Kept (34 page)

If she did… Miska had to know.
Come over.

On my way.

She set the phone aside and returned to the trash bag, ready to toss her garbage and start over.

Again.

The news online was simple—a friend called the police when she couldn’t reach Darcie. They’d had morning plans, but Darcie hadn’t shown and wasn’t answering her door, even though her Infiniti sat in the driveway.

Police called Mark in Arizona to see if he’d heard from her.

He hadn’t. He gave them permission to enter his home and waited to hear what they found.

She was dead just inside her front door. A teammate offered to fly home with Mark, but he said no and grabbed the first flight out.

Darcie Henderson Scheider was thirty-five, the oldest of four sisters. She left behind a grieving husband and shocked coworkers who’d said a casual good-bye Friday afternoon. She and Mark had been together seven years, married for four. There was no official cause of death, but an autopsy would be performed. Mark was on bereavement leave with no date when the club expected him back.

Miska stared at her laptop. It sounded like Mark had nothing to do with it. He’d been eighteen hundred miles away. But Dillan and Garrett wondered, and Mark’s last words echoed in her head.

Don’t call me. No matter what happens. Got that? No matter. What. Happens.

Those words carried a different meaning now.

She swatted the thought away. He’d never hurt his wife.

He listened while Kendall beat you.

Death by allergy wasn’t something Mark could control. People with peanut allergies were extremely careful about what came into their homes. It had to be a fluke.

SportsCenter coverage showed Mark’s team standing outside their dugout, hats off, heads bowed as the stadium paused for a moment of silence. In the next clip, the team’s manager, surrounded by microphones, said Mark had spoken with his family and Darcie’s before flying back to Milwaukee. That he was obviously in shock. That he’d waited in the clubhouse with teammates for that second police call, every passing moment making it clear that the news wasn’t good.

No kidding.

She pulled up Mark’s information on her phone. Garrett and Dillan were right; if news about her leaked, people would look suspiciously at Darcie’s death.

But she and Mark were over. He’d bought her affection for a while, used her, paid her nicely. But he’d had his fill. He’d moved on, either with another woman or with Darcie.

If it were with Darcie, then she felt truly sorry for both of them. “I never meant to mess things up.”

Would Darcie be alive if Miska and Mark had never met?

The thought tortured her.

She set her phone down, turned off the lamp, and stumbled across the dark living room. In her bedroom, she wrapped a winter blanket around herself and curled up on the bare mattress.

Darcie lay on a cold metal slab.

Something told Miska she didn’t deserve any better.

Friday night at the club; now Sunday morning at church. How quickly things changed.

Miska followed Tracy down the side aisle toward Tracy’s usual spot.

Ethan Doebler stood in the way, talking with another guy. He nodded at them and stepped aside, but his gaze lingered.

Tracy turned into a row, and Miska glanced over her shoulder.

Ethan wore a knowing, gut-churning smirk.

Garrett stopped beside him and backhanded him in the stomach. “Knock it off.”

Ah, Garrett. Her hero.

She sat beside Tracy.

Footsteps sounded, and Tracy looked up, then clamped her mouth shut.

“Ladies.” Garrett perched on the seat beside Miska. His gaze flickered to Tracy, then back to Miska. “How you doing?”

“Good. Thank you.” Despite Ethan, it felt right to be here. “Thanks for pushing me yesterday.”

“Anytime. I’m a great pest.”

“You’re a pro.”

He chuckled, glancing past her to Tracy. “Morning, Tracy.”

She studied her fingernails. “Morning.”

“Well.” Garrett slapped his hands against his thighs. “About Ethan—feel free to smack him if needed. He’s a moron.”

“Good to know.” She sent him a grateful smile. Having her honor defended by a man who knew how little honor she had… that was new.

He left.

Miska glanced at Tracy who didn’t look up. “He’s gone, Trace.”

She rubbed her bare finger. “I know.”

What if Garrett did change? What would Tracy think? What would Dillan think?

At the front of the aisle Dillan walked toward his usual spot a few rows ahead of them. He set down a stack of books. His hair, shorter than yesterday, looked thick and dark—good hair on a strong masculine face that had grown on her more than she’d thought possible. He eased onto the seat, his arm across the back, his body turned toward her—his eyes on her.

Miska stiffened. She’d been staring?

“Morning.” He nodded at her. “Good to see you.”

It was? “You’re talking to me.”

His eyebrows lowered. “What?”

Embarrassment flashed through her. “We don’t talk when I’m here. I thought—” She twisted her hands together. “Never mind.”

Dillan glanced at Tracy.

Tracy shrugged back.

He
did
ignore her. Sent all kinds of signals that he didn’t want her around him here. She laughed it off. “Sorry. I’m still kind of fuzzy after—”
Yesterday.
She swallowed. Did she really have to remind him?

Like he’d forgotten.

Dillan stood, books in hand. “Mind if I join you?”

Her stomach flipped. “Feel free.”

They slid down, and he filled the space beside her, warmth and masculine cologne scenting the air. His lips pressed into a tight smile.

She smiled back. The urge to rest her head against his arm was tempting. So tempting. No other man made her feel this safe. She pushed down emotions that were far too close to the surface. “Thank you. For yesterday. You and Garrett—I don’t know why you guys care, but I’m grateful.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She wouldn’t, if it would make him forget.
God, Dillan’s so special. Is there a way, somehow…

Jordan and Matt sat on the other side of Tracy. A friend of Dillan’s joined him, and they all slid down, making room for one more.

As she settled into her new seat, Miska savored being in the middle, as if she were truly part of them. She wasn’t, but for one morning she could pretend that she belonged, that she bought into everything Dillan, his family, and Tracy believed. Everything that the woman at the well believed.

Dillan left to open the service, but his spot beside her remained empty, a promise that he’d be back. Miska relished the feeling of waiting for the return of a man who wouldn’t use her or take advantage of her.

When the pastor began speaking, Dillan spread his Bible over his knee and pointed out where they were. She read the words as the pastor read them, breathing in the comfort they gave.

When the service ended, the contrast of yesterday and today remained. Dillan introduced her to his friend. Jordan hugged her and asked how she’d been. Amanda stopped to chat.

There was no going back. Miska knew it. There was something here, something in the words in Dillan’s Bible, something more precious than anything she’d encountered before.

All she knew was that she needed it.

But as she followed Tracy to the main aisle, as Tracy made lunch plans for them with Jordan and Amanda, Ethan Doebler stood near the back, eyes on her, hand covering his mouth as he spoke to the man beside him, a man whose eyebrows rose while his mouth curved in cynical amusement.

And her sense of belonging faded.

Monday, the last day of June, wilted beneath storm clouds building in the southwest. Not that Miska could tell from her east-facing windows, but the storm was a big story on the news. The lightning, wind, and heavy rain weren’t supposed to arrive until later.

Dad called to see if they should cancel their dinner plans. No way. They’d leave the restaurant long before the storm hit. Besides, she hadn’t seen him since Father’s Day.

A knock sounded as she ended the call. Miska opened her door.

Adrienne smiled and strutted inside like she lived there. “Hey, girl. Just had a lovely run-in with your neighbor.”

Her stomach tightened. “Which one?”

“Garrett.” Adrienne grinned. “His brother was there too. So fun.”

Had her sister always been like this? The onslaught of memories told her she had. How had she ever found it amusing?

“They were coming inside from a run. All hot and sweaty.” Adrienne waggled her eyebrows. “I walked in behind them. They had no idea until we got to the elevators.”

How twisted Adrienne was. Miska dumped the contents of her purse on the island and sorted through them.

“You should have seen Garrett. His face turned sheet white. Then that bump-on-a-log brother of his saw me—”

“Hey.” Miska pressed her palms against the granite. “Leave Dillan alone.”

Adrienne cocked her head. “What’s this? Are you into him?”

Yes. Oh, yes. Her mouth cemented open, and, in the awkward silence she couldn’t fill, complete understanding registered on her sister’s face.

“He’s not your type, you know.” Adrienne ran her fingers down her neck. “He’d never pay attention to you, although it’d be fun to try.”

“Leave him alone, Aid.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not right.”

“Please.”

“It’s not.”

Adrienne tapped her toe. “Does this have something to do with Mark?”

Miska fingered her lip gloss. Sure. Why not? “Maybe.”

“Maybe? Girl, he’s single all of a sudden. I know how you feel about him.”

Felt
about him.

“Have you talked to him since… it happened?”

“It?”

“Yes.
It.
”

“Can’t you say it?”

“You don’t say it, Miska. It’s bad luck.”

“Oh. Well. Lucky for you then that your mom didn’t die because you’d have all kinds of bad luck. People ask, you know, and you’d have to tell them. You’d have to say that she’d
died
and—”

Adrienne stepped back, eyebrows raised. “I think I’ll head out.”

That sounded wonderful.

“You got plans for the night?”

“I do.” With Dad. What would happen if she said that?

“Anything like Friday night?”

“No.”

“Anything you’re going to share?”

“No.”

“Then that would be my cue to leave.”

Good.

But Adrienne pulled Miska into a hug. Despite everything, Miska rested in her sister’s embrace.
This
felt right. So right.

When Adrienne released her, Miska stepped back, eyes on their feet, and wiped her nose. “Thank you.”

“Sure.”

“Sorry for being a brat.”

“No, I should have realized how everything would affect you. Sometimes I’m not very sensitive, you know?”

“Adrienne Insensitive Tomlinson.”

Her sister laughed. “We should hang out, work together like we used to. Next week maybe?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“We’ll do it.” Adrienne’s phone buzzed inside her bag. “Gotta run. You be good tonight,” she called, already at the front door.

“I will.”

Adrienne vanished down the hall.

Partway through their ceviche platter, Dad brought
it
, as Adrienne said, up. “I’ve been following the story about Mark’s wife.”

She half-expected the restaurant chatter to vanish, but no one paid attention. “It’s sad, isn’t it?”

“Sad, yes. Odd. Strange. She knew she had an allergy, so how did she die from it?”

“People die from allergic reactions, don’t they?”

“Yes, although…” He sighed. “Jake has a peanut allergy.”

Miska set down her fork.

He smiled at the tablecloth. “I caused an attack once. I didn’t know about his allergy and brought home a Snickers, accidentally spread some crumbs. Jake touched the counter and started reacting.”

The image in her mind changed from some faceless kid to Darcie.

“Janet knew right away. Grabbed his EpiPen. Stuck him in the thigh. Yelled at me the whole time.” He chuckled. “We went to the ER, but he was fine. Thankfully.”

“So he was okay.”

“Yes, but my point is the EpiPen. Where was Darcie’s? She would know where her pen was at all times. At least Janet and Jake did. So why didn’t she use an EpiPen?”

“Maybe she did, and it didn’t work.”

He shrugged. “Maybe, but then she would have gotten medical help. Except she didn’t call 911. She stayed inside and died. She should have had time to get help. Why didn’t she?”

She speared a piece of fish. “Mark was in Arizona, you know.”

“So how did he do it?”

Her fork slipped to the floor. “Dad.”

“What?”

“Mark wouldn’t kill his wife.”

“You sure about that?”

Their waiter stood two tables over. Miska snagged his attention, and he came immediately, flashing a wide grin. “What can I get for you?”

“New fork, please.”

“Absolutely. I’ll refill your water too.”

The man hurried off.

Dad lifted his empty Coke glass and clinked ice around. “Think he’ll bring me a refill?”

“Of course.”

Dad snorted. “Just like you’re determined to think it’s a coincidence that his wife dies the same summer he’s having an affair.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I think you better, because if he killed his wife, he did it for you.”

She glared at him. “Stop it.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I never asked him to do that. Besides, we’re over.”

The waiter returned, fork and water pitcher in hand. “Here you are, miss.”

She took the fork, careful not to smile at him. “Thank you.”

“And your water. Anything for you, sir?”

“Another Coke.”

“Be right back with that.”

He left, and Dad sighed. “If he did it, he’ll call. Try to get things going again.”

She filled her fork. “Mark’s smarter than that.”

“Not if he killed his wife.”

She ignored him and took a bite.

“What will you do if he calls?”