Someone Like You: Wild Widows Series, Book 1 Read online

  “I do, but that doesn’t have to make things weird between us.”

  I snort out a laugh that makes my throat hurt. “Because why would that make anything weird?”

  His smile lights up his handsome face. “Exactly.”

  “Is literally everything a screwed-up mess after your spouse dies?”

  “Every single thing.”

  “So it’s not just me, then.”

  “Nope.” After another pause, he says, “Should I have kept that info to myself?”

  I suddenly feel shy for the first time in years. “No.”

  “Does it make things harder for you?”

  “No.” I take the opportunity to swallow while my throat is still numb. “It’s not your feelings that upset me. It’s mine. I have them, too. For you. And I just wonder what kind of wife that makes me—”

  He covers my hand with his. “Stop that, Roni. After hearing you talk about Patrick and your life with him, I have no doubt in my mind that you were a wonderful, devoted wife. It’s not your fault that he was killed or that you have to go on without him. It’s not your fault, and it’s not his. If he hadn’t died, you never would’ve left him. You two would’ve been together for sixty years and had a wonderful, full life together.”

  His sweet words bring tears to my eyes. “We would’ve. We were so happy together.”

  “I know you were, and you know the truth. That’s what you have to hold on to—your truth. Not anyone else’s ideas of what’s acceptable or how things should go or what you should do with this new life you’re forced to live without the man you love.”

  “It’s just so soon to be looking beyond him.”

  “You’re not doing that. It’s not like you went out and joined a dating service looking to replace your dead husband as fast as you possibly could. Not that there’s anything wrong with that if someone chooses to do that.”

  “Do you know people who’ve done that?”

  “I do, and so do you. Members of our group have done it because that’s what they needed, and I refuse to find fault with whatever people do to get through the day after a loss like we’ve suffered. But you didn’t do that. You met someone organically—even if there was stalking involved.”

  Derek’s golden eyes dance with amusement as he says that. “What matters, Roni… The only thing that matters, is how you feel and what you want. You’re the boss of your life now. Just you. No one else. I know it’s too soon for ‘feelings’ between us. I understand that some of those ‘feelings’ are due to our shared journey and might fade in time.”

  The thought of that happening sends a pang of angst through me. “I hope that doesn’t happen, because I like feeling something for you. It’s better than feeling nothing but agony all the time.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “You know what else I like?”

  “What’s that?”

  “How widowhood causes us to put our cards on the table and be honest about stuff in a way we wouldn’t have before.”

  “That’s very true. Especially for me. I was so closed off and remote before I lost Vic.”

  “Even with her?”

  “Yeah,” he says, looking pained. “In all the years we were together, I never had a conversation with her like this one with you. I told her I loved her—often—and I did love her, but I didn’t get into the nitty-gritty of it with her. I just left it at the I-love-you level, and that’s one of my regrets. I never came right out and told her all the many ways I admired her or appreciated her. I just assumed she knew.”

  “I’m sure she was very happy with you.”

  “I think she was, but I’m just saying… I could’ve done better. I want to do better going forward, and that’s why I’m being kind of blunt with you. New Derek puts it out there so people know how he feels about them. He’s more open with his emotions and understands that time is all we have to give to the people we care about. There’s none to waste.”

  How could I not have feelings for this man? “You’re not being fair.”

  “Huh?” he asks, seeming genuinely surprised.

  “I’m trying not to have feelings for you, and then you go and give me more reasons to have them.”

  His low chuckle amuses me. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “I know you are, and here’s the good news. We’re both allowed to have whatever feelings we want to have, and we’re allowed to not do anything about it until we’re both in a place where it feels right to act on it.”

  “What if one of us never gets there?”

  “Then one of us never gets there.”

  “What happens to the other one?”

  “He—or she—goes on with their life with a lovely new friend that will support and encourage them always.”

  I’m not sure if it’s the illness or pregnancy hormones or widowhood that has my eyes filling to overflowing, but whatever it is, Derek is ready to mop up the waterworks with a tissue.

  “Don’t do that. Girl tears freak me out.”

  “That’s a guy thing.” I laugh through my tears. “Patrick was the same way.”

  “I think I would’ve liked him.”

  “Everyone liked him.”

  “I don’t want you to worry about anything. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to get lost, and I’m not looking to make anything worse for you. Only better. Okay?”

  “Okay. And, Derek?”

  “Yes, Roni?”

  “I’m not going to tell you to get lost.”

  * * *

  Derek

  I fall asleep in the recliner chair next to Roni’s bed. At some point during the night, a nurse must’ve put a blanket over me, because I wake up warm and toasty. I didn’t plan to stay, but after she said she wasn’t going to tell me to get lost, I got comfortable. I can’t believe how open and blunt I was with her last night.

  If you’d known me before I lost my wife, you’d ask, who is this guy who shares his feelings so freely? I barely recognize this new version of myself, but I’m wise enough to know that he’s a much better version of me than Vic got.

  It took me a lot of therapy to deal with the realization that I could’ve been a better husband to her than I was. Maybe if I’d been more emotionally available, she would’ve told me about the mess she was in with the Pattersons, and I could’ve done something about it before they did.

  I’ll regret for the rest of my life that she didn’t feel she could tell me. I would’ve gone to the president himself, if that’s what was needed, to get her free of the nightmare they perpetrated upon her.

  I’m truly determined to be a better version of myself going forward, which is why I put my cards on the table with Roni, even if I feared the truth might drive her away.

  I really like her.

  Really, really like her.

  I look over at her sleeping peacefully in the hospital bed, attached to an IV drip, and all I want is to spend more time with her. As much as she’ll allow, even if we’re firmly in the friend zone until she’s ready for it to be more. Being friends with Roni is the most fun I’ve had since I lost Vic, and for the first time in a very long time, I feel like I’m doing more than just surviving each day.

  She’s a breath of fresh air that I badly needed, but of course I couldn’t be falling for someone who’s free and clear and ready to pursue a relationship. Nope, I have to keep things complicated, but it’s okay. I already know that Roni is worth taking my time with and doing the work to bring her—and her child—into my life and Maeve’s.

  And no, it doesn’t faze me in the least that she’s expecting her late husband’s child. I want to be a source of support to her as she faces an uncertain future, because I know all too well how difficult that road is going to be for her. I want to be there for her. It’s that simple—and that complicated.

  Roni stirs to life, blinking with disbelief when she sees me there. “You stayed.”

  “I did, although not intention
ally. I guess I fell asleep.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she says with the small, sweet smile that just does it for me.

  “I’m glad I am, too.”

  A nurse comes in a short time later, followed by the doctor on rounds, who declares Roni well enough to be sent home.

  While they get her up and showered and ready to go, I go downstairs to the gift shop to buy a toothbrush and toothpaste and then to the cafeteria for a coffee for me and a hot chocolate for her.

  When I return, she’s seated on the bed wearing the sweats and T-shirt she had on when I brought her in the other night. Her hair has been brushed into a high ponytail that leaves her pretty—but pale—face on full display. “You look good.”

  “I look like roadkill.”

  “No, you don’t,” I say, laughing as I hand her the hot chocolate.

  “Thank you.”

  “Welcome.”

  She takes a sip of the hot chocolate. “Mmm, that’s good.”

  “How’s your throat?”

  “Much better than it was.”

  “IV antibiotics to the rescue. They probably saved you a couple of days of suffering.”

  “Probably so.”

  The nurse returns with discharge paperwork, a prescription to continue the antibiotics and orders to take it easy for the next few days.

  “No choice there,” Roni says as she signs where directed. “I feel like a newborn kitten.”

  “Let your husband wait on you hand and foot,” the nurse says, grinning at me. “That’s what he’s there for.”

  “Oh, um…” Roni gives me a worried look as her pale face flushes with embarrassment that is adorable on her.

  “I’ll take good care of her,” I tell the nurse. “Don’t worry.”

  “You got yourself a good one, honey,” the nurse says as she helps Roni up for the wheelchair. She chatters to us all the way to the main door of the hospital.

  I run out to get my car and return to hear her saying, “And that baby of yours will be beautiful with you two as its parents.”

  Because Roni looks like a deer in headlights, I step in. “Thank you so much. I can take it from here.”

  After I help Roni into the passenger side of my SUV, the nurse says, “Have a nice day.” She takes off with the wheelchair, blissfully unaware of the bomb she just dropped on us.

  I go around the SUV to get into the driver’s side and glance at Roni. She’s staring straight ahead, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

  “Sorry about that,” she says.

  “Don’t be. You’re still wearing your rings. She leapt to the logical conclusion.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see her gazing down at her rings.

  “I love my rings so much. I can’t bear the thought of not wearing them anymore.”

  “Some people move them to their right hand so they can still wear them but not send the ‘married’ message.”

  “That’s a good idea. Maybe I’ll do that.”

  “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

  “I know, but I can see how it’s confusing to people.”

  “They don’t matter. Only you do.”

  “I’ll have to take them off eventually, I suppose.”

  “You don’t have to do it today or tomorrow or next week or next month. Everything about this journey is on your timetable.”

  “Except for one thing. The baby.”

  “True. Soon enough, you’ll be on his or her timetable, so you need to enjoy the next few months of setting your own rules.”

  “I’ll get right on that as soon as I can hold my head up straight again.” With her head back against the seat, she turns toward me. “What did you do with Victoria’s rings?”

  “I have them in a safe. I thought Maeve might want them someday.”

  “I’m sure she will. I don’t know what to do with Patrick’s ring. I wore it on a chain for a while, but the clasp broke, and I haven’t gotten it fixed yet.”

  “You should hang on to it for the baby. If it’s a boy, maybe he’ll want to wear it someday. If it’s a girl, she can give it to her future husband.”

  “I like that.”

  “Someday those symbols will mean something to our kids.”

  “I’m going to have a kid. I still can’t wrap my head around that.”

  “That’s why pregnancy lasts so long. Vic and I used to say it’s so you have time to get ready for a bomb to go off in your life.”

  “Is it really a bomb?”

  “Uh, you want the truth, or should I sugarcoat it?”

  “Forget I asked. I’m in no condition today for bombs.”

  “Good call.” I pull up outside her building, put the SUV in Park and shut it off, intending to at least walk her in and make sure she has what she needs. “Oh crap. We forgot to drop off your prescription. I’ll go do that after I get you settled inside.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I can call my sister.”

  “I don’t mind doing it.” I offer her a hand to help her out of the car.

  She takes it, and when she stands, she sways precariously, forcing me to put my arms around her to keep her from falling.

  “Go slow.”

  “No choice. Haven’t felt this shitty in years. Well, except for… you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I keep an arm around her as we walk up the stairs to her front door, where she hands me the key that gets us inside. As we’re heading up the first flight of stairs, an older woman is coming down the stairs and stops short at the sight of us.

  “Roni.”

  “Oh, hi, Mrs. Eastwood.”

  “Are you all right?” the woman, obviously a neighbor, asks.

  The question is directed to Roni, but all her attention is focused on me.

  “I’ve got strep and was in the hospital. My friend gave me a ride home.”

  “Oh my goodness. If you need anything, give me a call.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  I fear I’m going to have to ask her to move to let us by, but she steps aside before I have to say anything.

  Roni is so weak that I almost have to carry her up the stairs, which would be no hardship. She’s already told me how she lost weight she didn’t have to lose after Patrick died, and even through her winter coat, I can feel how fragile she is.

  I use her key in the door of her apartment and walk her straight to a gorgeous leather sofa, where she sits to take off her coat.

  “Why do I feel like I just ran a marathon when all I did was walk upstairs, and with your help, I might add?”

  “You’ve had the legs knocked out from under you, but you’ll feel better in a couple of days.”

  “Ugh, I’m going to have to call in sick to my new job.”

  “Text Sam and tell her what’s up. She’ll totally understand.”

  “Lilia is technically my boss.”

  “Then text her. She’s awesome, too. She’s marrying one of my best friends.”

  “Ah, yes, her Dr. Flynn is a lovely guy. I met him when he came by the office.”

  “Yes, he is.” I find the prescription form in the pile of papers she put on the coffee table. “Where do you go?”

  “Grubbs.”

  “Got it.”

  “This is above and beyond the call of new friendship, Derek.”

  “I’m sure you’d do the same for me, Roni.” I pause and give her a playful look. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course I would.”

  “Well, then, there you have it. You need anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “What kind of soup do you like?”

  “Is there any other kind besides chicken noodle?”

  “Got it. Do you mind if I take your keys so I can get back in without disturbing you?”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  “I’ll be right back.” I shut the door, make sure it’s locked and head down the stairs, eager to get her what she needs and return to her as soon
as I can.

  Yes, I know that’s crazy. Yes, I know she’s in no way ready for me to be eager to get back to her, and yes, I know I have to take it easy with her and give her the time she needs to cope with her loss and her grief. I remember all too well what the first few months were like, how lost she feels without her anchor and how long it will be before she feels strong enough to take on a new relationship.

  I’m willing to be patient because I also know how rare it is to feel this way about anyone. In my entire life, I’ve only ever felt this kind of spark with someone once before.

  At the pharmacy, I give them Roni’s script and have to text her for her date of birth, which is a reminder that whatever is happening between us is in its infancy, and I need to slow my roll.

  July 12.

  Got it. I pass the info along to the woman working the counter, and she tells me it’ll be twenty minutes. So I spend the time gathering soup, crackers, cookies, more of the magic throat lozenges in multiple flavors and some of the same throat spray she got for me that worked pretty well. In the magazine aisle, I grab Vanity Fair and Rolling Stone as well as one of the fashion magazines, hoping she likes such things.

  Add that to the list of things I don’t know about her.

  I wait until nineteen minutes have gone by before I add some Chunky Monkey to the basket and return to the pharmacy counter.

  “Two more minutes,” the woman says.

  I use that time to text my mom to check on my daughter.

  She’s doing great. Dad took her sledding at the high school, and she loved it. She’s taking a little nap now, but she requested spaghetti for dinner.

  She’d eat that three meals a day if she could.

  I think so. How are you feeling?

  Much better, but now one of my good friends has it, too, so I’m helping her out.

  Her?

  A friend, Mother.

  Can’t blame a mom for hoping her precious son might find someone new to love someday.

  I don’t blame you for that, and you’ll be the first to know if there’s news in that department.

  “All set for Connolly,” the pharmacy tech says.

  Gotta run, I tell my mom. Have Maeve call me at bedtime.

  Will do.

  Thanks again for having her.

  Our pleasure always.