Trouble (2 page)

Well, I barely knew how to write back then. The process of getting Mike and Dara's story out of my head, where it was a perfect thing, full of passion and wonder, and onto the page was fraught with peril. The finished product was a meandering, bloated, repetitive and purple-prose-littered exercise in learning how to write a novel.

I knew
Trouble
needed work, so I edited, reworked and rewrote that manuscript a good ten times. I spent so much time with Mike and Dara and their never-ending angst that I wished they'd just elope in Chapter Two and leave me the hell alone. I submitted it to contests and got constructive criticism. Reworked it again. Eventually, even though it was still too long and rough, it sold. If you want my whole first-sale story, you can read it here.

Between
Trouble
and my next book,
Risk
, I studied writing craft. A lot. I got better. I'm not saying I was a good writer, mind you—but I was definitely better.

There've been many other books since
Risk
and I've been happy with all of them. Except for my lingering dissatisfaction with
Trouble
, the book I always wanted another shot at.

Now's my chance.

Welcome to the second edition of
Trouble
!

I've rewritten it AGAIN, making it tighter and sharper. I've focused more on the emotional connection between Mike and Dara and gotten rid of some extraneous stuff. But if you liked the first edition just fine, no worries. Much of the deleted material appears, with my commentary, in the Author's Cut section at the end of the book. I've also deleted references to outdated technology, but I doubt anyone'll be crying about that.

Oh, and there's one more thing: I've added a couple new scenes and epilogue.

I hope you love the new version of
Trouble
as much as I do!

As always, happy reading!

To Richard

And to my readers, for coming on this journey with me.

Special thanks to Frauke Spanuth for her beautiful cover design, copy editor extraordinaire Martha Trachtenberg, who does her best to save me from typos, run-on sentences and adverbs (where possible), and Shannon Aviles and her team at More Than Publicity, Stephanie Scofield and Victoria Mattera, for EVERYTHING.

She that has a choice has trouble
.

—American proverb

“Why
can't you work with me on this, Michael?”

“Mama, I can't magically fix my relationship with Sean. He hates me.”

“Your brother doesn't hate you. And I need your help.”

Irritated, Mike Baldwin looked around the crowded café in the heart of downtown Cincinnati and wondered how to extract himself from this situation. The jury was still out, and he should be with his client right now, holding her hand like a good criminal defense attorney. But Mama had called at the last minute, insisting on lunch today, and him saying no to Mama was like black-and-gold-wearing Steelers fans being welcomed to Paul Brown Stadium, home of the Bengals, on game day: it just didn't happen.

Mike tossed down his menu and sighed. “What's this all about?”

Mama ran a manicured hand through her sleek salt-and-pepper hair and fidgeted with her napkin. “I'm worried about Sean.”

“What's he done this time?”

“Nothing. Yet. But we both know law school is going to be really hard for him.”

Mike shrugged impatiently. “Everything is really hard for Sean.”

“I think he's going to need our—your—help.”

Mike scowled. “What Sean needs is to stand up, be a man and work hard for once in his life. And have you forgotten I helped Sean two years ago, when I hired him to work as a paralegal in my firm? And I helped him by not firing his lazy ass.”

“Language, Michael.”

“I helped him get into law school. I helped him when I loaned him money to get his car fixed the other week. And I use the term ‘loan' loosely. What else do you want?”

“I want you to make up with him. I want you to be brothers. I want my family back,” Mama said sadly. “Nothing's been the same since Daddy died.”

Mike couldn't let her get away with such a blatant sugarcoating of their family's history. “Nothing's been the same since way before that, and you know it.”

Mama's glare triggered a shot of tension through his shoulders.

He rubbed his neck to ease some of the strain. “Trust me. The best way for me to help Sean right now is to give him some space. School just started. Let's wait a few weeks and see how he does.”

Mama smoothed her napkin—now hopelessly wrinkled—and put it back in her lap. “I'm afraid to wait. Last time I caught up with him, he was carrying on about some classmate he thinks he's in love with.”

This news worried Mike a little. Sean could barely focus on one thing at a time, and if he was focused on some new relationship, it was a safe bet he hadn't cracked open a book in days. And what was so special about this one particular woman?

Mike's curiosity got the better of him. “Who is she?”

“Oh, I don't know.” Mama waved her hand and rested it on the table. “He says she's beautiful and sweet and funny. Who cares? All I care about is Sean staying on track and making it through law school.”

“I agree. But Sean and I almost killed each other when he worked for me. I can't help you. Sorry.”

He picked up his menu, flipped it open and lowered his head to study it, hoping that was the end of the whole Sean topic.

No such luck.

“Do it as a favor to me.”

The sudden hoarseness in her voice alarmed him. He dropped his menu and covered her hand with his.

“What is it? Tell me.”

Her wet gaze held his for a long beat. Finally, she took a deep breath. “There's a lump.”

Mike blinked. “A lump?”

She nodded and swiped her free hand under her eyes.

“Damn it, Mama!” Heads turned in their direction, forcing him to lower his voice. “I told you a lumpectomy wasn't good enough! I knew you needed to get the mastectomy!”

“Do you think I need a lecture now?”

There was no reproach in her tone, but Mike choked back his rising panic and clamped his mouth shut anyway. His judgmental tendencies wouldn't help Mama now.

“What did the doctor say?”

Mama's hand trembled as she sipped her iced tea, making the ice clink. “He's concerned. He says he'll know more after the biopsy tomorrow. And I don't want you to tell Sean anything about it.”

Mike's heart sank through the floor. Mama had cancer. Again. All the old fears came rushing back.

“What can I do?” he asked helplessly.

“You can make up with your brother. You're all he's got.”

“He's got you.”

Shrugging, she flashed him a rueful smile. “For now.”

“Jesus, Mama. Don't talk like that.”

She squeezed his hand. “Don't be sorry for me, Michael. I've had a good life. A wonderful marriage, two boys I'm proud of …”

Mike raised an eyebrow.

She bowed her head, conceding the point. “I know Sean has had some rough spots. But he's okay now. And
you
.” She beamed. “If I could just get you married and settled—with a couple babies—I'd be in heaven.”

“Who's got time to get married?”

“You'd have more time if you stopped working so hard,” she told him. For the millionth time.

“Someone's got to pay the bills.”

Mama frowned thoughtfully and shook her head. “I just hate what that girl did to you.”

“Girl? What girl?”

“What girl? You know! The one from college!”

He stared at her. She had cancer again, and she wanted to talk about some girl he'd known a thousand years ago in college? “Can you be more specific?”

“Michael! Your girlfriend who hooked up with your roommate.”

Oh,
that
girl.

Debbie.

What was her last name? He couldn't even remember. He hadn't thought about her for years. Technically, she hadn't been his girlfriend, because all they'd done was have sex—like rabbits—his first term at Harvard, when he'd been drunk with the freedom of living on his own. What he hadn't realized, until he came home early one day and discovered them rolling around on the floor like models for a new edition of the
Kama Sutra
, was that she was also screwing one of his roommates.

His heart hadn't been broken. He probably wouldn't even have minded much if she'd been up-front and announced she wanted to hook up with his roommate. No, what had hurt was the treachery and deceit. The fact that they'd lied right to his face, for weeks, apparently, and he'd trusted them. Looking back, he'd realized there'd been moments when he'd seen them exchange a look or a smile. So, of course, when he'd realized the truth, he'd kicked himself for ignoring his gut instincts. In the end, he'd chalked it up to a lesson well learned and forgotten about the whole incident.

“What's Debbie got to do with anything?”

Mama made an exasperated sound. “That's why you're not married yet, Michael. You don't trust women.”