Chapter 22

TAMMY

Ihad asked Mike for several days to sort things out, but it only took me one. Macy was happy to see me, though she wished it were under better circumstances. Dillon had to be told, so we all had a quick conference in his office while Emily slept and the kids played on their tablets.

"He went to prison," I said, looking at the floor.

"Oh my God," Macy reacted, clamping her hands over her mouth.

Dillon said nothing.

"That's all I know." I finished the story abruptly.

"What do you think it was for?" Macy reached out to grab me by the hand.

Dillon sat down at his office chair, opened a website, and typed in Mike's name. I turned away. "I don't want to know that way. I want to hear it from Mike."

Dillon looked at whatever was on the computer screen and nodded his approval. That gave me hope. Obviously, whatever website Dillon had accessed had given him the information he wanted. And "serial killer" hadn't popped up in response to Mike's name. But even if Mike had been convicted of a violent offense, I wouldn't have believed it. He was sweet and goofy and gentle to a fault. I knew there was more to the story, and I wanted to hear it. Mike had said he was willing to tell me the whole truth, if only I would let him.

Macy read the screen and nodded to her husband. "Have you told Mike the other thing?"

I shook my head. "I don't know how to tell him, especially now."

"Go home and talk to him. Let him explain and tell him what's going on."

I drew in a deep breath. The whole night I had been obsessing about Mike's prison record. What had he done? Would he do it again? Had he been framed? I was seriously considering that last question because my knowledge of Mike didn't include anything sketchy or underhanded. Maybe he got in a bar fight. Maybe he had flirted with a prostitute unknowingly and later found out she was an undercover officer. I stopped myself right there. I could imagine things all day long, but it wouldn't get me closer to the truth. I thanked Dillon and Macy for letting me stay and agreed to go back to my cabin that night.

I drove to work, trying to keep my mind off Mike. Had he stolen something? Maybe it was a white-collar crime, and he was in for tax evasion or insider trading. That didn't track. In all the weeks I had known him, Mike hadn't once brought up investments or banking. I made another attempt to convince myself to let it go, without success. When I pulled up outside the Wood Rose Salon, I was imagining Mike in a suit and tie at a country club discussing his latest shady business deal.

"You look awful," Lindsey said as soon as I walked in the door.

"I slept on a cot," I said.

"Well, here, sit down." She patted her client chair.

I sat obediently. Lindsey spritzed my hair with water and began combing it out. "Why did you sleep on a cot?"

"Mike and I had a fight."

"What about?"

I inhaled, remembering diner with Mike's parents and all the fallout. "Mike's been to prison. But he didn't tell me. And he wouldn't tell me the whole story, so I spent the night at Macy's."

Lindsey plugged in the hair dryer. "Why was he in prison?"

"I don't know. I think Dillon knows. He looked it up on some website." I felt the hot air of the dryer on my scalp. "I don't think it's fair to snoop on him, so I asked them not to tell me."

"Have you told Mike about the baby?"

I shook my head, throwing Lindsey off her game.

She turned the hair dryer off. "You can't keep a secret and be mad at Mike for keeping a secret. His may be about the past, but yours is about the future, and that makes it so much bigger."

"I know," I said. "I just really like him. I mean, I'm scared of how much I like him. And I don't want to frighten him away."

"If he's the person you think he is, he won't abandon you and the child." She turned the dryer back on and began to fluff my hair.

I sat in silence until she finished, watching my reflection in the mirror transform from "girl who slept in a laundry room" to "young professional." Lindsey had just finished with me when the door chimes sounded, and our first customer walked in. I hopped out of the chair and raced to the reception desk.

"One of the perks of working here?" the client guessed.

"Always." I winked. "I have the best hair in town."

My stomach was tied up in knots all day. Not only did I have morning sickness to contend with, but I had a sinking feeling that I had treated Mike poorly. I tried to put myself in his shoes. If I had a criminal history, I might not be so eager to share. What if the details were painful or traumatic for him? I knew nothing about prison except what I had seen on television, and that made it seem like a scary place. I hated to think of sweet, accommodating Mike locked in a cell without sunlight. I couldn't wait to go home, throw my arms around him, and tell him I loved him. I only hoped it wasn't too late.

When I pulled up to the house, his truck was in the driveway. I turned off the engine and sat still for a moment, thanking my lucky stars that I had caught him. I was going to make the best of this opportunity. I wouldn't push him for details he wasn't willing to give, and I would tell him about the baby. I had to. I got out of the car and walked slowly toward the door. My thoughts were running a mile a minute. Would Mike be angry with me for storming out? Would he turn a cold shoulder and suggest that we part ways? I rested my hand on the doorknob for a moment before turning it and stepping inside.

The house seemed empty. I scanned the common areas, the kitchen and the living room, and found no sign of my roommate. As I stepped inside, I thought I could hear the shower running. I stood just outside the bathroom to confirm it and heard the water shut off. Taking advantage of a few minutes of privacy, I changed my clothes and brushed my hair. I wanted to look good for this conversation, I wasn't sure why. I picked out a sexy little T-shirt and pair of hip-hugging jeans. Pajamas would indicate that I meant to stay the night, and I wasn't sure if that would be an option. Sure, my name was on the lease, but if he was angry, I didn't want to assume he would ask me to stay.

I arranged myself in the living room, on the couch, effortlessly displayed. He walked in a moment later, shirtless, toweling off his hair. Seeing me, he stopped, dropping the towel onto the recliner.

"Tammy," he said.

I stood up. "I'm sorry for leaving."

"I understand." His eyes swept up my figure, pausing at my breasts before continuing up to my face. "You have a right to be angry. I'm glad you came back."

"You said you would tell me the whole story," I reminded him.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Let me get a shirt."

I wished he wouldn't, but it didn't seem appropriate to stop him. He returned with a green T-shirt on, an army color with a tree stamped on the front that looked like an old work shirt. He went to the fridge to grab a beer, popped the top, and drank half of it before turning back to me. I waited silently while he chose a seat, moving the towel off the recliner so he could occupy its place.

"You remember Porter," he said softly.

I nodded. I wasn't surprised that it came back to Porter. That brunch at the diner had been suspicious as hell, with everything that went unsaid zapping through the air like missiles. Mike shifted in his seat, getting comfortable.

"Porter and I went to school together. A lot of the kids, once they graduated, moved on to bigger and better things. I had to stay and help my parents with the lumberyard. Porter didn't have any plans for the future, and he just hung around day after day, getting wasted." Mike took another drink to solidify his courage before soldiering on.

"I thought that's all he was doing, just getting drunk. I thought he was an alcoholic, but then I found out he was in with a real bad crowd. These guys, they were moving crystal meth and cocaine through town. Porter was selling for them, but he started using the products instead of selling them and ended up owing these guys a fortune.

"He came to me one night, to my apartment above the garage. He was so far gone on whatever drug or combination of drugs he was using. He said that they were gonna kill him if he didn't replace what he had used." Mike sighed, setting the beer down on the end table. "I've been over and over my decision, wondering if it was the right one. But I think if I hadn't done what I did, Porter really would be dead."

I reached across the empty space between us and patted his hand.

He curled his fingers around my palm and squeezed. "I knew someone at the lumberyard who was a dealer. I used my savings at the time to buy a hundred grams of cocaine." He shook his head in disgust. "I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know what kind of drugs were missing, or how much. I just thought if I could replace at least some of them, that would buy us some time and Porter would be able to live."

He inhaled, coming to the last chapter. "It turns out that the person I bought the drugs from was an undercover cop. They thought I was dealing. They thought I was an addict and a loser, and they locked me up. I lied to the detectives and told them that I was involved in the black market. I pointed the finger at the guys who were threatening to kill Porter. They went down and got life in prison. I got one year because I cooperated, and I got six months off for good behavior."

I nodded, feeling all the pieces click into place with satisfying finality. Mike had been framed. Or he had framed himself, but he had done it for good reason. He wasn't a criminal but an incredible friend who was willing to abandon his own future to save the life of a person he had once cared for. Not only did I understand, but my heart was awash with a love I had never felt for anyone before. Mike was too good for me.

I had been obsessing about his character and what he might have done to end up on the wrong side of the law. But he was a saint, loyal to a fault, willing to brave the worst of what society had to offer to save his friend.

"Does your mom know?" I asked, because suddenly Mrs. Newbury's acidic tone didn't make sense. If she knew her son had been so selfless, why did she feel the need to throw his past in my face?

"No." He shook his head. "And she can't. No one knows. Only you and me and Porter."

"But why?" I persisted. "If you just tell your parents, they'll understand. It would be a relief for them to know that you're innocent."

"I've told them I'm innocent," he insisted. "If they had any trust in me, they would accept that without having to hear the whole story. I can't tell them about Porter, or he would be in trouble again."

"But surely you can tell your parents," I argued. "They would be happy to know the truth and I'm sure they wouldn't make trouble for Porter."

Mike nodded, considering it. He held out a hand to me, and I went to him, settling myself down on his lap. I circled his neck with my arms and feathered loving kisses across his brow.

"You don't think I'm a fool?" he asked, his eyes wide and full of pain.

"No," I answered. "I think you're very brave. And a hell of a friend."

He trailed one finger up and down my thigh. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."

"It's okay," I said quickly, thinking of my own deceit. "You didn't know you could trust me."

"It wasn't that," he objected. "I was afraid you wouldn't like me. I was afraid it would chase you off."

"Well, it didn't. I have nothing but more respect for you." I said firmly.

He leaned back, planting his palm firmly against my thigh. "My mom drug tests me every chance she gets. Everyone in town looks at me suspiciously. I can't run a tab at the Lucky Lady. My manager thinks I'm an idiot."

I kissed him on the nose. "If they knew…"

"But they can't know," he sighed. "Now, I've told you my secret. What is it that you wanted to tell me?"

I panicked. Sitting on his lap, I could feel my muscles tense, and I knew he felt it too. I tried to force myself to relax. "It's nothing important." Nothing important? It was only the rest of our lives, and the lives of our children and grandchildren. Why was it so hard to break through this paralysis? To say two little words that would either bring us together or tear us apart? Mike had been so brave, laying his entire struggle bare for me. Why couldn't I do the same?

"I won't push you," Mike said, reading more truth in my actions than my words. "I know it's important, but you can tell me in your own time."

I laid my head down against his chest. "Thank you." I couldn't stop a tear from sliding down my cheek. He was so good to me. I had a terrible feeling that I was going to ruin everything. I just wanted one more night of bliss before the whole experiment came to an end. Despite all my promises to Lindsey, Macy, and myself, I couldn't do it. I couldn't risk Mike's affections, even if it meant lying to him. I was just a scaredy-cat—that's all there was to it. I could trust him, but he couldn't trust me. I allowed him to hold me, feeling guilty and relieved all at the same time. My story would be a burden for another day.