She sat back down.
He didn’t mean to snap at her, but he’d been doing it more often lately. Maybe because he’d become more of a machine or maybe because he was shutting himself off from feeling anything.
Whatever the reason, he knew his sharp answers and cold attitude weren’t good for either of them.
Even still, he could do nothing to stop himself.
Dayne was doing the bench press now, still driven, still focused. The song on the player was from the pop charts, and again the beat was fast, driving.
Katy sighed. The hurt was still there, every bit of it. She heard it in his short, clipped answers, saw it in the dark shadows on his face. But there was no question he’d found purpose again.
Forty-five minutes into his workout, he turned the music off, dropped to the bench closest to her, and wiped his face with his towel. “You talked to Ashley this morning.”
“I did.” She felt herself tense. She tried to take the calls in the hallway or at her hotel at night. Not that she liked keeping her conversations from him, but whenever she talked to one of the Baxters lately, Dayne withdrew. That would explain his attitude this morning.
He was out of breath, his sides and chest working hard. He dug his elbows into his thighs and stared at the rubber mat.
“Are you mad?”
The towel was draped over his neck, creating a sort of curtain around his face. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know.” She twisted the engagement ring on her left hand. For weeks she’d been careful with her words, guarded in her responses. None of this was her fault, so why was he treating her like the enemy? And how come he wouldn’t talk to her? She’d be better off at home, working with her CKT kids and praying for yet another miracle where she and Dayne Matthews were concerned. She was willing to be still and wait, but she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.
He put his hands on his knees and straightened a little. “Okay.” He sounded fed up. “Just tell me what she said.”
Katy lifted her hands. “Same thing she always says, Dayne.” Her heart was a dam ready to burst. “She’s trying to find people to work on the house, but it isn’t really coming together. Everyone’s hoping and praying you’ll be well enough to move to Bloomington in time for Thanksgiving. And Luke is sorry for the things he said.”
Dayne stretched his neck one way and then the other. The pain in his eyes was so raw that it hurt to look at him. Katy knew he had talked to his father a few times since reading the article. But always the conversations were short. Yes, he forgave Luke. No, he wasn’t upset.
Finally Dayne raised his brow in her direction. “And you said . . . ?”
“I said what you’ve asked me to say.” She heard a catch in her voice. The edges of the dam were crumbling. “You aren’t sure about anything, right? That’s still how you feel?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He threw his towel on the floor, started the music, and moved to the butterfly machine. He added weight near the back, ten pounds more than he’d used during rehabilitation. Moving with less of a limp, he thrust himself onto the seat, raised his arms, and hooked his elbows behind the padded bar. After drawing a deep breath, he tightened his features and pushed the bars slowly, slowly, until his elbows met in front of him. Then in a concentrated move, he resisted the bars as he eased them back to the starting position. “One.” His voice was gruff and angry.
In a rush, the dam inside Katy broke wide open, crumbled to a million pieces. He wouldn’t treat her this way, wouldn’t talk to her like this. And she couldn’t stand by and watch while he gave up on everything they’d planned for their future. She stood, flipped off the music, and stormed over to him. “Stop!”
His elbows were almost back to center again. He ignored her, shaking as he completed the rep. “Two.”
“Dayne!” she shrieked. Never mind if the therapist could hear her in his office. God never could’ve meant for her to be still and wait this long. “I said stop!”
He let the weights crash back into place. “What, Katy? What do you want from me?”
She grabbed the frame of the machine, her voice still loud, intense. “I want you to fight.” Everything else in the room faded from view. “The Baxters are your family, and there’s nothing you can do to change that.” She paced a few steps, then turned to face him. “Maybe Luke didn’t handle the whole thing very well. Maybe their privacy’s compromised.” She lifted her hands. “So what?”
“So what?” He slid to the end of the bench and stood inches from her. “So maybe the whole thing’s just too hard, okay?” he shouted at her. In the background there was the sound of someone shutting the office door. Dayne’s anger flashed in his eyes. “Maybe I never should’ve looked for them in the first place.”
She clenched her jaw. “Then you never would’ve found me.”
“And maybe that would’ve been better too.” He stood his ground but turned his face from her.
“No.” She gripped his shoulder. “Don’t look away.”
He looked at her, and for a few seconds it seemed he might break free from her and leave. But he stayed. “It would’ve been better, Katy.” He lowered his voice, but every word was a seething blast of tangled hurt and rage. “I could stay in my own little world, and no one would ever get hurt.”
“You would!” Her words were part cry, part scream. She was more out of control than ever in her life. Because the stakes were the highest they’d ever been. “You would get hurt, because God put us together, and God brought you to the Baxters. Okay?” She let go of his shoulder and put her hands on her hips. “Yeah, it’s been rough. All of life is rough, Dayne. But this . . .” Her voice broke.
He turned away again.
“Look at me, please.” She was breathing as hard as he was now.
“I can’t.” Reluctantly, as if he had nothing left to give, his eyes met hers. “I can’t do this to you anymore. Go home and—” his chin trembled—“I don’t know, take some time. It’s not working.”
“No!” Her tone was strong, determined. The tears stayed somewhere deep in her heart, waiting for permission. “No, I won’t go home and I won’t give up. The life we can have in Bloomington, your place in the Baxter family—they’re worth trying for.”
“What if they’re not?” His words were quick, knifelike. “What if all I get in the end is more of this?” He waved at the equipment around him. “More anger and pain and heartache? What then?”
“You won’t know if you don’t try.” She was still yelling. “Please, Dayne! Listen to me.”
“Why?” He stiffened, his eyes blazing. “When I was a kid all I wanted was a family, Katy. A mom and dad waiting at home, someone in the audience when I won a part in a play. People to laugh with and cry with and learn from. Someone to tell me they loved me before I fell asleep each night.” He grabbed hold of the frames of the machines on either side of him. “So I found them. And I was crazy enough to think I might finally belong after all. But it didn’t work out, okay?” He did an exaggerated laugh. “It’s a big mess, and everyone—” he shook harder than before, and he held his hands up—“everyone loses unless I just walk away.”
“You’re wrong.” There was fire in her tone. “What you felt when you met Ashley and Kari and Brooke . . . that feeling of family, of knowing you belong. It’s worth fighting for. Even if you have to fight until your dying breath.” She took a few steps back. Suddenly the fight and the tension and the bitterness toward the paparazzi left her. And all that remained was the two of them. Her and Dayne. This time when she spoke, her tone was full of a quiet, burning passion. “It’s worth everything, Dayne. You can’t tell me it’s not.”
Slowly, like the subtly fading sky at sunset, Dayne’s expression changed. The hurt he’d been carrying since he saw the magazine story burst to the surface, and it reminded her of something. Katy had witnessed a Southern California phenomenon since she’d been there these past two months. The Santa Ana winds. Los Angeles skies, t
ypically thick with a mix of fog and smoke and smog, were swept clean by the warm, constant winds every October without fail.
That’s what it looked like was happening inside Dayne now. As though the pain in his soul was suddenly so all-consuming it had the strength to rid his heart of every other emotion. The barriers he’d put up fell with a crash, and his eyes filled with tears. He held up his fingers to her, so the palm of his hand faced her. “Katy . . . please.”
She hesitated. These last few weeks he’d hurt her more than she’d admitted even to herself. But the look in his eyes said he wasn’t running now. She raised her hand until their two hands met, palm to palm, fingers to fingers. She realized something. Even his touch had been angry lately. Hard and cold and unfeeling.
But not anymore.
A single tear dropped onto his cheek and trickled down his face. “Search your heart, Katy. Your soul.” He swallowed, and another tear slid from his eyes. “Am I there?”
Her tears came then. “Yes, Dayne. You’re there. A part of me.”
“I need to ask you something.” He brought up his other hand, and she did the same, so both their hands were touching.
She took a step closer. “What?”
“Us.” His voice was much quieter now, a painful whisper colored with tears. “Are we worth fighting for too?”
She slid her hands up around his neck, and he worked his around her waist. They stayed that way, crying in each other’s arms, deep silent sobs because of all they could’ve lost.
“I’m sorry.” He never broke eye contact. “I shut out everything I was feeling, but I . . . I shut you out too.”
It was the first time since the accident that they’d held each other and cried. Dayne had been in too much of a rush to get better, and she in a hurry to help. But now every bit of sorrow came at them at once. Silent tears streamed down his face and hers, but they didn’t look away. He had almost died. Almost. And she never would’ve had the chance to hold him this way. But over the weeks she had almost lost him again.
Finally Katy willed the sea of emotion to part long enough so she could speak. “Yes, we’re worth fighting for.”
“Even if we have to live here . . . the rest of our lives?”
Her heart dropped. Leave everything she loved in Bloomington and take on the full-time life of a celebrity? She swallowed, but she didn’t waver another moment. “Yes. Even then.” Now she searched his face. “Answer me this.”
He wiped his cheek on his shoulder. “Okay.”
“Promise me you’ll go for Thanksgiving if you’re cleared to leave.” Her heart pounded. Their future depended on his answer. She believed with every breath that if they could only get there, God and the Baxters would take care of the rest. Then Dayne would see that he was wrong, that his family did care about him. That they were willing to fight for him the same way she wanted him to fight for them. A skirmish played out in his eyes, pride and futility versus a promise bright enough to expel any darkness. “I want it so badly.” He clenched his teeth, and his whispered words barely made it through. “What if everyone walks away more hurt than before?”
“Then . . .” A lump formed in her throat. She waited, her eyes locked on his. “Then at least you fought. Please, Dayne . . . promise me.”
New tears pooled in his eyes. Whatever he was about to say, the words would be coming from the deepest place in his heart. “I’m afraid. . . . It already hurts so much.”
She would’ve done anything in that instant to love away his pain, but she did the only thing she could. She pulled him close and held him, pressing her head to his chest. “I’ll never leave you.”
“I know.” He sheltered her head with his hand. After a while he stepped back, and his eyes told her what he was about to say before he voiced it. “I’ll go. I’ll pray and I’ll trust and I’ll fight. And if it doesn’t work—” he kissed her brow—“then we come back here and never look back.”
A shiver ran down her arms. What if it didn’t work out? What if Luke was cold or distant and the tension made Dayne feel like running?
Before Katy could work herself into a frenzy of fear, the full and clear voice of God spoke straight to her soul again. Wait on Me, daughter. Be still, and know that I am God.
Suddenly the light in Dayne’s eyes shone in her heart as well, and she had a clearer understanding. God wasn’t asking her to wait on Dayne, to sit quietly by and let things fester in silence. He was asking her to wait on Him, on His power, the power He would use to bring everyone together once and for all—without misunderstanding or jealousy or bitterness or fear.
He was asking her to wait for Thanksgiving.
Luke was on the roof, pounding in the last of a section of shingles. With every swing of his hammer, every drop of sweat, he felt his angry heart healing, felt it growing and filling him with love, joy, peace, and patience, with goodness, kindness, gentleness, and thoughtfulness.
The fruits of living every day for Christ. The very things his mother had spent her life trying to teach them. And it was happening because he was completely focused on helping the one person who seemed to have his act together, the person he’d assumed would never need him at all.
His brother, Dayne.
The house was coming along, no question, but they had just two weeks left.
Kari was watching Ashley’s kids so Ashley and Landon—when he wasn’t working—could spend every spare minute working at the house. Luke and Reagan had driven to Indianapolis and brought back a U-Haul truck full of windows and doors. Brooke’s husband, Peter, and Jim Flanigan had experience in construction, so they had taken time off work to put in the windows and hang the doors. Stunning granite counters, tile flooring, and custom walnut cabinets had been installed in the kitchen, and the bathrooms had been renovated. The new appliances wouldn’t be delivered until the Friday before Thanksgiving. None of them had any idea how they’d have time to get them in place before Thanksgiving, but they kept working.
Luke positioned a nail, raised his hammer, and drove it into place. The roof was beautiful. Once it was inspected, it had only a few sections that had needed replacing. A few more nails and that part of Luke’s job would be done.
Luke examined the property. They still needed a few heavy-duty workdays, lots of muscle, half a dozen pickup trucks, and a landscaping crew. So far the weather had cooperated. It was the sixth of November. The temperature had dropped, but the sky was clear. The problem was that everyone was busy. Ryan’s football team had games every weekend and school during the week. The CKT kids were between weekend performances for Cinderella. And everyone they knew had their own holiday plans to pull together.
Ashley wasn’t panicking, but she was close. Part of every day’s progress was a morning prayer time. Whoever was available, whoever could make it out to the house would meet with her in the backyard, form a circle, and pray. One thing they’d been praying for had already happened.
Dayne and Katy had committed to coming.
Provided his doctor signed off—and at this point that looked likely—the two of them would be here for Thanksgiving. The question was whether they would stay. Ashley had told Luke everything, so he knew how badly his comments had hurt Dayne. He knew too that if his brother sensed tension or conflict or that he was causing any trouble for the Baxters, he would bolt.
And that would be that.
Luke swung his hammer again. There would be no trouble. Luke would see to it. The one thing Ashley was keeping secret was the progress on the house. She’d been intentionally vague with Katy, telling her that she was making calls and trying to schedule workers since the contractors were too busy before springtime.
The last time they talked, Katy even told Ashley she wasn’t sure it mattered. They might hold on to the house for a year and sell it.
Luke reached for another nail. That wouldn’t happen. Not after they saw what was waiting for them in Bloomington.
The day disappeared in a haze of sanding and prepping the exterior walls of
the house. They were made of rough-hewn logs, but no one had treated them in decades.
At five o’clock Luke saw his dad, Ryan, and Landon pull up. They each wore tool belts with hammers and pliers, and between them they had two buckets of nails.
“Where do we start?” John looked past Luke to the side of the house. “Every log needs to be checked, right?”
“Right.” Luke led the way, and as they worked along one side of the house, a stream of vehicles began driving up. A few had ladders sticking out the back.
“I forgot to tell you.” Ryan grinned at them. “The football team wanted to put in a few hours.”
Thirty-seven guys piled out of the cars and vans, each of them carrying a hammer. They carried a total of five more ladders, and by the time nightfall came, the entire exterior had been sanded and nailed back into place. The next step would be painting it with a heavy stain and sealing it. Then it would look brand-new.
As the days wore on, Luke could sense something big happening. The family was coming together as quickly and beautifully as the house.
“You know what it feels like?” Ashley asked him one day.
“What?” They were unloading a pile of fresh-cut boards, the ones they would use to rebuild the porch and deck out back.
Ashley stopped and wiped her dusty work gloves over her forehead. “It feels like Mom’s here. Like this—all of what we’re doing here—is our way of showing her that her legacy lives on.” She had a smear of dirt on her cheek. “You know?”
“Yeah.” Luke felt his heart swell a little more. “I definitely feel her here.”
With every passing hour there seemed to be another piece of good news. Erin arrived a week early and set up at their dad’s house. She proclaimed herself full-time day care operator, taking on all the kids so her siblings and their spouses could work on the renovation.
Brooke and two of her friends painted most of the inside. Ryan and a few of his coaching buddies built an outdoor island with a built-in barbecue and cabinets. More items crossed off the list.