Chapter 9

Ian

Hell. There were reasons I'd never done it, so why was I contemplating a confession?

I took the elevator down to the lobby and went outside to get air. Slumping against a brick wall, I thought about how many times I'd come here with her and could not shake the sick feeling this place gave me. She had that same look in her eyes today as she had the moment her dad died. How she found the strength to come back here when one of these kids grew ill was beyond me. The woman had more strength than any ten people I knew. She was either a saint or an idiot. The jury was still out on that one.

More than anything, it left me irate. How much was she supposed to take? Would she let herself endure? It was as if she was punishing herself for not doing more. She held a fund raiser every year, the proceeds going to research and her blessed art program. An event where she smiled, shook hands, and pretended it didn't kill her dead those kids were dying. She should be in some ridiculous daisy field somewhere, lost in la-la land, painting the world she saw as beautiful. Not here. Not reminded that life wasn't a picturesque daydream.

It wasn't as if I wanted to shield her from everything that could hurt her. That wasn't it at all. What bothered me was she sought pain, time and time again, as if it would bring her dad back. Tom's death hadn't been her fault, yet she acted like she needed penance just the same. She never saw all the good she did, how much difference she made in the lives of those kids. She just worked harder, immersing herself.

After awhile, she found me outside. Learning Jon had only a few weeks at most, I listened to her relay the same story I'd heard a hundred times. The doctors didn't give any grand illusions. A few days, a few months-they didn't know. I watched her fight tears, attempting to blink them away. Knowing her, she'd cry until sleep took her tonight-while she was alone. I wished she trusted herself enough to let go in front of me.

"You ready?" She puffed her cheeks and expelled a breath.

I nodded as if I didn't realize she was upset and followed her to the car. "You never cried," I said at length, once we were on the road. I have no idea why I brought it up.

"I don't cry easily."

I shook my head, irritated again. I never once saw her shed tears. Not at her father's funeral, not now. She'd always mastered holding them back. The only exception had been a couple days after Tom had died, when I'd found her...

Hell. I couldn't go there or I'd package her in bubble wrap and put her in a closet.

When it came to certain feelings, she would shut herself down, putting on that cool, collected face. Hiding. I shook off my mood, knowing she didn't need a fight. No matter how much I would love to lay into her just now.

"Let's get dinner tonight." I glanced at her and back to the road, not liking the distance in her eyes. Her depression was always hovering outside the lines of reality, scaring the ever-living shit out of me.

"Can't. I have a date."

"A what? With who?" Matt wasn't coming into Charlotte until tomorrow and, despite their "open" relationship, she hadn't dated anyone else.

"With a blank canvas." She looked at me, her smile a punch to the gut.

"Since when is painting a date?"

"Since today. I just thought of a scene. I'll give it to you when I'm done."

"It's not a naked portrait, is it?" Please Christ, say yes.

She laughed and, damn, the musical lilt sounded so good. "Nope."

I nudged her shoulder. "Let's get dinner anyway. You can work after. You need to get out."

She chewed on her lip like I'd wanted to do more for than a decade. "Okay, but I'm out now."

She would think that. "Teaching a class and going to the hospital isn't going out. I'm taking you to Ed's for pizza. You can paint later." Then again, staying in had its advantages. "Why isn't Matt here taking you on a date? It's Saturday. There's no meetings tomorrow, even in his world."

Her voice was quiet. Too quiet. "Can we not fight about Matt, please?"

Heaven forbid. "Fine. But what does Matt think about you cheating on him with a paintbrush and your best friend?"

Exasperated, she shrugged. "He won't care."

Christ. She wasn't that clueless. Neither was Matt. "Yes, he will."

Glancing at me briefly, she returned her gaze to the road. She had deflection down to a science. "What makes you think he'll care?"

Because he's the only man on the planet who's in love with you even half as much as I am.

"Call it a gut feeling."

"Well, he's coming to visit tomorrow. I'll be sure to tell him I cheated on him with you, a paintbrush, and some pizza. He'll be devastated."

Great. Why did I even bother? And why couldn't Matt stay in Greensboro where he wasn't a threat to my unbalanced obsession? "What is he coming in for?"

"Can't he drive down just to see me?" When I raised my eyebrows, because Matt had rarely done just that, she sighed. "He said he wanted to share some good news and talk."

It was almost laughable how she switched from broken-hearted to angry to nervous in the course of ten minutes. "Don't freak out, Summer. Talking isn't always a bad thing." But one could hope. I could hope until my balls turned blue that Matt would break things off with her.

Evergreens whizzed by in a blur along the rolling Carolina countryside as silence stretched between us. Summer had a tree house in her backyard when we were kids. She had wanted it in an evergreen because she thought fairies lived in them, not the tall oak it wound up in. I smiled. Her dad had been so unwilling to build the thing, but finally gave in to Summer's whining. Tom had taught me so much about carpentry, starting with Summer's tree house.

I looked back at her, a smile still playing at my lips. Her caramel hair flew around her face due to the open windows, threatening to come free from the rubber band as she played with the radio dials. I just might have a heart attack if she ever let me use the air conditioner.

My mind drifted back to Matt. He wanted to have a talk with her. That could only mean one of two things: he was going to step up the relationship or he was ending it. I knew Matt sure as hell wasn't breaking up with her.

I wondered if that was what she truly wanted. Matt. Summer had rarely ever gotten what she'd wanted in her short lifetime. I'd call it bad luck, but it went beyond that. Her mother had bailed-simply never returned one day, nor had she appeared to ever give Summer a second thought. Her father had been taken in the most grueling, painful way. She never asked for much, was typically the kind of woman who was happy with what she had, but somehow life always came up short. Our families all considered her their own, but that was hardly the same as having blood kin.

She almost gave up once, almost let the depression win. If I hadn't found her, she might not be here now. Four years and I still couldn't erase the image from my head, the panic from my chest.

Christ. If anyone deserved a break, deserved to be happy, it was Summer. Maybe Matt could do that for her. Even though the thought ate away at me, ultimately, that's all that mattered to me...that she was happy. And still breathing.