Free Sacred Hart by A.M. Johnson Page B

blurred. And the other day while we sat and ate lunch, my hand rested on her thigh. It felt good, it was real, and I hated that I wanted more of her, more time with Beth. I liked the idea of belonging to someone again, belonging to her — belonging to a family.
    I swallowed and opened my eyes; my breath hitched as a sharp twinge in my chest radiated down my arm. I inhaled deeply staving off my panic attack. I couldn’t leave Belle behind like some sad rundown reel of film, as a faint flicker of what I once had. The truth was, my daughter was dead, and I was playing with ghosts. Once Maggie found out I’d attempted to kill a man, once she saw the truth, the violence in my heart — she’d realize what I was. She’d realize I couldn’t give her what she needed, she’d see through the shell, and I didn’t want to witness the fear, witness the disappointment she would inevitably feel.
    I shook my head and tried to focus. My headaches had been getting worse, and the Ibuprofen I’d taken earlier hadn’t helped. I moved the pies carefully to a wire rack to cool. The radio started to play a song that Maggie had mentioned was one of her favorites. It had been on one of our Sundays, she’d turned up the volume on the radio and sang along. She didn’t care that her voice was flat, or that Beth had rolled her eyes, or that I was in the room. She took the moment and made it hers. I placed the last pie down and turned the volume up so I could listen to the lyrics this time.
    The song was about suffering a loss of love. The guitars were sad, and the female’s voice was fragile. I leaned against the counter and let the rhythm of the drums run down my spine. I closed my eyes and remembered how I’d once had a fire in my heart. I let the numbness fade, and I let myself really feel what I’d been trying to push down. Need. Longing. I was still a man, and the man in me wanted Maggie, wanted the small touches to turn into more. My subconscious fed the blood pumping through my veins. It was confusing. I wanted my peace. I wanted to keep my solitude, but with every tease of her skin, every glance, every shared word, it became harder to keep myself in check. I pushed off the counter and turned the music down. The memories, Maggie… it was too much for one day, and I was ready to clean up and go to bed.
    The counters were still covered in flour, and I sighed as I grabbed the rag from the sink. The diner was about to close, and I could hear Tony chatting with a straggling customer. His voice carried through the kitchen door, and his laughter made me smile. He balanced his loss so well with his future. I envied him.
    The kitchen door swung open. “There’s someone here to see you.” He smirked and raised his left eyebrow conspiratorially.
    “Tony, we’re supposed to be closed.” I exhaled. “What do you need?” I wasn’t in the mood for his games. He always tried to sweet talk me into making something for some “starving” customer after hours. Normally, I would shrug it off, but today, I was just too exhausted.
    “No.” He laughed. “I’m serious this time. Maggie. She’s out in the diner. She was hoping you were still around. I told her of course you were. I think she likes you.”
    I smiled, and Tony’s eyes lit up. “I’ll leave you two alone then. I’m playing pinochle at Bernard’s tonight. I think his wife is sweet on me.”
    “Cheryl?” Cheryl Bernard was a local regular. She came in every morning for coffee and a donut… and apparently Tony.
    “Her husband is older than dirt.” Tony grinned, and I laughed openly.
    “So are you, old man.” I laughed harder as his eyes narrowed. “Not to mention, I’m sure your God frowns upon infidelity.”
    “My God?” He huffed. “I’m dragging you to church one of these Sundays.” He pursed his lips and gave the kitchen a quick glance. “Want me to send her back or have her wait out there?”
    “Send her back.” My stomach felt light. I hadn’t seen her