Radclyffe - Crossroads

“Remember, no matter where you are,” Hollis said, “you always look around to make sure there are no cars or people or other bicycles coming. Okay?”

“Okay,” Callie said seriously.

Annie held up the helmet the sales girl passed to her. “And you’ll wear this every time you’re on your bicycle.”

Callie cut a look at Hollis. “Do you wear one like this?”

“Yep. Every time. Mine looks just like this one, only mine is red.”

“Okay.” Callie grinned. “This one is prettier than Mike’s.”

Laughing, Hollis fitted the helmet to Callie’s head and adjusted the straps, then tapped lightly on the top. “All right, you’re ready to go. Remember what I told you about how you stop, right?”

“I remember.” Callie looked up at Annie. “Mommy, can you stand on my other side?”

“Sure, baby.”

Annie lightly pressed a hand to Callie’s back and looked over Callie’s head at Hollis, whose left hand rested on the handlebar. Hollis gave Annie an encouraging grin.

“Okay, Callie,” Annie said, pulling her gaze away from Hollis. “Start pedaling.”

Annie and Hollis ran alongside Callie, who wobbled at first but soon found her center. Five minutes later, Callie announced she was fine on her own and Annie stood back with Hollis while Callie carefully rode the bike in a circle around the big parking lot.

“I can’t believe how big she seems now,” Annie murmured.

“I know. I was just thinking about how small she was when I delivered her.”

Annie caught her breath. Whenever memories of that night caught her unawares, she remembered pain and fear and the hands of strangers. A face came into focus, surrounded by bright lights that hurt her eyes, distorted by the red haze of agony. Hollis’s face. Hollis’s voice. Trust me.

She had no memory of the operating room or Callie’s first breath, her first cry, her first instinctive drive to suckle, but she hadn’t been alone as she had always believed. Hollis had been there. Hollis had been the first one to hold her child. And now Hollis was here, coming dangerously close to the places she protected with all her will. Still, she wanted a piece of that memory. “Was she beautiful?”

“Gorgeous,” Hollis murmured, watching Callie as she laughed and steered in a big, almost-steady circle. “She had a full head of hair, I remember—red-gold wisps of fire—and she was strong, Annie, like you. Perfect.” She looked at Annie. “I’m sorry you didn’t see her in those first moments.”

Annie shook her head. “It’s okay. I have her. I’ll have her every day for the rest of my life.” She touched Hollis’s wrist—a brush of thanks. “You were there. You took care of us both. I should have thanked you the second I saw you again.”

“No need—”

“Thank you, Hollis, for my daughter.”

Hollis swallowed. “You’re welcome.”

Annie smiled, feeling sad but somehow right. A circle had been closed, a chapter finally completed. It was time to let go, and maybe it had taken knowing Hollis for that to happen.

“Mommy,” Callie said breathlessly, barreling down on them. “Can I have—”

“Brakes, Cal,” Hollis called and caught the handlebars before Callie mowed Annie down.

“Oops,” Callie said, working the brake to stop the bike. “I’ll remember next time. Mommy, can I have this one?”

“Looks like it’s yours already.” Annie nodded to the clerk. “Go ahead and write it up.”

Annie paid, and Hollis helped her load the bike into the back of her Volvo. “Thanks.” Callie climbed in and Annie closed the door.

Hollis slipped an arm around her waist. “Six o’clock okay?”

Annie took a breath. “I’m going to pass on dinner tonight, Hollis. I’d rather be free if my patient goes into active labor.”

Hollis regarded her through appraising eyes. “What happened?”

“What? Noth—”

“Annie,” Hollis said softly.

“I’m sorry.” Annie brushed away a strand of hair the wind blew into her eyes. Hollis deserved better. “You’ve been wonderful and I owe you so much.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Hollis’s voice was still calm but her eyes had grown wintery.

“I do, of course I do.”

“I don’t want your gratitude.” Hollis swept a hand down Annie’s arm. “I know you feel it—the connection. I know you know I want you.”

Annie glanced into the car. Callie was engrossed in one of the children’s books Annie always kept in the console for emergency entertainment. What did she feel? Hollis stirred a great many things she had never expected and wasn’t at all sure she wanted, but one thing was certain—the desolation of finding herself utterly alone was something she never wanted to revisit. She took a breath. “Hollis, we’re already friends. Callie is fond of you.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Hollis frowned. “That Callie will get caught in the middle somehow?”

“Partly, yes. But I’ve never—” Annie sighed, knowing she was blushing. “Casual relationships just aren’t my style.”

“What makes you think I want a casual relationship?”

Hollis’s fingers drifted up and down Annie’s back, and the touch was like a live wire coiling beneath her skin. Annie tightened, want flooding through her. No, she wouldn’t be able to do casual with Hollis. “I’m not in the market for anything else.”

“I’m not Jeff, Annie.” Hollis’s voice was chillingly flat. She pulled keys from her pocket and bounced them once in her hand, searching Annie’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Annie whispered. She couldn’t take the chance of losing herself again. She just couldn’t.

Hollis’s eyes shuttered closed. “Someday you’re going to have to trust your feelings.”

Annie hurried around to the other side of the car, wincing when she heard Hollis roar out of the parking lot and into the street. She didn’t look after her, couldn’t watch her leave.

Trust her feelings? No, better not to have them at all.

Chapter Twenty-five

“Thanks,” Hollis said, accepting the cup of coffee Honor handed to her. She settled into the curve of the wooden deck chair on the back porch next to Quinn. She’d almost canceled the dinner invitation when she’d gotten home from the bike shop, still reeling from Annie’s rejection. The day had been so goddamned perfect she’d been blindsided. She’d let down her guard and she’d paid for it. She had good reasons for not letting people get close to her, and Annie had proved her right. Opening herself up, letting herself care, was an invitation to be hurt, and when the people she loved inevitably disappeared from her life, she bled. Annie had made her forget about her vow not to bleed again. Annie, with her warm touch and knowing eyes. Annie, together with Callie’s infectious joy and innocent excitement, had cracked open the shell surrounding her heart and teased her with the promise of happiness. She hadn’t been looking for happiness, she’d been content with the life she had. She ought to thank Annie for the reminder. Maybe she would, when the pain dulled and she could think rationally again.

“You two want some pie?” Honor asked.

“No, thanks,” Hollis said, forcing herself to stay in the moment. “Dinner was so good I didn’t leave any room.”

The raucous evening with Honor and Quinn and their kids, and Linda and Robin and theirs, had helped keep her mind off Annie. Linda and Robin had already left, Arly had taken Jack over to their grandmother’s next door, and the quiet left in their wake was soothing if a little hollow. Damn it—she missed Annie and Callie. God, it hurt.

Quinn looked over her shoulder at Honor. “Need help in there?”