Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(140)

“Only the best.”

She laughed as Edward tore into the bag and began stuffing himself with hamburger. As he ate, she scraped a thin layer of peanut butter from their hidden food stash on a piece of bread, folded it over, and raised it to her lips. She begrudged taking anything from their meager stash for herself. She had already failed her child in so many ways, and eating his food seemed like one more failure. Luckily, it didn’t take much to keep her going.

“Want some fries?”

Her mouth watered. “No thanks. Fried food isn’t good for women my age.”

She took another bite of her sandwich and promised herself that once she found Dwayne’s five million dollars, she would never again eat peanut butter.

Two hours later she had finished cleaning the ladies’ rest room and was taking a paint scraper to the peeling metal doors when she heard a furious bellow.

“Rachel!”

What had she done now? Pinwheels of light spun in her head as she leaned down too quickly to lay the scraper on the floor. Instead of getting better, her dizziness was getting worse.

“Rachel! Get out here!”

She made her way to the door. For a moment the sun blinded her, but as her eyes adjusted to the light, she gave a muffled gasp.

Edward dangled from Bonner’s fist by the scruff of his old orange T-shirt. His dusty black sneakers swung helplessly in the air, and his shirt bunched beneath his armpits, revealing his small, bony rib cage and the blue network of veins that ran just beneath his pale skin. Horse lay on the ground below his feet.

Bonner’s skin was pale over the harsh ridge of his cheekbones. “I told you to keep him away from here.”

She rushed forward, her exhaustion forgotten. “Put him down! You’re scaring him!”

“You were warned. I told you not to bring him here. It’s too dangerous.” He set him to the ground.

Edward was free, but he stood frozen in place, once more the victim of a powerful adult force he could neither understand nor control. His helplessness cut her to the quick. She retrieved Horse, then scooped up her child and hugged him to her chest. The toes of his sneakers banged into her shins as she buried her cheek in his straight brown hair, which was still warm from the sun.

“What was I supposed to do with him?” she spat out.

“That wasn’t my problem.”

“Spoken like someone who’s never had responsibility for a child!”

He went absolutely still. Seconds ticked by before his lips moved. “You’re fired. Get out of here.”

Edward began to cry as he wrapped his arms around her neck. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I tried not to let him see me, but he catched me.”

Her heart pounded, and her legs felt like rubber. She wanted to rage at Bonner for frightening him, but that would only upset Edward more. And what was the use? One look at the blank canvas of Bonner’s face told her his decision was final.

He pulled a wallet from his back pocket, peeled out several bills, and extended them toward her. “Take this.”

She stared down at the money. She’d sacrificed everything for her child. Did she have to give up the last ounce of her pride, too?

Slowly she took the money and felt a little part of herself die.

Edward’s chest heaved.

“Shh . . .” She brushed her lips over his hair. “It’s not your fault.”

“He seed me.”

“Not for a whole day. He was so dumb it took him a whole day to find you. You did just fine.”

Without a backward glance, she carried Edward to the playground where she gathered up their things. Blinking against the tears, she clutched her meager possessions in one hand and her son in the other. What kind of man would do something like this? Only one who had no feelings at all.

As she left the Pride of Carolina, she wanted to fall off the end of the world.



Gabriel Bonner, the man with no feelings, cried in his sleep that night. He jolted awake sometime around three in the morning to find a wet place on his pillow and the awful metallic taste of grief in his mouth.


He’d dreamed about them again tonight, Cherry and Jamie, his wife and son. But this time Cherry’s beloved face kept changing into the thin, defiant face of Rachel Stone. And his son had held a bedraggled gray rabbit as he lay in his coffin.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and for a long time he did nothing but sit with his shoulders hunched and his face buried in his hands. Finally he pulled open the drawer in his bedside table and took out a Smith & Wesson .38.

The revolver felt warm and heavy in his hands. Just do it. Put it in your mouth and pull the trigger. He touched the barrel to his lips and closed his eyes. The cold steel felt like a lover’s kiss, and he welcomed the click of it against his front teeth.

But he couldn’t pull the trigger, and, at that moment, he hated his family for keeping him from the oblivion he craved. Any one of them—his father or mother, his two brothers—they would all put a dog out of its misery, but they wouldn’t be able to bear it if he killed himself. Now their stubborn, unrelenting love kept him shackled to an intolerable world.

He shoved the gun back in the drawer and withdrew the framed photograph he also kept there. Cherry smiled back at him, his beautiful wife who’d loved him and laughed with him and been everything a man could want. And Jamie.

Gabe caressed the frame with his thumbs, and in his chest, his heart seeped. It wasn’t blood that escaped—that had been shed long ago—but a thick, bile-like fluid that ran through veins that had become rivers of pain carrying a bottomless cargo of grief.