“You should tell Ethan what’s up with his dad and that woman,” he advised, his voice still empty. “He should be in the know and aware if they try to pull anything.”

Okay, right, I’d reacted and I was right to do so. Merry had made a decision that wasn’t his to make.

But I was getting the impression that I may have taken my reaction a bit too far.

“Merry—”

“You like your head jammed right up your ass, Cheryl, have at it.”

Pain stabbed through my midsection.

He’d never called me Cheryl. To my recollection, not even back in the day when I still was Cheryl.

“Not that this’ll get through, but worth it to me to say it, so I’m gonna do that,” he stated. “No way in fuck would I involve myself in your kid’s life in the way I did this mornin’ unless I was goddamned, fuckin’ sure that I intended to be a part of his life and his mom’s life in a way that was healthy for all of us. May have jumped the gun with that, but there was a way to communicate that to me, and the way you did it was not that way.”

Yeah.

I’d taken it too far.

Fuckin’ sure that I intended to be a part of his life and his mom’s life in a way that was healthy for all of us.

Shit.

I’d taken it way too far.

I took a step toward him, but a nuance of change shifted over his frame and I stopped.

“Merry,” I whispered.

“You like it behind those walls in your fortress, Cheryl? Stay. I reckon it’s cold as fuck in there, but I also reckon that don’t matter to you. You’re used to it. Enjoy it in there, spinnin’ your wheels.”

With that as his parting shot, he turned to the storm door, opened it, and strode right through.

It whispered shut on its hinge, banging at the last when I didn’t catch it, but I did move to it.

And I stood in it, staring out as Merry got in his truck with my son.

Ethan looked to me and gave me a short wave.

Merry didn’t look to me.

He just drove away.

* * * * *

I sat with my cell in my hand at my kitchen table.

I had a mug of coffee on the table in front of me.

Coffee Merry had made me. Coffee he’d made me, wanting me to sleep in on my day off and then get to take it easy.

My mind was at war.

All the ugly things I’d said to Merry that morning that he didn’t deserve tormented me. I should have calmly explained how I felt about mornings with my kid. It should have leaked in that I was talking to Merry and he would cut off his own arm rather than give any impression to my son that I was less than Ethan thought me to be.

This and a lot of other things that had happened and had been said the last five days, not to mention the strong urging of my heart, made me want to engage my texts and send him the two short words that would tell him what I was feeling and give him what he deserved.

I’m sorry.

Another part of me—the dark, ugly part that kept me locked inside the cold, airless shell I’d created—thought this was good. It was over. It might all be over, everything Merry and I had, including our friendship, but that was okay.

I was safe from him and he was safe from me.

And I’d listened to my heart twice in my life.

I knew better.

Right then, it didn’t feel that way.

Right then, it felt like if I didn’t act immediately to fix the damage I’d inflicted on Merry and me that morning, I’d be making the biggest mistake of my life.

I lifted the coffee and sipped it.

It was very strong.

But it was good coffee.

Then I engaged my phone, my thumb moving over it.

I went to who I needed to go to and typed in a text to my mom.

Don’t know if you heard. They got him. It’s all good.

I hit send, took another sip of coffee, and stared out the window, my mind filled with Merry’s low, deep, beautiful but hollow voice.

My phone sounded and I looked down at it.

That’s good, sugar. And Garrett?

I pretended I didn’t know what Mom was asking and sent, He’s fine. Everyone’s fine. Marty Fink tackled the guy behind Dairy Queen.

Within seconds, she returned, Good to hear, Cher. But what your mother wants to know is why he was holding your hand last night or just why he was with my baby girl.

I hated doing it, but I didn’t want my mom to know just how incredibly stupid I was. She knew I could be stupid because I’d handed her a lot of stupid for twenty-five years before I started to get smart. She was now living in a world where her daughter was a little less stupid. She didn’t need to think I was sliding back.

So I lied.

He was just tweaked, I sent. Then added, He happened to be at the bar when he got the call. Worried that the dude was at large in our neighborhood. You know he’s a good guy, Mom.

I know that. I’m glad he’s OK, she returned, and in her first three words, even through a text, I actually felt her disappointment that a good guy like Merry wasn’t holding her daughter’s hand in the way she hoped he would.

Then again, he was.

And I’d fucked it up.

Shit.

Two words. I knew Merry would accept them. Easy to type them out.

I’m sorry.

I turned my attention back to my phone, hit what I had to hit, and put it to my ear.

It rang three times before Vi answered, “Hey, babe.”

“You got lunch plans today?” I asked.

“I do now,” she answered. “Frank’s? The Station? Feelin’ like Chinese?”

“My pad,” I told her.

“Cool,” she replied. “What time?”

“Noon good for you?”

“Yeah. And hey,” she went on, “Bobbie’s got mums on sale for half off and I got my tradesman discount. You want some for your outside pots?”

“That’d be good. The usual. Purple and white.”

“Hmm…not sure she has white. But she has cream.”

“That’ll work.”

“Right. See you at noon.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause before she asked, “Hey, you okay?”

“Not even close.”

“Oh shit,” she whispered, then asked tentatively, “Merry?”

“Just come at noon, Vi.”

“I’ll be there, honey.”

“Later.”

“’Bye.”

I hit the screen to disconnect and tossed my phone on the table. I grabbed my cup of coffee, took a sip, put it to the table, and looked unseeing out the window.

I did this a long time, eyes dry.

When I finally snapped myself out of it, I realized I had just enough time to shower, slap on my makeup, do my hair, and get to the grocery store so I could make Vi a decent meal that didn’t involve microwave popcorn, chocolate, or Funyuns.

But before I headed out of the kitchen, I turned off the oven, grabbed a potholder, and pulled out the plate of waffles.

They looked amazing.

I wanted to freeze them and keep them forever.

I threw them in the trash.

* * * * *

Violet Callahan sat across my kitchen table from me, silent. The sandwich of shredded, fake crabmeat, mayo, and avocado that sat next to a stack of Pringles on a plate in front of her was untouched.

Cal, her husband, had their kids, Angela and Sam.

Cal was a bona fide badass of the scary variety, regardless of how much he loved his woman, his kids, and her daughters from her first marriage to a man who, sadly, was murdered, or how easily he showed all that. He still was scary in a way that Ryker, who looked like the maniac he only partially was, couldn’t be.

There was no way to explain it. If you met Cal, you knew that was just his way.

Which made it sweet as all get-out that he took their two very young children pretty much everywhere he went. They even had playpens and cribs at his office. It was crazy.

Then again, his first wife was a strung out junkie who didn’t pay attention, and thus, his baby boy had drowned in a bathtub. So it wasn’t that surprising he kept his kids close.

See? Life sucked. For everybody.