Chapter 32

Mike swallowed the last of his third taco, glancing to his right to see that Lexi was only nibbling at her first one. He washed down the remnants of his meal with a long drink of his soda before backing away from the taco stand. Pulling into traffic, his mind began to wander, wondering what she was thinking. They had eaten their meal in relative silence. If the news was good, then she would have shared it with him while they had been eating lunch. That could only mean one thing – whatever she had to tell him, he wasn't going to like it.

He flipped on his blinker, turning his pick-up into the parking lot of his apartment complex. He looked over at her once more as he eased the vehicle to a stop in his usual parking place. She seemed to be chewing on the inside of her lower lip, a habit he had noticed shortly after they had first met. It was something she did when she was anxious, and he once again realized that the impending conversation was likely going to be difficult for both of them.

He reached for the white paper sack containing the discarded taco wrappers as Lexi exited on the passenger's side. He followed her across the courtyard to his front door, quickly slipping his key into the keyhole to unlock it. Gently, he placed his hand on the small of her back, silently encouraging her to enter his apartment.

Lexi walked into the living room, watching Mike as he quickly disposed of the remnants of their meal into his garbage can. The butterflies in her stomach continued fluttering, causing her to place a flattened hand along her upper abdomen.

When he turned around, Mike recognized her look of distress. "Lexi… Are you okay?"

"Ahem… Maybe I need some water."

Mike quickly retrieved a glass from his cabinet, filling it with ice and water. He carried it back into his living room, placing it on a coaster on the end table beside her. "Have you been drinking enough fluids?" he questioned, noting her paleness. His protective feelings for her were much stronger than his sense of dread.

"I don't know," she mumbled, sipping on the cooling liquid.

Mike took a seat beside her, reaching for her forehead. He saw her flinch as his open hand neared her face, and he hesitated for a moment. Deciding not to make a big deal out of her reaction, he simply asked her a question. "Do you have a fever?"

"I... I don't think so."

Mike slowly rested the back of his hand against her brow. "No... You don't feel too warm... Have you been getting enough sle-sleep?" he asked around a deep yawn.

"Sounds like you're the one not sleeping," she commented, thankful for the opportunity to change the conversation as she took another drink of her water.

"I stayed up late studying for the exam," he explained. Lexi felt terrible for not asking him about the exam sooner. She had been so caught up in her own worries that she hadn't even thought to ask him about his own. "So... how do you think you did?"

Mike, beginning to relax a little with the gentle flow of their conversation, began rubbing the back of his aching neck with one hand as he stretched it to one side. "Okay, I think. I mean, you never really know until the scores come out, but I feel like I got a good score."

Lexi returned the glass to the coaster, turning slightly to her right. "Neck sore?"

"Yea," he commented, stretching his muscles as he lowered his chin towards his chest. "I sat at my table reading for several hours yesterday and didn't get up to stretch enough, I guess. I think I better take some aspirin," he said pushing himself off the sofa.

Mike walked into his kitchen, removing a medicine bottle from his cabinet above the refrigerator. She hadn't yet started the conversation which was making him even more nervous. The tension in his back and shoulders seemed to be worsening with his growing anxiety.

"Do you need a couple, Lexi?" he called out, remembering that she wasn't feeling well.

Lexi rubbed her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. "Yes, maybe that would help me, too."

Mike returned, passing her the bottle of aspirin. "Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

Lexi tossed a couple of pills into the back of her throat, washing them down with the remainder of her water. "Oh, it's nothing really. Why don't I give you a neck rub?"

Mike cut his crystal blue eyes at her, lifting his eyebrows. "I'd love that, but you can talk and me a massage at the same time, right?" He wasn't going to dismiss her request for a conversation.

"I suppose," she said, sounding a bit disappointed. "You've done so much for me… a massage is the least I can do to repay you," she commented, shifting her position. "Why don't you lay on your stomach and let me see if I can work some of that soreness out."

The thought of a massage from his girlfriend was music to Mike's ears. He quickly tugged his tee shirt over his head, folding it neatly before placing it on the coffee table. Lexi got down on her knees beside the sofa, allowing Mike to stretch out his long frame.

She felt him shiver beneath her touch when she laid her hands along his naked shoulders. Gently, she began to knead the tight flesh along his neck and upper back. His skin was warm, and as she ran her hands up and down his muscles, her mind began to wander. What would it feel like to be the recipient of this kind of attention? Never had a man touched her in such a tender manner, and she wondered if this was what intimacy was like? Would she ever know the kind of relationship she so desperately craved?

Mike felt like he was in heaven. Her touch was soft, and yet firm enough to relax his tense muscles. She seemed to know exactly where he needed the most attention and he couldn't stop the soft moans of pleasure that escaped from his lips. He had been wanting to feel her touch, the softness of her caress, but he was still unsure of himself. Had Lexi been any other woman, he would have known how to proceed with the physical side of their relationship, but she wasn't like the other women he had dated. He had never dated a woman who had been so broken, so hurt by men in her past. As much as he longed for her, he needed to wait, to be patient with her. He needed to allow her to take the lead, to set the tempo of the progression of their relationship, and he had vowed not to push her into anything she might not be ready for. He and Marco had talked about how Marco's relationship with Beverly had progressed more slowly than the lineman had wanted, but it had been necessary. Beverly had a difficult time distinguishing between intimacy and sex, and Mike was wondering if Lexi might be dealing with those same issues.

"Ohmygod, baby," he groaned, feeling the hardness of his shoulder muscles melt southward, settling in his lower anatomy. "You have amazing hands."

Lexi smiled to herself as she continued to massage his chiseled muscles. She loved the feel of his strong back, and she thought of how these same muscles had carried her to safety when Ricardo had tried kill her.

"Hmmmm," he hummed deeply in his throat, feeling the tension being released as she continued. "Thank you... so much," he drawled out, feeling his eyelids growing heavy.

"You like?" Lexi smiled to herself, continuing her ministrations.

"Mmmhmm... I love," he groaned again, his breathing slowing. "Now what was it you wanted to talk about?"

It wasn't just the massage he loved. Mike Stoker loved Lexi, but he wasn't quite ready to say the words out loud. He didn't know how she might react. She had been tricked into thinking a man loved her when she was a young teenager. That man had exploited her vulnerability. Was she ready to trust a man again?

Lexi watched Mike's handsome face relaxing along with his shoulder muscles. "I just wanted to… to let you know how much I appreciate what you've done for me and… and how I enjoy spending time with you."

She was making him feel good, and that made her feel a contentment she hadn't felt in a very long time. She refused to spoil the moment with her question. As his breathing slowed, her touch became lighter until she heard Mike releasing a series of soft steady snores.

Lexi remained kneeling beside the sofa for a few moments, gazing at Mike's sleeping form. Something inside of her wanted to curl up beside him, to join him in his slumber, within his protective arms. Being held in the arms of a man of Mike's stature and musculature was both alluring and frightening to her.

Too many times when she had been working the streets, she had found herself within the grasp of a stranger, crushed against his body as he assaulted her. She had learned early on not to fight against these perpetrators. Her will to survive was stronger than her desire to protect her body from being violated, and so she had learned to allow the aggressors to do what they wanted with her. Sometimes she was paid for her 'service,' but most times she was not. She couldn't report the assaults. Prostitution was illegal and most people, law enforcement included, didn't believe that a prostitute could be raped. Those episodes had left her with no option but to continue on working, despite the pain and lack of medical care, until she had earned enough money to return home to Ricardo.

Lexi blinked her eyes to force the memories back into the recesses of her mind. Those days were behind her now. The man who lay slumbering peacefully in front of her would never do that to her. Of that she was certain, but where did he want their relationship to go? That was the question she wanted to ask, but hadn't been able to summon up the courage to do so. What if he only wanted to be friends? Could she handle that kind of rejection? She wanted more. She reached out with tentative fingers, gently brushing the light brown hair away from his face. Touching him felt... She struggled to find the right word to describe her feelings. Comforting? Contentment? No, there was only one word that accurately describe how it felt to touch Mike... Perfect, it felt perfect.

Mike didn't know how long he had been asleep, but a soft whisper-light touch on the side of his face brought him back to consciousness. His eyes fluttered, then opened just in time to see Lexi jerking her hand away from him. He recognized the look on her face as one of embarrassment, as if she had done something wrong by stroking his brow.

He adjusted his position on the sofa, moving the small pillow to allow his head to be more comfortable. His blue eyes looked deeply, longingly into the brown ones of the woman he loved. He saw the uncertainty there, and he longed to take away her insecurities. As he rolled onto his side, he spoke no words, allowing the silence between them to linger, as if it offered a buffer of protection for her soul. When she didn't move, he slowly reached out to her face, carefully running his fingers along her soft cheek. He curled a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

"That was the most wonderful massage I've ever received," he whispered, coarsely. "You have such a great touch."

Lexi's heart was pounding inside her chest. Her eyes were drawn to his naked chest, but the fear she usually felt in the presence of a partially clothed man was beginning to fade away. This was not a john she was kneeling beside. This was Mike... Her Michael. She stared into blue eyes, quickly darkening with a desire she recognized, but no longer feared.

"So do you," she said softly, her voice somewhat husky. His mere presence was causing her own desires to surface, but would he want her in that way? She didn't know.

Mike licked his lips, pushing himself into a reclining position with his upper back leaning into the corner of the sofa. He opened his arms to her. "Join me?"

Lexi hesitated, unsure of what he expected from her.

"I just want to hold you, baby, while you finish telling me what you wanted to talk about. Is that okay?" When Lexi sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, he added. "I'll put my shirt on first."

This was what Lexi had been wanting to feel for a long time. She had always wondered what it was like to be close to a man without it being completely sexual. While every cell in her body was screaming at her to run, her heart and mind were telling her that it was time to trust. In spite of the adrenaline rush, she acquiesced.

"It's okay, Michael. You don't have to put your shirt back on. I... I like you just like this," she responded, climbing onto the sofa with her back against his.

Mike slowly wrapped his arms around her so as not to alarm her, then kissed her lightly on top of her head. He didn't move, allowing her to decide how closely she snuggled up to him. Encouraged by her warmth as she drew nearer to him, he ran his hand across her forearm, feeling the goosebumps along her soft skin.

"Are you cold?"

"Not really," she said, shivering slightly.

Mike reached to the back of the sofa, removing the afghan and spreading it over both of them. He knew that there was another possibility for her goosebumps, and even though he wasn't the most talkative man in the world, he decided that this was the time to tell her what had been on his mind. Perhaps that would help lead her into the conversation she had asked to have with him.

"Lex... I know that you've been hurt badly and... and this is probably uncomfortable for you..."

"I'm okay," she lied, still unable to put her own needs ahead of Mike's.

"No... You're not okay, baby, and I know it. But I want you to know how honored I feel that you trust me enough to lay here with me like this and...," Mike hesitated, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and kissing her once again on top of her head. "And I'll never betray that trust. Just... Just please let me hold you here for a little while... Let me show you that... that you can trust me not to hurt you."

Lexi felt the backs of her eyes begin to burn. He understood her, truly understood her. How was it possible? The lump that was lodged in her throat refused to be budged and so, she merely nodded her head in affirmation.

Mike held her for several moments in total silence while the words she had spoken earlier were haunting him, and he knew he needed to discuss them with her.

"I need to ask you something, and I need for you to be honest with me, okay?"

Still unable to speak, she nodded her agreement.

"The things I do for you and Antonio are because I WANT to do them… Did you rub my shoulders as a, um, payback, or… or did you want to?" Mike pressed his lips together, grateful that she couldn't see his face. He desperately needed to know the truth from her. Was she treating him this way because she felt that she owed him a debt, or did she really want to spend more time alone with him? He hoped it was the latter.

Lexi considered her options and knew that she needed to be truthful. He was giving her the opportunity to begin the conversation she had been avoiding. His response would also give her the answer she so desperately wanted. "Um… I…" She closed her eyes, determined to continue on. "I wanted to, Michael. I wanted to… to…"

"To what?"

"I wanted to know… how it felt to… to be close, you know?"

Mike considered her words. "To be intimate without sex?"

She nodded her head.

"How does it feel?" he asked, curious about what she was experiencing. "You can be honest with me; it won't hurt my feelings."

"It feels… Safe." That was it. That was the word she had been searching for. "I feel safe lying here with you."

Mike squeezed her a little tighter, closing his eyes. "You are safe, baby."

Following his lead, Lexi continued the conversation. "What are you feeling?"

"Peace… Like there's no other place I'd rather be than with you," he said, softly stroking her forearm with his thumb.

Lexi twisted her body enough to allow her ear to lay on his chest, listening to his heart beat and his methodical breathing. She was relishing the contentment she was feeling, but she still needed to know the answer to the rest of the question that had been plaguing her.

"Michael… Are we… I mean, where are we… going?"

Mike inhaled deeply, unsure of what she meant. "You mean, us… as in… our relationship?"

"Yes," she responded, leaning into him a little more.

"Well, I'd like for us to be in an exclusive relationship. You know, not seeing other people." Mike used the crook of his index finger to lift her chin so that he could see her eyes. "That's what I want, but it isn't entirely up to me. What do you want, Lexi?"

Mike felt her trying to pull away from his touch, wanting to avoid eye contact. He placed his hand gently on her cheek, using his fingers to brush her hair away from her face. "Please don't look away. Just tell me the truth. Is that what you want? Do you want to keep seeing me, just me, and… and let's see where this goes? No pressure, I promise."

Lexi leaned her face into his hand, staring through his crystal orbs into his soul. "Yes," she whispered, turning more to face him just as he lowered his face to hers.

The kiss was brief but when she turned her body toward him, she felt his erection pressing against her through his jeans. With a knowing smile, she ran her fingers along his lower belly. "I can take care of that for you."

Mike gulped, shifting his hips into a more comfortable position. He reached for her hand, afraid that she might go even lower, and a woman's touch in such an intimate place was something he hadn't felt in a very long time. Pulling her hand up to his mouth, he softly kissed her knuckles. "I would love that, but… I'm okay."

Lexi pulled her hand away from him, feeling the sting of his rejection. "But… you just said that… that you only wanted to see me?"

Mike sat up straighter, allowing her to sit beside him instead of leaning against him. They faced each other, neither sure of how the smooth conversation had turned so suddenly.

"I do! I do only want to see you, but not just for… physical satisfaction," he said, trying to explain himself while his clothing had his manhood in a bind.

"Oh," she said, her eyes dropping to her lap. "It's because I'm… a… I was a…"

"Don't say it," Mike said, placing his index finger on her lips. "What you are is a survivor… a strong woman… and… and someone I'm… falling in love with," he mumbled.

"But you don't want me to offer you a little, um," she pointed at his crotch. "A little relief like a real girlfriend would do," she spat out, disappointed that he didn't want their relationship to progress in a physical way.

"Yea, you could give me a little relief, as you call it, but what would it do for you, huh? How would you feel when I took you home after a quick lay?"

Lexi sat back stunned by his question. How would she feel? The silence between them hung like a thick fog, but Lexi was beginning to see Mike's point. Maybe she wasn't ready for a sexual relationship with a man she loved. And she did love Mike Stoker.

Mike saw her swallowing hard and knew he had hit a nerve. "Was this what you wanted to talk about? Sex?"

Lexi felt her lower lip begin to tremble. She shrugged her shoulders, her voice raspy. "I… I dunno."

Mike thought he understood what her concerns were, so he decided to be the one to initiate the conversation. "Lexi… Do you want us to make love?"

Her hair began to fall into her face and she quickly brushed it away, nervously curling it repeatedly behind her ear. "I… I just…"

Mike waited patiently, but she seemed unable to voice her need. "If we make love now, I'm afraid that you'll feel used. I couldn't live with myself if that happened. I do want to make love to you, just… just not now… not yet. Lexi," he said, grateful when she looked up at him. "Baby, you mean so much more to me than… than a little sexual relief," he said with a knowing grin. "If you want more, um, intimacy, then I'm great with that. In fact, I'd really like that, too."

"But… What about your… you know?"

"My boner?" he asked, injecting a little humor into the serious conversation. He felt himself relax at her giggle. "I'll be fine, baby." He reached out to her, pulling her into a warm embrace. "Besides… it'll return when the time is right for both of us."

Lexi turned her face upwards, meeting Mike's lips with her own. She lifted her hands, placing one around the back of his neck and running the other one through his course chest hair. The kiss deepened, and Mike's tongue sought entrance. She quickly parted her lips, granting him the access they both seemed to desire. As he leaned his back against the corner of the sofa, bringing Lexi along with him without breaking the kiss, Mike Stoker began to think that the right time might come sooner than he had anticipated.

E!

By the time Marco arrived at Beverly's garage apartment, she was already at the top of the stairs, unlocking her apartment door. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he quickly followed her into her small residence. When he closed the door behind him, he saw her setting her purse on her kitchen counter then quickly grabbing onto the back of a chair and grimacing.

"Bev?" he asked, reaching for her elbow, concerned that she might fall. "Are you alright?"

Beverly nodded, closing her eyes as she pulled the chair away from the table and sat down.

Marco followed her lead, taking a seat then reaching for her hand. "Is it another headache?" he asked, worriedly.

Again she nodded, pressing her fingers to her mouth as a wave of nausea began to build.

"Can I get you something?"

Once the nausea began to subside a little, she stared down at the table. "Um, maybe a little ginger ale. There's some in the refrigerator."

She continued staring at the same spot while Marco rushed about in her kitchen. Quickly a glass appeared in front of her, filled with the sparkling liquid. She tentatively took a few sips, relaxing a bit as the refreshing drink began to settle her stomach. She thought about how kind Marco had always been to her, remembering a time in her life when no one cared how she felt. Would he continue to be this attentive when she told him the likely reason for her headaches and nausea?

"Please let me take you to Rampart. We both know the medical staff there; they'll be able to figure out what's causing you to feel this way."

Beverly looked up into his caring face. The backs of her eyes began to sting, but she had to forge ahead. She couldn't back out now.

"I… I think I know what's causing it. I'll… I'll know for sure in a couple of days, but…"

Marco's features grew more stern. Something was very wrong.

"Beverly… You're worrying me. What's going on?" He couldn't help but wonder if perhaps she was suffering from migraines, or something even more debilitating.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wrapping both hands around the cold glass. She had to get this over with now.

"Marco… I… I think I'm pregnant."

"What?" he asked, his heart racing. She had told him that she was taking birth control pills, so he had never used a condom when they had been intimate. In fact, they had only had sex a few times.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, pushing the glass away from her so she could rest her elbows on the table, burying her face in her hands. "I'm so… sorry… I… I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Wait a minute…"

"It was when we went to Tehachapi to get Johnny and Lily. Everything seemed to happen so quickly and… and when we got back we were both tired so I stayed with you and-"

"I remember, but-"

"And… I forgot to take my pill, two of them."

Marco leaned back in his chair, realizing that that was the last time they had been sexually active. Her headaches had seemed to begin almost as soon as they had returned from the mountain. He quickly did the math, realizing that her symptoms had started too soon afterwards to be the result of a pregnancy.

"But, Beverly, you've been sick since then, so… it can't be from a pregnancy, can it? Isn't it too soon?"

She didn't look at him, sensing that he was trying to convince them both that she wasn't pregnant, but her body was telling her otherwise. "Look, Marco, I know this wasn't what you wanted, and I'm not asking you for anything, alright? But I'm NOT going to terminate this pregnancy!" she shouted, slamming her hand down on the table, jarring some of the ginger ale out of the glass. In the two weeks since suspecting she might be pregnant, she had grown to love the child she wasn't even sure she was carrying. Was she finally going to have someone who might love her unconditionally? Someone who wouldn't leave her like she was sure Marco was about to do.

"I didn't ask you to!" He retorted, just as forcefully. The unexpected turn of events had caught him off guard and he wasn't handling it well; his mind was spinning in a multitude of directions.

"Like I said, I won't ask you for anything. I'll raise this baby by myself. I won't sue you for child support, or-"

"Wait just a damn minute," he shot back, his own anger at her growing. She was trying to leave him out of the experience. "If I'm going to be a father, then I want to be a good one! I," he continued, pointing a finger at his own chest. "I want to provide for my child; I want to be a part of his life. I am NOT going to walk away from my responsibility."

"YOUR responsibility?" she scoffed, feeling a mixture of emotions that she couldn't quite explain. "It was MY responsibility to take the goddamn pill and I forgot, alright? That's on ME, not YOU! I'LL deal with this myself!"

Beverly couldn't believe the words that were spewing out of her own mouth. She didn't mean what she was saying, so why was she saying it? More than anything else, she wanted Marco to take her in his arms and promise her that this wouldn't change their relationship, but he hadn't done that. Instead, they were yelling at each other. She wrapped her arms protectively around her midsection as if she were protecting their child from his wrath.

"Just go," she whimpered, not looking at him. She couldn't handle the disappointment she knew was written on his face.

"No."

"I said leave, Marco. This is my apartment and I don't… want you… here… any… more," she cried.

Marco could hear the pain in her voice and he knew that no matter what she was saying, she really didn't want him to leave her. If she hadn't wanted him to be a part of the baby's life, then why would she have told him about the potential pregnancy?

"C'mon," he said reaching over and placing his hand along her upper back. "I'm not leaving you, Beverly, certainly not in this condition."

"I'm not the first woman who's ever been knocked up; I think I can handle it," she said curtly.

"That's not what I'm talking about. You're upset right now, and I'm staying until I know that you're okay," he explained, rubbing soothing circles along her back.

"Yea, well that won't be for two more days," she sniffled.

"Why two more days?"

"Because I have an appointment with my gynecologist in a couple of days. He'll do the test to confirm the pregnancy. I don't expect you to stick around that long," she commented, running her fingers beneath her eyes.

"What kind of a man do you think I am?" Marco questioned, not liking the sarcasm she was using to describe him.

"A normal one," she said, reaching for her glass of ginger ale. Her queasiness was returning and her throat was dry.

"So I'm just an average Joe, huh?" he asked, moving his hand away from her and running it nervously across his chin. "You think I'm the love-'em-and-leave-em type, right?"

Beverly's tough exterior began to crumble. The Marco she knew wasn't like the other men she had encountered in her life. He was completely different. He was kind, gentle, responsible… Responsible, unlike her. She had forgotten her birth control pills. That was irresponsible. Why would he want to stay in a relationship with someone as irresponsible as her, even if she was pregnant?

"No," she whispered, her voice sounding as weak as she felt. "No, I know you're not that type of man. I just… I don't want you feeling like you have to take care of a baby just because I screwed up. I don't want you to think that I tried to trap you, because I didn't. I never would."

"I don't feel like I HAVE to take care of a baby, and I don't think that you screwed up. And I don't think that you trapped me."

Beverly felt his warm hands squeezing her own smaller ones. "Beverly… do you love me?"

His question caught her by surprise. She turned to look at him and saw nothing but sincerity on his handsome face. "Yes."

He held both of her hands in his own, tugging on her arms a little so she would turn to the side. "And I love you. And if you're pregnant, which we don't even know for sure yet that you are, but if you are," his face broke into a tender smile. "Then there's a brand new life that's going to come into the world that is a product of our love. That's a reason to celebrate, not to be angry."

"But Marco, I know how much family and church mean to you. Everyone will be so disappointed that I let this happen out of wedlock," she cried.

"Sshhh," he said, drying her tears with his thumb. "You didn't LET this happen. It happened because we love each other, and if there is a child on the way then that child is physical proof of our love. Beverly, I've been trying to decide how to do this and," he looked down, chuckling a little. "And I have to admit that this wasn't how I had imagined it." He looked back up into her red-rimmed green eyes. "I've been looking at rings lately, and I've found the perfect one, but… things didn't seem to be going so well between us so I was afraid you'd say no, so that's why I haven't asked but," he murmured, slipping from his chair onto one knee. "Beverly Marsh, will you marry me?"

Beverly's eyes welled up with tears as she looked into the dark eyes of the man she loved. She really wanted to believe that the words he was saying were true, that he had been wanting to propose to her before he even knew that she might be pregnant. But that was too good to be true, wasn't it? He was a Prince Charming, but she definitely wasn't Snow White.

"Bev?" Marco questioned, concerned by her lack of enthusiasm.

"Marco… I… I can't," she whispered, closing her eyes and burying her face in her hands.

Marco didn't try to hide his disappointment. Slowly he got off of one knee and returned to his seat. "Why not?"

Beverly swallowed hard, fighting with her constricting throat. "Be-cause… You'll… resent me… in years to come… for… ma-marrying me… out of obligation."

"Obligation? Beverly, I just told you that I had been looking at rings BEFORE I even knew that you might be pregnant. This isn't about a baby… It's about US… OUR future to-together," he said, his voice cracking at the end as he fought with his emotions. "Whether there's a baby on the way… or not."

Marco saw the stern expression on her face, the firmly set jaw, and he knew that her answer was final. She had rejected his proposal. He stared at her for a few moments, in shock at what he was hearing. Feeling dejected, the lineman stood up, patted her gently on her shoulder, then walked towards the door. With his hand resting on the door knob, he turned back around to look at her one last time. "I do love you, Beverly, but… I guess my love isn't enough for you."

Beverly's hand flew to her mouth as she choked back a sob. Why had she rejected his proposal? To become Mrs. Marco Lopez was something she had been dreaming about for some time. But it wasn't a title she would be able to accept out of pity or guilt. She laid her head down on the cool kitchen table, listening as he cranked up his car and drove away, leaving her broken-hearted and alone… or was she?

E!

Lily slammed the receiver down onto the cradle of the phone hanging on the wall of the work area at Bloomers. "Where is he?" she groused.

Iris looked up from her desk where she had been perusing through the mail. She removed her reading glasses from their perch on the end of her nose.

"He's a grown man and today is his day off. I'm sure he has errands to run," she answered, trying to convince herself as well as her daughter that Johnny was okay. The dinner the previous night had been a total disaster and Iris knew she was the one to blame. She also remembered that Johnny had been suicidal not so long ago and the thought that he may have harmed himself was weighing on her like a ton of bricks.

"I'm worried, Momma. I've been calling him since ten o'clock." She glanced up at the wall clock. "That was almost four hours ago."

"Do you want me to call Roy to go check on him?"

Lily considered her mother's offer, but she had another idea. "May I borrow the car?"

Iris felt a surge of adrenaline rush through her system. She couldn't let Lily go to Johnny's apartment alone, but she also knew that Johnny wouldn't want to see her after she had arranged for his parents to come to Los Angeles for a visit. "I'll take you over there as soon as Caroline gets back from her delivery run."

"Momma… I don't think he'll be very happy to see you."

The sound of the bells jingling on the front door pulled the attention of both women to the front of the store. A huge smile spread across Lily's face when she saw the object of her concern walking into the store.

"Johnny!"

A very sweaty John Gage walked between floral arrangements on his way to the back of the store. His face held a forlorn expression as he approached the work station. "Aft…afternoon," he heaved between deep inhalations.

"Out for a run?" Lily asked, stepping around the counter to greet him.

"Yea… Dr. Robertson… said it… would help me… so… I figured I'd… see how far… I could go."

"How about some water?" Iris asked, already heading to the sink with a large glass.

"That'd be… great."

Lily, feeling encouraged by the civil conversation thus far, offered him a big grin. "Did you run all the way from your apartment?"

"Yea…"

"That's at least three miles," Iris responded, handing him the glass of cooling liquid.

Johnny nodded, using his forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow before reaching for the proffered glass. "Yep." There was a tense moment of silence before Johnny broke it. "Um, I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night."

"No need, John. I shouldn't have contacted them without your knowledge. I was just hoping to surprise you, that's all." Iris felt a rush of warmth cover her like a thick blanket on a cold winter's night.

"You did… but… Um…," he hesitated, unsure about how much to tell Iris. He glanced over at Lily who was staring at the work table. He could tell by her expression that she hadn't revealed his secret shame to her mother. Maybe it was time Iris knew.

"I'd like to treat you ladies to dinner tonight," he blurted out. At least the delay would give him a few more hours to gather his thoughts. . He would share with them the details of his memories, and he hoped they might be able to somehow help him fill in the gaps. He needed his memory to be completely intact before he made the long journey back to Selma, Alabama in just a few short days.

"That isn't necessary," Iris responded.

"Aww, c'mon. I don't cook much, but I can make a salad and we can order pizza," he suggested. "I… I'd really like to talk to you about last night."

"We'd love to," Lily answered for them both, worried that her mother was about to decline.

The two women exchanged glances, then both looked back at Johnny. His crooked grin warmed both their hearts, but Iris felt her heart melting.

"She's right… We'd love to. What time?"

Johnny passed the empty glass back to Iris. "Six o'clock," he answered. "And thanks for the water."

"Would you like a ride back home?" Lily asked.

Johnny leaned down, kissing her on the cheek without touching her with his sweaty face. "Thank you, but I need to run back. I think Robertson's right. I do feel better."

He backed away from the table, waving his goodbye. "See ya in a few hours," he stated, turning and heading out the door.

Iris saw the blush warming her daughter's face. Lily still loved Johnny, and Iris hoped that those feelings might be reciprocated by the handsome paramedic.

Johnny jogged in place at the cross-walk waiting for the traffic light to change. He had three miles to consider what he would discuss with the Campbell ladies during their pizza dinner tonight.

E!

As the late afternoon sun began to paint the Alabama sky in vibrant hues of magenta and orange, Moses Pettway, the District Attorney for Dallas County, perused through the murder report and pictures piled up on his desk. He grimaced as he picked up the photograph of the victim, Phillip Campbell. As he looked at the photographs of the deceased man, he grimaced. Not only had the investigation been shoddy, there had never been anyone charged with the murder. Now he was in the position to represent the man whose final moments had been so horrific, and he was staring at the images of the men who were responsible for the crime. William Waite's face was somewhat recognizable in the black and white photos, and the police chief who had been the whistle-blower had identified him during his deathbed confession. But Waite and the chief had not committed the crimes alone.

Moses reached across his desk, opening up a manila folder with the words MITCHELL 1965 on the label. Until the Gage photos had surfaced, the two cases hadn't been linked together. Now that the photographs were in the possession of the district attorney's office, it was obvious that the two cases were linked by more than just their date of death. Moses was left to contend with the facts that there were three perpetrators, not two as he had originally believed, and the second victim was most likely a homicide, not a suicide as the original autopsy report had determined. Deciding that his best chance of getting a conviction was to try the two cases together, he was left wondering if William Waite would be willing to face a jury alone, or would he reveal the identity of the third man? If not, would returning to the scene of the crime help John Gage remember the details that seemed to have eluded his memory thus far?

Moses inhaled deeply, staring at the back of the nameplate on his desk. He had a responsibility to the people of Dallas County, especially the two men who had died a decade earlier. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he rubbed his forehead with his fingers. Did he have the courage to face the men of the secret society responsible for the crimes? He thought about the men and women who had braved the authorities and made the journey from Selma to Montgomery in 1965 to fight for their civil rights. Even though their first attempt had failed, they had been undeterred; eventually marching from Selma to the steps of the state capital in Montgomery. Moses knew that he had to push forward just like the marchers had done. Even though he might not win, he still had to try; he owed it to the two men who had died that day.

He glanced at his watch just as his secretary knocked on his door. Looking up, he saw the stern look on the blonde woman's face.

"Mr. Wilson is here," she announced.

Moses stood up, adjusting his tie. "Send him in, please."

The booming voice of the infamous defense attorney arrived before the man entered the office. "Weelll, Moses," he drawled out, refusing to shake the extended hand of the district attorney. "We meet again," he exclaimed, taking a seat in front of the large wooden desk, dropping his briefcase beside his chair.

"That we do," the DA responded, resuming his seated position.

"Don'tcha jus' love the discov'ry process," he commented with a sarcastic grin.

Moses could feel his heart beating in his throat as his anxiety level rose. The man seated before him was an arrogant man of wealth and privilege, well known throughout the state as the best defense attorney around. There was a running joke in the area that criminals would retain his services before they committed their crimes. Sometimes Moses wondered if that was actually true. Lane Wilson's disdain for, and determination to intimidate Moses was obvious, but the younger man was unphased. Even though his mouth was growing dry while his forehead was growing damp, he remained stoic.

"I do when I've got the goods on the defendant."

"Now we'll jus' hafta see 'bout that, won't we?" Wilson laughed, reaching out his hand for the large envelope Moses was handing over to him.

"I think you'll see what I mean when you look at those pictures of your client," Moses commented, his dark eyes watching as the other man removed the gruesome pictures.

The DA sat back in his chair, watching the defense attorney as he scanned the pictures. The other man's mouth began to twitch and the color drained from his round face, making his cheeks match the graying color of the hair along his temples. Tiny beads of sweat popped out across Lane's forehead, causing Moses to lean forward across his desk.

"Almost as good as a confession, don't you think?" he suggested, lifting his eyebrows.

"Um… Ahem."

The defense attorney struggled to find his voice, something that made Moses take notice. This was not the first time the two attorneys had been opponents. Usually the older man was unshakeable, but that wasn't the case this time.

"This proves nothin'," he mumbled, shoving the pictures back into the envelope haphazardly.

"It proves your client assaulted the man who was found dead, hanging from a tree in that same location just a short time later." Moses interlocked his fingers, staring at the other man. "And the young man who took those pictures is willing to testify against your client."

"You s-sayin' you've got an eyewitness?"

"Yes… And we both know that your client knows who the other man is," he said, tapping his index finger on his own copy of the photographs. "I want to know the identity of the third man involved in killing both Campbell and Father Mitchell," he said, waiting to see how his statement would be refuted.

"Nobody killed that priest… He killed himself. Ev'rybody knows that."

"I don't know that," the DA said. "I only know what those pictures and my eyewitness tell me," he said, knowing that he was stretching the truth about his evidence. Could Wilson tell he was bluffing?

Lane Wilson felt a heaviness in his chest that he had never felt before. His throat seemed to be closing and he was struggling to catch his breath. Had there really been a witness to the events of that morning? Why hadn't the man come forward before now? "Eyewitness, huh?"

"That's right, Mr. John Gage. He was a young man who came here from Montana during the marches… taking pictures. He just happened to be along the river that morning."

"Wh-ah… Where's his statement?" Wilson managed to ask, rifling through the papers.

"Why don't we depose him? He'll be here in a couple of days," Moses said, feeling a little more confident. "He's flying in from Los Angeles where he works as a fireman and paramedic. In other words, he's a well-respected member of his community. I mean, who doesn't trust a fireman?" he asked, staring at the older man until the defense attorney finally broke eye contact.

"Are you sure you wanna bring all this back up? Think about the pain you'll cause Kizzy Campbell by makin' her relive her son's death, 'specially when you won't win this case."

"She's had to live with it every day for the last ten years. At least when it gets brought up this time, it'll be because justice will be served." He steepled his fingers beneath his chin, more to anchor his own trembling hands than to give his opponent a pose of confidence.

"Are you sure 'bout that? I'm quite certain I can find an alibi for my client, one that a jury is more likely to believe than your out-o'-town-kid. I'm pretty damn good at defendin', ya know?" the smug attorney spat out, having regained his composure.

"And I'm pretty damn good at prosecuting," Moses replied, never cracking a smile. "Especially when it's a double homicide – a capital offense that can send your client to ol' yellow mama to fry."

"What the hell are you talkin' 'bout, Pettway? My client may… or may not… have been present that mornin', but I'll damn sure prove that he didn't kill anybody; he sure didn't kill a… a man o' the cloth. And he sure as hell ain't goin' to the electric chair!"

"That's left up to the jury to decide… unless your client wants to plead down a little?"

"Never!"

When Lane stood up, he feared his legs wouldn't carry his rotund body back to his car. The pictures had brought back memories that he had long ago buried. He already knew the identity of the man assaulting the priest in the pictures. Now he had to figure out how to keep that identity hidden from the prosecution, while exonerating William Waite because if he couldn't get an acquittal, then his entire life was going to change, drastically.

"Ahem… What day and time is the deposition?"

"I'll have my secretary schedule it. It'll depend on Mr. Gage's flight schedule," Moses stated, pushing away from his desk.

"Very well. Good day, Moses," the defense attorney commented, grasping the handle of his leather case with his sweaty palm and exiting the office.

"Good-bye," the DA responded to the retreating man, standing until he was sure the defense attorney was heading to the exit of the building. He sat down once again, exhaling his breath. Something had alarmed the other man, but what was it?

E!

Half an hour later, Lane Wilson knocked on the door of William Waite's 1920's style home just outside of town. When Waite's hired caregiver greeted him, he pasted a smile on his face. "I need to… to see Bill, please."

"C'mon in, Lane. He's in the den," the older woman stated, having grown accustomed to the frequent visits between the two men.

Lane left his hat hanging on the hall tree in the foyer then headed for the privacy of the small front room where his client was sitting. The nervous attorney looked over his shoulder, ensuring that the caregiver had not followed him; he couldn't risk her overhearing what he was about to say.

"We've got a big pro'lem, Bill… a mighty big pro'lem… and it's 'cause o' that damn kid from Montana."