Page 17 of His Saving Grace

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Everyone keeps saying that.” The lie that he was doing great hovered in his mouth, ready to spring out automatically. But he stopped at the last second. This was Izzy. She, of all people, knew what it was like to struggle, to suffer. “I have good days and bad days.”

She nodded and gave his fingers another squeeze. “I can’t imagine being back is all that easy.”

“It’s…” He let the words trail off. What was it, exactly? “Different. It’s different.”

“Different good, or different bad?”

“I don’t know yet.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. The muscles were tight. “I mean, I knew things weren’t going to be the same. Fifteen years is a long time. It’s just that…” Again, he let the words trail off. Dammit. Now he couldn’t even get a coherent sentence out.

“What?” Izzy leaned forward and rested her forearm on the table.

“Everything’s changed, Iz. Including me.” He swallowed, the ever-present band around his chest tightening, squeezing. “I don’t know where I fit anymore.” The words were hoarse, low, almost a whisper.

Sympathy flared in her eyes. He hated it, although it was better than pity. But he was done talking about himself. He wasn’t the only one who’d suffered. “How are you doing?”

The sympathy in her eyes swirled, morphed into sorrow. Her pain was almost palpable. She shrugged, but tension left her shoulders up by her ears. “I’m…okay.” Although he could tell she was going for nonchalant, he still felt the slight shake in her fingers.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here. I mean, it was—”

“It’s okay.” She smiled, but it was weak and there was a slight tremble in her lips, like it took every effort for her to hold it. “I understand. You were doing important work. And it wasn’t like there was anything you could have done.” Her voice cracked on the last couple of words.

Barbed wire wrapped itself around his heart and yanked tight, lacerating deep. Too deep. “If there’s anything you need from me, just let me know. I’m here for you.” He meant every word. Izzy was family, and always would be, no matter how much of an ass his brother was. “That includes kicking my brother’s ass. All you have to do is say the word.”

Izzy laughed, light and sweet, and the pressure in his chest eased a touch. It was short-lived though, because within the space of a heartbeat, her serious expression returned. “How is he?”

“I wouldn’t know. He still refuses to speak to me.” Mason sighed, freeing his hand so he could run his fingers through his hair. It was longer than it had been in years. It felt weird, like it didn’t quite fit. “In fact, he won’t even be in the same room with me.”

“Owen is nothing if not stubborn.”

“I think that’s the understatement of the year, sweet sister-in-law. It’s been fifteen years. You would think that—”

“Excuse me, Major, but I think burnt pots should be very careful about who they call black.” She tilted her head and raised both her eyebrows in a you-are-the-last-one-to-be-talking-about-this-particular-subject look. With her arms crossed over her chest, they could have very easily been back in high school. The only thing missing was her cheerleading uniform. This particular look was one she’d mastered back then, one that was imperative while dealing with the Callahan boys. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it, and her, until this moment.

His lips tilted up of their own accord. Yeah, okay, so he was stubborn, too. It was a family trait, much like the blue eyes. Not that he’d ever admit it. Out loud, anyway. Besides, there was something else he wanted to know. “I ran into Becky Lynn Collins outside.”

At the mention of the other woman’s name, Izzy’s entire body tensed. She pulled her shoulders back and the phoniest smile he’d ever seen spread across her face. “Did you now?”

“Are she and Owen, you know, together?”

All pretense of civility vanished. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. “Why? Did she say they were?”

“No, but she initially thought I was Owen and I got the impression that—”

“It doesn’t matter.” She looked away and waved her hand, like she was brushing his words away. She dropped her hands to the table and swallowed. “Owen and I are separated, and that was my choice. What he does, or doesn’t do, isn’t my concern.”

The pain woven through the words belied that, and although he knew he shouldn’t, he pressed. “Izzy?”

She grabbed the corner of the paper placemat in front of her and began to fold it in on itself. Back and forth, like she was making a paper fan. “Things got…difficult. And we just grew apart. It happens.”

She kept her focus on the paper, refusing to look at him, but he didn’t miss the tremor in her fingers. He reached over and placed his hand over hers, stopping the motion. Her skin was cold. She looked up at him, her eyes bright with tears.

“You just say the word and I will hit him so hard, when he wakes up, his clothes will be out of style.”

She barked out a laugh and a bit of light returned to her eyes. Good, just the reaction he’d been hoping for with the stupid expression.

“So, are you here to stay?”

Her question caught him off guard, which was dumb, because her wanting to change the subject shouldn’t come as a shock. “I’m not sure.”