The Lucky Ones(4)

“I hope you and your new lady and the baby are very happy together,” she said.

“I hope so, too.”

A knot formed in her throat. A vise clamped down onto her chest. One tear escaped her eye before she could capture it, lock it up and throw away the key.

“You know what the stupid thing is,” Allison said, speaking to stave off the building panic. “I don’t even like you very much.”

McQueen chuckled. She felt his chest rumble against hers. She’d miss that, too.

“I mean it,” she said. “You’re arrogant and entitled and you do whatever you want, consequences be damned, and you’re...you’re...”

“Rich,” he said. “That’s the word you’re looking for.”

“That’s it,” she said.

“If you don’t like me, why are you so upset?” he said, his tone teasing, and any other day they’d be in bed together already.

“Because I’m going to miss not liking you.”

He pulled her a little closer, a little tighter. He kissed her cheek, her forehead and then, at last, let her go. She hated herself for letting him be the one to let go first. Once he was gone, she would be alone, completely alone. No family. No friends. A woman on call day and night for a powerful man didn’t get to make friends. She hated him and never wanted to see him again. She loved him and never wanted him to leave her. But she didn’t cling to him when he pulled away, and she counted that a victory.

“If it makes you feel any better,” McQueen said, his hands still on her face, “this wasn’t an easy decision.”

“Weird,” Allison said. “It doesn’t make me feel any better.”

McQueen raised his hands in defeat. “I’ll go.”

She swallowed again. “Bye.”

“Don’t forget there’s some mail for you in the box.”

“Anything important?” She never got mail at McQueen’s address.

“It’s a package from Oregon. No idea why it came to my house.”

“Oregon?”

She glanced in the box at the padded envelope. Sure enough, it was postmarked Clark Beach, Oregon. And the name on the return address read Roland Capello.

Allison gasped, then clapped a hand over her mouth in shock.

“Allison?” McQueen had been retreating during the conversation but now he rushed to her. “Honey, what’s wrong? You look like you’re about to faint.”

“It’s from my brother,” she breathed. “This is from my brother.”

McQueen stared at her like she’d grown a second head in the past three seconds.

“Your brother?” he repeated. “I’ve known you seven years. You never told me you had a brother.”

Allison looked at him with tears in her eyes.

“That’s because...I don’t.”





Chapter 2

McQueen sat her in a chair and poured her a tumbler of bourbon, which Allison nearly dropped. She’d almost fainted. Truly fainted. She wasn’t a fainter. She’d never been a fainter. But seeing that name on that envelope had nearly sent her falling to the floor. If McQueen hadn’t been there she might have passed out cold.

“Drink,” he ordered, and she took a sip. It hit the back of her throat and set fire to her brain.

“Whew. That’s strong.” Too strong, but it stopped her hands from shaking.

“That’s panic-attack bourbon,” he said. “Hundred-ten proof. Feel better?”

“I feel like I’m going to faint but now it’s for a totally different reason.”

“We’ll take that as an improvement.” Gently he removed the glass tumbler from her hand and set it on the side table. “Now, tell me what’s going on?”

“Why?” She met his eyes with confusion.

“Why? Because I say, ‘Hey, you have a package from Oregon,’ and then you nearly faint on me?”

“I’m not your responsibility anymore, remember? We had that talk.”

“Soon as I walk out that door,” he said, pointing at the white door with the white knob, “it’s over. Not until then.”

“It’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it.”

“Who’s Roland Capello? Don’t say he’s your brother. I know he isn’t.”

Allison didn’t want to tell him the whole sordid story, but she didn’t want to fight with him about it, either. McQueen had a strong personality and an even stronger will. Better to tell him and get it over with.

“He was my brother,” she said. “Once. A long time ago.”

“How was someone once your brother? Stepbrother?”

“Adopted,” she said. “Me, I mean. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

“Here. Drink more. You’ll feel less complicated in no time.”

He pressed the glass into her hand and she took another sip. Rough stuff but the buzzing in her head distracted her from the wild beating of her heart.

“You told me your mom died when you were seven, right?” McQueen said. “Car accident?”

“Drunk driving,” Allison said. “She was the driver. I didn’t know that until I was a lot older. I guess people didn’t want me blaming her for dying. I didn’t have any relatives around. Mom had moved us from Indiana to Oregon for a boyfriend but they split up. When she was gone, they stuck me in foster care. I was in one of those group homes with a bunch of girls. They were older and mean, and I was tiny and scared all the time. Then one day this man showed up in a big black car and took me home with him. Dr. Capello. He’s a very famous philanthropist and neurosurgeon.”