Page 52 of One More Kiss

Megan

A familiar rumbleclimbed through the screen door and gripped Megan right by the throat flooding her with memories. The blast of heat to her frozen heart took her breath away leaving her feet rooted to the floor.

Tucker, in a rare show of energy of late, scrambled to his feet, his nails dragging against the tile as he took off for the front door.

His bark made her jump as he pranced and searched the ordinarily quiet street in front of their house.

Jack.

Tucker only danced like that for Jack.

As much as she didn’t want to see him, she desperately needed the spark of life Jack’s presence gave Tucker.

Even if only for a short time.

Jack rolled into view on that Indian motorcycle he’d loved so much, much like he did the very first time she’d laid eyes on him.

The sidecar rattled over a crack in the road and her heart pinched.

Gliding to a stop, he shut off the engine and peeled the helmet off his head. Wavy, sandy-brown hair, a bit too long fluttered in the breeze.

For a moment she focused on that.

Just that.

Letting the view carry her into the past, before the pain of loss, back to a time when love so new and electric had the power to make them fly.

He glanced up at the house, that pinched mouth and wary gaze that replaced the carefree boy behind the sunglasses, and loss flooded her all over again.

She’d put that look on his face.

She’d never said it out loud, let alone to him, but every time biology failed her, she watched that man she’d fallen so hard for disappear a piece of a time until there was nothing left, but a silent, lonely house, and a ghost of a husband who spent most of his waking hours working and avoiding her.

Tucker pushed the door open and took off across the yard with the renewed energy of a pup. She took a deep breath, steeling herself against the barrage of feels that swamped her every time they were within arm’s length, and followed Tucker.

“Meg,” Jack said quietly sparing her a brief glance before going back to scratching Tucker’s ears.

“Jack,” she answered.

“He looks like he’s feeling good. What did the vet say?”

“His hips are bad. Bad enough that the other day he couldn’t walk. They worked with him, gave him some medicine, but they said this will only get worse. He’ll have more and more days that he can’t move.”

“How is that possible? He’s jumping all over me like a puppy,” Jack said pushing to stand before her, suspicion in his blue eyes.

“Are you saying I’m making it up?” Her blood simmered in her veins. “You weren’t here, Jack. You didn’t have to see him whimpering and dragging his back end toward the door. You didn’t have to help him outside. You didn’t have to see him make a mess all over himself because he couldn’t stand.”

“I wasn’t accusing you of lying. Jesus, Meg. Are you so damn eager to jump down my throat that you can’t have a conversation about the dog now? Is that what we’ve come to?”

She had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping at him. Tucker whimpered and sat in the grass between them, glancing back and forth, much like a worried kid that only wanted his parents to get along.

She rubbed her fingers into her temples and winced. “I’m sorry. I’m tired. I’m worried. I’m… god, I just don’t know anymore.”

“You need to get out of that house.”

“The house isn’t the problem,” she lied.

“Prove it,” Jack said with that challenging gleam in his eye.

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