“Who else have you lost?” She whispered the question, as if she really didn’t want to know the answer.
“My wife and son.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Gussie stared at him, all the blood draining from her head to land in a pool in her stomach. “You were married.” She barely breathed the words. “With a son?”
Taking a deep inhale, he held it in his lungs for a long time before letting it out in a long, tattered puff of sorrow.
“My wife, Sophia, had been six months pregnant when she hemorrhaged. Both she and our son died before she could get medical help.” He slipped his hand out of her grasp, pushing his chair back from the table slightly. “So, no, I haven’t always been alone.”
A rush of blood and sympathy and, whoa, understanding rolled through her. No wonder…no damn wonder he wanted to be alone.
“Tom, I’m so sorry.” Lame, hollow words. “Can you talk about it?”
“No,” he said with a mirthless laugh. “But I guess I’m about to.”
“Why have you never mentioned it?”
“Because it’s easier to pretend it never happened.”
Who would want to do that? Why? “Why has Alex never mentioned it?” Surely she knew her uncle had been married and had a baby on the way and then…oh, God, it was sad.
“Alex doesn’t know.”
“Did Ruthie?”
He nodded slowly. “Alex was only seven when Sophia…when it happened. I suspect Ruthie hadn’t told her, then never mentioned it after Sophia died. I’d been around to see my sister only sporadically before that, and she never met my wife.”
His wife. The very word sounded foreign on his lips.
If Alex had been seven, then this must have happened about five years ago.
“So that’s why I don’t do well with connections,” he explained. “When Ruthie died, it was like…” He made a guttural sound. “How many people does a person have to lose before they know it’s better not to have any…any…”
“Any family,” she supplied. “And yet Ruthie made sure that didn’t happen by leaving Alex with you.”
Another grunt of unexplained emotion. “Which was why when I found out and got to Florida, I was just a shithead from the word go.”
“No, you weren’t. You tried. You are still trying to reach her.”
“I didn’t want another family,” he ground out. “I was actually so angry at Ruthie, I didn’t mourn her properly. I still haven’t.”
But he was, in his own way.
“Anyway, that’s my story, and better you know before you get in any deeper.”
Too late. She was deep. “Can you tell me more? Tell me about her?”
He shrugged. “She was amazing. Awesome. One of a kind.”
Gussie was ashamed at the twinge of jealousy, tamping it down quickly. Of course he would marry someone like that…like himself. “I’m glad you found her, then.”
He shot her a look that said he wasn’t so glad at all. That it really wasn’t better to have loved and lost.
“We really wanted the baby,” he said, giving her a mental image of a young couple, blissfully expecting, which came with yet another twist of envy. He pushed away from the table completely. “He wasn’t planned, but…we were…”
He shook his head and walked out to the balcony, leaving his thought unfinished. But Gussie could already imagine what he and Sophia were—happy. Excited. Anticipating great things.
For a moment, Gussie stayed right where she was because running after him to demand to know more wasn’t going to help him at all. She could see his silhouette, leaning against the railing, head down as he worked to shovel his emotions back into wherever he stored them under lock and key.
She wondered how a person survived that kind of heartache. No, the question she was asking was, how would she survive that kind of heartache? It was clear how Tom had coped.
Always alone.
Well, not now, buddy. Not this time.
Taking a steadying breath, Gussie got up and joined him in the balmy evening air. Wordlessly, she put her hand on his back and turned him toward her, and then she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest.
He kissed the top of her head and fell a little closer into her, still silent.
She had so many questions, but the logistics of his sorrowful story didn’t seem as important as holding him right then and just letting him hurt against her.
They stood like that until darkness fell, and only then did Tom ease back and look at Gussie with gratitude in his blue eyes.
“She was a real estate agent in Athens,” he said. “I met her trying to buy a place to live, of all things.”
She almost smiled. “So you’re not really a man with no home or country.”
“I loved Greece and decided to get a place there when I got financially secure and stable. Then I met Sophia and started staying at her apartment, and before we knew it, she was pregnant.”
“Before you were married?”
He gave a dry laugh. “Now you sound like her dad, who did threaten to kill me. Or drown me in ouzo and whiskey.” His smile grew wider and his gaze distant with a memory. “Her family lived—lives—on an island in the middle of the southeast Aegean Sea, Karpathos. They’re farmers up north, in a village so old school that women run around in traditional dress. They live close to the earth, close to each other, close to God. But with so much life and love and wine and food and family, it was…unbelievable.”
Jealousy got its grip on Gussie’s heart. Now she ached with wanting something she didn’t have.
“We got married right there in the front of her farm, in a really small ceremony because she was already showing, so it was just her family.” His smile faded as quickly as it came. “But they couldn’t help her when she needed it the most.”
Even though part of her almost didn’t want to know, she asked anyway. “What happened?”
He turned toward the view, so she couldn’t see the pain etched on his features. “She was staying with them because the pregnancy hadn’t been easy. She had problems from the beginning and, as much as I wanted her to stay in Athens, near her doctor, when I was out of town, she insisted on going home. It was where she felt safer, being pregnant I guess, because her mother and sisters were there.”
Quiet for a minute, he stared straight ahead, and Gussie waited, bracing for a tough story.
“I had to go to London for a week-long shoot when she was pretty far along.” He closed his eyes as though a surge of guilt hit. “Apparently, it was all very fast, and they tried, but the village is notoriously remote, with one treacherous road an hour from the only real town on the island. And even there, all they have is a medical center, no hospital. She didn’t make it, and neither did the baby.”
She closed her eyes, feeling the impact of his words. “God, I’m sorry.”
“We were going to name him Uly, short for Ulysses.” He could barely say the name. “It’s Greek, and we thought I shouldn’t be the only one in the family with a historical and hysterical name. Plus, it beat Homer.”
She heard the attempt at humor, an echo of what she imagined were inside jokes shared with a woman he loved while they planned for their life as a family.
“Anyway,” he said, stiffening as any hope of humor faded. “I made a decision to stay completely alone after that.”
“Panta monos,” she whispered.
“I never want to lose like that again. I never want to feel that kind of pain, like someone ripped a limb from my body, and while they were at it, they tore out my heart.” He cleared his throat as if the jagged words actually hurt to speak them, then stepped away, looking hard at her, as if this were the first time since the conversation started that he actually saw her.
“Gussie.” He dragged his hands to her shoulders, gripping her there. “I don’t tell people this story.”
“Then I feel special.”
“That’s the problem,” he said gruffly. ??
?You are.”
Her heart flipped at how his dead-flat tone didn’t match his promising words. “Why, exactly, is that a problem?” Except, really, she already knew the answer to that question.
“Nothing can change this.” He raised his arm so the Greek letters were visible. “In fact, someone like you—no, you in particular—will only make me even more certain of my decision never to…” His voice trailed off.
“Never to live? Never to love?” She jerked back a little, the force of her emotions jolting her. “Really? No one has a chance with you, ever?”
He gave his head a nearly imperceptible shake, the minuscule move firing her even more.
“That’s awful damn selfish of you, Tom.”
He flinched a little, then acknowledged it. “Self-protective.”
“Selfish,” she fired back. “Because people are going to love you, whether you want them to or not. People like Alex and”—me—“people you meet. Friends. Associates. It’s not fair to hold everyone off.”
“It’s fair to me.”
Fury punched her. “And that’s all that matters to you?”
“Gussie, please, I just bared my soul to you—”
“And that soul is scarred, like the back of my head. I get it, Tom. I get it, and my heart hurts for what you’ve been through and what you’ve lost. It’s unthinkable. But—”
“There is no but,” he interjected.
“But,” she continued through grinding teeth, “you can’t stop living because someone else died.”
“Too late. I already did.”
“You can’t,” she insisted, refusing to hear him. “You have Alex, you have a job, you have…” She frowned as something else hit her. “You have a family in Greece, living in a remote village, surrounded by food and wine and friends.”
“They’re not my family.”
“Do you still see them?”
“I haven’t seen them since the funeral. I barely said good-bye, just went to Cyprus to mourn and drink and…” He gestured toward the tattoo on his arm. “Set a course for the rest of my life.”
“Is she buried on that island?”
“Yes. On a hillside under her favorite willow tree.”
“And you’ve never been to there to visit her grave?”
He shook his head, too ashamed to make the admission out loud.
“Well, you need to.”
He closed his eyes and huffed out a breath strong enough to quiver his nostrils. “Stop this.”
“Stop what? Telling you what you don’t want to hear? The truth?”
“The only truth I know is that it hurts more than a human can bear to lose a person you love, so it’s better not to love.” He pivoted to the French door, heading right back into the living room.
“Tom!”
He kept on going through the room, disappearing into the shadows. Gussie’s throat closed up as she stared into the dimly lit rooms, hearing his bedroom door close. She felt her whole body want to follow him, pound on the door, demand he talk and think and change.
But he wasn’t going to change any more than that tattoo would disappear from his arm. And that was bad, bad news for a woman who might be falling for him, or a girl who might have already fallen…into his care.
Gripping the railing, she stared out at the night lights of Nice, the reality of what she now knew about him settling over her like the warm night air. He’d been so busy getting her to reveal her old heartaches that she’d completely missed what he was hiding. His pain was so deeply embedded that it was impossible to see, even in close conversation.
Behind her in the apartment, she heard footsteps, and she tightened her fingers, waiting for him to join her. What would he say? Would he argue more or throw his arms around her and tell her she was right and maybe she could be the one to heal—
The front door clicked closed, and the apartment went silent.
Gussie didn’t move, the impact of that noise and the fact that he’d left rolling over her like ice-cold water. Ten seconds later, she saw him walking down the shadowy streets a few stories below, his head down, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumped as he disappeared into the city.
Alone, like always.
* * *
“Allez! Allez! On se lève!” The words, barked with indignant French fury, slapped Tom awake. “Pas d’sans-abri ici, c’est interdit!”
Blinking into the rising sun, Tom grabbed the arms of the Promenade sun chair, attempting a sleepy mental translation. All he could get was “homeless” and “forbidden,” which was enough to tell him what the gruff French policeman meant. Get the hell off the beach. Nobody sleeps here.
“Maintenant!” the man ordered. Now.
“All right, I’ll go.” Tom waved him off, pushing up from the chair to stumble away, not bothering to even try to explain that he wasn’t homeless.
Because, shit, he kind of was.
He had no home, no family, no wife, no…what had Gussie once called her friends? No foundation.
He stood still for a moment, pressing his feet into the concrete as though it were a material reminder of what it would feel like to have that kind of foundation in his life. Other than terrifying, of course.
He closed his eyes, burning from the lack of real sleep and overactive tear ducts.
Damn, he hadn’t cried over Sophia and the baby for a long, long time. He’d hardened that part of him, let the scar tissue form. Walking again, he let another metaphor create a mental image—this one similar to the rutted tissue that covered a spot on Gussie’s head, only his was over his heart. And like Gussie and her wigs and hats, he’d tried desperately to cover that scar with work and travel and solitude.
But she’d exposed his scar, like he’d gotten her to reveal hers.
He threaded his fingers through his hair and lifted his head from a study of the pavement to catch a glimmer of the morning sky.
Which only made him think about Gussie and how he should be waking up with her right now, holding her naked body against his, making love as the sun painted Nice a portokali sky. Maybe he should have told her that Sophia had taught him that word—or maybe she’d figured it out by now.
He shook off the sky, the poignancy of it too much for him right then, instead turning a corner to head back to the apartment where he would…what?
Apologize for being a dick?
And then what? As much as he wanted her in his arms, and his bed, Gussie was right about how it would only make things worse when this inevitably ended.
He swore under his breath and caught a whiff of rich coffee aroma floating over the morning air. Without thinking, he followed his nose to a small café that hadn’t quite opened its doors for the earliest of risers. He had to negotiate in broken French and slip a few euro, but a few minutes later, he sat at an outdoor table and sipped creamy café au lait.
From there, he watched the few passersby hustling to daybreak jobs and vendors carrying baskets of fruit and flowers toward Old Town for today’s market.
One passed him rolling a barrow of spices, a whiff of coriander, vanilla, and clove drop-kicking him into memories of the Karras kitchen. The sounds of Sophia’s mother and sisters chattering and cooking, music playing, sun pouring in through windows that looked out over the Aegean Sea.
His eyes shuttered with the echo of Gussie’s words.
You have a family in Greece.
And he missed them. Missed the colors and scents of Karpathos, the jagged terrain, the whitewashed buildings in the gleaming sunshine. He missed Papa Nico’s laugh, and Mama Christa’s nurturing. The music, the food, the whiskey on the patio…the wholeness of a family who’d taken him in and loved him like a son.
And yet, if she hadn’t insisted on being there when Tom was out of town, Sophia might still be alive and Uly…
No. It was easier to let them all go.
He looked up from his coffee to take one more memory-infused sniff of the spice cart, and as it moved, he caught a glimpse of a man across the
street, scant seconds before he disappeared around a corner. As he rubbed sleep-deprived eyes, the image of another man flashed in Tom’s head. The same muscular build, the same dark hair cut short, a green T-shirt this time, but the same faded jeans.
What the hell? He shot up from the table so fast coffee splashed onto the saucer. Without hesitation, he darted into the street and around the corner. No sign of him. He paused for a second, peering up and down the road, then realized where he stood right now. Blocks from the apartment, if someone knew to take that next alleyway.
He jogged toward it, his heart rate already increased, his sixth sense on high alert. Nice was not a huge city, so what were the chances it wasn’t the same guy?
As he turned the corner to the street where their apartment was, his view was blocked by a vegetable truck rumbling down the street. Impatient, he darted behind it, half-hoping he’d see the man, half-hoping he was imagining this.
But there he was, walking briskly…right toward their building.
Tom stayed back, far enough away not to be seen, but close enough to get a good look at him. His features were strong and distinctive, his body language both ready and centered—military trained, he’d guess.
The man slowed as he reached the yellow stucco apartment building, crossing the street to lean against another building and look right up at the very balcony where Tom last stood with Gussie.
What the hell?
Tom waited, ready to run or pounce. But the man stayed perfectly still, his gaze locked on the balcony like some kind of stalker creep. Tom’s hands itched and his legs ached to have at the guy, but he had to wait to see what he was—
The sound of female voices floated down the street as Gussie and Alex stepped out of the front entrance of the building, arm in arm. Tom wanted to call to them, but as soon as the man saw them, he dropped into the closest alcove doorway and hid. Gussie and Alex walked up the street in the opposite direction, their heads close as they chatted.
Tom had no idea where they’d be going this early, but his entire being was focused on the man, who stepped back out into the street, took out his phone, and started taking pictures.