The Tempting Mrs. Reilly (12 page)

He nodded, and knowing she didn't want him around, turned for the gate. He had one hand on the worn, weather-beaten wood when her voice stopped him again.

“I'm fine. But there's no baby.”

His hand clenched on the top of the gate and his grip was so tight, he wouldn't have been surprised to feel the wood snap clean off. His insides twisted and a laser shot of pain sliced him in two. Somehow though, he managed to stay upright. Swiveling his head, he looked at her. “You're sure?”

“My period started this afternoon,” she said and her voice sounded…
hollow
. “So you don't have to worry anymore. You're in the clear.”

Was he? He would always wonder about that.

No baby.

There'd never been a baby.

So why then, did he suddenly feel like he was in
mourning? Why did the pain tighten like a vise around his heart and twist in his guts? Why the sorrow? The regret?

Wasn't this what he'd been hoping for?

Wasn't this for the best?

And if it
was
for the best, shouldn't he be feeling happy? Instead, he was feeling as though the earth had opened up beneath him and he was tottering on the lip of a rocky chasm.

Deliberately, he forced himself to loosen his grip on the old gate. “I don't know what I should say,” he admitted quietly.

“There's nothing
to
say, Brian,” Tina said softly. “Not anymore.”

Then she snapped her fingers and the dogs reluctantly left him, scampering up the steps and through the open doorway into the lamplit house. Tina stared at him for a long minute and looked as though she was going to speak again. But she changed her mind and quietly closed the door.

That spear of light was gone.

The promise of warmth was shut off.

And Brian was alone.

In the dark.

B
y noon the next day, Angelina Coretti was home, greeting her nearly hysterically-glad-to-see-her dogs, and Tina was packing.

“You should stay,” the older woman said to her granddaughter, trying to look stern as she cradled first one tiny dog and then the other, giving each of them equal attention.

“I can't, Nana,” Tina said as she tossed shorts and T-shirts into the oversized, navy blue suitcase. “I just can't stay.”

Angelina clucked her tongue, set Muffin down on the floor, then walked to her granddaughter. Laying
one hand on her arm, she waited until Tina was looking at her to speak again. “Is it Brian?”

It was
always
Brian, Tina thought, diving into the pool of misery that lay deep in the bottom of her heart. All night, she'd been torn by the knowledge that she had to leave.

Talking to Maggie hadn't helped. If anything, it had only made Tina feel worse. Knowing that Brian had been miserable without her was small consolation. If Tina'd been able to convince herself that he'd divorced her because he wanted someone else, it would have been hard to swallow, but she'd eventually have succeeded. But knowing that the damn man hadn't wanted anyone but her and had
still
divorced her only made the whole situation more heartbreaking.

How could she possibly argue with a man so willing to walk away from love? From what they'd had? From what they might have had?

Angelina sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. Reaching into the suitcase, she pulled out one of Tina's shirts and absently folded it as she spoke. “I'd hoped that the two of you would find a way back to each other during these weeks.”

“Nana.” Tina stopped what she was doing and stared at her grandmother. Angelina Coretti was tall and slim. Her silver hair was still long and thick and she wore it in a braided knot at the back of her head. Her features were lined in patterns created by years
of smiling and her dark brown eyes were filled with the warm understanding that Tina had grown up with.

The older woman shrugged and reached for another shirt to fold. “Do you think I don't know why you never visit except when you know Brian will be gone?” she asked with a shake of her head. “Did you think I couldn't tell that you still love him?”

Sighing, Tina dropped her makeup bag into the suitcase, then took a seat beside her grandmother. “Never could put one over on you, could I?”

“Surprising that you still try.” Angelina patted her hand, then gave it a squeeze. “Brian was the one for you,” she said softly. “Right from the first. And it was the same for him.”

“Doesn't matter,” Tina said and fought the rising pain within. No point in worrying her grandmother. There'd be plenty of time for tears, for regrets, once she got home.

“Of course it matters,” Angelina snapped. “It's the only thing that
does
matter. I thought you knew better than that.”

Tina smiled grimly. “Even if I do know better, Brian doesn't. And I can't make a marriage all on my own, Nana.”

“You're both too stubborn, you know.” Angelina huffed out a disgusted breath.

“That's what Maggie said yesterday.”

“Smart woman.”

“I'll miss you,” Tina said, turning her hand over so she could link fingers with her grandmother.

“Oh, honey, I'll miss you, too.” Angelina turned slightly on the bed. “Why don't you stay?” she urged. “Don't give up so easily. Stay here where you belong. This is your
home,
Tina.”

Home.

She was right. Baywater was home. Here, there was Nana and Maggie and Liam and the slower lifestyle Tina'd forgotten how much she loved. Here there were warm breezes and magnolia trees and the scent of jasmine flavoring every breath. Here, there were neighbors and the streets she'd grown up on. There were people who knew her, loved her.

Here, there was Brian.

And that's why she couldn't stay.

Everything she'd come home for was gone. The hope for a baby, the yearning for Brian. It had all dissolved like a piece of sugar in the rain. Her wishes, her dreams, were puddled around her.

She needed to get away—she wouldn't think of it as
running
—from the death of those hopes. She needed to see everything that had happened recently more clearly. And for that she needed distance.

Three thousand miles might be enough.

“I can't,” Tina said and heard the regret in her own voice. “I hope you understand, Nana. But even if you don't, I have to go.”

Her grandmother sighed, gave Tina's hand another pat, then stood up and laid a pair of pale green shorts on top of the clothes in the suitcase. “I understand, honey. Wish I didn't, but I do.”

“Thanks for that.”

Nodding, Angelina shot her a look from the corner of her eye. “Are you going to at least say goodbye to Brian?”

“No.” Tina stood up, too, and reached for another shirt to throw into the bag.

“Too scared?”

She sighed. “Too tired.”

 

Brian left the base early, but he didn't go home.

He still wasn't ready yet to face Tina.

If that was cowardly, then he'd have to suck it up.

Instead, he went to the Lighthouse to meet his brothers. Now, he was trying to remember why it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

“You're letting her go,
again?
” Connor snorted, leaned back in the booth and took a long swig of his beer.

“I'm not
letting
her do anything,” Brian pointed out in his own defense. “Tina goes where she wants, does what she wants.”

“Uh-huh,” Aidan said with a smirk at Connor. “And she's leaving because…?”

“How the hell do I know?” Brian countered, but
he
did
know. He knew all too well why Tina was leaving. Because there was no baby. No future. With him. And that was a good thing. She was better off without him. And God knew, they were better off without having made a child they'd have to figure out a long-distance way to share.

He rubbed the center of his chest when the ache came again. He was almost used to the nagging pain now. It came whenever he remembered that there was no baby. That Tina was leaving. That he'd never see her again once Angelina came home.

Scowling, he told himself that he'd gotten used to Tina's absence five years ago, he'd get used to it again. With that thought in mind, he signaled the waitress for another beer.

“You do know though, don't you, Brian?” Liam asked, jabbing him in the ribs with an elbow.

Turning that fierce frown on his brother, he snapped, “If you're looking for a confession here, I suggest you head back to your flock.”

“Ooh,” Connor said, grinning. “Touchy.”

“Pitiful,” Aidan said. “Just pitiful. Man can't even admit it to himself.”

“Admit what?” Brian thanked the waitress for the fresh, icy cold beer she'd brought him and took a long pull at it. Life would have been much simpler, he thought briefly, if he'd been an only child.

“That you love her, you moron,” Liam said softly.

Brian's breath hitched in his chest and it felt as though a cold hand were fisting around his heart.
Love.
What was it about that one little word that could bring a man to his knees? What was it that made a man so reluctant to look at that word honestly? Objectively?

His gaze shifted around the restaurant. He took it all in. The same, familiar faces that he usually saw there at this time of day. The same families. The same children, turning to their parents. The same couples, huddled together in booths, sharing whispered conversations and unspoken promises.

And it suddenly hit him that there wasn't a damn thing objective about love.

You either felt it or you didn't.

Wanted it or ran from it.

Appreciated it or threw it away.

Damn it.

Brian slid a glance at his older brother. “You know, I'm getting really tired of you calling me names.”

“Then stop being stupid.”

“Do they teach you those comforting little sayings in the seminary?” Brian wondered aloud.

“Shut up,” Connor said and snickered when Brian sent him a you-are-dead-meat glare. “If you think you worry me, you're wrong.”

“Why am I here?” Brian asked no one in particular.

“Because you're too dumb to admit you'd rather be with Tina,” Connor said.

“You already lost the bet, Bri.” Aidan picked a tortilla chip out of the basket in the middle of the table and crunched down on it. “What's holding you back?”

“This is not about the bet.”

“Then what?” Liam prodded.

“It's about being fair,” Brian argued.

“To who?” Connor demanded.

“To Tina.” Brian leaned in over the table, and swept his gaze across his brothers' faces, one after the other. “Being a Marine wife is hard. Harder than any other job out there and you guys know it.”

“What's your point?” Aidan asked.

“I want Tina to have better,” Brian snapped. “She deserves better.”

“Better than loving and being loved?” Liam asked.

Brian slumped back against the booth seat and cradled his beer between his palms. Shaking his head, he muttered stubbornly, “She deserves better.”

Connor snorted.

Aidan opened his mouth to speak.

Liam held up one hand to silence him and then looked at Brian. “She deserves the chance to decide for herself,” he said quietly. “She deserves to have the man she loves respect her enough to give her a
choice.
”

“You don't underst—“

Liam cut him off. “She knew when she married you that you were a Marine. She grew up in a military town. She knows what being a military wife means. And she
chose
to love you. To marry you.”

Brian heard the words and let them sink in. As he did, he felt a flicker of light shimmer in the darkness within and hope bubbled up inside him. Images of Tina raced through his mind, one after the other. Her eyes flashing, her mouth curving, her arms encircling him. He heard her laugh again, felt the soft sigh of her breath on his cheek and relived the sensation of her turning to him in her sleep.

And he knew.

Damn it, he'd always known.

Hard or not, life wasn't worth living without her.

“I gotta go,” he muttered, reaching for his wallet and tearing a couple of bills out. He tossed them onto the table and slid out of the booth. Staring down at his brothers, he gave them a quick grin and said, “Gotta talk to Tina.”

“Better hurry,” Connor said, lifting his beer in a half-assed salute.

“Yeah,” Aidan added, “before she remembers what a jerk you are.”

As Brian darted between the crowded tables, the three remaining Reilly brothers clinked their beer bottles together and smiled.

 

Three days back in California and Tina knew what she had to do. Actually, to be honest, she'd known before she flew back to the land of perpetual sun and smog.

But she'd had to come here to be positive.

Now she was.

Smiling to herself, she shuffled the papers on her desk, straightened them up and set them in the file marked “urgent.” Janet would take care of it all. She knew Tina's cases as well as or better than she did herself.

Everything would be fine.

And now, so would she.

“Are you sure about this?” Janet rubbed her swollen belly as if rubbing a good luck charm. “I mean, you just got back, maybe you should take more time and—“

Tina shot her a quick grin and shook her head. She would miss Janet, but they'd keep in touch. Telephone calls, e-mail, visits, somehow, someway, they'd do it.

“Trust me on this,” Tina said. “I've already had five years. I've thought this through and it's what I have to do.”

Janet sighed. “Okay, but it's not going to be the same around here without you.”

“Thanks.” Tina came around her cluttered desk and hugged her friend tightly. “I'll miss you, too.”

 

Brian hated L.A.

Always had.

He'd been stationed at Pendleton for a couple of years once and the crowds had chewed at him. Just too damn many people. And they all seemed to be on the freeway at the same time.

While he sat in traffic, his brain kicked into high gear, as if trying to make up for the standstill by revving at top speed.

He'd left the restaurant, determined to talk to Tina. To apologize. To do whatever he had to do to make her listen. To make her know that he loved her. Always had. Always would. He'd finally gotten it through his thick head that love wasn't something fragile to be protected. It was something strong, something to lean on when things got rough. And there was nobody stronger than Tina.

He'd just been so determined to take care of her, that he hadn't realized that a marriage was about taking care of each other.

But when he got home, he'd found Angelina, back from Italy and just mad enough at him to tell him that Tina had left for L.A.

Gone.

Just like that.

With no word.

No warning.

But then, he hadn't really deserved one, had he? he thought now. Remembering the blind panic that had shot through him, he nearly strangled on it. He'd tried to catch her at the airport but her flight had already left by the time he got there.

He could have called her, but he knew that what he had to say couldn't be said on a phone. He had to be standing in front of her, so she could see his eyes, so he could reach out for her and hold on if she decided to make this harder than it had to be.

So, he'd spent the next two days wangling a brief leave and then talking his way onto a transport plane headed to Camp Pendleton. Now, his rental car was overheating and he was stuck in traffic next to a teenager in a black truck with a stereo system loud enough to reach Mars.