He’d completed a large part of the bathroom while she’d slept. The cabinets were stained. The walls painted. The only thing left to do was to lay the tile and put on the baseboards.
It looked great, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about him taking over like that. For her, it wasn’t about how fast she got the remodeling done. It was about the process, the slow transformation. How was she supposed to heal herself if he kept stepping in and doing things for her?
“You’ve been busy,” she told him when he stood.
He grinned. “You seemed concerned about the bathroom last night, so I thought I’d take care of it for you. Kind of a surprise.”
“I’m surprised, all right.”
His smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She shook off her mood. It was no big deal, right? He’d done the bathroom for her because he was being nice, not because he didn’t think she could do it. He’d only wanted to help. Any problem stemming from this was her problem, not his.
“I’m hungry,” she told him. “Are you ready for me to make breakfast?”
“Sure.” He trailed her into the kitchen, wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and placed a lingering kiss on her neck.
See, she reminded herself viciously. No problem at all. She was being overly sensitive. “What do you want?”
He laughed softly, and it sent warm air skimming across her ear. She shivered despite herself. “I have a few ideas.”
“I bet you do. But I’m starving.” She grabbed a pan and slammed it on the stove a little harder than she’d intended.
Simon let his arms drop, and when she turned to him, he had a strange expression on his face. It annoyed her, even though she was the one who put it there.
“You want French toast?” she asked, walking to the fridge to get eggs and milk.
“Fine with me.” He reached into the cabinet above the sink, grabbed two mugs. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he filled them with coffee, then reached into the cabinet above him for the sugar bowl she kept there. Just when had he gotten so familiar with her house? And why hadn’t she noticed it before now?
“Do you want strawberries?” she asked.
“Sure. You want me to wash them?”
He was being so agreeable it made her insane. How was she supposed to pick a fight with him if he wouldn’t cooperate? Not that she wanted to pick a fight, she assured herself as she started cracking eggs. She hit one so hard that the shell shattered into the bowl.
As she fished around to get the pieces out, Simon came up to her and turned her to face him. “You want to tell me what’s really going on instead of taking it out on everything in the kitchen?”
The small smile he gave her—as if he was trying to placate a patient at a mental hospital—only made her feel like a bigger idiot. “I’m being irrational,” she said.
He nodded. “A little bit.”
“Sorry. I just—I don’t know. Everything feels off, since last night. Thanks for being there, by the way.”
“I’ll always take care of you, Amanda. I promise.”
He meant the words to reassure her, but they got her back up all over again. Did he really have so little faith in her that he thought she needed to be taken care of? “That’s just it, Simon. I don’t want or need you to take care of me.”
He reared back as if she’d slapped him. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“You know, I don’t get you.” For the first time, she saw a hint of anger slip through his calm facade. “When we were first together, you complained that I was never around. You ended things between us because you said you couldn’t count on me—”
“That’s not true. I ended things because it wasn’t fair to Gabby—”
“Bullshit, Amanda. You ended things because you couldn’t take me being gone so much, not because Gabby couldn’t. So now that I’m here, trying to do my best to support you—”
“I don’t want your help! I can do things on my own.”
He laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Yeah, right.”
Ice slammed through her, made everything about her deadly cold. “Get out.”
He stared at her. “What?”
“I said, get out. I don’t need, or want, to be with anyone who thinks I’m not capable.”
“I never said you weren’t capable, Amanda. But everyone needs help sometimes.”
“I don’t need a part-time knight in shining armor, Simon.”
“See. I told you it bothers you that I travel so much. You can never resist a dig.”
She ignored him. “What I need is a man who believes I can manage by myself. I don’t need one who gets up in the middle of the night to remodel a bathroom that I can do myself. That I wanted to do myself.”
“I was trying to help.” He stared at her, baffled. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”
“Then buy me flowers. Don’t undermine what I’m trying to do here, okay?”
“What are you trying to do? You’re fixing up a monstrosity of a house that probably should have been razed to the ground. What’s wrong with me helping with that?”
She reeled from the pain his words caused. Was that what he saw when he looked around this house, her house? A monstrosity? Something in terrible shape that needed all the help he could give it?
Even worse, was that what he saw when he looked at her? She didn’t even know what to say to him.
Just then his cell phone rang. She waited for him to answer, and when he didn’t, she whispered, “It could be work.”
“It is work. But this is more important right now.” Still, he glanced at the phone two or three times before sliding it into his pocket.
“Call them back, Simon. This can wait. I’m going to go get some clothes on.”
She walked up the stairs slowly, hearing but not listening to the low murmur of Simon’s voice. A trip would be good for him, for them. Give them some time to cool down and figure out what the hell they were doing together. Because there was something wrong here, something that went deeper than a bathroom or a business trip.
When he came into the bedroom a few minutes later, she was dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top. Since the downstairs half bath was now pretty much done, she planned on tackling one of the others. She’d had all the supplies delivered the week before, so she could jump right in.
“Where are you going?” she asked, before she could stop herself. She’d told herself to play it cool, but it still bothered her when he went into war zones. So much could happen.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She whirled to face him. “What does that mean?”
“It means I think I need to be here right now, don’t you? You had a hell of a scare yesterday, we both did, and I think I should stay with you for a while—”
“That’s ridiculous, Simon. Go. Do your job.”
“It’s a job, Amanda. You’re more important to me. I don’t want to make the same mistakes I did before. If you need me, I want to be here.”
All she heard was the doubt. “I don’t need you. That’s what I keep trying to tell you.” Yes, she’d fallen apart when Gabby died. Yes, she still had a long road back to being a whole person again. But she was going to get there. On her own. Why couldn’t he see that? Why couldn’t he understand that she needed to take care of herself? She couldn’t fail again. She wouldn’t fail.
“What’s happened to you?” he demanded, stepping back from her.
“What is that supposed to mean? You know everything that’s happened to me!”
“You never used to be like this, Amanda. You used to accept help—”
“How would you know? You weren’t ever there to offer it. I did everything on my own and was good at it. Why you think you need to come along this time and be the big, strong man, I don’t understand. Do you really think I’ll ever let myself count on you? After what you did?”
> The words were out before she could stop them. Immediately, she knew she’d gone too far. “Simon, I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t insult either one of us, Amanda. You meant it. Nothing I do is good enough. Everything I say is wrong.” He shrugged. “Fine. But you’re wrong, too.”
He headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” she demanded.
“Afghanistan.”
“Typical. The second you can’t handle things, you’re off and running.” Even as she said it, she knew it was a cheap shot.
He was in her face in a second, his eyes absolutely livid as he backed her against the wall. “Let’s get one thing clear. I’m not walking. You’re shoving me out the door—you don’t get to have it both ways.” He leaned down, gave her a brief but searing kiss that had her knees buckling and her brain cells imploding. “I love you, Amanda, but I’m not going to stay here and take this. Not even for you. Call me if you ever get your head on straight.”
Then he was gone, stalking out the door without a backward glance. And she was alone, exactly as she’d wanted it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
IT HAD BEEN A REALLY crappy day. Laying her head down on the table in the break room, which still functioned as her desk since the second storage room had yet to be cleaned out to make her an office, Amanda admitted that every day had been crappy since Simon had left for Afghanistan.
And she had no one to blame but herself.
What had she been thinking, hurling those accusations at him? And why had she freaked out like that? It made absolutely no sense. Sure, she’d been distraught after the shooting but that was no reason for her to take it out on Simon. All he’d been doing was trying to help her.
But why hadn’t he understood that that wasn’t what she wanted from him, or their relationship? She’d dropped so low, had lost so much—including her faith in herself—she needed to find a way to get back to the capable person she’d been before. And she couldn’t do that if he was always swooping in to rescue her. Couldn’t fix herself if she always had someone around to fix everything for her.
Was that really so crazy? she wondered. Wasn’t it a good thing that she’d finally healed enough to see where she’d gone wrong?
Maybe. But that was no excuse for the way she’d treated Simon, no excuse for exploiting his weaknesses for her own selfish purposes.
God, when had she turned into such a bitch?
“Hey, whatever it is, it can’t be that bad,” Lucas said as he walked in. He crossed to her and rubbed a hand up and down her back.
“How would you know?” she mumbled, face still buried in her arms.
“Because nothing is.” He tugged on a lock of her hair. “Come on, talk to me.”
“You know, you’re turning into the big brother I never had,” she said, finally lifting her head. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”
He snorted. “Especially since I’m three years younger than you.”
“Thanks for pointing that out and making the day a little bit worse.”
“Hey, honesty is always the best policy.”
“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that.”
He sighed. “Screwed it up with lover boy, did you?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Call him up, tell him you’re sorry. Trust me, guys like that stuff, since it happens so rarely.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a little difficult right now.”
“Oh, yeah? Why is that?”
She reached for the remote control and turned the volume up on the TV as the anchor cut to Simon, live from Afghanistan. “That’s why.”
“Hmm, I see your point. When is he due back?”
“I don’t know. We weren’t exactly on good terms when he left.”
“So email him. Surely they have the internet, even in Afghanistan.”
“It’s not that easy. We’ve been doing this same thing for twelve years now.”
Lucas whistled. “Twelve years? And you’re going to throw all that away because you can’t admit when you’re wrong? There’s stubborn, Amanda, and then there’s stupid.”
“I know, I know. That’s what I keep—”
She broke off at the sound of gunfire from the TV. Rushing over to it, she watched in horror as the camera fell, hit the ground. She expected it to go black, but it didn’t. Instead, it showed Simon and two other Americans diving for cover as gunfire riddled the area. A huge explosion followed and the screen went black.
Seconds later, the regular anchor was back, ashen-faced and obviously shaken. “We apologize for that unexpected, and violent, end to the Afghanistan report. Please know we are monitoring the situation and will provide you with information regarding Simon Hart and his crew as soon as we find out anything.” He cleared his throat. “In other news…”
Amanda didn’t move as the man went on to talk about the huge dip in the American stock market that day. She just stood there, staring at the screen as every horrible thing that could have happened to Simon played through her head.
Please, don’t let him be dead. Please, don’t let him be dead. Those six words became her mantra as she watched the TV, waiting to hear something, anything, about the only man she’d ever loved.
“Amanda, sweetheart, why don’t you sit down?” Lucas took hold of her shoulders, steered her toward the table.
“I don’t want to sit,” she shrieked, shocked that the sound was coming from her. “I need to figure out if he’s okay. I need to know—” Not Simon, she told herself. He always got out of these things okay. For years, people who worked with him had joked that he had nine lives. It wasn’t possible that he’d used them all up. It wasn’t possible.
“Of course you do. But I’m afraid you’re going to fall down if I leave you there.” He reached for his laptop. “Let’s call the station. See what they say.”
“I have the number.” She crossed to her locker, pulled out her purse and reached for the card Simon had given her weeks before. It had both his cell number and the inside line for the news desk on it.
Lucas handed her the phone, and she dialed with shaky fingers. He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be.
She all but leaped on the person who answered.
“I’m sorry. We’re not at liberty to give out information about Mr. Hart over the phone.”
“Please, just let me know if he’s okay. That’s all I need to know.”
“Again, the policy states—”
“Screw the policy! Please, if he’s hurt, I need to know.”
“Who is this again?”
Amanda repeated her name. “I’m his—” What did she call herself? His girlfriend? His lover? The mother of his child?
“Actually, you’re his emergency contact. I looked it up in the computer. I’m sorry, ma’am. We get all kinds calling in, trying to find out information about our reporters.”
“Just tell me, is he okay?”
“I’m not sure we know anything yet, but let me put you through to his boss. Maybe John can help you.”
Amanda nearly went crazy as she sat there, elevator music playing in her ear, waiting for Simon’s boss to pick up. Finally, when she was going to try to get the operator again, a gruff voice came on the line. “John Bradford.”
“My name is Amanda Jacobs and I’m a…friend of Simon Hart’s. They transferred me to you. Is there any news? Is he—”
“He’s alive, Ms. Jacobs.”
Amanda sagged with relief. “Thank God.”
“But he’s been badly hurt. They’re taking him to the American base for surgery, but right now I don’t know anything more than that.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s—” She tried to speak, but her mouth was so dry it was impossible to form words.
“Ms. Jacobs?”
She swallowed convulsively. “I’m here. Please, can I leave my number? Will you call me as soon as you hear anything?”
“Of course.” He copied down her number, repe
ated it back to her. “I promise I’ll call you as soon as they tell me more about his condition.”
“Thank you,” she whispered before hanging up.
“He’s hurt,” Lucas said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. Bad enough to need surgery, but his boss doesn’t know anything more than that right now.”
“So, we wait. Do you want me to take you home?”
She stared at him with unseeing eyes, trying to make sense of what he had said. Finally, the meaning sank in and she said, “No. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” He crossed to the fridge, pulled out a cold soda. “Here, drink this.”
“I’m not—”
“Amanda!” He got in her face and stared her down as he popped the top on the drink. “I’m being a doctor here, not your friend. Drink the damn soda. You look like you need the sugar.”
She did as she was told, because she knew Lucas was right and it was easier than arguing with him. When she was done, he crouched down beside her, rubbed her back. “Now, do you want to stay here and wait or do you want to go home?”
“I don’t know. I can’t—” She. Damn it, she was not going to fall apart. Not now. Not ever again. She’d played the role of basket case long enough.
“Neither,” she told Lucas. “I’m going down to the network’s headquarters to hang out there. I want to know what’s going on with Simon as soon as they do.”
“They might not let you in,” Lucas cautioned.
She grabbed her purse and keys from her locker. “Oh, they’ll let me in.”
And they did, after an initial argument. She sat in the back of a somber newsroom, and as the night progressed, other relatives of the Afghanistan crew joined her.
It was the reminder she needed—Simon wasn’t the only one over there who might be fighting for his life. His cameraman, Mark Villanueva, had died from one of the first gunshots. His wife had left in hysterics, led away by her sister and father. Amanda felt terrible. She’d had dinner with the couple twice since she and Simon had started seeing each other again, and she had liked both of them immensely.
It was dawn before news came in about Simon’s condition. He’d been shot in the shoulder, but after the explosion he ended up with shrapnel in his chest and abdomen as well as a concussion. The doctors had managed to remove the bullet and most of the shrapnel, but injuries from the flying debris were severe. It had required several hours of surgery to repair the damage, and though they thought he was going to make it, they were keeping him in ICU for a day before evacuating him via medical flight—at the network’s expense—back to the States.