Pregnant by Morning(56)
“I’m not going to boss him around, Mama. I’m here to help.”
She nodded. “Just you remember that. You’re helping. Not in charge.”
The transatlantic flight caught up to him then, and he cracked his jaw with a yawn. “I’m going to take a shower and maybe watch TV for a couple of mindless hours.” Decompress. Be alone without his mother’s shrewd gaze on him. He pulled her into a long hug. “Thanks. For letting me come home.”
“Silly.” She thumped his shoulder, her eyes shiny and full. “You’re still my kid, no matter how big you get. I love you. You’re always welcome here.”
He almost spilled everything then, all the heartache of the past eighteen months, the depression, the disorientation. How he’d experienced it again tenfold on the flight home at the hands of a different woman. But the wounds of Evangeline were far too fresh and the wounds of Amber far too...faded.
He frowned. When had that happened?
“See you at dinner.”
Dropping a kiss on his mother’s cheek, he went upstairs to clear his mind with a hot shower, which didn’t work.
When he’d last been in Dallas, the burden of grief had turned the sunniest of days dark. Amber was constantly on his mind, how he couldn’t go on without her. How everything they’d planned was dashed. He’d expected coming home to bring all that back. It hadn’t.
When he thought about Amber now, it was with a hazy sort of warm rush. The prongs of grief had lifted.
The skin he washed was the same. But the man inside wasn’t. That’s why the neighborhood and his mother’s house had been unrecognizable. Despite all his yearning to slip back in time, to a place where he knew everything was safe and right, he couldn’t. The only thing he could do was accept that he had changed.
Like Evangeline had said.
But if he accepted that his life was something different now, who would he be?
He called Lucas and then flipped on the TV to lose himself in the oblivion of sleep.
The door crashed against the wall, waking him. Groggily, he sat up and swung his legs off the edge of the bed. The empty bed.
He wasn’t in Venice with Evangeline. He was in Dallas. Alone.
A fuzzy Lucas lounged against the door frame, hand in his pants’ pocket and a smirk on his face.
“God Almighty, you look like roadkill in August.” Lucas tsked.
“Thanks. That’s exactly what I needed to hear. I was sleeping, by the way,” Matthew groused and rubbed a hand across his eyes. His brother’s form snapped into focus. “Though I appreciate that you were so eager to see me you couldn’t wait.”
Lucas snorted out a laugh. “I just didn’t believe you were actually here. Had to see it for myself. You back?”
“Looks that way.”
“All the way back?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that? I’m here, aren’t I?”
Lucas sat on the edge of the bed a couple feet away, dipping the mattress. “You were in bad shape. I’m concerned. Sue me.”
Well, I am a sanctimonious lawyer.
Matthew’s head dropped into his hands. It wasn’t just jet lag crushing him. Evangeline—knowing he’d hurt her, being without her—weighed more than he could bear.
“Honestly, I don’t know if ‘all the way back’ is possible.”
“Amber’s death nearly destroyed you. Don’t let it finish the job,” Lucas advised quietly. “You took some time away. Now rejoin life. I’m working on trouncing Richards Group. Another Wheeler on the job can’t hurt.”
Matthew nearly laughed. “If only Amber were the problem, I’d be all set. Unfortunately, I traded one impossible-to-solve issue for another.”
Lucas nodded sagely. “This has to do with the very sexy lady you met. What happened?”
Matthew met his brother’s sharp gaze. “How do you know about that?”
“Everyone knows about that. You photograph well, as it happens. So she figured out she’s too good for you, huh? Am I going to be nursing you through a broken heart?”
Matthew growled. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, poor baby. Did she make you cry?” Lucas thumped him on the arm, and Matthew shot him a glare.
“Back off. She’s pregnant.”
He hadn’t meant to say anything. But it came out nonetheless, too huge to stay under wraps.
“Then what are you doing here without her?” His brother’s eyes narrowed. “Oh. It’s not yours.”
Matthew’s fist curled, and he almost let it fly, but curbed the impulse at the last second. Where had that anger come from? He wasn’t in Venice, free to do whatever he wanted, when he wanted to.