Cross My Heart (A Contemporary Romance Novel)

briefly under his sleeve, and continued up the side of his neck. His smile was easy and relaxed, which was more than Michael could say for himself.
    “Michael! I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”
    He kept his eyes on Derek. “Yeah. I guess not.”
    “I mean...I thought you were going out with Claire. Is everything all right?”
    He glanced at her, and saw the look of concern on her face. “Sure. Everything’s fine. I just stopped by to...” His mind was a blank. “To...borrow a CD.”
    Borrow a CD? Jesus, he sounded like a high school kid. “But I can see you’re on your way out, so...” He looked at Derek again.
    Jenna bit her lip. “I’m sorry, I should have introduced you. Derek, this is my neighbor, Michael. Michael, this is my friend, Derek.”
    He resisted the urge to squeeze the other man’s hand until all twenty-seven bones cracked like twigs, and instead shook it briefly. “I hear you’re helping out Jenna’s band.”
    Derek nodded. Michael was disappointed not to spot any overt evidence of evil, like shifty eyes or bloodstained fangs or horns sprouting out of his forehead. He seemed like a regular guy, in fact.
    “Nice to meet you,” he said. Then he slid an arm around Jenna’s waist. “Ready to go, babe?”
    And there it was. Overt evidence of evil.
    He forced himself to take a step back so they could leave the house.
    “Are you sure everything’s all right?” Jenna asked him after she’d locked the door behind her.
    No, everything wasn’t all right. His daughter hated him, and the woman he wanted didn’t want him—and was heading out on the town with the ex-boyfriend who’d broken her heart.
     “Everything’s great. Have a good night, Jenna.”
    She didn’t look convinced, but he turned and headed back to his house before she could say anything else.
    Something familiar descended on him. A feeling of coldness, of distance. He found the sensation oddly comforting.
    This was a state of mind he knew inside and out. A state of mind that didn’t confound him at every turn with the uncertainty and chaos of emotion, of feelings and impulses that led him down dead end paths.
    This was the place he belonged.
     

 
    Chapter Ten
    Michael slept badly and woke up with a raging headache. He sat in the kitchen and tried to read the paper while Claire was over at Jenna’s saying goodbye.
    When she came back he drained the last of his coffee and rose to his feet. “Time to go.”
    Claire nodded without looking at him and went upstairs to get her suitcase.
    A few minutes later the suitcase was in the trunk and Claire was sitting beside him in the passenger seat. She was slouched down, arms folded, her head turned away as she looked out the window.
    He felt a moment of déjà vu. This was exactly how their visit had begun—the two of them in the car, not looking at each other, the chasm between them as wide as an ocean.
    Frustration knotted his muscles as he turned the key in the ignition. The engine started up but he didn’t put his foot on the gas.
    Nothing had changed between him and Claire. The last two weeks might never have happened. They were right back where they’d started—where they’d always be.
    Claire glanced at him impatiently but didn’t ask why they weren’t moving. She reached out to turn on the radio, flipping through channels until she found a song she liked.
    He realized with a shock that he recognized it.
    It was one of the songs Jenna had played yesterday while they were painting. She’d informed him that he’d graduated to music recorded after 1990, and she’d played a wide variety all day, telling him to let her know when something clicked with him, so she could make a mix.
    This was one of those songs. It was bittersweet, with a kind of raw tenderness at its core that something in him had responded to.
    “Coldplay,” he said after a minute, remembering the name of the band.
    Claire glanced over at him briefly. “Yeah.”
    “This is a good song.”
    “Yeah.”
    He turned off the engine, and they sat in silence while it played.
    A memory rose to the surface of his mind—a memory he tried never to revisit.
    He was younger than Claire—ten or eleven, maybe. His dad had been home for a month but he’d left a few nights before to follow the poker circuit. It was summertime, which meant he’d been able to stay home with his mom after his dad was gone.
    He’d been watching her like a hawk. Things were always better when his dad was home—she