The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(96)

“Careful with those,” I murmur to him. “The government is thinking of using them in Afghanistan.”

“Some boys were playing street hockey with them earlier,” he says, his voice low, and I burst into laughter. Poor Iris! Matt smiles down at me. He’s a hair shorter than Jimmy—well, maybe more than a hair. Taller than Ethan, though. Not that I’m comparing them.

“Lucy, that string of lights isn’t working,” Rose says, pointing to the ceiling of our little tent. She’s right—the cord’s come unplugged from the other string.

“I’ll get it,” Iris says, but the thought of my seventy-six-year-old aunt standing on a chair is not a happy one.

“No, no, I’ve got it, Iris. No problem.” I wrestle the folding chair out of her strong hands and stand it beneath the strand of lights. The ground is soft from last night’s rain, and the chair isn’t exactly stable.

“Let me help,” Matt says. He offers his hand, and I take it, standing warily on the chair. It wobbles, and Matt reaches up and puts his hands around my waist.

“Thanks,” I say, a little breathlessly. His hands are big. And warm.

The light is replugged. Matt helps me down, and I find that it’s a little hard to look at his face. Somewhere on the other side of the park, a police car gives a short blip.

“Nice to have a man around to help,” Rose sighs dreamily.

“Thank you,” I say again, glancing up at Matt.

“My pleasure,” Matt says. His voice is low and intimate.

My face flushes. I glance across the street, and guilt floods my heart.

Ethan is watching me, standing stock-still on the curb as people mill around behind him, getting ready for Stuffie’s triumphant circumnavigation of the park.

He looks like the last kid picked for a team. Forlorn, trying not to show it, and something cracks in my heart. He doesn’t look away, and neither do I. The police car blips again.

“Holy Mary” comes a voice behind me. Marie. “Oh, God. Oh, God, I have to sit.”

Without turning around, I know what’s happening. Marie and Gianni have returned and spotted Matt, and the resemblance to Jimmy has hit them hard. I glance back—yep, Gianni’s helping Marie to a bench, my mother flutters around them like a brightly colored bird, Iris’s hand is on Matt’s arm, explaining who the Mirabellis are. Matt glances at me, an apologetic half smile on his face, looking more like Jimmy than ever.

“Lucy, get some water,” Rose says, turning to me. “Your mother-in-law’s had a shock.”

I don’t move. The police siren chirps again, closer now. Turning back, I see that Ethan’s not there. “Ethan!” I shout. “Ethan!” There he is, a few yards up the sidewalk. Tommy Malloy stops him to say something, and Ethan nods. “Ethan!” I call again.

He hears me…the setting sun illuminates his face as he turns toward me. He’s waiting, and I know I need to say the right thing.

“I need you over here, babe,” I call. Loudly. There. Babe. Not a term that can be misconstrued. Babe is someone you’re sleeping with. You don’t call someone babe without good reason.

Tommy Malloy nudges Ethan’s arm and makes some comment, and Ethan, not taking his eyes off me, grins. Relief sings through me—I didn’t blow it after all. I smile back, warmth rising in my heart as I look at the man I love. Because yes, I do love Ethan, and it’s time he knew it.

Ethan waits a second—Ed’s driving Stuffie past just now—then, when the clam passes, starts into the street, each step bringing him closer to me. His eyes are on me, that smile still in place, and my heart swells.

Then one of the boys who bought the pumpkin cookies slaps a shot into the street. Another boy darts out in front of Ed Langley’s truck, hockey stick in hand, and smacks the makeshift puck into a storm drain. Ed stomps on the brakes—he’s only going about ten miles an hour—and yells at the kid, who runs into the crowd and disappears. No harm done. But Stuffie, unsettled by the lurching stop, sways, then slowly, inevitably tips into the street with a crash, right in front of an oncoming state police car.

Lights flashing, the cruiser swerves around the fallen Stuffie, then jerks back to correct course.

And hits Ethan.

Ethan tumbles through the air like a rag doll. My hand reaches out helplessly as he lands on the pavement with a sickening thud, ten feet in front of the cruiser.

He doesn’t move.

The images rain into my head like bullets. The cop car screeches to a halt, the officer already on his radio. Ethan is so still, but pandemonium explodes all around him. People are screaming, and Tommy Malloy races to Ethan’s side. Parker, too, emerges from the crowd, running to Ethan, her long hair wild around her face. He still hasn’t moved. Ed Langley’s out of his truck, his hand covering his mouth in horror. Roxanne the waitress is on her cell phone. Ash joins the crowd at Ethan’s side, her chains swinging as she crouches next to his body. His body. I look down the street and see Nicky’s eyes wide with terror, his mouth open in a scream, but I can’t hear him over the roaring in my ears. Doral-Anne picks him up. Ethan has not moved. There might be blood. I think there’s blood. Christopher, who was required to take a paramedic course before Corinne would agree to have children, materializes as well and puts his hand to Ethan’s head, then withdraws it. Yes. There’s blood.