Kerris could be his solace. A moment in her arms wouldn't take away this bone-gnawing grief, but she could soothe him like no one else. He knew it. The years-long loyalty to Cam wrestled with the scorching desire to hold her, have her, keep her. On a day like today, when it seemed he'd lost everything that mattered, she was the one thing he wanted for himself. But his mother would have been ashamed. Cam would be broken. Kerris, with her unwavering sense of right, would be ruined. He had to accept it. He couldn't have her. When the food had been eaten and the mourners had all gone home, she would leave with her husband. Walsh knew it, but he couldn't walk away from this one moment with her. So he watched and waited for her to wake.
* * *
Kerris sensed someone standing over her and cracked her eyes just enough to make out Walsh's tall frame, hovering over her. She slowly opened her eyes, bracing herself for the vulnerability of this grieving giant. She stared back at him for a heartbeat before leaning forward, returning the recliner to the upright position. She pushed her tumble of hair back with fingers she willed not to tremble.
"Walsh." Her whisper took back up where they always left off; as if it hadn't been months since they'd faced each other, held each other. "What are you doing up here?"
"Escaping." Something most people would have taken for a smile curved Walsh's lips. Kerris knew better.
She wasn't sure what she could say that wouldn't get them into trouble. If she opened the door to the despair she saw behind his eyes, she wouldn't be able to resist holding him, comforting him, and she couldn't be the one to do that.
"I should go."
She stood to her feet. He grasped her wrist, a gentle tether. The brief contact paralyzed her. And his eyes-burning with grief and need.
"Stay. Please. Just a minute."
She knew there was a comfort he found in her that he could find nowhere else; with no one else. She didn't understand it, but she knew it. She reached for his hand, tangling their fingers.
"Are you okay?" She probed beneath his rigidly controlled expression.
"No."
"You will be," she said, her words soft like cotton.
Walsh stared over her shoulder at the recliner she'd just vacated. She tugged gently on his hand. Pulling his glance back to meet hers.
"I feel so lost." His voice cracked down the middle, but didn't break. "I don't … I don't know if I can … if I can … I can't cry. I was at the funeral in a church full of people crying, and I couldn't cry. Why can't I cry? I kept thinking I had to get through the eulogy without crying. Just don't cry. And now, I can't. I can't … "
Without thought, she bent her elbows, laying her forearms and palms against his back, drawing him close enough to feel his heart slamming into hers. He bent to the curve joining her neck and shoulder, pushing her hair back and resting his head there. She felt him sigh, and then breathe in deeply, as if filling his lungs with fresh air. She could feel him blinking against her skin, still fighting the approach of the tears he thought he'd longed for, but was afraid to give in to. She began to sway just a little. She'd seen mothers rock their children to comfort them, though she'd never experienced it herself. The motion seemed to loosen the grief lodged inside of him. Something had slipped and set it free, leaking it in rivulets across her shoulder and inside her dress, down her back, leaving a warm, wet trail of heartache.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Walsh marked the time by her heartbeats against his chest. He knew he should let Kerris go. He had to let her go, but couldn't make himself do it. His body, so weighted with loss and inexpressible grief for the last few days, selfishly burrowed into this bastion of comfort, refusing to relinquish it. She stirred, starting to pull away. His arms clenched around her small frame before he told them they could. He pressed her head to his chest, breathing her in.
"Wait. Just a little longer."
He looked down at her tear-streaked face, running his thumb along her cheek, following a wet path to her chin. He licked the salty wetness on his fingers. Her tears hit his tongue like a sorrowed liquor, heady and numbing. He clutched her closer to steady himself, not sure he could stand on his own without her as scaffolding.
Don't go. Don't leave me. Don't go. Don't leave me. So lost. So lost.
His father's howling dirge haunted him, whistling through his deserted soul like an icy wind. The walls he'd erected since the day he'd met Kerris crumbled. Walls constructed of morals and right and convention gave way, collapsing beneath the heaviness of pain and loss. And the words he'd sworn he'd never say stormed past his well-meaning lips.
"Kerris, come with me."
She stiffened, pulling away as far as the vise of his arms would allow.
"Walsh, I can't-"
"Just a week. Find a way to come to me for a few days. I can't do this without you. It's too much. This hurts-"
"Walsh, I know, but we can't-"
"We can go somewhere no one knows us."
He tightened his fingers around her arms.
"There isn't somewhere no one knows you."
She pulled away altogether, putting at least a few inches between them.
"Hong Kong." He stepped back into her orbit, but forced himself not to grab her. "My dad has a house in Hong Kong."
"Walsh, no." Sadness and regret darkened her eyes, but her mouth straightened into a firm, determined line. "I know you're hurting, but no."
"You'd have your own room." He pulled her close again, meshing his fingers with hers, his voice a persuasion. "I'm not asking you to sleep with me. You know I'm not. I just need you. I just-"
"Walsh, I'm pregnant."
Her whisper sliced him open with the delicate strength of a scalpel. Flayed him like a frog stretched out for dissection. Her skin burned under his fingers. He stepped away, singed.
"You're-"
"Pregnant, yes." Kerris's hands settled at her midriff. She angled her head, trying to look into the eyes he'd lowered to the ground. "So you see, I really can't."
She recaptured his fingers, raising her other hand to cup his jaw like she was afraid it might break. Nudging his chin until he was forced to look at her.
"I'm happy, Walsh. You know this is what I've always wanted. This is what it was all about. A family of my own. I want this."
"Yeah. I know. I guess Cam's over the moon."
The words piled up in his mouth like ashes.
"He doesn't even know yet. I haven't had the chance to tell him." She shook her head, dropping her hand to guard her stomach. "I found out the morning your mother passed away, and it just didn't feel right."
It still didn't feel right to Walsh. Kerris carrying another man's child felt like sunshine at midnight. Like snow on the Fourth of July. Upside down. Everything was so wrong. Kerris should be married to him. Carrying his child. His mother should be here, not buried and silent forever. He and Cam should be close, the best of friends still.
But nothing was right.
"Right." He squeezed his hand around her fingers, so slight but strong.
The silence between them thickened with lost possibility. Walsh stroked her hair back from her face, savoring what felt like their last moments. There had never been any going back, not since Kerris's wedding day. This new life, this baby Kerris had longed for, widened the gulf between them until it was more impassable than it had ever been.
Walsh watched tears streak down from under eyelids she'd pressed together, standing still for a moment more and letting the loss rush over him. Loss not just for his mother, but for the possibility that had been so close. If Kerris had listened to him the night of his mother's party, she might have been pregnant with his child. He beat the thought back, knowing it was futile. He looked down at her and wondered if she ever thought about it. They both started when the door swung open without warning.
"Kerris, Cam is-" Jo cut the words off, dropping the room temperature with one frosty look. "Cam's looking for you. Your husband. Remember him?"
"Jo." Walsh peppered his voice with warning, glancing at Kerris with quick concern. She looked back at Jo without guile or guilt.
"I don't have anything to hide, Jo." Kerris sniffed and walked toward the door with sure steps.
"Really? Then why do I seem to always catch you off in some dark corner with my cousin? Cam's best friend until you showed up."
"Stop it, Jo." Walsh stepped toward the door, not looking at Kerris again. "Not today."