Raw Deal(6)

Oh, God, I'll do anything. Just give him back. Let him be here for his  child, for his wife who needs him. Why him and not me? Why not me? He  had so much to live for, so much to do . . .

The same stale prayer, never acknowledged, never answered.

Something else she had tried not to do in the past few weeks was think  too much about Michael Larson, but he would forever be linked with her  brother's memory in her mind. Suddenly, there he was, as vivid as if  she'd seen him yesterday. What would he think about this new  development? A handful of times in the weeks immediately following  Tommy's funeral, she'd pulled up his number in her contacts and stared  at it, debating deleting it like the dirty secret it was . . . when she  wasn't debating dialing it.

Why? What in the hell could she have to say to him? She knew, though,  even if she didn't want to admit it to herself. She wanted to talk to  him because, despite all of her internal protests, he'd been a comfort  to her. His words, his voice, especially the way he'd held her hand as  they parted ways. The hand that had beaten her brother to death had held  hers as if it were something precious. He'd spoken to her like he meant  every word, unlike half the people she'd encountered since Tommy's  death. And she wondered how he was doing with all of this, too.

"Oh, please," she muttered out loud to no one. He'd probably forgotten  who she was by now. As quickly as she had conjured him up, she shoved  him to the back of her mind. Pulled herself together, drank one of the  cooling coffees, popped a breath mint into her mouth, and put on some  lip gloss before driving the rest of the way to work. Somehow she  managed to be right on time, pulling into the spa parking lot at 6:58  A.M. and hitting the side door at seven sharp.                       
       
           



       

The good thing about her job was that it gave her time to think. Her  first appointment of the day was for a body scrub and wrap with a  half-hour Swedish massage, and her client was a quiet one. So for the  first couple hours of her day, she marveled over the fact she was going  to be an aunt. A sweet little baby to spoil as if he or she were her  own. One thing was for sure: that was going to be one loved baby. Rowan  and the child would want for nothing, not with Savannah's parents on the  scene. This was going to be the injection of light and life her family  needed to move on from this catastrophe. Tommy would be so proud and  happy.

She guessed. He'd never actually made his thoughts on the subject of  having kids clear, preferring to laugh it off whenever their mother got  on his case about it. Maybe he hadn't wanted kids.

As soon as she got a break, Savannah headed for the little on-site café  to get a tea, greeting one of the other massage therapists at the  counter. "Are you okay?" Tasha asked her, frowning as she assessed  Savannah closely. Yeah, she usually did put a little more effort into  her appearance, but Tasha knew her too well. The two of them had made  fast friends and, outside of her family, Tasha was probably the person  closest to her.

"Crazy morning already," Savannah admitted, then laughed as Tasha  plucked the bottle of tea from her hands and placed it on the counter to  pay for it with her own yogurt cup. "Tash, you don't have to do that."

"Of course I don't have to. Now hush."

She kind of hated it that everyone at work still treated her like she  was emotionally fragile. Maybe she was, especially today, but . . .  today, at least, she felt like talking instead of wandering around  mechanically, suffering worried stares everywhere she went and feeling  like a problem everyone had to try to solve. "We found out that my  brother's widow is pregnant."

Tasha's dark eyes widened. "Oh! Oh. Oh, wow."

"Yeah, I know. I'm kind of at a loss what to think. It's great, but . . . it's sad."

"I think it'll be a blessing." Tasha handed Savannah her drink and the  two of them moved to one of the little bistro tables. "All a part of the  healing process."

"Definitely. I just can't help but think about the baby never knowing Tommy."

"Life goes on, right?"

"Yeah." She took a long drink of tea, feeling a wash of exhaustion.  Hell, it was too early for this. She had an entire day to get through,  most of it on her feet. Maybe another coffee would have been a better  idea.

"And you'll make sure the baby does know Tommy. How far along is she?"

"My best guess is a couple of months or so. Maybe a little more. I made  her promise to call her doctor." Savannah dropped her head to her hands.  "God. I can't imagine being in her shoes right now, going through all  of this without him." To have the remnants of grief to get through while  her belly grew ever bigger with Tommy's child . . .

"Poor thing. At least she still has you guys."

"We're a terrible substitute."

"Makes you want to find that guy who did this to them and punch him in the throat, doesn't it?"

Savannah toyed with her tea bottle, feeling a tremble in her stomach.  She didn't know what it meant, whether she was about to start crying,  start screaming, or throw her bottle across the room and run out. As  usual, she didn't do a damn thing. Not even Tasha knew that Mike had  shown up at Tommy's funeral, looking crushed and desperate and  guilt-ridden. It would probably be even worse for him now, knowing he  hadn't only taken away a brother, a son, a husband-he'd taken away a  father who would never get to hold his child.

Some part of her wanted him to know. Wanted him to feel as bad as she  did, as Rowan did, as that baby would growing up with stories and  pictures but no daddy to tuck him or her in at night.

That would be impossible, though. He would never, could never feel this level of pain.

If you need anything, anything, even if it's only to call me in the  middle of the night and cuss me out, I want you to call me. Please.

Right now, in the light of day surrounded by friends, doing such a thing  was unthinkable. Late tonight, lonely and alone in the dark with  nothing but should-have-beens roiling through her head, she might feel  differently. "Maybe we should go out tonight," she told Tasha, noticing  her friend's surprise at the abrupt change of subject.

"Sure, we could do that. Are you really feeling up to it, though?"

Caught. "I don't know. It has to be better than staying home. Thinking."  Or calling near total strangers to rail at them about how unfair it all  was.                       
       
           



       

Tasha nodded, studying her a little too closely. Then her gaze shifted  to the clock on the wall and she shot up from her chair. "Gotta go,  girl. We'll make plans later, okay?"

"Sure thing." Savannah headed to her next appointment feeling a little  better. She would go out, she would have a few drinks, dance a little.  Hell, maybe find a hot stranger to take her mind even further off  things. It had been far too long in that department. Her love life had  been lacking long before disaster struck six weeks ago, but since then,  finding a man had been completely off her radar. She could trip over one  and not even realize he was there.

The emotional phone call from her mother came at lunch. Regina was at  once overjoyed, shocked, and completely confused about the whole thing .  . . which mirrored Savannah's thoughts perfectly. It was all too much  to take. But Rowan had made good on her promise to call her doctor, and  her first appointment was next week. Savannah couldn't help but feel a  little sorry for Rowan, because the girl's body wasn't going to be her  own for the next several months-it was going to be Regina's to rule and  micromanage for the duration of this pregnancy. She was already talking  about the baby shower and names. Rowan would be the one needing a drink  when this was all over. Savannah needed one immediately after hanging up  the phone.

Tonight, she thought, and found herself looking forward to the prospect  more and more as the day wore on. Tonight it was going down.



"You lucky motherfucker." Mike flipped his cards across the table and  took a long pull on his beer as his brother Damien grinned and took  Mike's chips with a sweep of his arm.

"Luck has little to do with it," Damien said.

"It's that shit-house luck like Mom always used to say. Yeah, well, I'm done playing with you."

"Quitter."

Mike flipped off Damien and looked around the highly illegal poker room  his brother ran in the second story of the Houston nightclub he owned,  Players. Several high-stakes games were going on around them-thank God  Damien was Mike's brother and their play was strictly for fun, or for  Damien to show off. Mike had lost count of all the tournaments and world  championships the little shit had won. His skill was supernatural. Or  else he had ESP.