“Don’t be an idiot!”
I’m halfway into the driver’s seat of the Subaru when Amanda catches up to me and grabs my arm.
“She doesn’t mean it!”
I try to wrestle my arm out of her grasp, but Amanda grew up fighting Wilders, and she’s strong. I only succeed in tiring both of us out and pissing her off.
“Just hold still and listen!” she cries, exasperated. “This is exactly how it always happens. I swear to you, Kane. Just listen.”
Holding still turns out to be much worse than running, because when I do what she’s asked—hold still and listen—I can hear Mari’s sobs in my head.
I can’t do this, I can’t do this.
You’re going to have to tell him I can’t do this…
“When Anna was four days old,” Amanda starts, but the pressure in my chest is too much.
“I mean, why would she stay? She told me she loved her life on the road. She told me from the very beginning. What was I thinking, trying to keep her here? I’m not the guy who makes a woman change her life. I’m not the guy with the big grand gesture. I’m not a warrior or a leader of men or a charmer—”
I stop.
Amanda watches me quietly. “No,” she says. “You’re not Clark or Gabe or Easton or Brody.”
Startled, I make a sound of protest, but she holds up a hand.
“You’re Kane. You listen. You pay attention. You see what’s going on for the people you love. You help them get what they need. And you love her.”
She’s knocked the breath out of me. The way she says it. Fierce. Like me being Kane and my loving Mari are enough.
Like they might be all it takes to hold onto Mari forever.
Like she doesn’t doubt it, at all.
Like being the boy next door isn’t something to run away from, but something to be proud of.
“How do you know I love her? I haven’t even told her—”
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Come on, Kane, this is me. I knew that night at Gabe’s when I was babbling about the baby being yours and you snapped at me. I’ve never seen you snap at anyone before that. I didn’t even know you could.” She grins. “But you were paying attention right? You knew what she needed, and you fought for her. That’s what I’m talking about. That’s why she would stay. Now, are you ready to fucking listen to me?” she demands.
I nod.
“When Anna was four days old, she got the hiccups. She’d had them a lot in utero, so it made sense that she’d get them a lot in real life, too, but this was the first time, and they were big, hurty hiccups, and she cried. I cried, too. Hard. Because how the hell was I going to ever send her to preschool, let alone middle school, where she was going to get the shit kicked out of her by life, if I couldn’t deal with her having hiccups? Heath came in and found the two of us, me losing my shit, and he freaked out, of course, because he hadn’t ever seen me cry before—if you can believe that—”
“I can believe it,” I say. “Only girl in a family with five brothers.”
“Right,” she says, smiling. “So I try to explain what’s wrong, and I’m sobbing and wailing, ‘I can’t do this! I can’t do this!’ Sound familiar?” she asks.
Something tight loosens in my chest, and I realize how scared I’ve been. Not just for the last few minutes, but for a while now. Scared that the only thing I really wanted—not just felt like I should want—is the one thing I can’t have.
“He said, ‘You can do this, Amanda.’”
“Damn,” I say. “That’s exactly what I should have said. Fuck me.”
“Well, no,” Amanda says. “Because I threw a shoe at his head, and he had to have twelve stitches.”
I wince.
“My point is that strong women break big. And Mari? She’s strong. Like ox.”
I make a face at her.
“Like very pretty feminine ox,” she amends.
“She is strong,” I say. “But why do you say that?”
“Lucy told me she heard you’re going to be exhibiting your photos at the Weirhauser Gallery.”
My mouth falls open. Somehow, in the headlong gallop and muddle of the last few days, I’d forgotten completely about my photos. About the meeting that Kelsey had set up with Don Weirhauser, about the offer he’d made to exhibit my work, about the contract I’d signed, and the date he’d set for the opening.
“Your photos—they’re phenomenal, Kane—but we all knew that. We just didn’t think about what all that talent meant. But she did. And she convinced you to think about it, too. If she could get you to own that side of you… well, then she’s a hero to me.”
“She is a hero,” I say, and suddenly I’m swamped in memories, like photos thrown one after another on a coffee table: the way she looked, alone at the bar in Vegas, like a bright light in a dark room; the sight of her stepping out of the Airstream that first day at the ranchland office, already big with our baby; the way she quietly stood back and let me see the world through my camera on our trip; the sound of her cries in the quiet RV; the strength in her hand and the fierce will in her eyes as she bore down and brought Zara into this world.
“She’s everything.”
Oh my God, I’m an idiot.
“I have to go back inside. I have to tell her she can do this. That we can do it together. I can’t believe I walked out on her!”
I try to pull myself up out of the driver’s seat, but she grabs my arm again. “Kane. Wait.”
This time I don’t fight.
She smiles wryly. “Honestly, K, it was a good choice. If you’d stayed in that room, all that was going to happen was you were going to get a shoe thrown at your head. Also—how much sleep did you get last night?”
“A couple of hours,” I admit, and as I say it a heaviness falls in my chest, a fatigue so intense it almost knocks me off my feet. I sink back down.
“Right. So—you’re not at your best?”
That’s an understatement. “No.”
“So just—stay here a sec. Take a deep breath. Give her a few more minutes. I think Lucy’s going to give her a pep talk and make sure she gets some sleep, and then you can talk to her. By then I’m guessing she’ll already know for herself that she can. In the meantime, maybe you can lie down for a few minutes in the Airstream? Just a few. Lucy and I have this all under control.”
She helps me to my feet. I’m so tired, I don’t even resist. I just let her steer me to the Airstream and tuck me into the bed.
My eyes are already closing, but there’s something—a couple of somethings—I know I need to do. Before I can tell Mari anything.
Because before I tell her I know who she is, I have to make sure I know who I am.
“I need two favors,” I tell Amanda.
“Anything,” she says fondly. “Shoot.”
I tell her the first one. She listens carefully, then says, “Okay. Might be a tall order, but I’m on it.”
“Just—do your best.”
“And I need to talk to Gabe.”
She squints at me. “Wait, what? What do you mean you need to talk to Gabe?”
“I need you to get him out here to talk to me.”
“Like, you’re summoning Gabe? Our Gabe? Our bossy-ass big brother.”
“Yup,” I say. “I’m fucking summoning Gabe.”
“Huh,” Amanda says. “Huh. I like that. I like the big brass balls, Kane.”
“I’m still the boy next door,” I say, muzzily.
“You just keep telling yourself that, babe,” she says, and pats my head fondly.
That’s the last thing I remember before I’m out like a light.