Waiting for Wednesday Read online

  “That’s not possible,” she whispered.

  He laughed. “Sure it is, kitten.” Tris glanced at his watch and grimaced. “My shift starts in fifteen minutes. I’m going to need a cold shower before then if I’m going to make it through the night.”

  She grinned sheepishly. “I feel guilty leaving you like this while you made sure I’m all warm and fuzzy inside.”

  “Warm and fuzzy, eh? I like that.”

  “Yeah, well, I think I’d like to return the favor sometime.”

  Tris wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. “It’s a date.”

  Chapter Four

  Lane sat on a bench near the waterfront, stifling a tired yawn and reflecting on the past week. Tristan’s pop had returned home from the hospital and the past few days had been hectic and stressful for the family and for her. Though Mr. Collins’ stroke had been relatively mild, she’d seen the worried looks on his children’s faces as he struggled to speak clearly. Always a vibrant and lively man, he now moved slowly, cautiously, and it hurt them to see it. Just yesterday he’d forgotten her name. Lane had assured the others memory loss was common and nothing to worry about, but she’d seen the pain lingering behind their forced smiles.

  Tristan was still spending long hours in the pub, working the lunch and dinner shifts most days. Lane knew it bothered him to see his father so frail and she wished there was some way to make him realize the progress Mr. Collins was making. It wasn’t going to be a quick road to recovery but, like his children, he seemed to have an indomitable spirit and Lane truly believed he’d be back to his feisty old self soon.

  Keira was spending the morning with him. Lane knew the woman wanted to have some time alone with the man. She’d watched Tristan’s sisters with their father, a spark of envy growing as she sensed the special bond each of the women shared with their beloved pop.

  She and Tristan hadn’t had the opportunity to say more than a few words in passing. Her work with his pop and his seeming avoidance of the apartment had put a definite halt to any progress they could be making in the bedroom. She recalled the orgasm he’d given her with his hand and sighed. She was definitely going to have sex with the man. There was no doubt about that. Their brief afternoon tryst had proved their compatibility stretched well beyond the walls of friendship.

  She rubbed her eyes sleepily. God, her thoughts were a jumbled mess as her tired mind jumped from one worry to the next. She’d spent the last week trying to determine if Tristan had the right of it. Perhaps she had been fighting the wrong demons, shutting herself off from others, from love, all in the name of self-reliance. She wanted to be independent, but she wanted Tris. What if he was correct? What if she could have both? She’d tried with James and her ex had only proven to her once again she’d been a fool to believe she could have it all.

  She was running on empty and she knew it. Trying to sleep in the same room with Riley was wearing her out. Every night she fought to remain awake until she heard Tris retire to his bedroom. As the one who closed down the bar each night, he usually didn’t head to bed until after one, or even later on the weekends. Once the coast was clear, she’d sneak out to the couch to try to grab a few hours of sleep where no one in the family could hear her.

  She cried in her sleep. It was an odd thing, she knew, and she was too embarrassed to let anyone see it. She grimaced. Why couldn’t she be normal and sleepwalk or snore? Her nighttime tears had driven James crazy and he was glad when she’d suggested separate bedrooms, claiming he was tired of being woken up every night, having to listen to her stupid crying.

  “Lane?”

  She felt the hair on the back of her neck rise at the sound of the familiar voice.

  Glancing up, she saw her ex-husband. It was as if thinking his name had summoned him and she took a deep breath in hopes of remaining calm. She was too tired to deal with this.

  “Oh my God,” he said, stepping closer. “I was just heading out for some lunch and I saw you sitting here. When did you come back to Baltimore?” His voice was charming and kind and for a moment, she was reminded of the man she’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

  “I’ve only been in town a few weeks.”

  “I wish you would’ve called me. I’ve been so worried about you. You just disappeared.”

  She’d pursued her divorce strictly through lawyers, managing to never have to see James during the process. Since he’d beaten her and put her in the hospital, the lawyers never questioned her desire to handle the whole ordeal by proxy.

  “I needed to get away.” She wished her voice didn’t sound so tight, so strained. “I’m sure you can understand that.”

  “Lane, I’ve been destroyed this last year. Eaten up with guilt. I…I wanted to say I’m sorry. To apologize for hurting you. God, I never meant to hurt you like that. It’s just, I was so scared when you said you were leaving—”

  She held her hand up, desperate to halt anything else he might say. While James had been a distant, cruel bastard for most of their marriage, there had also been a few good times. His childhood, in many ways, had been as shitty as hers. His parents—both alcoholics—took turns using him for a punching bag, and for years she’d allowed her pity for the abuse he’d suffered to excuse so many of the mean things he’d said to her.

  They’d been fools to believe they could actually achieve a normal relationship when neither of them had a clue what that entailed. Having spent the past week with the Collins clan, Lane’s eyes had been opened to what it meant to be part of a large and loving family.

  James was out of her life now and she’d moved on, but she truly did believe his words were genuine.

  “I accept your apology.”

  “I can’t tell you what it means to me to hear you say that,” James said. “I was on my way to pick up some lunch. Would you like to join me?”

  She fought against the urge to laugh in his face. While she may have accepted his apology, she would never forget what he’d done to her. Never forget the hell he’d put her through.

  He smiled and she was shocked to see what looked like blatant desire in his eyes. He’d never wanted her. Sex with him had been an unpleasant chore…for both of them. James’ ability to find fault with her extended from housework and daily routines to the bedroom as well. He pointed out every flaw with her body. She’d worried after her divorce that James had killed all her desire, but one minute in Tristan’s presence had proven that fear unfounded.

  “Maybe we could spend the afternoon together. Catch up.”

  She shook her head. “No thanks. I really need to get back home.”

  “Home? Where are you living?”

  “I’m staying with some friends until I find a place of my own.” Her answer was purposely evasive.

  “You look great, Lane.”

  She looked around, uncomfortable under his intense stare. She had nothing left to say to him. “I suppose I should be going.” She rose and turned to leave when the silence between them stretched out uncomfortably.

  “You left a few things at the house,” he added quickly. “I kept them for you.”

  “You didn’t have to do that. I took everything I wanted.”

  “I have your grandmother’s picture.”

  She took a deep breath, shocked by his words. When she’d returned to their house the morning she’d checked out of the hospital, she hadn’t been able to find the picture. In her haste to escape town, she hadn’t had time to do a thorough search. It was the only thing she’d managed to hold on to throughout her twisted childhood. It was quite simply her most precious possession, the only thing that had ever given her some sense of identity. She didn’t remember her grandmother well, but she did recall that the woman loved and cared for her as best she could.

  “I want it back,” she said.

  “I knew you would. That’s why I kept it. Why don’t you give me your phone number? We’ll work out a time for you to swing by the house to pick it up.”

  She n
odded, giving him her cell number. She’d thought the picture lost to her for good.

  “I’ll call you.” His grin was wide and she was struck by the odd notion she’d just offered her throat to the vampire. James had won her over with the same boyish good looks and charm on their first date. The difference was, now she knew it was all an act.

  “Goodbye, James.” She headed back toward the pub, walking nearly six blocks before she managed to calm her racing heart. She wondered if, by returning to Baltimore, she hadn’t tempted fate just a bit too far. First with Tris and now with James.

  * * * * *

  “How about one more, Mr. Collins?” Lane coaxed, guiding her patient through his daily exercises.

  “How m-many times do I have to tell you to call me P-Pat?”

  She grinned. He’d extended the same offer every Wednesday as she’d sat at the bar talking sports with him or Tris. She’d always refused, saying it would feel strange. However, this was the first time since his stroke he’d protested her calling him Mr. Collins. Even though his words were still slurred, she felt like hugging him. Each day, she watched more and more of the boisterous man re-emerge.

  “I’ve told you a million times, Mr. Collins. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to call you by your first name.”

  “Why the h-hell not? I’ve told you to.”

  She grinned and let the discussion drop. “You know you aren’t fooling me by trying to pick an argument. You’re going to finish your exercises—all of them.”

  “Slave driver,” he muttered as they resumed their work. He was all bluster. She’d never seen anyone so determined to recover and she suddenly understood where Tris got his stubbornness. He was very much like his father.

  “How does your leg feel today? Any numbness?”

  He shook his head. “You’re a good n-nurse. Not m-many women would p-put up with me.”

  She grinned. “Thank you. Funny though, I don’t remember you saying that earlier when I was making you do your speech exercises. Seem to recall you telling me to buzz off.”

  “F-feel like a damn fool. I know how to t-talk.”

  “You’re right. You do. In fact, you talk too much. Now stop trying to distract me. You’re not finished with your workout.”

  He chuckled at her joke and continued his exercises. He was quiet for several minutes before starting a new line of conversation. “Your p-parents must be very p-proud of you, Lane.”

  His comment seemed to come out of the blue and the shock of it caught her off guard. “I didn’t know my parents.” She shrugged lightly, trying to blink back the tears that had snuck in and attacked her. “I’m a foster kid.”

  Mr. Collins frowned and shook his head. “I’m s-sorry,” he slurred. “Did I know that?” She knew of all the lingering effects of his stroke, the memory loss bothered him the most.

  She shook her head. “No, I’m sure you didn’t. I don’t tell a lot of people.”

  “Tristan knows.”

  She nodded, unsure if his comment was a question or a statement. “He knows.”

  “He’s a g-good man, my Tristan,” Mr. Collins said and Lane had to swallow against the lump in her throat. No man loved or doted on his kids more than Mr. Collins. After a week in his company, she thought she should be used to hearing him sing their praises, but it never failed to touch her.

  “Yes, he is. We’re very good friends.” She was unsure how else to respond.

  Mr. Collins nodded. “He’s a h-hard worker. He’ll make some lucky girl a g-good husband.”

  Lane laughed, leaning over to kiss Mr. Collins on the cheek. “You aren’t trying to set me up by any chance, are you?”

  Mr. Collins chuckled. “You c-could do worse, my girl.”

  “I have.” The words slipped out before she could think better of them and she watched the older man frown.

  “Your ex-husband h-hurt you.”

  She shrugged. “Yes,” she whispered. “He hurt me.”

  “Tristan nearly k-killed him that day he came to the b-bar looking for you.”

  Lane gasped. “James came to the bar? When?”

  “Year ago. Took Ewan and Sean to p-pull Tristan off the man. I’m thinking now we should have l-let Tristan finish.”

  She grinned. “Oh my. You Irish are a bloodthirsty lot, aren’t you?”

  He laughed and nodded. “I th-think we are at that.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Now we’re going to—” A noise at the bottom of the stairs distracted her.

  “Ewan and Tristan,” Mr. Collins said when they heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. “Always sound like a h-herd of cattle, those two.”

  Lane was surprised to discover the man was correct as Tris and Ewan entered the room.

  “’Bout time,” Mr. Collins said. “Woman’s about to d-do me in with her infernal exercises.”

  Lane put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows. “Throwing me under the bus, old man?”

  They all laughed and she watched as Tristan studied his father’s face.

  “You up for some ESPN, Pop?” Ewan asked. Tristan’s brother had gotten into the routine of spending an hour with his pop each afternoon, watching sports highlights on TV.

  “H-hell yeah. I missed the end of the Orioles g-game last night.” Mr. Collins raised his hand before anyone could speak. “D-don’t tell me how it ended.”

  Ewan laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He followed his pop down the hallway to Mr. Collins’ bedroom. Pop still walked slowly and with the assistance of a walker, but he was decidedly steadier on his feet. He and Ewan watched the television in the older man’s room as he almost always fell asleep after his exercises. Lane was touched by Ewan staying with his pop even after he fell asleep.

  Tris looked at her and she noticed he seemed uneasy. “Pop seems chipper today,” he said, pausing awkwardly.

  “I told you he was getting better.”

  Tris nodded and dropped onto the couch, rubbing his eyes wearily. “So you did. Fuck, I’m tired.”

  She sat beside him, deciding it was time to confront him about his absence from the apartment, especially when he took his hands away from his face and she saw the pain in his eyes.

  “So, what’s up with you, stranger?”

  He swallowed heavily. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much this week. It’s been really busy down at the pub.”

  “Ah, has it?” She let her question hover, certain he could tell from her tone she didn’t believe him. “From my perspective, it seems like you’re avoiding this apartment like the plague.”

  Originally she’d assumed he was working longer hours to cover for his pop, but as she observed the time each of his brothers and sisters devoted to their father, she began to suspect his absence was based on something else. She could see by the guilt in his features, she’d been right. “Why, Tris? Is it me?”

  “God no. I’ve missed you like crazy this week.”

  “Then what?”

  “Did I ever tell you how my mom died?”

  Lane shook her head.

  “It was cancer. Her death was slow and painful.”

  “Oh Tris.” She placed her hand on his cheek as she recalled him mentioning that he’d only been fifteen when he lost his mother. She couldn’t imagine how hard it had been for a young boy on the verge of manhood to watch his mother suffer so, knowing there was nothing he could do to help. Tris was a born protector, like his father. How hard must it have been for them to stand by and watch, helpless to defend a woman they clearly adored? “I’m sorry.”

  “She went through chemo and for a while we thought she was going to recover. Then it came back. She wanted to die at home, so we took turns taking care of her. She died on my watch.”

  “What?”

  “She was sleeping a lot at the end. The pain was unbearable so the doctor gave her morphine. I was sitting with her. Her breath was raspy, labored. It was like there was a rattle in her chest.”

  Lane nodded. She’d heard the sound
many times over the years as she worked in the hospital with dying patients.

  “I was sort of drifting off to sleep in the chair when I heard it. Or rather, I didn’t hear it. The room had gone quiet. She’d stopped breathing. There wasn’t time to call for help or to even say goodbye. She just…stopped.”

  Lane felt tears streaming down her face and she fought to find some words to comfort Tris. Her mind kept coming back to the fact he’d been avoiding the apartment, avoiding his pop. “You don’t think it was your fault your mother died, do you?”

  He shrugged. “No, not really.”

  “Not really? Tris, your mom was sick—very sick. There was absolutely nothing you could have done.”

  “Maybe not, but I can’t do it again, Lane. I can’t watch another parent die. I’m not strong enough for that. Maybe I will be in fifty, sixty years from now.”

  “Your pop’s not dying.”

  Tris nodded and when he looked at her again, she noticed a glimmer of hope. “He really did seem better today.”

  She smiled, wiping the tears from her face. “I told you so.”

  He reached out and drew her close. She buried her face in his chest and she felt his heart beating fast and hard against her cheek. He rested his head against hers. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bastard this week.”

  She hugged him tighter. “You haven’t been a bastard at all.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me too,” she replied. “Me too.”

  * * * * *

  Lane stared at the clock the next afternoon and wondered if she could squeeze in a short nap while Tris and Ewan took their pop down to the restaurant for a little while. Today was Mr. Collins’ first day out of the apartment and she knew he was looking forward to the opportunity to get back to his beloved pub and his friends.

  There was an afternoon Orioles doubleheader and they thought it might do the old man some good to watch a bit of it with his mates. She wished she had the energy to share his enthusiasm about watching the game.

  She’d been living on four or five hours of sleep each night since her arrival in the apartment, in her attempts to hide her strange problem. Last night, after Tristan’s confession, she’d tossed and turned, unable to put the image out of her mind of a fifteen-year-old boy sitting with his dying mother. As a result, she’d slept less than two hours.