Nodding, she walked past him and approached the window, placing an order for café au lait and six beignets. He jumped forward to pay, insisting though she protested. By the time they were done, one of the round white tables had cleared and he pulled out the metal chair for Savannah to sit in.
"So," she said, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head. "If this isn't your town, what is?"
"Houston."
"Did you drive over or fly?"
"I flew. By the time I found out about the funeral, I didn't have but a few hours to get here. I was lucky to get a seat."
"How did you find out about the funeral?"
"My manager. Damn if I know his sources."
Her gaze dropped to the table and she wiped absently at a spot of powdered sugar left by the people who had been there before. He took the opportunity to study her, noticing she didn't wear much makeup-whether that was by choice or she'd cried it all away, he had no way of knowing. Her eyes were only the faintest bit bloodshot, and spots of color burned high on her cheeks. Her lips were full but down-turned. Somehow he knew that mouth could give beautiful smiles. He would love to see one, though that might never happen as things were.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, and he had to strain to hear her over the surrounding conversations. He wanted to yell at everyone to shut the fuck up; he didn't want to miss a single word she said. "I don't know how to feel about this."
"It wasn't a good idea for me to show up like that. I knew it and my brother kept telling me, too. I just didn't know how else to get in touch with any of you."
"Your manager couldn't find out?"
"Well . . . his sources would only divulge so much, it seems."
"So that was your brother with you and not a CIA operative."
He chuckled. "Yeah. Zane. He was in disguise. He's actually in town for a concert."
"A concert?"
"Yeah, as hard as it is for me to believe, he's a famous rock star now."
Savannah's smooth, pale brow furrowed and she sat up straighter. "Wait a minute. Your brother . . . That was . . . ?"
"That was indeed."
"Zane Larson. Of August on Fire. Is your brother? I mean, of course, you have the same last name-why did I never put that together? Oh my God. My sister-in-law would have freaked out if she hadn't been too upset to notice. She loves him."
"Maybe I should have introduced him. Probably wasn't a good time, though."
"No, she would've been mortified."
Mike had to chuckle at her astonishment, then sat back as their order was placed on the table. Once the server left, he watched her take a sip her coffee. Even through her grief, the pleasure she took in the rich taste was apparent. He sampled is own and instantly fell in love with it. "We're actually half-brothers, but we took our mother's maiden name. Let's just say none of us are on the best of terms with our dads."
"None of you?"
"I have another half-brother, Damien."
"Oh." Her slender fingers slowly turned her coffee cup around and around. He could only imagine what she must be thinking, but for some reason she made him want to talk. And that was a rare thing. "It was only me and Tommy in my family. And now it's just me."
But that remark was like a knife in the chest, sucking the new wind out of his sails. What to say? Parroting "I'm sorry" every few minutes seemed ridiculously worthless and ineffective. Only words.
"Savannah, if there's anything I can do, name it." And those were only words too. For some reason he couldn't say them enough. The urge to reach over and take her hand was almost irresistible, though he managed.
"I really don't think there is. I appreciate you reaching out to us, but I think it was best that Rowan and I stopped you where you were. I can convey any messages you want to send, if you want to send them."
"They're your family, so you know them best. Should I even bother?"
Her words were blunt but gentle. "Probably not."
"Whatever you think. I only wanted to make the effort."
"That took a lot of courage, I'm sure."
Mike blew out a breath. She had no idea. It had taken more courage than any fight he'd ever been in-and he'd been in a hell of a lot even before he became a professional.
"I didn't see it," she said, and he thought at first he'd misheard her. He scooted his chair a little closer. She'd barely touched her beignets, but for that matter, he hadn't touched his either.
"The fight? I thought you were there. When I first saw you at the cemetery, I thought I recognized you."
"I was there. I mean I looked away. I couldn't watch once it was obvious he was done. I never could." Her gaze flickered over to his hands where they rested on the table. Then her eyes filled with tears and she shoved her chair back. "I should go."
"Savannah, wait-"
"This is too hard right now. I've tried but I can't. Please understand."
Something in him deflated and died. He sat back as she stood. "I understand."
"I'm sure you're a good person, you have to be to come all this way and try to make things right. But you can't right now."
"I'm a fucking horrible person."
That froze her in the middle of shouldering her purse strap. "Why? Did you kill my brother on purpose?"
"No."
"You said some really shitty things before the fight."
"So did he."
"But he's the one who died."
"I'm not going to make you believe what kind of person I am by telling you. So I might as well give you what you and your family want to hear. I'm an evil, inhuman bastard. Go ahead and tell them."
"Are you actually pissed at me right now?"
"Not at all." He stood from his own chair, towering over her. "I just know I'll never convince you of how sorry I am, since you're not giving me any way of doing so."
"I hear you. That's enough. If you want to convince me that you're sorry . . . go back to Houston, let us grieve my brother, and try not to put another family in our situation the next time you fight." She turned to go.
"There might not be a next time," he said to her back. She stopped after two steps, looking back over her shoulder at him.
He shrugged, glancing away under the weight of her heavy gaze. "Thinking about retiring. I don't know yet." After a moment, he reconnected with those assessing dark eyes. "What do you think Tommy would do? If I was the one going in the ground right now instead of him, would he quit? Would he keep going?"
To his amazement, she let her purse slip from her shoulder and reclaimed her seat. He took his own. "Tommy wouldn't quit," she admitted. "He was never in a situation like that, but I knew him. He would never quit. He loved it too much." Sighing, she finally pulled apart one of her beignets and took a bite, licking the powdered sugar from her fingers with a swipe of her pink tongue.
And that unleashed all kinds of inappropriate images in his head.
Evil, inhuman bastard. She probably thought you were joking but little does she know. Her brother's not yet cold in his grave because of you, and you're thinking of fucking her.
"I love it too," he said, diverting his attention back to his coffee. "It was the only thing I was ever good at, but I had to be. My brothers depended on me for it. My mother did too, more than once. So I decided I might as well make a living at it." He didn't know why he felt the need to tell her about the rotted skeletons in his closet. Maybe to make her see, make her understand that he knew pain, too.
"Protector of your family?" she said, sounding a little too close to sympathetic for his liking. Her sympathy was one thing he didn't want.
"Something like that. Somebody had to, and I was pushing six feet and putting on muscle by the time I was fourteen." He shrugged. "Might as well be me."
"It was nothing like that for our family," she said. "My parents are old money. Tommy was always a star athlete and they were proud of that while he was in school, but when he decided to go into MMA as a career, they nearly had a stroke. But he kept winning, so they came around. ‘Whatever you do,' they always used to tell us, ‘be the best at it.'" Her gaze became distant. "I'll miss him."
"I know you will. I can't imagine. My brothers . . . sometimes I want to strangle them, but I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to one of them."
"Yes, well, I used to think the same, but I guess I'll find out now." She sighed, and this time when she stood, he knew it was to leave for good. "Whatever the circumstances, Michael . . . it's been nice meeting you. I need to get back to the family. They'll be wondering about me."