Page 84 of When You Are Mine

“Jo.” Walsh peppered his voice with warning, glancing at Kerris with quick concern. She looked back at Jo without guile or guilt.

“I don’t have anything to hide, Jo.” Kerris sniffed and walked toward the door with sure steps.

“Really? Then why do I seem to always catch you off in some dark corner with my cousin? Cam’s best friend untilyoushowed up.”

“Stop it, Jo.” Walsh stepped toward the door, not looking at Kerris again. “Not today.”

“You took the words.” Jo’s eyes on Kerris went subzero. “If the two of you can manage to stay apart at least for today, that would honor Aunt Kristeene’s memory.”

“Don’t you dare tell me what would honor my mother’s memory.” Walsh’s words thundered into the tranquillity of the room. He slammed his fist into his open palm. “Talking with a friend, taking comfort from a friend, is not dishonoring anything, Jo. Now shut the hell up about things you don’t understand.”

He rushed past her into the hall, hating to leave Kerris, but needing to get away from the accusation in his cousin’s eyes. Needing to get away from the promise growing inside of Kerris. He stormed down the stairs, almost barreling into Cam. They faced each other like wary, wounded animals, only a few steps apart.

“You doing okay?” Cam asked, finally breaking the silence.

“Hell no.”

“Me neither.” Cam blinked away tears.

“You wanna get drunk?” Walsh proffered the vodka-filled flask from his pocket.

“Yeah, like you can’t believe, but I’ll pass.” The breath swished from Cam’s chest in a rush. “I was looking for…”

Cam trailed off, obviously not wanting to drop the grenade of Kerris’s name into the middle of their temporary détente.

“For Kerris?” Walsh kept his tone bland and his eyes steady when he looked back at Cam. “I just passed her and Jo in Mom’s sitting room. You could check there.”

“Okay.” Cam frowned, glancing up the stairs and then back to Walsh.

Walsh brushed past him and walked toward Uncle James’s study, hoping to get a much-needed swallow or two of liquid courage in privacy and away from all the consoling eyes.

Hand on the door, he caught a glimpse of a broad back rushing toward the front door in the foyer.

“Martin,” he called, but his father didn’t slow or turn.

Walsh followed, moving more quickly than he had all day. He stopped on the porch landing.

“Dad!”

His father stopped where he stood, but he didn’t turn around. Walsh rushed down the steps, stepping into his path.

“Dad, I—”

“Walsh, could we talk another time?” His father looked down at his shiny Italian shoes.

“Well, I—Okay.” Walsh felt about twelve years old. “I just thought…well, we hadn’t gotten to talk since Mom…”

He cut the words off when he saw his father wince. Pain tweaked his lean features. He looked at Walsh with the most naked pain anyone had ever tried to hide.

“Another time?” His father’s red-rimmed eyes revealed that he was not as unfeeling as his tone would lead one to believe. “I’m headed to New York, and then back to Hong Kong.”

“Already?” Walsh couldn’t believe his remaining parent was abandoning him now of all times. “You can’t postpone the trip?”

“Why would I want to?” Martin’s words started rebuilding a wall between them. “I cut the trip short to…I cut the trip short, and I need to finish what I went there to do.”

If Walsh hadn’t heard his father’s howling grief himself, he’d assume he was being cold and callous, as usual. But Walsh noted the lines etched around his father’s mouth and eyes. Saw his father’s hands tremble. Walsh suspected nothing but pride and sheer will kept Martin’s back straight and his posture rigid. He was fighting absolute collapse, a meltdown of Chernobyl proportions.

“I’ll see you when you get back to New York, Dad.”

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