Someone Like You

She fought to control her face, though her knees wobbled at that cruel truth. Brett had cheated on her. Why would she expect him to play fair professionally?

Heads came together as she passed her coworkers. Their department occupied the entire floor of the ten-story central office, and the tight-knit group behaved more like a dysfunctional family than a set of associates.

Brett followed her to the elevator and waved his phone. “Call me when you’ve come to your senses, okay?”

She pulled out her cell and punched in a contact number. He gazed at her, puzzled, when his phone rang.

The elevator chimed, and she stepped inside. When he’d brought his cell to his ear, she spoke into her own.

“I already have,” she said as the doors slid closed.

* * *

A COUPLE OF weeks later, Kayleigh trudged down the main hall of her grandfather’s assisted-living center and halted at the front desk. After making cold-call stops at software companies to check for potential openings, her back ached, her toes hurt and the waistband of her business skirt dug into her skin. Time to rethink the extra ice cream she’d been eating to chase away the blues.

If only she’d found a job by now. When she’d heard the rumor from Gianna that Brett was blackballing her in the software community, she’d been skeptical. But after receiving her tenth rejection this morning, she was worried. What if Brett was right and she had committed career suicide? With limited savings, her options were running out fast.

She must have made a noise because a familiar redheaded woman stopped scribbling on a chart and glanced up. A warm smile transformed her stern face.

“Hi, Kayleigh. Here to see your grandfather?”

“I was, but he’s not in his room. It’s good to see you, MaryAnne.” Kayleigh grabbed the counter’s edge to keep from swaying on her feet. It’d been a long day full of dead ends. She really needed one of Gramps’s pep talks.

MaryAnne shoved back her bangs and studied Kayleigh. “You don’t look so well. Are you okay?”

Kayleigh contemplated the nurse’s dark brown eyes. They were so like those of MaryAnne’s younger brother, Niall, Kayleigh’s former best friend. A familiar emptiness rose within. She could have used his solid strength right now. Most of all, she missed him. How long since he’d stopped returning her calls? Two years? It was hard to believe since, prior to his tour in Afghanistan, they’d spoken at least once a week. Now only radio silence filled his end of their former relationship.

“It’s a long story.”

MaryAnne closed her chart and stood. “I have time. Let’s grab some coffee in the break room.”

A minute later they were seated in the small, sterile space, black brew percolating in a machine on the counter.

“So how’s the wedding planning going?” Kayleigh asked. It was a common conversation topic for them since they were both getting married the following summer. Well...one of them was. Kayleigh’s heart absorbed the thought without breaking. Good. Progress. Maybe she’d have only one bowl of ice cream tonight.

MaryAnne contemplated Kayleigh’s left hand and her eyes widened. “Where’s your ring? Did you lose it?”

“I gave it back.” Kayleigh’s chair scraped when she shoved it back and strode to the counter. “How many sugars do you want?”

“Two.” MaryAnne joined her and grabbed a couple of mugs from a cabinet. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

Kayleigh hesitated before filling the cups. “He cheated on me.” The sting of it was still there, but it’d faded, like the shadow of a stain after a hundred scrubbings.

MaryAnne handed her a wooden stir stick as they returned to the table. “Isn’t he also your boss?”

“Was.” Kayleigh’s gulp of hot coffee set her tongue ablaze. She waved her hand in front of her mouth and MaryAnne grabbed some ice from the dispenser.

“Thanks,” Kayleigh mumbled around the melting cube.

MaryAnne set her elbows on the table and dropped her round, freckled face into her palms. “No wonder you look worn-out.”

Kayleigh nodded glumly. “I’ve been on ten interviews and haven’t gotten a job offer. Even my headhunter has started avoiding my calls. I was hoping to speak to Gramps. Get some cheering up.”

MaryAnne’s mouth turned down at the corners. “He’s in physical therapy and—”

“He’ll want a nap after that,” Kayleigh finished for her, her spirits plummeting. “I’ll come back another time for the chat.” Despite her best efforts, her voice quivered.

“MaryAnne Walsh to the front desk,” announced a voice on the overhead PA system. “MaryAnne Walsh to the front desk, please.”

MaryAnne stood. “I wish I could help.” She put a hand on Kayleigh’s shoulder. “What about Niall? You two used to be so close. Maybe he’s ready to come out of that cave he put himself in since the war. He might know about some jobs. He’s been doing independent programming work for software companies.”

“I don’t think he’ll talk to me. He hasn’t returned my calls since he got back.”

MaryAnne blew out a breath and strode to the door. “There’s more to it than that, though he won’t tell me. And he avoids everyone, even his family. I hardly recognize the bitter recluse he’s become. Seeing each other would be good for both of you.... If I can arrange it, will you meet him?”

Kayleigh’s brain fumbled for the right words to say. Niall. A reunion with an old friend would mean so much. He couldn’t have changed that much...could he?

“That would be—I mean—thank you, MaryAnne,” she said inadequately. “I’d appreciate that.”

MaryAnne came back and gave her a quick hug. “I know he always thought the sun rose and set on you, sweetie. When I tell him that you need him, he’ll be there. Promise.”

But as the door clicked shut behind her, Kayleigh was left alone to wonder.

If he did care, why had he shut her out? They’d supported each other through everything: her parents’ divorce and move, his father’s death and mother’s worsening Alzheimer’s. Yet when he’d been honorably discharged after losing his lower leg in an ambush, he’d rebuffed her. His rejection still hurt. She’d needed to tell him about Chris’s death and had wanted to comfort him because of his injury. Sometimes it felt as if she’d lost them both to the war.

They could have helped each other as they had in the past. A team. Inseparable since their summer-camp days.

His withdrawal had left an empty space inside her that no one, not even Brett, had been able to fill.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_5d2f9386-8c5c-584c-b3b5-4f2496a2eabd)

“I KNOW YOU’RE there, so pick up!”

Niall Walsh punched another line of HTML code into his computer, then glared at the answering machine vying for position with the modem, external hard drive, printer and fax machine cluttering his two desks. He pictured his determined older sister, MaryAnne, marching through his Bed-Stuy neighborhood, calling on her cell. Had she forgotten yesterday’s vow not to check in on him so often?

His phone rang again, followed by the beep. For a low-tech device, it was effective. He should have unplugged it when he’d powered off his cell. “I made your favorite, lasagna,” her voice sounded through the speaker.

His stomach grumbled. It’d been a while since he’d eaten. An empty pizza box balanced on his brownstone apartment’s radiator. It was the last thing he recalled ordering, and that’d been yesterday. Still, she’d given her word. Hunger or no, he was staying strong and not letting her in. It was better for both of them.

“Come on, little brother,” he heard her say after he let the phone ring a third time. “I’ve got to get back to The White Horse and help Aiden before my night shift. Buzz me in when I get to your building.”

He imagined the busy SoHo pub his older brother had managed since their father’s fatal heart attack. Aiden had taken charge of the six other children in the Walsh brood, and their Alzheimer’s-afflicted mother. At least he wouldn’t add to Aiden’s responsibilities. If MaryAnne would stop pestering him, he’d never bother a soul again.

He glanced down at his prosthetic lower leg. The last person who’d come to his rescue had paid the ultimate price; the guilt that he lived and his savior did not was a bitter dose he swallowed every day. If not for his actions during the classified mission, that soldier might have been home now visiting with his own sister.

“I promise not to clean your apartment.” Her voice turned pleading as she left her fourth message.

He glanced around his small, dim apartment, noticing things as MaryAnne would. Laundry spilled out of an overflowing hamper beside his bathroom door. His galley kitchen counters were covered in empty take-out containers, and his sink was full of dishes. Dust coated his coffee table, but at least he’d put his empty soda cans in the recycle bin.