“You’re never going to forgive me for it, are you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t said anything about your little slipup, have I?”
“Not in words but you pretty much say it every time you turn your back on me in bed, every time you look at me as if I’m someone you’ve just met. You don’t have to say anything, Dana. Your eyes say it for you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but she did know. She knew exactly what he meant. She’d learned the art of inflicting pain without a word from her mother, learned firsthand how much a cool glance, polite indifference, could hurt. And she’d wanted to hurt him at first. She’d wanted him to feel at least a portion of the pain he’d caused her. Somewhere along the way, the pattern had become set, and she hadn’t known how to break it, hadn’t know how to reach through the wall she’d built around her emotions.
Just as well she hadn’t, she thought now. It was better this way. Safer. Better not to feel too much. Safer not to care too much.
“It was one time, Dana.” His voice pleaded with her to understand and forgive, but she didn’t want to understand, didn’t want to forgive. “It was one lousy, stinking time. For God’s sake, I was drunker than a waltzing pissant!”
“Odd, but I don’t feel the urge to sleep with strangers when I’ve had too much to drink.”
The cool, indifferent tone brought Reilly’s head up, set a match to his own temper. “It’s a damned good thing, too, because the way you put it away these days, you’d have worked your way through damn near every man in town by now.”
Dana felt the color drain from her face, saw Reilly’s expression shift from anger to regret.
“Dana, I—”
“I’d like you to go now,” she said, amazed by the steadiness of her own voice, amazed that she could even force a voice through the tight, knotted feeling in her throat. She thought he would argue, but he didn’t. He looked at her for a long, silent moment, then nodded.
“I’ll sleep at the office.”
“Fine.” She felt her head move and knew she was nodding, agreeing. Agreeing to anything as long as it meant he would leave. Now. Before she fell apart. She could feel him looking at her as if waiting for her to say something more. She cleared her throat and drew on all the years of practice at hiding what she was thinking and, most especially, what she was feeling.
“Shall I help you pack?” she asked in the same polite tone she might have used to offer cream with his coffee.
Reilly flinched, his eyes wide and dark and…hurt. Dana looked away, afraid of seeing his pain. When she opened them again, he was gone.
Chapter Eighteen
Jessie woke alone. She knew even before she rolled over that Matt’s side of the bed was empty. Only the indentation of his head on the pillow and the rumpled covers told her he’d come to bed at all. She sagged back against the pillow, heart thumping with a tangled mixture of relief and regret and fear. Relief that he’d slept in their bed, regret that she had slept through him getting into that bed, and fear that they weren’t going to get past this.
But she refused to believe that. This was just a misunderstanding, and they could… No, that wasn’t fair. Jessie’s breath escaped in a long, slow sigh. It hadn’t been a misunderstanding, except possibly in the sense that Matt thought the kiss meant more than it had. She’d screwed up. Royally. Big time. No excuses. She could rationalize it all she wanted—all the years she’d loved Reilly, curiosity, an impulse, temporary insanity—but the bottom line was that she was Matt’s wife, and he’d walked in to find her kissing his best friend.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. She wasn’t going to cry again. She’d done plenty of that last night after Matt left, which was why her throat hurt this morning and her eyes felt as if they’d been wrapped in sandpaper. Tears didn’t help, didn’t change anything. They needed to talk, dammit. She’d screwed up. Matt was entitled to scream at her, put his fist through a wall or two if it made him feel better. He was entitled to an explanation, though she didn’t know what the hell she would say if he asked for one. But he was not entitled to crawl in a hole and pull it in after him. He’d lost that privilege when he said “I do.”
The rich scent of coffee drifted up the stairs, but Jessie would have bet her best copper saucepan that Matt was already gone. When it came to emotional conflicts, Matt’s fight-or-flight response fell heavily onto the flight side of the scales. She didn’t know if that was a typical male response or if his childhood had left him wary of what might happen if he ever really let his temper snap.
She’d heard him come in late last night and had decided that midnight was not a good time for the sort of emotional discussion they needed to have. So she’d lain there, listening to the occasional sound of movement from downstairs, wondering what he was thinking, what he was doing, wondering if he would come upstairs to bed or if he would sleep on the sofa. She hadn’t expected to be able to sleep herself, but she’d drifted off at some point, worn-out by the emotional upheaval and, perhaps, the need for more rest that went along with early pregnancy.
And that was another fine mess, she thought, her mouth twisting in a humorless half smile. Matt still didn’t know he was going to be a father. How was she supposed to tell him about that now? Gee, honey, I know I was kissing another man, but it’s okay, because it made me realize that maybe I’m not in love with him after all, and, oh, by the way, I’m having your baby. Oh yeah, that was just perfect.
Lying back against the pillows, Jessie rested her forearm across her eyes, pressing hard against the burning pain under her eyelids.
Gabe was deep in the throes of rewrites, which meant that he barely noticed the outside world existed. He’d grunted when Matt said hello, his bleary eyes fixed on the laptop’s screen. From the stubble on his face and the rumpled look of his sweats, Matt was willing to bet that he’d barely moved in the last twenty-four hours. The kitchen looked like a frozen-food tornado had blown through, with empty Lean Cuisine boxes jostling for space with Hungry-Man trays on the limited counter area and spilling into the sink.
It was the first time he’d seen his calm and collected older brother looking so completely uncalm and uncollected. At another time it would have amused him, but today Matt just cleaned up the worst of the debris and made a fresh pot of coffee, ignoring Gabe’s occasional muttered comments punctuated by staccato bursts of typing. He wasn’t even sure Gabe really knew he was there, which suited him just fine. He wasn’t looking for conversation today. He was looking for a place to sort out his thoughts.
Okay, so he was looking for a place to lick his wounds, but there was no law against sorting thoughts and licking wounds at the same time. Talk about multitasking…
Matt poured himself a cup of coffee and carried it into the bathroom, where he was supposed to be laying tile. He stared at the neat stacks of tile for a moment and then wandered back out into the living room, going to stand by the big front window. The weather had turned gray and drizzly overnight, yesterday’s blue skies disappearing beneath steel-colored clouds. It was a running joke that California weather reports could be given by the week rather than the day, but it wasn’t really true. Maybe the weather didn’t bounce from one extreme to another on a regular basis, but it could certainly make an abrupt U-turn now and again. Just like life.
Hell, now he was thinking in schmaltzy metaphors. Matt sipped his coffee and stared out at the drizzle. He’d driven to the lake the night before and sat watching the lights from the inn flickering on the still, dark water, trying very hard not to think. His brain had refused to cooperate. Not that there was all that much to think about, really. Jessie had kissed Reilly, or he’d kissed her—didn’t matter, really. They’d kissed.
And he’d run like a rabbit.
Last night he’d told himself that it was anger and jealousy that had made him want to get away from Jessie. He’d even, somewhere in the back of his reeling brain, felt a faint pang of nobility. Be
tter to put some distance between them before he said something hurtful. Yeah, that was him, noble to the core.
A flash of dusty blue caught his eye, and he watched a scrub jay dart across the gray landscape, the raspy squawk of its complaints muffled by the glass. With the clarity of three hours’ sleep, he admitted that it hadn’t been nobility that had sent him out of the house last night. It had been fear. He’d been scared to death that Jessie was going to confess that she was in love with Reilly. It was one thing to suspect it—okay, it was one thing to know it. It was something else altogether to hear her say the words. If she actually said it… Matt shook his head, his mouth twisting in bitter humor.
Plausible deniability. Politicians built their careers on it. Apparently he was building his marriage around it.
Grimacing, he drank the last of his coffee and turned back toward the bathroom. He was tired of thinking. Maybe a few hours of mostly mindless physical labor would shut down the treadmill running in his head.
He could smell dinner as soon as he walked in the door. Garlic and some herb he couldn’t quite identify—rosemary, maybe? The night before it had been onions and beef, but the warm cooking smells still gave him an odd sense of déjà` vu. He hesitated just inside the house and then forced himself to move forward, shutting the door behind him, setting his keys on the small table. It was still raining and his shoes were damp, so he toed them off and nudged them under the table while he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over the doorknob to the coat closet to let the slight dampness dry out of it.
Jessie would have heard him come in, but she didn’t come out to greet him. She never did. He’d never told her how much he enjoyed coming home to find her stirring around in the kitchen—no sense in setting himself up as the poster boy for male chauvinism—but maybe she’d picked up on it, because she was usually there when he got back from a day at Gabe’s. She was there now. He hadn’t heard anything, but he could almost feel her there, waiting to see what he would do.
Matt allowed himself one longing look at the back hallway. He’d converted the downstairs bathroom into a makeshift darkroom. He could go in there, shut the door and hide, but that would be childish and pointless. He’d already done the runaway shtick, no point in adding hiding in small dark places to his repertoire.
Jessie was sitting at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a mug, eyes on the door, waiting for him. Matt felt a spurt of irritation that she hadn’t even tried to pretend that everything was normal, but he tamped it down. He tried to tamp down the quick, roiling surge of anger, too. He hadn’t expected that, hadn’t realized that the anger was still so close to the surface, that just looking at her would bring it bubbling up.
“Hi.” Her voice was quiet, a little husky, her eyes uncertain, anxious, searching his face.
“Hi.” He deliberately made his expression and his tone bland, unreadable. “Something smells good.”
“Game hen and roast vegetables.”
He started to say it sounded good but couldn’t do it. The sandwich he’d eaten for lunch was already sitting like a lead weight at the bottom of his stomach. He couldn’t do this, he thought. He couldn’t stand there, holding a normal conversation with her, not when his eyes kept wanting to go to the counter where she’d stood with Reilly, where she’d kissed Reilly. Not when anger and hurt coated the back of his throat like battery acid.
“I’m…ah…not really hungry. I think maybe I’ll—”
“Matt, can’t we please talk?”
“—just spend some time in—” He edged back toward the door.
“We can’t just ignore this and hope it goes away.”
“—the darkroom. I’ve got some film I want to—” He pivoted on his heel.
“Matt, I’m sorry.”
“—develop and I—” Almost out the door.
“Matt, I’m pregnant.”
She hadn’t planned to blurt it out that way, hadn’t planned to throw her pregnancy at him, like a lure to get him to talk to her. It should have been a joyous occasion. She should have been curled up on his lap, holding him, being held, sharing the happiness. After last night, she’d thought she would keep the news to herself for a little while, just until they got past this, but then he’d turned to walk away and the words burst from her.
He froze in the doorway, shoulders going rigid beneath the faded blue chambray shirt. His hand came up, knuckles turning white as he clenched his fingers around the doorjamb. She waited, hardly breathing, not sure what she was hoping for. If he just kept walking… But he didn’t. After a long, still moment, he turned and looked at her. His expression was still, unreadable.
“That’s…great, Jessie,” he said. “I know how much you wanted this.”
As if it had nothing to do with him. As if it wasn’t his. Jessie’s eyes widened, her stomach hollowing out. He couldn’t possibly think she’d…
“It’s yours,” she blurted out and saw his eyes widen in surprise, and then his expression softened and there was something that was almost warmth in his eyes.
“I know that,” he said quietly. “I know it’s mine.” He sighed, shoulders slumping a little as he ran the fingers of one hand through his hair. “I know you wouldn’t… I know you haven’t slept with…anyone else.”
It was as close to an opening as she was going to get, and she took it. “Matt, I’m so sorry about what happened last night, but it really and truly didn’t mean what it looked like it meant. It was just a moment of…stupidity. I’ll never stop regretting it, but it didn’t mean anything.”
“Didn’t it?” He looked at her for a moment and then seemed to come to some decision. He shifted, leaning his shoulders back against the doorjamb, his mouth curved in something that was almost, but not quite, a smile. “How long have you been in love with Reilly, Jessie?”
The question was almost gentle, his voice so quiet and easy that it took her a moment to register what he’d said. Her mouth opened on an automatic denial, but he shook his head.
“Don’t, Jessie. Just don’t.” He sounded more tired than angry. “When you were a kid, I knew you had a crush on him. I figured you’d grow out of it. Then I saw you at his wedding, and you looked like someone had just ripped your heart out.” He leaned his head back against the doorjamb, eyes half-closed. “I managed to forget it because I didn’t like the idea of you hurting like that. Then I came home again and saw the way you looked at him.” He lifted his head suddenly and pinned her to her chair with the sharp blue of his eyes. “I’d guess you’ve been in love with him all along.”
She stared at him, scrambling for words of denial, of protest, and finding her mind a perfect, panicked blank.
“Do you really expect me to believe it didn’t mean anything when he kissed you?”
She found her voice at last. “I don’t… I didn’t—”
Matt shook his head, cutting off her half-formed protests. “Don’t lie to me, Jessie. On top of everything else, don’t lie to me about this.”
The look in his eyes made her drop her head. She stared down into the mug of herb tea between her hands. She didn’t particularly care for the stuff, but with caffeine off-limits for the next eight months, her choice of hot beverages was rather limited. Matt shifted his feet, and she caught her breath on something that would have been a sob if she’d let it out.
“I did love Reilly,” she admitted, knowing the time for lying or even just sliding away from the question was past. “I do love him.” She lifted her head, looking at him, wanting him to understand, which was probably ridiculous when she wasn’t sure she understood it herself anymore. “He’s my friend, Matt, and I love him. And maybe there was a time when I hoped there might be something…more between us, but I haven’t spent my life pining away for him. I love you, too, and I married you. That’s what’s important.”
Matt watched her, his eyes hooded, unreadable. His mouth twisted in a wry little half smile that held more pain than humor. She wanted to go to him and put her arms around him. But
she’d forfeited the right to do that.
“If Reilly hadn’t been married, Jessie, which one of us would you have asked to father your child?”
She stared at him, the color draining from her face, eyes so stricken that Matt couldn’t resist the urge to go to her, touching his fingertips to one pale cheek. All the anger had drained away, leaving a vast emptiness inside. He wasn’t the only one hurting here, and, whatever else he was feeling, he knew he didn’t want Jessie to hurt.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. It was a ridiculous thing to say. As if he could wipe out the last twenty-four hours with a single sentence. Jessie caught his hand as he lowered it, her fingers clinging to his with painful force.
“Please, Matt. We’ve been building something special. Something wonderful. Don’t let this ruin it.”
He sighed, suddenly aware of every one of his thirty-eight years, of the dull throbbing in his shoulder that never seemed to completely disappear, of the matching throb in his temples, of the fact that he’d gotten almost no sleep the night before.
“Give it time, Jessie. Give me time.”
She looked up at him, her eyes all big and dark and scared, and he wanted nothing more in the world than to pull her out of her chair and into his arms and tell her that everything was going to be all right, but he couldn’t do that. Not yet.
“I’m sorry, Matt,” she whispered.
“Yeah. Me too.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair again. Normal, he thought. What they needed now was something normal, even if it was all smoke and mirrors. A baby, he thought, looking at her. He was going to be a father. They should be celebrating, making plans, picking out names. He forced what he hoped would be a reassuring smile. “We’ll work things out, Jess.”
He hoped it wasn’t a lie.
One lesson Matt’s childhood had taught him was that the ability to pretend is inborn. His parents had built their lives on the pretense that they were an average couple, living an average life. He and Gabe had picked up on the illusion, pretending that their parents weren’t abusive alcoholics, pretending that they had a normal, happy home. Now, here he was, playing pretend again, living life on the surface, careful not to look too deep, careful not to rock the precarious balance he and Jessie had achieved.
Loving Jessie Page 29
