In a matter of days, hours really, it would be one year since an innocent group of children got the shit scared out of them.
Happy fucking anniversary.
“Michael?” Eli’s voice sounded far away, a universe away. “Are you listening?”
“What? Are we done here?”
Eli shook his head and put his remaining segment of sandwich down on a plate. “And you’re worried about Emily hiding her feelings? We are done here. I’d rather talk to that piece of drywall over there. It’s more responsive.” He abandoned the lunch table and went back to work.
Nick grabbed Eli’s sandwich. “More for me.”
Almost three hundred and sixty-five days. He could have sworn it was longer. In many ways, it might have happened yesterday, the pain was still so fresh.
Michael abandoned the remainder of his lunch as well and headed to the door so he could grab a breath of fresh air. All of a sudden, Nonna Olivia’s house felt small and close, almost closing in on him.
He knew his brothers were right. He should probably talk to someone, anyone, about what happened at the daycare, but he couldn’t seem to form any words to describe his feelings. What goes through a man’s head when he sees ten toddlers lined up against the wall, facing a man with a gun? There were no words.
As for emotions, he’d only known one in that moment. Utter fear that he wouldn’t be able to help them. It had all happened so quickly, he’d barely been able to muster any fear for himself.
Somehow he’d been able to rally and had tackled Henry Ashton to the ground, disarming him from behind. The man had been incoherent and hadn’t put up much of a struggle anyway. After shooting and killing his ex-wife, his eyes had been wide with shock. Did he even remember what he did? Would he have any sort of recollection of how the bullet tore through her chest, leaving a trail of blood and tissue?
Michael remembered. Every night, he remembered the agony and terror on Jane’s face. The shock of having her life cut short by a man who claimed to love her.
He set foot on the front porch and the fresh air hit his face. He breathed deeply and tried to banish the terrifying imagery in his mind.
A womanly giggle caught his attention. Lacey stood by the equipment trailer parked in front of the house. She was eating lunch with Jacob, their intern. At least, they had been eating until he showed up. Once Michael appeared, she glanced at him and then flashed her high beams at Jacob. He must have said something witty because she laughed out loud.
“Jacob,” she drawled, running a finger up his arm. “You’ve been working out, haven’t you?”
The intern melted under Lacey’s touch and praise. “Um, a bit. Does it show?”
“God, yes. Keep it up. Good stamina is so important.” She whispered something into Jacob’s ear and the kid’s face turned scarlet.
Michael shook his head. Poor Jacob. He had no idea Lacey was putting on a show for another man’s benefit, but he certainly didn’t seem to mind. Ignoring them, he stormed down the walkway.
“Enjoy your walk, Michael,” Lacey called, still gazing into Jacob’s eyes. “Hopefully it’ll clear your head. I know you’ve been having trouble seeing sense lately.”
He grunted. Jacob was welcome to her.
***
The shoot was going well, or so the experts assured Emily. Two days later, as she sat in her condo drinking lukewarm tea, she actually missed being on set. However, the crew was in the midst of installing floor tiles today and Lacey had told her she wouldn’t be needed at Beatrice Street.
“You’ve been working so hard. You look exhausted. Maybe treat yourself to a facial or something to help those dark circles. Take a day off, hun,” the director had drawled as they wrapped up the previous evening. “Once the men start tiling, you’ll just get in the way.”
Get in the way in her own house? Dark circles?
Emily had bitten back the retort on her tongue and had deferred to Lacey’s wishes. The woman was the director, after all. She knew who she needed on set…although she guessed Lacey was happy to get her out of her coiffed hair for a while.
She couldn’t miss the tension between Lacey and Michael. There were so many pointed looks between them and each conversation seemed to echo with unvoiced resentment.
They’d slept together. Maybe not recently, but they had at some point. Any woman with half a brain would be able to recognize the masked longing in Lacey’s gaze when she looked up under her eyelashes at the contractor.
Perhaps Michael still harbored feelings for Lacey as well. Who wouldn’t? She made other women look like runts from an especially feeble litter.
A knock sounded on Emily’s door and she walked down the hall to open it. She’d finally updated her brother Chris about the situation with Trent and he’d insisted on coming right over.
The poet stood outside her door, his blond hair tossed by a spring wind, two bottles of wine in his hands. “Hey, Em. Ready to drink?”
