She stopped shouting and did it breathing hard, the pain stark in her eyes right alongside the fury.

But Mike had long since realized his mistake. He knew it. He saw it all over her at the funeral home, his instincts screamed it but he ignored it and now he felt like a dick. And he felt this because he’d acted like one.

So he instigated damage control.

“Sweetheart –” he started but she shook her head, stepped back and kept talking.

“That’s not the worst of it, Mike. He wanted to be cremated. Debbie said no. And Rhonda wanted a closed casket. And Debbie…said…” she leaned in, “no.”

“Jesus,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” she snapped back immediately. “Jesus. And Rhonda is sensitive but she isn’t stupid. My brother died and she called me right away. She knew she didn’t have the strength to deal with arrangements. She knew Debbie would be Debbie. She knew what Darrin wanted, told me and I sorted it all out. Every last f**king detail. Then Mom, being Mom and never able to keep her mouth shut, tells Debbie and Debbie loses her mind. Then she’s all up in my shit and wandering DC with that stupid thing attached to her ear calling me, Mom, Rhonda, Dad, George Markham, everybody. Now me, this is my brother, this is Darrin,” her voice cracked, the sorrow clogging her throat. Mike prepared to move to her but she pressed on and he stopped, “I wanted what he wanted. I wanted to look out for his woman, his family.”

Her voice was thick, her words were taking effort but she kept going, needing to say them so Mike stood where he was and let her.

“So I was ready to do what I had to do to make certain he got what he wanted and I had their backs. But Mom, being Mom, wanted peace and Debbie, being Debbie, would not shut the f**k up about it. And since I could f**king remember, the best way for Mom to make that peace was give Debbie what she wanted. So she talked Rhonda into that shit and she told me to lay off. Rhonda knew I was pissed way the f**k off and so did Dad. But me digging my heels in wasn’t helping anyone, it was just making a bunch of shit shittier. So I backed off. But I wasn’t going to be a party to that, Mike. It was enough to walk into that f**king, f**king,” her voice cracked again but she pushed right through it, “funeral parlor and see my brother f**king dead and laid out for everyone to see the same. And I wasn’t going to be a party to the rest of that shit Debbie orchestrated for whatever reasons Debbie does whatever the f**k she wants to do. And I know and so did Dad and Rhonda, that if I had to spend even a minute with that bitch, I’d lose my mind. So they told me to stay away. So I’m staying away. I saw them this morning when Debbie was at the funeral parlor doing what Debbie does best, bossing everyone around. When everyone’s gone, including my bitch of a sister who has some stupid-ass conference call she has to take on a Sunday, I’ll see them tomorrow. But now, so I don’t rip all her goddamned hair out and make a really, really f**king bad day worse, I’m here, kicking back and listening to music.”

She stopped talking and Mike gave her time. When it was clear she was done talking, he stopped giving her time.

“I was out of line,” Mike admitted gently.

“Yeah, you were,” Dusty returned immediately.

He held her eyes and she returned the gesture.

They did this for a long time.

Then Mike, already having jumped to conclusions, unusually followed a knee-jerk reaction and commenced acting like a dick, went right on making the wrong choices and stupidly whispered, “Hey, Angel.”

He hadn’t called her that in over two decades. He used to call her that all the time. He thought it would be familiar and welcome. But, bottom line, that was who she was to him. Always.

She instantly dissolved into tears.

Then he was across the room and had her in his arms. She held on, up on her toes, shoving her face in his neck, her arms closing tight around his shoulders and she sobbed. He bent his head so his lips were close to the skin of her neck. He could smell her unusual perfume, hints of musk, lesser hints of floral, vaguely outdoorsy but undeniably feminine and he listened to her quiet weeping as he felt her body move against his, bucking uncontrollably with her tears.

“For…for…forty-four,” she stammered softly in his ear.

“I know, honey,” he whispered against her neck, her arms going tighter.

“He…he…he won’t ee…even see the boys graduate high school.”

Mike didn’t respond, just kept holding her close.

“He wanted to be in the fields,” she whispered then clarified, “his ashes.”

Jesus. Fucking, Debbie. Bullshitting him. Skating toward coming onto him. And doing that to Darrin.

“Now, he’s just rotting,” she went on.

“He isn’t doing that, darlin’,” Mike replied, she fell to the soles of her feet, her head went back, his went up and he caught her watery eyes.

“He is, Mike,” she told him quietly.

“No he isn’t, honey. He’s gone.” His arms gave her a squeeze. “It sucks, I know, it really f**king sucks but he’s gone. It doesn’t matter where his body is because he’s no longer in it.”

Her eyes held his for long moments. Then she nodded.

“You’re right,” she whispered.

“I am,” he agreed and when he did, the clouds in her eyes parted and her lips quirked.

Then her arms shifted but not to let him go. They moved from rounding his shoulders so her hands could wrap around the sides of his neck. Then her thumbs moved out to stroke his jaw. And as she did this, her eyes were moving over his face.

Shit. Fuck him.

Fuck him.

He knew immediately where her mind was turning. It was where her sister’s had turned.

Mike wanted not one thing to do with Debbie Holliday.

But Dusty…

This Dusty.

Fuck him.

“Dusty –” he started. What he was going to say he didn’t know. What he knew was, her face had changed, her body had relaxed into his and his arms did not move from around her.

Before he could say it, though, she spoke.

“Shocker,” she muttered.

Her word was unexpected so he replied, “Pardon?”

Her eyes left his mouth and came to his. “Shocker,” she repeated softly. “That you’re even more gorgeous than when you were high school. Total shocker.”

It wasn’t. If she took any time to look in the mirror she’d see the same thing every day.

“Honey –” he started, forcing his arms from around her, his hands sliding to the sides of her waist to set her away but her fingers pressed into his neck and he stopped.