violin louder to drown out their voices. They were angry because the driver who killed Micah struck a plea deal to get a lighter sentence and avoid going to trial. Mom was angry with Dad because Micah had died on his watch, and Dad accused her of not being a good mother, which was why he’d sued for custody of me and my brothers in the first place. I think they blamed each other for Micah’s death even more than they blamed—” Taylor stopped abruptly, but Manning knew what she’d been about to say.

“Even more than they blamed us,” he murmured.

Taylor didn’t answer.

But she didn’t have to.

For as long as he lived, Manning would never forget the confrontation they’d had with her father when he’d arrived at the hospital that fateful afternoon. He’d burst into the waiting room where Manning and Taylor were anxiously huddled together, fervently praying that Micah would pull through surgery. When Turner Chastain saw their clothes smeared with his son’s blood, his face had contorted with anguish and rage....

Charging across the room, he grabbed two fistfuls of Manning’s shirt, hauled him to his feet and yelled into his face, “How the hell did this happen? How did he get out of the house?”

“It wasn’t Manning’s fault!” Taylor hastily interceded, leaping up from her chair. “It was my fault! I forgot to lock the deadbolt when we came home from school.”

“How could you forget something like that?” Turner viciously shook Manning, his eyes blazing with wild fury. “Is it because of him? Were you too busy screwing your damn boyfriend to pay attention to your brother?”

“No!” Taylor cried. “We weren’t fooling around! I just forgot!”

“You wouldn’t have forgotten if this punk hadn’t been there to distract you!”

“I’m sorry, Daddy. Please let Manning go. Please—”

Turner whirled around and backhanded his daughter across the face. As she fell back against the row of visitor chairs, Manning lost it.

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH HER!” he roared, seizing the older man by the front of his shirt and violently shoving him backward.

As he drew back his fist to punch him, Taylor screamed hoarsely, “Manning, no!”

He froze, nostrils flaring, chest heaving as he glared furiously at Turner, whose eyes had widened with shock and fear.

“Manning.”

He whipped his head toward the deep, commanding voice. His dad stood in the doorway watching him intently. He wore his blue uniform and black work boots because he’d rushed right over from the fire station after receiving Manning’s frantic phone call.

“Come with me, son,” Stan said quietly. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Manning hesitated for a long moment, then slowly released Taylor’s father and stepped back.

Taylor stared at him, her eyes shining with tears.

Clenching his jaw, he turned and started from the room on leaden legs. When he reached his father, Stan gently cupped the back of his neck, a reassuring touch that nearly broke him down. With a subtle nod of apology to Turner, Stan steered Manning out of the waiting room.

At Micah’s funeral a week later, Taylor’s father had coldly refused to look at Manning, not even to acknowledge the humble condolences he’d offered.

There was no doubt in Manning’s mind that the old man still blamed him for the role he’d played in Micah’s death, and he couldn’t really fault him for feeling that way. Because he knew that Micah would still be alive today if Manning hadn’t upset Taylor, causing her to lash out at her little brother.

“I don’t want children.”