Caught by You (27 page)

“Thank you, Judge. I'll get right to the point. I don't know you and you don't know me. But I do know what it's like to keep something secret. In my case, it was my brother. It took me a long time to tell ­people he was gay. I told myself it was for his sake, and for my parents', and it was. Partly. I had this idea about who I was supposed to be. I had a hard time letting it go, even after I left the Navy. But there was also a side of me that didn't want to deal with crap from the other ballplayers. I didn't want the ribbing, or the behind-­my-­back whispers, let alone the outright homophobia. So I kept my mouth shut—­until I couldn't anymore, and did my PSA for Equal Rights in Sports. The day that PSA first aired was one of the best days of my life. I got more support and more props than I ever imagined in my most crazy optimistic moments. And then, when my brother passed on, my teammates came through. Never expected that. If I hadn't done the PSA, none of it would have happened.”

Judge Quinn showed absolutely no expression. Maybe he'd offended the hell out of the man. Who knew? But Donna had already lost Zack—­she had nothing more to lose. He checked his watch. Two more minutes.

“All I want to say is this. I don't know what your story is, Judge. I don't care. It's your business. But to protect your secret to the extent of letting the Wades threaten you into doing what they want . . . it's not worth it. Not only is it not worth it, but you could be missing out on something amazing. That's it. That's all I've got. I'll just finish by saying that Donna MacIntyre deserves a completely fair hearing, away from the influence of the Wades. And if she didn't get that, you're the only one who can do something about it.”

Not a muscle moved on the judge's face. Not a single blink of an eye. Mike inhaled a deep breath, then released it. He gave a little bow of his head, and began backing toward the door. “Thanks for listening, Your Honor.”

Had he listened? Had he even heard? It was impossible to tell.

“If I offended you, please don't take it out on Donna. She doesn't even know I'm here.”

Finally the judge opened his mouth. “Close the door behind you.”

Okay then. Mike hurried out of the chambers, out of the courthouse, past the metal detector and the guards, his heart pounding like a drum the entire time.

It wasn't superhero material, but it was all he had.

Now he could only pray that something had gotten past that judge's poker face. He'd never seen anyone school their expression so thoroughly—­and he was used to studying batters and pitchers for tells. After all this was over, maybe he could take Judge Quinn to Las Vegas and clean up at the craps table.

Time was doing something funny. Long hours passed with Donna barely noticing, then things would speed up to hyper-­space pace and before she could blink, it would be a different time of day—­light instead of dark, or vice versa. The Dental Miracles office called because she'd missed a shift.

“Sick,” she told Ricki, since more than one word felt beyond her ability.

“Too sick to call in sick?” Ricki asked skeptically.

“I called.” She'd left a message with someone, but she couldn't even remember who. “Sorry.”

She called in sick with the Catfish too. When the promotions manager called back, she didn't answer. Someone else would have to hose down the ballplayers from now on. Count her out of that one.

Sadie called. Then she called again. Donna simply didn't have the heart to call her back. She'd be supportive and sympathetic and everything a friend should be, but Donna didn't trust herself not to lose it the way she had with Mike.

Mike
. At the thought of him, something stirred in the empty hole where her heart used to live. She could barely look at him while she told him the utter extent of her failure. And then his “get over yourself” . . . Oh, she just wanted to strangle him. He didn't know.
He didn't know
.

But he said he loved her. He'd said that. Maybe it was some kind of attempt at a wakeup call. A slap in the face. Shock therapy.

I love you. I mean it.

He'd looked like he meant it. He'd looked pale when he said it, completely sober, his eyes vulnerable pools of green. Not a bit of playfulness anywhere, no teasing, no joking. Straight up—­
I love you.

And she'd shut the door on him. She had to. How could she love anyone, how could she
be loved
by anyone, when she'd completely crashed and burned as a human being?

Time passed.

A bowl of Ramen noodle soup was consumed. By her, or at least by the body formerly inhabited by Donna MacIntyre.

The phone rang. She answered by mistake, or maybe on the off chance that it was Mike and he'd tell her that preposterous thing he'd said before, about loving her.

It wasn't Mike. It was her new lawyer.

Before Gloria Gaynor could say a word, Donna hung up and turned her phone off.

She wandered back into the living room and peeled the giant poster of J.J. Watt, the Texans player with the constantly bloodied nose, off the wall. Rolled it up and stashed it behind the football beanbag chair. She went through her entire apartment and removed every stitch of football-­themed paraphernalia. Who had she been kidding? No wonder the judge had seen right through her. She added all her navy-­blue blazers and boxy pantsuits to the pile. No point in hanging on to those. If she ever went to court again, she'd wear a freaking leopard-­print cat suit and six-­inch stilettos. Things couldn't turn out any worse, after all.

After that, she hit a road bump of anger and spent some agonized time pacing around the living room, reliving those moments in the courtroom.
Can Donna MacIntyre provide Zackary with a better environment than the one she herself designated as best for her son? . . . It is with a heavy heart that I rule that custody remain with the Hannigans . . .
transition period to Harvey Hannigan . . . at the custodial parent's discretion . . .

She knew what “at the custodial parent's discretion” meant. It meant Bonita holding all the cards, pulling all the strings. Even if Harvey had promised that she'd still get to see Zack, it didn't matter what Harvey said. It only mattered what Bonita said.

She decides how short to trim his nose hairs
.

Donna smiled despite herself. Solo sure had a way with words. She dropped onto her couch, to the place where he'd sat, fire in his eyes, telling her to fight for Zack. She could practically feel him there, his big body bent toward hers, worried lines creasing his face.

He cared about her.

He loved her.

The truth sank into her marrow and spread like sunlight. Mike Solo loved her. And she loved him . . . God, she'd loved him for ages, since last season sometime, and the more she knew him, the more she loved him. How could she have pushed him away like that? What was wrong with her?

She sprang to her feet. Phone. She had to find her phone and call him. Tell him she was sorry, so sorry, and that she loved him with every flawed, imperfect corner of her being, and that it wasn't his fault she couldn't be a normal human being. Flying toward the kitchen, she heard a knock on the door. She didn't want to see anyone—­only Mike. And it wouldn't be Mike because she'd sent him away.

Her phone was under the table. She crawled toward it, turned it on, and backed out, watching her phone blink to life. A text message flashed. From Mike.
Answer your door!

She clambered from beneath her kitchen table, ran toward the door, and flung it open. There he was, big as life, beautiful as the wide open sky, a huge grin lighting up his face. With one arm he propped the door open all the way, as if he was worried she'd slam it shut again.

“Listen to me, Donna. You have to come with me. Special hearing. New judge. Quinn recused himself and withdrew his ruling based on the pending request for a new judge. It's just a technicality, but we'll take what we can get. Your lawyer's been trying to call you. We have about twenty minutes to get there.”

She gaped at him, trying to make sense of that torrent of words. “New hearing?”

“Yes. New hearing. You have another shot at this, if you want it.”

A powerful surge of hope made her sway. Mike steadied her with both hands on her shoulders. Slowly, thoroughly, he studied her, as if seeing every hidden corner of her soul. “It's up to you, Donna. Are you ready to do this?”

Was she ready? All the pieces of her past sifted through her mind like a kaleidoscope.
Her missing mother, her stepmother, her absent dad.
“I pretty much raised myself, you know. And it wasn't enough. I wanted better for Zack.”

He waited patiently.

The hospital, her depression, the bright smile of her son.

“I knew I had to work really hard to be what he needed.”
The Shark, the little guesthouse, the shelves of child-­rearing books.

Still he waited, not rushing her. He was like a rock, standing before her. Standing with her. A sense of absolute certainty flooded through her. “Yes, I'm ready,” she whispered. Then, more loudly, “Let's go.”

“Good.” A smile curving his lips, he scanned her body, which was swathed in an old T-­shirt that sagged to her knees and featured the statement,
Don
't feel bad, laundry. Nobody's doing me either.

“Sorry, babe, you can't wear that.”

She looked down, and let out a giggle, half hysterical, half nervous. Could she handle a second chance? Could she manage to not screw this up?

“Come on, my one and only love,” Mike crooned. “Pick something to wear and let's boogie.”

 

Chapter 27

M
IKE PRACTICALLY T
HREW
her into his Land Rover. A little dazed by the speed at which everything was happening, Donna couldn't stop staring at him. He looked as if he'd swallowed an entire galaxy of stars, while she'd been hanging out in a black hole.

“Did I miss something?” she finally asked him. “Aren't you suspended? How can you be going to the Friars if you're suspended?”

“Sweet cheeks, that was about a hundred years ago. While I was chasing after you, Duke found me. They want me, Yazmer issues and all.”

She beamed at him. It felt strange to feel her cheeks stretching in a smile after her descent into misery. “That's fantastic, Mike. You must have been so excited.”

“Well, not really. I was worried about you. But I couldn't find you, so I went and saw Angela.”

Her smile snapped off her face. “I thought you said she was gone.”

“Yes, but it was good that she came, because we're square now. She came to give me something, and now we're even.”

“Give you what?”

“Information. She told me that my father tried to donate a kidney to Joey. No one knows, she just happened to find out at the hospital. He's not the coldhearted ass I thought he was. Not completely, anyway.”

“That is big news.” So Angela had flown to Kilby to bring Mike news that could change his life and reunite him with his family.
Beat that, Donna MacIntyre
. “He never told you?”

“Nope. Maybe he didn't want me to know. He's a proud man. Doesn't think he has to explain himself to anyone.”

“That was nice of Angela. I mean, to tell you. And come all that way. Of course, there's e-­mail and phones and texts and Facebook and Snapchat and—­”

He gave her a wicked sidelong glance. “Jealous, Red?”

“What? No, just concerned about her carbon footprint. The amount of fuel it takes to fly to Kilby from Chicago . . . has she no concern for the planet?”

He let out a snort of laughter. “You did hear me, right? When I said I love you.”

Heat burned across her face. “I . . . yes . . .”

Grabbing her left hand, he pulled it to his lips, where he could pepper it with kisses. “I can't pull the car over because we might miss your hearing. But I meant it, Donna. I love you. I'm crazy about you. I wish I could have made it more romantic but you did slam the door in my face and my options were limited.”

“I'm sorry about that. I was . . .”

“I know. The look on your face . . . it just about killed me. No sparkle, no life . . . it was like you were gone. My beautiful firecracker Donna, gone. I couldn't stand that. Even if you never want to see me again after this, I had to do something.”

That sounded kind of ominous. “Why would I never want to see you again after this? It's just a hearing, right?”

An uneasy expression crossed his face as they pulled into the Kilby Courthouse parking lot. “Just a hearing. Yes.”

“Mike? What's going on?”

“I told you. It's another chance to make your case for custody of Zack.”

Why would that make him so nervous? Eyeing him suspiciously, she got out of the car and smoothed her knee-­length peach seersucker skirt over her thighs. On top she wore an elbow-­length cream cotton sweater over a lacy button-­down shirt. No blue blazers, no leopard print, but a totally appropriate outfit that suited her style and also took into account how cold the courthouse got when someone forgot to turn down the air-­conditioning.

“You have something up your sleeve.”

“Can you just . . .
will
you just . . . trust me?” He closed the car door and jingled the keys nervously in one big hand. Even though he towered over her, tough and muscular, a bruise courtesy of Yazmer purpling his cheekbone, what really got her was the uncertainty in his green eyes.

“Mike Solo, I've got big news for you.” She marched up to him and grabbed the lapels of his jacket—­the same one he'd worn to Crush's fund-­raiser, tight across his wide shoulders. “There are very few ­people in this world I trust—­maybe only two—­but you are one of them.” She pulled his head down and fastened her lips to his. The sensation—­such intimate contact after thinking it was over, forever—­just about blew the top of her head off. “And I love you. Whatever happens in there, whether I get Zack back or I have to try again in the future, I love you. I love that you made all this happen even though you have plenty going on in your own life. Geez, Mike. Your brother . . . the team . . . the Friars . . . I can't believe you're even here!”

“Well, believe it, baby. Where else would I be? If you need something, I will always be there. Even if all you need is a little . . .” He winked, and made a sound with his cheek that was probably supposed to be dirty, but wound up being terminally cute instead.

“Can we talk about that part later?” She took his hand. “I'm dying of curiosity about what I'm going to see when I walk into that courtroom.”

They headed for the courthouse, with its stucco, Spanish-­style facade. “Maybe you'll see a closet. With a closed door. And you won't be able to resist.”

“Of course I won't. Especially if it contains a mop bucket. Do you know that the scent of bleach water always makes me think of you?”

“In that case, you can look forward to a very clean house in your future.”

A shiver shot through her. “Let's not talk about the future yet. I can't think about anything in the future until I know for sure what's happening with Zack.”

“Got it.” They hurried up the steps and through the metal detector. Donna took a moment to compose herself before pushing open the door to Courtroom 5. She needed to present a mature, poised appearance. The last thing she wanted was to burst in like a slacker student late for an exam.

Inside the room, she skidded to a halt with a gasp that echoed through the courtroom. “Dad?”

Mac, in a battered old leather jacket that must have dated from his wannabe cowboy days, swung around at the sound of her voice.

“
Mom?
” Lorraine MacIntyre sat in the row behind Donna's dad; she put a finger to her lips to shush her.

For a moment, Donna was so confused she wanted to turn and flee. But Mike's solid chest was in the way. She leaned against him, drawing strength from his warmth and the big hand that firmly gripped her shoulder. She whispered to him, “What are they . . .”

“I called them,” he rumbled in her ear. “They're here to support you. No need for a heart attack.”

“It's not a heart attack, it's more of an out-­of-­body experience.” Her mother—­her wild, crazy, gypsy mother—­wore an elegant suede jacket with braided trim. She might have borrowed it from some band's wardrobe department, but she pulled it off. Her wild red hair was tucked into a French twist, and she looked at least marginally respectable.

Another face caught her eye. Beth Gilbert. Next to her sat Caleb and Sadie, who was making frantic faces at Donna. The message was clear:
Get a grip on yourself because shit is about to get real.

“All rise for Judge Galindez,” intoned the bailiff.

A Hispanic woman in a black robe, with silver streaks running through her dark hair, entered the courtroom and sat down with a flourish.

“Come on,” said Mike. He pulled her toward the front table, where Donna slid in next to Ms. Gaynor just in time to join everyone else as they resumed their seats.

“Cutting it a little close,” said the lawyer through gritted teeth.

“Sorry,” said Mike, leaning forward from the row behind them. “We had a few things to sort out first. Wardrobe emergency.” He winked at Donna.

“Is everyone here?” Ms. Gaynor asked Mike.

“Looks like it. Where's Bonita?”

Donna glanced over at the other side of the courtroom, where Harvey sat next to his lawyer. The Hannigans sat in the next row, right behind him.

“She must be with Zack,” whispered Donna, a sick feeling making her stomach sink. Possession was nine-­tenths of the law, she'd heard it said. That didn't apply to children, but she knew that courts gave extra weight to stability—­to continuing whatever situation the child was in as long as it wasn't harmful.

Judge Galindez rattled through a quick summary of how the hearing had been transferred to her. “I just read through the case history last night. I understand that strong emotions are involved, and that a careful decision is of utmost importance. My impression from the case notes is that most of the argument centered on the character of the mother, Donna MacIntyre.” She motioned to Ms. Gaynor. “Let me hear from you first.”

Ms. Gaynor rose to her feet. “Thank you, Judge. You are correct in your assessment, which is why we've called a number of witnesses here today. We don't believe the case should have taken that turn, but since it did, mostly in the form of gossip and innuendo, we'd relish the opportunity to hear from some of the ­people who know Donna best.”

“Very well. Call your first witness.”

“I'd like to call Beth Gilbert to the stand. My client worked for the Gilbert family taking care of their son for the first eight months of his life. If anyone can speak to her potential as a mother, she can.”

The opposing lawyer stood up. “Your Honor, we object to this list of witnesses, which we received only yesterday. We can provide an equally impressive parade of witnesses who will say that Harvey Hannigan is an excellent father.”

“The relevance, Your Honor,” said Ms. Gaynor, “is that the child's father chose to make my client's past history and character the principal element of the case.”

“I'll allow it,” said the judge. “Both sides will have ample opportunity to question the witnesses.”

Beth Gilbert, looking every bit the wealthy Texas socialite that she was, took the stand, swore on the Holy Bible to tell the truth, and proceeded to describe someone Donna barely recognized. “I'm the first one to tell you that my son Todd is a handful. He never stops moving, and now that he's beginning to talk, he never stops that.”

“He's talking?” Donna asked eagerly, leaning forward.

“Yes, he is! In the swing. His first word was ‘fast,' at least that's what we think.”

The judge banged the gavel. “Can we stay on topic, please?”

“Yes, Judge. I never saw Donna lose her patience or be anything less than cheerful with Todd. After she left, we had to hire three ­people to replace her. No one else could handle him full-­time the way she did. She's a treasure. All my friends' children love her too. We were crushed when she left.”

When it was his turn to cross-­examine Beth Gilbert, Harvey's lawyer jumped on that opening. “You said you were crushed when she left, that she left you in the lurch. Is that the action of a responsible caretaker?”

Beth bristled. “She gave us plenty of notice and explained why she was leaving. We couldn't offer her full benefits, which she needed in order to regain custody of her little boy. She's come back to help us out several times since then, even though she now has a new job. She's expressed the desire to remain part of Todd's life even though she's no longer employed by us. We found her actions completely understandable and responsible.”

The lawyer quickly wrapped up his cross-­examination after that, and Beth stepped out of the witness box. She flashed Donna a thumbs-­up as she took her seat a few rows back. Next up was Donna's mother.

“At first I was surprised to get a call from Donna's friend,” she said, with that musical voice trained to reach the back of a stadium. “I'm not much of a maternal example, seeing as I ran off on my family about twelve years ago.”

Donna cast a look at her father, whose gaze was fixed on his ex-­wife as if she were an angel floating back from heaven. Oh my God.
He still loves her
, she realized. No wonder Carrie hated any mention of Lorraine MacIntyre. No wonder Carrie hated
Donna
—­a constant reminder of the woman who left. Being married to someone who loved someone else? Nightmare. Exactly what she'd vowed never to do. Exactly why she hadn't wanted to accept Mike's proposal.

And that's what Carrie had been living with. Perhaps for the first moment in her life, she felt empathy for the woman she'd spent her teen years battling.

Her mother was telling a story in that riveting voice, holding the entire courtroom spellbound. She was such a compelling performer, so comfortable in the spotlight, with everyone hanging on her every word. Donna had to smile; she knew how that felt now, thanks to Crush Taylor and the Catfish.

“The doctor diagnosed her with an extreme case of situational depression related to her pregnancy. I was told that her youth and lack of family support were both contributing factors. By the time she came to me, she was so ill I insisted she be hospitalized. They put her on anti-­depressants. She took them even though she made me do all kinds of research on the Internet first. She was afraid they'd hurt the baby.”

Donna drew in a soft breath. She'd forgotten about that. Even though the doctor had said the medication wouldn't harm the fetus, in her fearful state, she hadn't believed him.

“When the Hannigans and I started talking about what would happen after Donna gave birth, about giving the baby up for adoption, that's when Donna came back to life. She swore up and down that she'd never sign anything like that. And even though she was sick as a dog, weak, barely in her right mind, she was so fierce about it that we believed her.”

Donna realized she was holding her breath. She'd never heard her mother talk about all this before. By the time she'd come out of the depression, Lorraine MacIntyre had been back on the road.

“Every one of us, Harvey, Pete and Sue Hannigan, Mac, myself, all of us are only here today because Donna refused to give Zack up for adoption. No one else had any problem with it, in fact, everyone thought it would be best. Everyone except Donna. Even in the worst, most ill moment of her life, Donna refused to let Zack go. She always wanted him. And I believe that everything she's done since then has been with the goal of making a good life for Zack. I'm very proud of my daughter. Very, very proud.”