The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(104)

“Not really,” Honor said hesitantly. “I don’t know that there’s anything to find out. That he doesn’t know already, I mean.”

“I probably shouldn’t be calling you to talk about this stuff,” Dana said, her voice small and sad.

“Yeah, it’s a little weird.”

“You were always a good friend.”

The words brought an unexpected lump to Honor’s throat. “Thanks.”

“And I wasn’t.”

“Is that an apology?”

Dana sighed. “Yes.”

“Accepted.”

“So are we friends again?”

Honor smoothed the scraggly fur on top of Spike’s head. “I don’t know.”

“You just said you accepted my apology.” Already, there was a defensive note in Dana’s voice.

“I really enjoyed our friendship,” Honor said now, carefully. “But I’m not sure we can go back to that.”

“But I just apologized! And I think you know that’s not easy for me.”

“Right. But...” She hesitated. “Dana, you have to realize—”

“Look, I’m going through some stuff, Honor, and people screw up, and I’m sorry! Are you going to hold this against me for my whole life?”

“No,” Honor said. “I’m really over it. But I just don’t—”

“You can forgive, you just can’t forget that I dared to get the man you wanted. You know what? Forget it.”

“Dana—” Nope. She’d hung up.

And that was just fine with Honor. Dana was demanding, selfish and always managed to give herself carte blanche when it came to her dealings with other people. She was always the wronged party, and never at fault.

While life had felt emptier without her friendship for a while, it also felt cleaner. Other people had filled the space Dana and Brogan had left.

She had Tom now. Didn’t she?

The silence of the house was deafening.

Where was he? What happened today? Was she really going to have to call Levi and see if there’d been any accidents?

Spike yawned, then began gnawing on Honor’s thumb.

The door opened, and Tom walked in. Unsteadily.

“Hey,” Honor said, rising to her feet.

“Hallo, darling,” he said. He put his wallet on the hall table and missed.

“Have you been drinking?”

“Yes.”

“And driving?” she barked.

“No, darling. I’m not a bloody idiot, am I? No, I drove stone-cold sober from the college to O’Rourke’s and then had a drink. More than one. And then I walked home to our pleasant abode to find my affianced, adorably concerned.”

“I was concerned. Why didn’t you call me?”

“Sorry. I should have. Hindsight and all that. But here I am all the same.” Spike jumped off the couch to growl. “Hallo, Ratty,” Tom said. “Careful, I’d hate to step on you.” Spike took the laces of Tom’s shoes in her teeth and whipped her head back and forth.

The phone rang again. Honor answered it. “Hey, it’s Colleen. Just wanted to make sure Tom got home okay. Connor took his keys.”

“He’s here and fine,” Honor said. “Thanks, Coll. And thank Connor for me, too.”

“No prob, hon. He’s a sweetheart, your Tom. See you soon!”

She hung up the phone. “I thought you were going to cut back,” she said.

“And I have,” he said. “Three drinks is hardly pissed, my sweet little Puritanical nag. Nor is four.”

“Connor O’Rourke had to take your keys.”

“No, love. I gave him my keys on the minute possibility that I might have a fit of idiocy and decide to drive.” He certainly sounded sober. “Now, I’m going to bed, darling. Care to join me?”

She didn’t answer.

“Right. Good night, then.”

With that, Tom gently shook Spike free and went upstairs, leaving Honor standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by the quiet once more.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

IT HAD BEEN five days since the return of Mitchell DeLuca, and Tom was losing hope.

Mitchell was staying in a motel down near the Laundromat. Aside from four lunches in three years, Charlie hadn’t seen his father at all since Melissa died. Two trips to McDonald’s, one to Pizza Hut and one to Wendy’s. And now, for some reason Tom did not trust at all, Mitchell was here, all parental interest after fourteen years of essentially ignoring the boy.

It was bloody awful. Honor knew something was off. If he could’ve talked about it, he would have, but the words stayed jammed in his throat. Admitting that he’d lost Charlie, now, after all this time...well, shit. It felt like those words would crack him in half. He wanted to hold her, take her to bed, bury himself inside her, but instead, he was brittle and jolly and f**king exhausted.

Charlie hadn’t wanted to see him on Tuesday, their usual night together. That was understandable, Tom told himself. The kid only got to see his idiot father once every year or so—or less—and naturally, he’d want to spend whatever time he could with Mitchell.

“Is Charlie coming over?” Honor asked.