Desperate Times (Silver Ridge Series Book 2)

by Emily Goodwin

  “It smells wonderful.” Sam takes me in his arms, pulling me in for a passionate kiss. I melt against him, running my hands down to his chest, stopping when my fingers hover over his belt buckle. It’s half-past seven, and Sam still wants to walk along the lake after dinner.

  Excitement passes through me and I do my best to quell that feeling. It’s too soon to think about it. We’ve only been dating for a short while, but we have known—and loved—each other for years. I know without a doubt Sam is the one for me. I’ll marry him in a heartbeat and have no fears that the rest of our lives will be filled with nothing but joy and happiness.

  “Hungry?” I ask.

  “Starving.”

  “Good. I’ll put dinner on the table.”

  He kisses me again. “I’ll change and be out.”

  Sam comes back, dressed in black athletic pants and a Chicago Bears sweatshirt, just as I’m putting his plate on the table.

  “This looks and smells really good,” he tells me, picking up his fork and knife.

  “Hopefully it tastes good.”

  “You really didn’t have to cook. I would have ordered something if you wanted.”

  “I know,” I tell him. “I really do enjoy cooking when someone other than me enjoys the food. And I had to eat tonight anyway, so making something fresh is a win-win for us both.”

  He takes a bite of his chicken and I wait, watching his face. I followed a recipe but have yet to try it myself.

  “This is good. Thanks, babe.”

  “You are more than welcome.” I cut into my own food and am pleasantly surprised myself at how much I like this too. “There’s enough left over for you to take to lunch tomorrow, if you want.”

  “I’d love that.” He twirls spaghetti noodles around his fork. “What’d you do all day?”

  “I went back and forth between sleeping on the couch and trying to work. I didn’t get anything new written, though. Oh, I heard from my agent about that TV show deal.”

  “You sound much more excited about it now.”

  “What she presented was good and made me excited, but that’s really what it is: a presentation. We have to look over the contract in detail, but this network really wants me and is pretty much going to bend to my will,” I laugh. “There is one big bad thing, though.”

  “What is it?”

  “They want me to direct a few episodes.”

  “That’s bad?” Sam questions.

  “No, not really, and I won’t be alone in directing. It’s just a marketing tactic, really. But…the show will be filmed mostly in Europe. There’s a good chance I’ll have to spend several weeks in a row on set, which…”

  “Which makes this all hard.” Sam’s fork goes slack in his hand, resting against his plate.

  “It’s not forever, and think of how much fun it would be for you to come visit me on a set somewhere in the French countryside.” I flash a smile. “Which is a guess and probably not a location the show will film at since it’s supposed to be way back in the knights and dragons phase. You’ll be busy with work, but even seeing each other once or twice a month will help immensely.”

  “When do you think the show will start filming?” Sam pokes at his food, making it look like he’s eating when really, he’s not.

  “Probably not until next summer. These things take an annoying amount of time.”

  “Yeah, I bet.” He goes back to his food, and a few minutes pass between us. “Do you still want to walk along the shore with me?”

  My heart flutters in my chest, and my eyes go to my nails. I didn’t have any nail polish, so instead I made sure to dig out any dirt and file them as smooth as possible. “Yeah, I’d love to. I missed out on Silver Lake, might as well enjoy what I can of Lake Michigan, right?”

  “Right.”

  We go back to making small talk while eating, and I go into the bedroom to change out of this black dress and into leggings and an oversized gray sweater. It hangs off my shoulder and is considered by many of my friends back home as something “real winter people” would wear. I laugh and tell them that it gets so freaking cold up here, having one shoulder showing is enough to freeze you to the bone, yet here I am, being one of those people who underestimated the random low temps the Midwest likes to throw at you. I brought a jacket, at least, and pull it on over my sweater.

  “I should have brought gloves,” I grumble as soon as we get onto the sidewalk in front of Sam’s apartment.

  “It’s not that cold out,” he replies. “I think your dad was right to say California has made you soft.”

  “I’m not accustomed to the cold.”

  “Don’t you come back here for holidays?” Sam is clearly amused by thinking a fifty-degree night is freaking freezing.

  “Yeah, but I’m not here for long and I’m usually inside.”

  He puts his arm around me. “I’ll get us an Uber then. I wouldn’t want you to freeze to death on the way to the lake.”

  “If it’s not that far of a walk, I’m fine. Just hold this hand.” I put my right hand in my jacket pocket and hold out my left for him to take. He laces our fingers together, kisses the back of my hand, and then sticks both our hands inside his pocket.

  “It’s not far,” Sam assures me. “I wouldn’t make you walk miles in the frigid cold when you’re still getting over the flu.”

  “It is frigid cold,” I counter but end up laughing. “And fine. I remember when it would warm up to fifty degrees and we’d open the window and wear shorts to school.”

  “I was too cool to wear a coat, which is so fucking stupid now.” Sam gives my hand a squeeze. “Do you remember that? It was a thing and we never wore coats.”

  “I do remember, and I always thought it was stupid,” I say honestly. “None of you boys were Elsa, so the cold did bother you anyway.”

  “What?”

  I stare at him wide-eyed. “Please tell me you are joking and you actually one hundred percent get that reference.” Sam shakes his head and I laugh.

  The wind picks up more and more the closer we get to the lake. I can see Navy Pier in the distance, filled with happy tourists and Chicago residents. The little section of beach we’re on is much less crowded, and Sam leads me down to a bench near the water. We both sit, and he puts his arms around me. I scoot in close, warmed by his body heat.

  “Chloe?”

  “Yes.” I suck in a breath and work hard not to smile like a fool.

  “I want you to know how much you mean to me.”

  This is it.

  “I do,” I reply.

  Sam’s eyes lock with mine. “And you make me happy—so fucking happy. Being with you…it’s…it’s been the best few weeks of my life.”

  Oh my god.

  “Mine too,” I say eagerly, heart jumping in my chest.

  “And I…I…I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

  “I can’t either,” I say and work hard to blink back tears.

  He takes a deep breath. “Which is why…why I need to…” He trails off, eyes falling shut for a quick second. I can’t help but smile ear to ear because Sam Harris is going to ask me to marry—

  “I just need to say it,” he goes on. “Stacey is pregnant.”

  The fuck!?

  24

  Sam

  “What?”

  I swallow hard and breathe in the scent of the stale lake. “Stacey is pregnant.”

  Chloe opens her mouth only to close it again. “Your ex-girlfriend?”

  “Yeah,” I say and a weight comes off my shoulders, though judging by the look on Chloe’s face, a heavy weight just landed on hers. “I know it’s a shock. It was for me too.”

  Chloe pulls her hand away from mine and closes her eyes, rubbing her forehead. “What?” she repeats. “I…I thought…I thought you were…you’re seeing other people?”

  “No, I’m not. She came to me recently and said she just found out she’s pregnant. I’m not convinced the kid is even mine. We, um, we haven’t b
een together since June.”

  “June?” Chloe echoes, closing her eyes again. “So she’s…she’s…like halfway through the pregnancy already?”

  “Yeah. She says it’s mine, but I’m getting a DNA test as soon as I can. Until then…I honestly don’t know how to go about this.” I also don’t know what I expect Chloe to say, and I hate that we only have an hour or so until she has to go to the airport to get on a plane going back to sunny and warm LA. “If the kid is mine, then I’m going to do what I can to be a good dad.”

  “You will be,” she says and stands up, going closer to the water.

  “I’m so stupid,” she mumbles to herself, and I don’t think I was meant to hear.

  I go to her and rest a hand on the dip in her waist. “No you’re not.”

  Chloe whirls around, brows furrowed. Our eyes meet and her lips part. “If you…if you have a kid here and I’m in Europe, I won’t see you.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” I say, desperation rising inside of me. I don’t want to lose her. “Somehow.”

  “How?” She turns back to the water and cups both hands around her face. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you. I thought you…you…” She lets out a breath and lets her hands fall from her face. “How long have you known?”

  “Since before you got sick,” I say, which isn’t a lie. I did find out before Chloe got sick…days before.

  “So all those times you tried to get me alone…it was to tell me about Stacey?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her face crumples and tears fill her eyes. Seeing her pain kills me. “I thought those times…I thought…” She can’t finish her sentence.

  “I’m sorry, Chloe.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry.” She steps away from me again. “You said you two hooked up in June and I didn’t see you again until August. You did nothing wrong.”

  I thought hearing her say that would be a relief, but it’s making everything worse. She’s understanding. Forgiving. So fucking perfect and definitely more than I deserve.

  “I didn’t want this to happen,” I tell her, though I’m sure she knows. “We kept things casual because I knew I could never love her the way I love you.”

  Chloe turns toward me and tears roll down her cheeks. “When…when did you say you were going to get a paternity test?”

  “As soon as I can. Stacey said she got her first ultra sound recently and it’s not twins, so all we need is a blood sample from her and saliva from me and I’ll know either way.”

  “And it’s probably one of those tests that takes a while to get the results in, right?”

  “I’d assume so. I haven’t looked into it that much. All I know is it’s a safe way of finding out who the father is before birth.”

  Chloe wraps her arms around herself and bobs her head up and down. “That’s a good idea. So until then…you…you are going to assume it’s yours?”

  “Is that the right thing to do?” I ask, because I’m really not sure.

  “I think so. It’s, um, noble of you.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know what to do, but I do know I want us to be together. You are the one I love, Chloe. I know this changes things, but we can still be together.”

  Chloe nods and more tears start to fall from her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s, um…um…how, Sam? I’m in LA and you’re here and once you have a baby how are we supposed to travel and see each other?”p

  “We’ll figure it out.” I reach for her hand. “Somehow. I want to be with you.”

  “What we want and what…what is right aren’t always the same.”

  My heart lurches in my chest.

  “Maybe…” she continues. “Maybe our time was always off for a reason.”

  “No,” I disagree.

  She wipes tears from her face and turns back around. “Sit with me?”

  “Of course.” I put my arm around her and we go back to the bench. Chloe keeps her arms tight against her body , staring out at the lake. A few minutes pass in silence.

  “If the baby is yours,” Chloe starts, voice thin. “Then what?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “I’ll do my part in raising it.”

  “Would you want to be with Stacey then?”

  “No,” I answer right away. “I want to be with you.”

  “Is that going to cause problems between you and Stacey? She could be the mother of your child.”

  Hearing it said out loud like that makes my stomach twist. “She’ll have to figure out a way to deal with it. We got along well enough to…to…”

  “Have meaningless sex?” Chloe supplies.

  “Yes,” I admit ruefully, though there’s no point in sugar coating anything. Chloe knew about Stacey from the start.

  “It was always no-strings between us. I knew it wouldn’t even work out because I was always in love with you.”

  Chloe just nods and lets her head fall against my shoulder. It feels so good to have her against me, and the thought of her not coming back kills me.

  “Does anyone else know?” Her voice is small and thin.

  “Jacob,” I tell her.

  “Are you going to tell your mom? She’ll be excited.”

  “Maybe. She’s never met Stacey. No one in my family has. We dated on and off for years but I never took her home to meet my family. I really did try and keep things causal.”

  “And now you’re sharing the biggest commitment with her. I’m sorry,” she apologizes again. “I don’t meant to sound petty or bitchy.” She pushes her hair back. “I’m coming off as super selfish too. If the baby is yours, then you should be there. I want you with me, but again, what we want isn’t always the right thing. The baby will need you, and I know you’re going to be an amazing father for that child.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and try to find the words that will make everything okay. I come up empty handed and instead take Chloe’s hand, holding it and never wanting to beat go.

  Her phone chirps with a reminder about her flight.

  “I need to get my stuff and get to the airport.”

  “I’ll drive you.” I stand and hold out my hand to help her to her feet.

  “No, it’s um, it’s okay. I think…I think we need to take some time and think about things.”

  “How much time do you need?”

  The wind blows her hair over her face. “I don’t know.”

  “This does’t have to change anything between us.”

  She blinks away her tears. “But it does.”

  25

  Chloe

  “Nervous flyer?”

  Blinking a few times, I look up at the older woman sitting in the aisle across from me on the plane. The red-eye from Chicago to LA isn’t full, and we’re waiting for two more passengers to board before the flight attendants do their demonstrations on flight safety so we can take off.

  “Yeah,” I tell the woman, knowing it’s the easy response.

  “Would you like me to sit next to you so you’re not alone?”

  I was excited to get a row to myself, actually, but this old lady is sweet and kind. Maybe the universe is throwing me a bone.

  “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. It’s late and I’m going to try and sleep.”

  “Well, honey, you just let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thanks,” I repeat.

  “Are you from California or are you visiting someone?”

  “I’m from there and I’m going home.” I pull another sweater from my carry-on bag to ball up and use as a pillow. I want nothing more than to fall asleep and dream about Marcus and Kellie and their stable, healthy relationship, though I know I won’t be able to sleep. Maybe having this cute old lady move into my row wouldn’t be a bad thing. Talking is a good distraction.

  “I’m going to visit my granddaughter. She’s having a baby!”

  Well played, universe, well played.

  “Congratulations.”

  The old woman beams. “It’s my first great-grandd
aughter. I just got the call that my Abigail started having contractions a few hours ago. I knew I couldn’t wait so I bought a plane ticket and here I am!”

  “I hope you make it in time,” I say and then realize that sounds weird.

  “I’d love to see the birth, but if not, I’ll get to give my great-granddaughter all the hugs.”

  “Your granddaughter and great-granddaughter sound lucky to have you.”

  The final two passengers get on the plane, and I pull my hood up, not wanting to be bothered or reminded about babies. It’s late, most people on the plane seem as tired as I am, and with not even half the seats being full, it’s quiet in here. I put in my earbuds and rest my head against my balled-up sweatshirt, tears welling in my eyes.

  What a freaking month this weekend has been. I need to break things down and try to process them, but the more I think about it, the more I feel like crying. I’m not ashamed to admit I’m an emotional person. I think being emotional—overly emotional at times too—makes me a good writer. I can put myself in my characters’ situations, feeling what they feel and acting it out as if I’m there.

  But I also cry when I get really frustrated, which annoys me because so many people still think crying means you’re weak. Everyone has moments of weakness every once in a while, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I think showing emotion, putting yourself out there open to criticism makes you a hell of a lot braver than bottling everything up and acting like you’re okay.

  And right now, I’m far from okay.

  I drop my bags in the kitchen and walk through my large, empty house, going upstairs to my bedroom. I’m always a little freaked out to come home to an empty house after I’ve been away from a while. I have a top-of-the-line security system, so logically, I know no one could be in the house without setting off the alarm. I can go through the activity log from the last few days too and make sure no doors or windows have been opened, giving myself peace of mind.

  It’s nights like this that make me consider getting a dog, and a big one at that. I should shower and go to bed, but I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts. So instead, I go back into the kitchen, dig out my laptop from my bag, and get out a bottle of Merlot. I pour a big glass of wine and start looking at rescue dogs available for adoption in my area.