Baby, I'm Yours. Carrie Weaver

up when we get home. You don’t do a thing, except maybe take a long, hot bath and crawl into bed.”

      “Thank you.” If the circumstances had been different, Becca would have loved to join them. But as it was, she was just too damn grateful for a few moments of solitude.

      Rick came up beside her and touched her arm. “You need anything, anything, call me.”

      “Thank you.”

      She hugged her kids, her in-laws and her parents and finally they all left.

      For possibly the first time in twenty-three years, Becca was totally alone.

      She started up the stairs to take a bath, but stopped halfway. She simply couldn’t face the master bedroom and bath, where every corner, every cubic inch of air, reflected her life with Gabe. Her first love. Her only love.

      Instead, she retraced her steps to the great room, automatically picking up plates and glassware. By rote, she cleared the room, twining her fingers through several glasses.

      One was slick and she started to lose her grip as she walked into the kitchen.

      Though she tried to save it, the glass fell to the tiled floor and shattered.

      Just as Becca’s life had slipped out of control and broken to bits.

      Powerful emotions bubbled within her, emotions foreign yet somehow right. Red-hot rage. Rage at Gabe for promising her forever and staying only twenty-three years. And anger at a God who had taken him away.

      The sound of glass shattering was the perfect accompaniment to her anger. She grabbed glass after rented glass and dashed it to the floor, glorying in the power of defiance.

      Becca had always played by the rules. She’d been a loving wife, a good mother. She’d treated her in-laws with kindness. Worked hard, volunteered her time, attended church. She had done everything she was supposed to do and her family should have been protected from bad things.

      But fate hadn’t played by the rules. It had delivered a massive heart attack to an otherwise healthy husband and father.

      RICK LEANED his forehead against the cold steering wheel, his breath condensing as he exhaled. He should go home, get out of the Smith driveway. But he couldn’t seem to turn the key in the ignition. Because once he did, Gabe’s life would be past tense. The funeral was over, the wake was over, and now life was supposed to go on as usual.

      But life as usual was no longer possible. Because Gabe wouldn’t be in the office to help build up their rental-car business, playing off Rick’s strengths and weaknesses. There wouldn’t be anybody to clap him on the shoulder after a hard day and suggest stopping for a beer. And there sure wouldn’t be anyone close enough to know what he’d gone through during his divorce, except maybe Becca.

      Rick suspected he would never be the same again. He couldn’t just sail through life, taking for granted that he had decades of good health ahead of him. Not only had he suddenly lost his best friend, he’d also come face-to-face with his own mortality. And he didn’t much like it. If a guy as vital as Gabe could be struck down by a heart attack, then it could happen to anyone.

      He straightened, staring at the house as if to find answers. Maybe even hoping Gabe would come strolling out the door saying it was all a huge joke. Rick would give everything he had to make that happen. But he couldn’t.

      Glancing at the passenger seat, he eyed the files Becca had requested. He should leave them for another day, but she had been insistent. Becca was a hairdresser, but also worked for Reliable Car Rental as their part-time accounts-receivable clerk. She knew as well as he did that the business needed to keep the cash flowing.

      But there was no way in hell he wanted to go back into that house today. No way he wanted to look into Becca’s eyes and see blank despair. Her stoic refusal to grieve had touched him more than a flood of tears. She was hurting, no doubt about it. And seeing her so lost and alone threatened his own tentative composure.

      Nodding, Rick started the engine, flicked on the heater and put the gearshift in Reverse.

      But he couldn’t seem to let his foot off the brake.

       Becca needed him.

      BECCA WAS BARELY aware of the tears streaming down her face. Or of the glass stinging her calves, leaving pinpricks of blood on her skin.

      The only thing she knew was that something immobilized her right arm.

      Trying to wrench away, she swung, ready to do battle with whoever stood between her and her mission.

      Rick’s hand tightened on her wrist. “No, Becca.”

      “Let me go.” She watched in horror as the palm of her left hand connected with his cheek. Felt the sting of flesh meeting flesh. And knew she’d never forgive herself, even if Rick did. But something propelled her movements, something she didn’t understand.

      He grasped both wrists. “Calm down.”

      “I don’t want to calm down.”

      Removing the tumbler from her hand, he set it on the counter.

      Becca’s fingers flexed as she glanced longingly at the glass. Destruction felt like the perfect response to destruction. And soothed her in a way nothing else had.

      Nodding, she pretended to acquiesce, employing as much cunning as an alcoholic seeking a drink.

      Rick pulled her into his arms, murmuring soothing words.

      She allowed herself to relax for a moment. Rest her cheek against his gabardine jacket. He was a good friend and only meant to comfort. But he just didn’t understand. He’d lost a friend, but she’d lost the center of her life.

      Becca felt as if she was spinning out of control with nothing to anchor her. Except, perhaps, the sound of glass shattering on tile.

      Reaching blindly, she patted the counter until she felt something smooth and cylindrical.

      “Enough, Becca.”

      She struggled, fighting for her life. Or maybe fighting for Gabe’s life. It was all such a confusing mess.

      Rick reached for her wrist again.

      Becca evaded his grasp, shoving him with her shoulder.

      He lost his balance and started to fall backward, pulling her with him.

      Grunting as he hit the floor, Rick cushioned her fall.

      Becca tried to scramble to her feet, but he held her fast, his arm pinning her against him.

      “No, Becca. No more.”

      She had lost the battle. Her ragged breathing slowed as the fight went out of her. Replaced by deep, wracking sobs. All her hurt and despair came pouring out.

      Barely aware of Rick patting her back, murmuring soothing words, she lost herself in a rush of release at no longer having to pretend she could go on without Gabe.

      Cradled by Rick, she curled into the fetal position and cried out her sorrow. Emotion rocked her body with the rhythm of her sobs.

      Rick’s chest heaved, as if her sorrow was too much for him. Or as if her loss of control had touched off an explosion of grief in him.

      Glancing up at his face, Becca touched his wet cheeks. She shouldn’t have been surprised. He loved Gabe nearly as much as she did.

      And that knowledge calmed her, much to her surprise.

      Still, Rick held her, murmuring encouragement.

      After what seemed like hours, awareness seeped in. Primal awareness.

      Movement, friction, two bodies in such proximity had mimicked a coupling so unlikely it was laughable. If she’d had an ounce of her sense of humor left.

      Becca glanced up, holding Rick’s startled gaze.

      “I’m