He shakes his head, staring past me. “Things with Laurel are just damned complicated, that’s all.”
And then it all becomes clear—painfully, abysmally clear. “You’re attracted to her,” I say, stepping backwards. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re attracted to her; she’s attracted to you. God, I am so, so dense. How could I not have seen it? There’s some kind of thing between you both—except, I realize that sounds ridiculous. But I am right, aren’t I? You’re attracted to her—”
Michael shakes his head. “Rebecca—”
“I mean, it’s not like I can blame you,” I blurt. “She’s tied to Alex, looks like him—”
“Rebecca, listen—”
“And she’s drop-dead gorgeous, so of course you’re attracted to her.” I spin from him, stepping quickly in the other direction, but he captures me, turning me hard to face him. Taking both of my shoulders within his hands, he steadies me. “How could I have not caught on?” I stammer, feeling my lungs pull cordon-tight. “I must be—”
“Rebecca, she is Andrea’s mother,” he explains, and I dead stop, silent, wheezing painfully.
“What?” I finally manage, and slowly Michael repeats, “Laurel is Andrea’s birth mother.”
Rattling, my chest gives a weakened sigh, a dilapidated terrible sound accompanied by immediate vise-like tightening. I only nod, digging in my purse, which for some inexplicable reason I brought out here with me. God really does watch over me.
“Are you okay?” he asks. Fumbling past my car keys and my wallet, my eager fingers search out my inhaler. “Just a second,” I wheeze, and take in a deep breath of my medicine.
Michael watches in silence, surprised. Closing my eyes, I wait to be able to breathe again. “I didn’t realize you had asthma.” Raw concern is in his voice, and he rubs a strong hand down my arm, soothing me. Hadn’t I mentioned this to him before? Maybe I did and he just wasn’t ready to hear about my fragile side.
“It…” I struggle to breathe, feeling like my heart will explode inside me, “…hadn’t really come up. I thought I’d told you, but maybe…not.”
“Are you all right?” His worried gaze fixes on me, those gentle brown eyes opening wide, and for the first time it occurs to me that in loving me, he loves someone vulnerable. Someone who, by the wrong twist of fate, might die on him just like Alex did.
“It’s because of my attack. Post-traumatic stress…stuff.”
“Oh baby, I’m sorry.” Bending low, he kisses the top of my head, a chaste, tender kiss that makes something strange knot low inside of me. “I didn’t get it before. I’m sorry.”
“I was stabbed in the chest, that night. Ben—that’s his name, Ben McAllister—stabbed me nine times, actually. I was in ICU a long time, and had a lot of respiratory complications… they think maybe it contributes,” I babble, nervous, clutching the inhaler in case I need it again. “Well, to the problem. But really it’s anxiety. Not that you could imagine me having an anxiety problem, could you?” I laugh hysterically, feeling tears burn my eyes. What a disaster of a girlfriend I’m turning out to be. I’ll be lucky if he ever wants to see me again.
“I’m sorry I brought you into this blind. Tonight.” He pulls me close, right into his arms, and I wilt there, pressing my face against that strong chest. “That was unbelievably selfish of me. I’m just really sorry.”
“Please don’t, Michael.” I can’t handle his pity—his love absolutely, but never his pity. “I am still a big girl.”
“Becca, this stuff with Laurel, it really is just crazy complicated,” he explains, stroking my hair, winding his fingers down the length of it. “That’s all I was trying to tell you. Not anything else.”
“Yeah, it sure is complicated,” I laugh, closing my eyes as I lean against him. “She’s Andrea’s mother.”
“Look, but Andie has no idea, okay?” he says. “You do realize that, right? And she can never know.”
“Why did you keep it from her?” I ask, feeling confused about the logistics. “If Laurel’s her mother, then…”
“We had to protect her,” he says. “And especially with Al gone, I had to make sure she never knew the truth. She has to believe he’s her natural father, not me.”
“You?”
“Yeah, I’m her real father.”
Yes, if Alex isn’t the father, of course it’s Michael. Michael and Laurel are Andrea’s parents, only she has no more idea of it than I did until now. Suddenly, I remember that photograph of Michael’s mother, and realize that what unsettled me about it was how much Andrea looks like her—and like Michael at the exact same time. Andrea’s a crystal-clear reflection of her natural father’s bloodline, while still carrying Alex’s DNA. Quite literally, they found a way to have a child that came from both their families.