The Survivor - Cristin Harber Page 0,44

too much for my mom.”

“I can’t imagine,” she whispered.

“The funerals were barely two weeks apart.” Hagan took a moment to keep himself together. Mom had been stoic through the first funeral; he and Roxana had thought Mom was holding it together for the second. They’d been so damn wrong. They failed their mother, consumed in their own grief.

“Hagan, you don’t have to tell me.”

He’d come too far to stop now. “Mom had a small stroke during the service for my brother.”

“Oh, God.”

“We didn’t notice.” His vision clouded. “It wasn’t like in the movies.” His voice shook. “She had trouble walking from the church. I took her hand and led the way to the car. She didn’t say a single damn word during the procession.” He swallowed hard. “Roxana had to help her sit and stand during the burial.”

“Hagan.” Tears clogged Amanda’s voice.

His chin dropped, and he closed his eyes. “We thought—I thought—I didn’t know.” He cleared his throat and glanced toward the windows, gathering his words. “Later, at home, we realized something was wrong.” Like always, the sadness shifted. He ground his molars, hating how much they’d missed, wondering if they could’ve found help sooner, and, more than anything, cursing the circumstances that left their mother all but a living shell. “She’d had a series of small strokes. Didn’t kill her. ”

Tears streamed down Amanda’s face.

“She needs a lot of help. That costs money, and we were nothing but two teenagers, suddenly responsible for a mortgage and mounting medical bills that you wouldn’t believe.” Hagan took a deep breath. “I needed this job.” He licked his bottom lip. “Still do.”

Amanda wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed as though she wanted to pull him to safety.

The truth was that nothing had ever helped. Talking about what had happened only stoked his anger. There were so many what-ifs. What if his brother had had a different job? What if he hadn’t felt compelled to protect some tabloid half-twit? Except Amanda’s arms somehow soothed his rage.

Hagan didn’t understand how. He still hurt. Raw resentment still coiled in his chest. But the way her heart beat next to his… He didn’t know what to do, so he gave in to her arms and gathered her as if holding her might heal the ache. Hagan breathed her in and decided that he already knew everything he needed to about this woman. He kissed her forehead and eased back. “It’s not an easy story to tell.”

Amanda wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I’ll call Jared. I’ll explain everything, and how it’s not—”

“You don’t have to. I’ll find him later. This is between him and me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Boss Man threw the door open and stormed into the war room. He saw Hagan and his fists curled. “What did I tell you?”

The same surge of adrenaline that would arrive seconds before a bar fight hammered Hagan’s chest. He inhaled and held the breath, wanting cooler heads to prevail. Who the hell knew if Boss Man had heard the word no before? If so, it didn’t happen often. “I heard you, and I’m sorry. That’s not an order I’ll follow.” Hagan didn’t want to lose his job or Amanda. “She’s not the job. It’s not life or death—”

“How the fuck do you know that?” Jared strode forward and pointed to a chair. “Sit your ass down.”

A knot formed in his throat. Hagan didn’t back down easily. He gripped the back of the office chair. His fingertips dug into the black leather. Boss Man glared then pulled out a chair. They managed to sit at the same time.

“I like her,” Hagan said. “And if mutual interest remains, I don’t intend to stop seeing her.”

Jared placed his elbows on the table and cupped one hand over the other. He popped his knuckles, one after the next. Hagan prepared for whatever might come, but by the time the last knuckle cracked, Jared seemed less like an angry son of a bitch and more like he was worried. Hagan would have almost rather dealt with the anger.

"This still gives me heartburn.” Jared leaned back and stared at the ceiling, then added, “She hasn’t told you anything you need to know.”

“How do you know?”

Jared snorted and shook his head. “Trust me, I’d know.”

Hagan’s heel bounced. He wished he’d opted for breakfast, or maybe not as much coffee. His stomach churned. “I need this job.”

“I know,” Jared muttered, finally adding, “and I want you on this team.” He took a minute