by Shayla Black
“After Makaio and I get married, I’m going to ask him to adopt Jamie. It would be easier if we all had the same last name.”
That will never fucking happen. I agree with her general concept…but I’m determined Britta, Jamie, and I will be the happy Reed family.
“Let me read the paperwork,” I manage to say without snarling out my frustration. “Then we’ll go to lunch and discuss it.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She shakes her head stubbornly.
So I guess my idea of grabbing takeout and hashing out the particulars at my place is a big hell no. Maybe that’s for the best. I don’t know if I can keep my hands off her. As much as she seems to be falling apart, I don’t think she could deal with sex now. What’s between us is tentative and fragile…but simmering, sparking. If I rush her before she’s ready simply because I’m impatient to put the past behind us, before she’s had the chance to see how getting back together could be the best path for her—and for Jamie—we’ll be done forever.
“We have to talk,” I point out. “I can’t sign this if I don’t understand exactly what you want and why.”
Britta casts a side glance to the ceiling. Obviously, she doesn’t want to put herself in a vulnerable position when she’s feeling weak. I don’t know if she’s aware how easily I can read her, but it’s like I’m tuned into her frequency. She’s mad at me, sure. But she’s more afraid of what I make her feel and what that means for her future.
“I can’t do it today.” She shakes her head. “I have an eye doctor appointment.”
At least I have a viable delay for signing this crap. “Tomorrow?”
She looks at me in horror. “No. I’m not spending any moment of that day with you.”
That day? “Tuesday?”
Britta tosses her hands in the air. “Oh, forget it. What about Wednesday?”
I’m still stuck on tomorrow. What the… I glance at the calendar, and suddenly it’s clear. She’s protesting having lunch with me on Valentine’s Day.
Once upon a time, she was giddy with the thought that I might utterly adore her on this holiday for lovers. I sent flowers, sure. I avoided chocolates since they sometimes give her migraines. And I took her to dinner. During the meal, I spent half the time on my phone. I didn’t really pay her much attention until we got home alone. I was hoping to get her naked…but it didn’t happen.
Valentine’s Day will be different for us from now on. I’ll do everything in my power to make her feel like my one and only.
I tap my thumb against my thigh, knowing I’ve got a decision to make. Either I leave her in peace to share Valentine’s Day with Makaio, knowing what they will more than likely be doing that night, or I push Britta now and risk her shutting down.
“This is obviously upsetting you. Wouldn’t you feel better if we came to a mutual understanding sooner?”
Yeah, I’m coercing her to have lunch with me tomorrow. Of course it’s manipulative. But my statement is true…even if Jamie’s custody arrangement isn’t going to turn out the way she thinks.
She hesitates, pressing her lips together as if she’s not exactly sure what to say. “Oh, all right. Tomorrow. Will you actually read it by then?”
“Absolutely.” And I will. I’ll simply be looking for every possible way to avoid signing it and every single loophole she might use to trip me up. I see check boxes and conditions and more jargon than I can plow through at a glance. This delay, though it chafes, will give me time to confer with my attorney. “I’ll make notes. We’ll talk and figure this out. Just…don’t cry, angel. I’m not trying to make your life worse.”
“It’s too late,” she murmurs, then turns, leaving my office.
It’s a blade in the heart I deserve. But if we’re going to move forward, I have to lay a bunch of my cards on the table so we can get past all the blame-laying and anger. That means I need to explain everything, not just our breakup. She needs to know how much I regret not changing before I destroyed us.
Britta called in sick on Tuesday. Maxon didn’t press her for details, damn him. So all my plans for a quiet—and yes, romantic—lunch go down the toilet. I’m both cynical and suspicious at her no-show. Is she really under the weather…or passive-aggressively refusing to spend even a moment of Valentine’s Day with me?
When she calls in again on Wednesday, I become concerned.
As promised, I read the paperwork she gave me. Yeah. Fuck no. Never. Ever. In a million years. It’s not just a relinquishment of my rights, it also reads something like a restraining order. If I try to approach Jamie in any way, I’m legally a stranger. Anything more than a casual conversation, and she can call the police and have them arrest me.
It’s ludicrous. And it’s never happening.
The end of this hellacious hump day comes, and I leave the office. When I climb in the car, I’m ready to press the redial button on my last missed call from Keeley. I need to find out if she’s getting on that plane tomorrow morning at eight a.m. If not, I don’t know what I’m going to tell Maxon.
But before I can dial my bestie for details, my phone rings. I look at the display on the device and answer with a grin.
“Hey, Harlow.”
“Hey, you.”
I hear a low note in her voice instantly. “You all right?”
“Me? Yeah…”
But she’s not, just like she’s rarely forthcoming with her feelings. If I’m going to get to the bottom of her woe, I’ll have to be subtle. “How’s school?”
“Great!” she says genuinely. “I’m glad I already finished the course work for my final semester and my dissertation is going so well. I’m talking to some great firms about a job after graduation. It’s been hard sticking around to get a master’s when I’m beyond ready to join the real world, but I think the sacrifice will be worth it in the end.”
“Smart girl. How are your wedding plans coming?”
Harlow doesn’t answer right away. “Simon and I have both been busy. He’s traveling all the time. I’ve been neck deep in my dissertation and getting ready to defend it. Mom was helping me with the wedding for a while, but she’s completely focused on Marco, her new boyfriend, and finding Dad so she can officially serve his ass with divorce papers and get her half of his money. Have you seen him lately?”
“Dad? Not since the night he flew in, like, ten days ago.”
No one was more shocked than me when my father beat on my door late unexpectedly one night after arriving from San Diego, demanding I give him a place to stay while he and Mom legally ripped each other to shreds. An hour before that, he’d ragged on Maxon, called him a pussy. Then he said some things that made me realize that I’d been the same kind of bastard to my brother and I owed him a huge apology.
So I guess I can thank him for the wake-up call, but not much else.
“You can’t help Mom find him?” she asks anxiously.
Why would I want to? Granted, Dad is no peach, but she’s hardly without blame in this shit storm. “I’ve got no clue where he is.”
“If Mom doesn’t find him soon, my wedding may never get planned.”
I feel for Harlow…but I’m at a critical stage with Britta and Jamie right now. Between that and business, I can’t babysit my dad. “If he turns up, I’ll let you know.”
“If he doesn’t, don’t be surprised if Mom calls you,” my sister warns.
My gut tightens. I’ve barely spoken more than monosyllables to her in ten years. Then again, what should I say to the woman who forever fucked my adolescence? “To help her find Dad?”
“Yeah. She’s threatening to ‘do something drastic,’ whatever that means. And you know Mom. The wine posse is backing her up, Chardonnay in hand.”
I grunt. I know Linda Reed probably better than anyone in this family. “She’s still hanging around with Julia?”
The leech followed my mother when she moved to San Diego a few years back. Thank god.
“Oh, yeah.”
I can prac
tically hear my sister roll her eyes. I try not to grind my teeth over the phone. God, how much I hate them all.
“Thanks for the warning. So if the wedding plans get finished, how many weeks until you’re Mrs. Butler?”
“Less than twelve. I’m a little panicked. I have to fly to New York for my final fitting at some point. I’ve been waiting for Simon to come home so we could finish the menu and floral selections. He needs to pick out his tux. We have more phone counseling sessions with the minister. We both thought we’d have time to make a trip to Maui and settle everything in person…but life has been so hectic.”
I’ve never met Simon. I understand a job that seems to eat your life for weeks on end. I often live it. Maxon does, too. But if Britta told me tomorrow that she’d marry me, I wouldn’t give a shit what was happening professionally. I would push everything aside to focus on giving that woman the wedding of her dreams. The fact that Simon isn’t interested in the details… Well, I know a lot of people would say that guys just aren’t into that shit. But for the woman you love, c’mon. Taste some froufrou food, sniff a few flowers. Make her feel important. How hard is it?
From a guy who didn’t learn the first time around, what Harlow is describing smacks of a boyfriend who’s not really committed.
But maybe I’m wrong. I hope for her sake that I am. I keep my opinion to myself.
“Things will settle down, and you’ll get it all sorted out.”
“Probably. I just need to not let the details freak me out, I guess.” She pauses. “So…Maxon says you met Jamie.”
“Kind of. I saved him from a trip to the ER. Don’t think he appreciated it.” I have to laugh. “At his age, I wouldn’t have, either.”
She laughs, too. “I’m so relieved I won’t have to avoid talking about the cutie pie with you anymore.”
“Why did you in the first place?” I have some suspicions.
“Because we thought you knew and simply didn’t care. I was so angry I couldn’t even talk to you about him. I thought you didn’t deserve him. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… I should have given you the benefit of the doubt.”
I can’t really blame Harlow. I’d like to, but I see her point. In her shoes, I might have made the same choice.
“I’m sorry if that sounds mean,” she goes on. “But you really broke Britta’s heart, and I didn’t want to see you hurt your son, too.”
“I understand.” I can hardly fault her for trying to protect him.
“Good. I’m glad.” She pauses. “I’m flying to Maui sometime in mid-April. The wedding is on Saturday, May sixth. I can’t wait to see you. And to finally meet Jamie in person! Maxon sends me the cutest pictures.”
“You’ll love him. He’s beautiful.”
“I have no doubt. So…what about you and Britta? You two are talking again?”
“We have a child, so we have to. I’m trying to open the communication between us. And…I’m trying to get her to do more than talk to me.”
“Griff, seriously? Maxon said she’s engaged.”
“She is.” But I can’t feel guilty. The alternative will make us miserable for the rest of our lives.
She snickers at me like I’m incorrigible. “Actually, I’m pulling for you two. You really seemed to have something. It wasn’t perfect, but—”
“That was my fault.”
The shock of her silence is almost palpable. “You’re admitting you were wrong? Someone record this day in history.”
I roll my eyes but take her ribbing in the good nature in which she intended it. “I’ve grown into a more evolved sort of asshole.”
“I’m so proud,” she teases.
In the background, I hear someone knocking on her door. “You need to go?”
I hear rustling and guess she’s getting up from her chair. A few steps later, she groans. “Yeah. It’s Mom.”
Without even opening the door, she sounds exhausted by the woman. I understand, but I’m not about to talk to the she-dragon.
“I’ll let you go. Call me anytime, little sis.”
“Same with you. Love you. Hope everything works out with Britta and Jamie.”
Before I can say anything else, she’s gone. Ending the conversation is probably for the best since I’m nearly at Britta’s. No, she won’t be happy to see me, but she owes me an explanation. We’ll never work out any arrangement about Jamie and our future if she’s going to avoid me.
Three minutes later, I’m knocking on her door. And knocking. I see her sedan under the carport. She should be here. Unless Makaio took her out.
Damning the thought, I’m just about to walk around the house and see if I can peek in through the sliding glass door around back when I hear the click of the lock. The latch gives way and the door creaks open.
Britta wobbles in the portal with her hair pulled back haphazardly, skin somewhere between white and gray. She’s tried to belt a pink robe around her middle. It’s gaping open to reveal an overlarge oatmeal-colored T-shirt. She’s removed everything else—shoes, makeup, engagement ring. Jamie stands behind her, clinging to her thigh.
Whatever remained of my righteous anger swirls down the mental drain. “Are you okay, angel?”
She leans against the door. “It’s just a cold. I’ll be fine. Sorry we haven’t been able to talk—”
A cough interrupts her nasally, scratchy-voiced reply. It sounds deep and productive, and she winces like it’s painful.
“Have you been to the doctor?”
She shakes her head. “Haven’t felt like it. Maybe I’ll go tomorrow.”
Where the hell is Makaio? Shouldn’t her fiancé be taking care of her? Whatever. He wasn’t important before and he’s certainly not important now.
“Have you eaten in the last few hours?”
After a slight pause, she frowns. “Not since midday. It’s probably good you woke me up. I need to feed Jamie. Um, we’ll talk about everything once I come back to the office, hopefully soon.”
If she thinks I’m leaving her and Jamie to suffer alone, she’s absolutely fucking crazy.
Gently, I nudge my way past the front door and lock it behind me. Then I kneel down to Jamie, who’s staring at me, thumb in his mouth, from behind Britta’s shapely thigh. “Hey, big guy. You hungry?”
He looks at me suspiciously, then back up to his mother. When she nods at the boy, he meets my gaze again. “Yeah.”
“I’ll take care of you. Meet me in the kitchen. Mommy is sick, and I’m going to make sure she gets in bed, okay?”
“What?” Britta balks as Jamie scampers off to dance around the refrigerator. “You can’t. I’ll—”
“I can’t make a can of soup or fix a sandwich? C’mon. You need rest and you don’t need to be risking Jamie’s immune system. I’m perfectly healthy and I’ll handle it.” When she still looks uncertain, I cup her shoulder. “You took care of him by yourself for years. I owe you at least this much.”
She closes her eyes, obviously torn. But she’s too exhausted to fight. “He’s allergic to strawberries.”
“Got it. Anything in particular he likes?”
“Bananas. Peanut butter sandwiches. Peach yogurt.”
“Consider it done. What can I get you?”
“I don’t need anything.”
I send her a stare of tender rebuke. “Don’t be stubborn.”
“Seriously. I need to lose those last couple of pounds I gained at Christmas anyway.”
Oh, that just annoys me. If she weren’t so sick, we’d exchange words about the fact that she’d rather starve herself than ask me for help. Nor is an illness a good time to consider her weight, which seems just fine to me. But right now, getting her back to bed so she can rest matters most.
I curl one arm across her back before I bend and lift her,
