What Might Have Been (10 page)

He hated seeing her this way. It made him feel powerless.

Ainsley wasn't much better. He didn't think she'd moved from the moment she'd sat down beside him. Not a twitch, a cough, a fidget. She'd just turned her head and stared out the window as they'd driven the few miles onto the family property.

He knew she had loved Pops; he was the only grandfather-figure she'd ever known. And Pops had always thought of her as part of the family.

Luke wondered if her melancholy was entirely due to his grandfather's passing. He wondered if this drive brought back memories of Logan's death.

And he hated himself for the brief spurt of jealousy that flared at the thought. But before he'd even come to terms with it, his jealousy was overridden by a sense of loss so deep he almost doubled over in pain. Thinking of his twin, when he was about to bury another person he'd loved deeply was just too much. He closed his eyes, took a breath and tried to pushed Logan's memory away. He couldn't deal with both of them right now.

The funeral home had set up a tent and a single row of chairs before the prepared coffin suspended over the waiting hole in the ground. The tent kept the sun from
beating down directly on their heads, but it did nothing about the suffocating humidity in the air. Before they'd even taken their seats, Luke could feel his white dress shirt sticking to his sweat-soaked back beneath his suit jacket.

At least Ainsley had decided to wear a basic black dress with filmy sleeves that barely covered the curve of her shoulder. He probably should have been paying attention to the preacher's words. Instead, his eyes fell to her toes peeking out of strappy sandals. They were painted a suitably conservative shade of pale pink. For one unnerving moment he had the urge to reach down and run his lips across the row.

Completely inappropriate but much easier to deal with than the reality before him.

He'd never been good at goodbyes. It never got easier.

He and Pops might not have always seen eye-to-eye but he'd loved his grandfather. Until this moment he hadn't realized just how much the loss would hurt.

Jerking his gaze back to the preacher, a nice Southern man with a sizable paunch and a face turned red and glistening from the heat. The man gestured for Gran to move forward, leading the line of people who would leave a single white rose on top of the coffin.

They filed out, the sun hitting Luke squarely in the face, leaving him blind and disoriented for several seconds. It was Ainsley's soft murmur and the touch of her hand on his arm that called him back.

“Gran asked that we stay and see everyone gone. She needed to head into the house. Heat. Grief.”

Her eyes bright blue and moist with the tears she refused to shed, she looked up at him, waiting for his agreement.

At that moment, what he wanted most in the world was to crush her to his chest, hold her tight and let her ease the sharp ache that had settled in the center of his chest.

But he wouldn't.

Instead, he nodded. She let go of his arm and stood beside him as the few neighbors and friends who had come drifted away to their waiting cars.

He heard the creak of the crank behind him as the staff from the funeral home lowered his grandfather's coffin into the ground, and had to leave. He couldn't watch.

He began walking, with no destination, just the single-minded thought of getting away.

Before he realized it, he was across the graveyard, in the section that held his parents' and brother's graves.

He paused first beside his mother's headstone and then his father's. After so many years, he could barely even remember what their voices had sounded like or the shape of their eyes or the feel of their hands running over his hair. They had been with him for such a short time, that their memory had begun to fade long ago. He missed them, in an abstract sort of way. He missed what a mother and father would have given him—security, love, connection. But he'd received those things from
other people in his life. He was certain their loss would have been harder if he'd been older when they'd died.

But Logan. Logan's memory would always be sharp in his mind. Logan, the brother he'd shared everything with. Logan, the other half to his existence.

This time, instead of moonlight, bright sunlight shone down over the stone as he ran his hand across the curved edge of the white granite.

The sunlight glared off the surface. It should have been happy and playful—just as Logan had been—but it wasn't.

“He missed you. Terribly.”

He hadn't realized Ainsley had followed him, but he should have known she would. Even if this place held sad memories for her, she'd never leave him to deal with his alone…unless he asked her to.

He wouldn't. Just knowing she was there somehow eased the burden of the day. More than it should. But he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. At least not right now.

Her hand joined his on the stone, not touching, just resting beside him, proof that if nothing else, they shared this.

“Every other word out of his mouth was
Luke.
” She laughed a low, strangled sound as if it hurt just to let it out. “He was so proud of you.”

For the second time that day, Luke found himself choking back emotion. He walked away from Logan's grave, unable even to look at the cold stone, all that was left of his twin.

He didn't make it far, only to the next grave over. He stared down, unseeing for several seconds, his eyes blurred with emotions he wouldn't release.

Gradually, he got himself under control and became aware of exactly what he was looking at.

Ainsley had gone strangely still beside him, her hand half-outstretched as if to bring him back to her side. His eyes jumped to hers, to the stricken look that filled them, before slamming back to the marker in front of him.

It was smaller than Logan's but made of the same white granite. There was an angel, a cherub, carved into the center, the depiction of a chubby-cheeked, bright-eyed and laughing child with wings and a harp. Beneath the cherub were the words:

Beneath that were three words and a single date, Alexander Lucas Collier, August 30, 2002.

The same day that Logan had died.

O
H
, G
OD
. S
HE KNEW THIS
wasn't good. She could tell by the expression on his face that Luke had begun to draw his own conclusions.

She'd known, in her heart she'd known, that she was going to have to tell him. But she wasn't ready, not today.

“Whose headstone is this?”

He stalked toward her, his eyes changing from bleak to angry.

He reached for her, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her up onto the tips of her toes. She thought he might shake her. She could see the roiling emotions clouding his eyes, watched as his teeth gritted against the words when he asked her again. “Whose headstone is that?”

But he didn't shake her. His grip on her arms, though tight enough she couldn't break it, didn't actually hurt. She almost wished that it did.

She wanted to drop her eyes; she wanted to disconnect from him as she told him the truth, but she couldn't.
Something in his expression wouldn't let her take the coward's way out.

“My son's.”

“Your…” His voice trailed off. He eased his grip enough that her heels touched down. She knew he hadn't realized he was pulling her up to him. His head whipped around, his eyes flashed as he reread the few meager lines on the stone.

And then he looked at her again.

Now, tempering the anger was an edge of concern…concern for her. Part of her would have liked to accept that compassion but she knew she couldn't. Not until he knew the full truth. Until then it wasn't real.

“What happened?”

She took a deep breath, her mind racing. “You know I was injured in the accident. I went into premature labor. They couldn't save me and the baby, and Alex was too young to survive.” This time she did lower her gaze to his chest, too overwhelmed with the emotions she'd experienced in those days and weeks immediately following the accident. “So young. A few more weeks and they might have saved him.” The agony of that had haunted her for years. She'd never quite been able to forgive herself for her inability to protect her child, even when he was supposed to be safe inside her body.

His grip on her tightened again.

“How young?”

She was bewildered by his question for a moment. It wasn't what she'd expected and she'd been lost in a past she could never change.

And then she realized exactly what he was asking her.

She opened her mouth to tell him that he had been Alex's father. But the words refused to leave her mouth. Instead she answered his question. “Twenty-four weeks.”

“Twenty-four…” He trailed off and again she tried to tell him but the words seemed stuck somewhere between her throat and her heart.

“Lucas. Did Logan ask you to name him after me?”

Shaking her head she said, “No.” She finally met his eyes again.

They were a storm, so conflicted. She could feel her throat tighten, knowing that this was about to change everything.

Just when she'd finally gotten him back.

Although, she hadn't really, had she? He had no intention of staying here. Of making her a part of his life. No more than he'd had those eight years ago. She'd run out of time. The piper was here and he demanded his price. The problem was, that price was going to be higher than she'd expected. But then, that's usually how the story ended.

“I chose the name because Alex was yours.”

 

H
IS
.

The word registered in his brain but it didn't sink in right away.

His son.

Luke whirled around and stared at the small white stone again. It was the same, and yet, now it looked completely different.

His son.

How had this happened? How had he not known? Hell, how had he not even known she was pregnant?

He hadn't realized he'd voiced the questions aloud until Ainsley answered them. Or maybe he hadn't said anything and she was simply filling in the voids.

“I didn't know until after you'd left.” Her words penetrated the fog that seemed to wrap his body and brain. It was insulating. Somehow comforting. He knew that it was protecting him from the emotions he should be feeling…anger, betrayal, grief. More grief. Just what he needed today.

As if in slow motion, he turned back to her, wanted to see her face as she explained how he'd had a son he'd never even known existed. Had existed.

The pain started then, knifing through the fog. He'd gained and lost a child in the space of a few minutes. How could it hurt so much?

Ainsley reached for him, almost touching his arm before he shifted away. With a pinched expression, she dropped her hand.

“I had no idea where you were. How to contact you. For weeks. Months.”

“So you turned to my brother? For what? Help? Solace? A warm body at night?”

Her eyes flickered for a moment, anger glistening in their depths before the emotion disappeared, replaced by pain. He didn't want to see her pain. He didn't want to think about this from her perspective. Not now.

“For help. My father threw me out. It was a tough
pregnancy. I was ordered to get bed rest if I didn't want to risk losing the baby. I had nowhere to turn. I came to the orchard one day hoping Logan could tell me where you were….”

“And stayed. We were twins, after all. One of us was just as good as the other, I suppose.” He heard the waspish tone of his own voice, the sting behind his words. Even as he said them he realized they weren't true, but he didn't take them back.

Ainsley flinched, before quickly regaining her composure. She stood before him, shoulders squared, spine straight, head held high.

“You know it wasn't like that. He offered me a place to stay, a family, safety and medical care for me and Alex. I was desperate and in no position to refuse. I had a child to think of. It wasn't what I wanted. It was what the baby and I both needed.”

The calm way she relayed the reasons behind her decision—noble and maternal reasons—made his jaw ache with tension.

He could see her, alone, scared, afraid of losing her child, making the logical decision for them both. So Ainsley. Practical down to her pale pink toes.

At the moment he hated that practicality though part of him could understand and appreciated her protective instincts toward their son.

He certainly hadn't been available to help. But he would have been. If he'd known.

“Why didn't you tell me? When I called home? When I came for the funeral?”

She closed her eyes and raised her head to the heavens. The corners of her eyes wrinkled as she squeezed them tight, as if in pain, as if in thought. When she finally answered, she continued to stare up into the bright sky instead of looking at him.

“We fought. Logan and I, that day. About telling you. He wanted me to call you. But…I wasn't ready. I was still angry. I knew I needed to work through that before I called. That once I told you, you'd be part of my life forever. I was going to… I just wanted a little more time. I had months before the baby was born. I thought.”

Her voice clogged, growing thick with emotion. He wasn't sure if she was trying to hold back tears. It would make no difference. They wouldn't sway him. Not now.

“Then it didn't matter. Logan was dead. Alex was gone. I was in so much pain and so heartsick. And you didn't come.” She finally dropped her eyes, but instead of looking him in the face, she studied the ground at his feet.

“It seemed cruel at that point to tell you. It couldn't change anything. It would only cause you the same grief I was fighting. You had a life. Away from me. Away from here.”

He wanted to grab her and shake her. He wanted to pull her into his arms and soothe the pain he could see stamped across every feature of her face. She'd lost so much. And borne the brunt of immeasurable pain…on her own. When it should have been theirs to share.

He was angry. Angry she hadn't told him, then and now. But she'd been dealing with so much. All alone.

Fragile, competent, practical Ainsley.

He opened his mouth to absolve her, but his jaw snapped shut instead. He couldn't do that. Not yet. He would. He wanted to. But not yet.

He had one more question to ask first.

He stepped forward, grasping her by the arms again and forcing her to stop avoiding his eyes. “Why didn't you tell me during the time we just spent together?”

She finally looked at him.

Her eyes swam with unshed tears that seemed to magnify the swirling emotions roiling inside her. The despair, the guilt, the fear, the anger, the betrayal…the hope. He could read them all as they seemed to slam into the center of his chest, a tight ball of fury that almost made him take a step back.

And then she answered.

“Because I…I didn't know how.” Her words were barely a whisper. He leaned closer. “I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want to take someone else from your life.”

 

A
INSLEY STARED AT THE
ceiling, her head lay against the curved back of the rocking chair in the corner of the living room. It was dark. Gran had gone to bed an hour or two ago, after they'd shared a quiet, simple dinner. Alone.

Neither of them had said much. They'd both been preoccupied with the events of the day.

Ainsley hadn't seen Luke since he'd walked away from
her, leaving her standing between Logan's and Alexander's graves. Feeling deeper despair than she'd experienced in a very long time.

He'd been back in her life for less than a week and despite everything she'd known—the past, his inflexibility, the life he had waiting for him and the secret that was a gaping chasm between them—she'd let him back in. Into her heart, into her life and into her body.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He probably hated her now. And she couldn't completely blame him. In his situation, she'd probably hate her, too. Sure, she had reasons…but in the dark they seemed inconsequential.

As day had faded to night, she hadn't bothered to turn on any lights. There was little moonlight outside to dispel the gloom that seemed to settle around her. That was how he found her, sitting in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, her feet pushing rhythmically against the floor as she rocked.

Ainsley knew he was there the minute he stepped into the house. Even if the creaking floorboards and the metallic clang of the screen door hadn't alerted her to his arrival, she seemed to have a sixth sense where he was concerned. The muscles in her body tensed as his footsteps brought him closer. She didn't have to see him to know that Luke was home.

She expected him to pass her by. Aside from the soft snick of the wooden runners against the floor, there was no indication that anyone was even in the room. Besides,
she figured she was the last person he'd want to see right now.

She was wrong.

He found her with the unerring accuracy of someone with his own built-in radar.

He watched her for several seconds, standing just inside the doorway to the room. He could turn around and walk away. Or he could come inside. The choice was his. She'd said everything she could possibly say this afternoon. It was his turn now.

Whatever happened, he deserved the right to his response. She wouldn't take that away from him. She'd already taken more than she'd had any right to.

“I need to send the financial paperwork to the broker tomorrow. I know you've been preoccupied for the past couple days but do you have it done?”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened them again. The ceiling hadn't changed colors. There weren't suddenly spots or stripes or plaid there. And yet, she still felt as if her world had shifted somehow with his simple question.

If he wanted to pretend nothing had happened, then she supposed she'd honor his wishes.

“I'll have it for you in the morning.”

Her voice sounded rusty and uneven to her own ears. She hoped he couldn't hear the emotions the jagged words covered.

The silence stretched. After several uncomfortable seconds, he took a single step farther into the room. A single step closer to her.

Her body tensed and her feet touched down to the floor and refused to push back off again. The rocker swayed against the loss of steady motion. She didn't look at him, wasn't sure that she wanted to.

“Ainsley.”

The word spilled into the space between them.

“Yes?”

“I'm sorry.”