Page 209 of Holding On To Good

With another nod, Miles squeezed Urban’s shoulder. Stepped back as Toby took Urban’s water glass and handed him a cup of hot, black coffee.

“How’s the upstairs?” Miles asked Toby while Urban took his first slow, fortifying sip.

“Same. But I doubt Verity would have reason to peek into his bedroom.”

Setting his cup down, Miles made a sound of agreement. “I’ll start in the living room, then. Unless you want me to get rid of your mattress first?” he asked Urban.

Urban frowned, and Jesus Christ, but even that hurt. “I’ve got this.”

It was his mess. He’d be the one to clean it up.

As soon as he could move without wanting to throw up or groan in agony.

They both ignored him. Another universal truth of his life.

“If the homeless shelter can’t take the mattress,” Toby said to Miles as he poured scrambled eggs into a pan on the stove, “I can call Matt Jackson at the animal shelter. See if they have any use for it.”

“Actually,” Miles said, avoiding their eyes, “I work with someone who might know of a family who could use it.”

“Sounds good,” Toby said.

“I said I’ve got this,” Urban repeated in a low growl, but he was wasting his breath.

Miles took the garbage can out from under the sink and went into the living room where he began to clean up the broken whiskey bottle. Toby plated the eggs and set them, along with a fork, on the table, then grabbed an extra garbage bag from the drawer and dumped the leftover lasagna Urban had left sitting out all night into it.

Leaving Urban standing there, damp and shivering, sick and humiliated, to watch while for the first time in his life, someone else cleaned up a mess he’d made.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

When Willow heard a car pull into her driveway Friday morning, she poured a cup of coffee and walked to the front door. She fully expected to find a miserable, grumpy Hayden climbing the steps as she grumbled about having to get up so early for brunch, manis/pedis and general bridal party revelry with Lily and the other bridesmaids.

She didn’t.

Find Hayden, that was.

She found Miranda.

Which couldn’t be right. There was no reason whatsoever for a perfectly done Miranda to be stepping onto her front porch on a gloomy Friday morning wearing a white eyelet minidress cinched at the waist with a wide, brown belt and three-inch wedge sandals.

No reason except one.

“Urban’s not here,” Willow said before Miranda could open her mouth.

Then she shut the door on the other woman’s face.

Which was more satisfying than she’d ever admit.

Miranda must have decided that only seeing Urban at the ballpark wasn’t nearly enough and she was hunting him down to repeat the routine Willow suspected she performed every Saturday, the routine she’d perfected on him in high school. Chatting him up, leaning toward him eagerly, eyes wide, expression enthralled, as if the few words making it from Urban’s brain and out his mouth were drops of pure insight, wisdom and charm.

Yes, yes, Urban was very insightful and smart and appealing. Willow had always known that—hence all her messy, unsettling and unwanted feelings for him. Feelings that have caused her no little amount of misery the past six days.

Problem was, Miranda had always known about Urban’s appeal, too.

She’d known and had cheated on him anyway. She didn’t get to sashay back into town just because her life fell apart. Didn’t get to bat her eyelashes and flip her hair and flirt with him.

She didn’t get to try and win him back.

Even if Willow had already let him go.

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