Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(103)
“I like Coffee Heath Bar myself.”
“So go get some and choke on it.”
He grinned. “Sleep tight, mía.”
“You’re not off the hook just because you’re pulling a Romeo, Spaniard. You’re about to break my heart again. I can feel it.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Go away.” She pulled her head in and lowered the screen. “Call me tomorrow.”
* * *
BACK AT HIS apartment, Ellen had made herself some scrambled eggs. “Eating for two. I plan to milk that every second of this pregnancy, by the way.” She took a bite and smiled. “Sorry about ruining your night. Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” he lied.
“Still so beautiful.”
He didn’t want to talk about Colleen with Ellen.
They had discussed Colleen once before, because to not talk about her, ever, would’ve made it seem like more. Which it was, but what was he supposed to do? He’d wanted their marriage to work, figured he’d burned bridges with Colleen forever and wasn’t going to moon after his high school sweetheart when Ellen had been nothing but open and decent and nice. So he told his wife about Colleen, and said that it was a typical young love situation, very intense until it burned itself out.
He lied, in other words.
“Tell me about Joe,” she said, taking out her razor-thin laptop. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s still getting dialysis,” Lucas said. “He...he maybe has a few weeks.”
She gave him a small smile. “Okay,” she said. “Here’s what I’ve got on the divorce issue.” She paused. “My dad misses you, by the way.”
Lucas gave a nod. “The Cambria’s almost done,” he said. “I talked to the interior designers yesterday.”
She gave him a tolerant look. “That’s not what I’m talking about at all. He loves you like a son, and nothing will change that. Not even Steve.”
“No, I guess not.”
“Well,” she said with a smile. “You’ll be back in Chicago soon.”
For some reason, the words sounded vaguely...smug.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SINCE LUCAS WAS busy with his ex-wife, and Uncle Joe, and Bryce, and the public safety building, and making sure his hair was beautiful and wavy and arrogant and whatever else occupied his time, Colleen did what she always did when she was stressed. She cleaned.
“Oh, shit,” Connor said when he saw her scrubbing the bar with her beloved citrus-scented Clorox Clean-Up. “What did he do? Should I kill him?”
“It’s tempting,” Colleen said. “How’s the lovely Jessica? You sure you two aren’t dating?”
Connor leaned on the part of the bar she’d already cleaned. “So you don’t want to talk about Lucas and how I told you this wouldn’t end well, and how—”
“Hey, placenta hog. Just because you were born three minutes sooner doesn’t mean you know everything.”
“Are you sure? Because I do. Where you’re concerned, anyway.”
“Hi, guys.” Savannah came into the bar dressed in an ill-fitting, too-short skirt and lacy top, Gail’s credit card at work, no doubt. Her eyes were swollen and pink. “Mom said I should stay here because she’s at the lawyer’s.” With that, their little sister burst into sobs.
When both Connor and Colleen had said soothing things and administered a slab of Rafe’s caramel cheesecake, Colleen took Savannah back to her place. Rufus would make her feel better, or die trying.
But Colleen remembered what it had felt like to have her family life crumble, and hell, she’d been a lot older than Savannah. Everything would change for her sister—holidays, weekends, home life, maybe even home. Where was Gail even from? Colleen didn’t think it was New York.
She painted her sister’s nails (Zombie Skin Gray) and let Savannah do her toenails (Flirtini Fuschia). They watched an episode of SpongeBob, and Savannah fell asleep on the couch, Rufus keeping guard.
Poor kid; she was exhausted from crying. Colleen stroked her sister’s wispy hair, kissed Rufus on the head and went to the kitchen. She’d make peanut butter cookies, Savannah’s favorite.
Being in the kitchen made her recall her cooking fiasco last week. Lucas had cleaned up the entire kitchen while she was sleeping. Forget the roses he’d brought—that was romantic.
She wondered what he was doing now.
When the first batch was done, a knock came on the door. It was her stepmother.
“Hi,” Colleen said.
“Hi.” Gail didn’t look so hot. She was dressed in the usual jeans, cut so low you could practically see her cesarean scar, and a cropped, silky shirt. She wore the requisite heels, but there were circles under her eyes. “Connor said she was here.”
“Yeah. She’s sleeping on the couch. Worn out from crying, I imagine.”
“Is that an accusation, Colleen? Because I’ll have you know, I don’t want this divorce.”
“It’s not. Come on in. Want a cookie? They’re still warm.”
Gail gave her a suspicious look, but sat at the table, and Colleen put five cookies on a plate and poured her a glass of milk. “Thanks,” Gail muttered.
Colleen took a breath. “Listen, I’m sorry for Savannah’s sake that this is happening.”