Love's Rhythm
Page 6
His nostrils flared. “Isn’t it?”
A sour taste filled the back of Lauren’s throat. “Jesus, you and your ego. Don’t you think if you were the father I would have tapped your sizeable income by now? Let the world know the Nick Blackthorne has a son? Raising him would be a whole lot easier with a billionaire father, that’s for certain.” She shook her head. “And if he was yours, you gave up the right to anything in my life the night you walked away from it.”
Her stomach churned again. She felt sick. Sick and sorry and so goddamn lost.
“That’s not fair, Lauren.”
“Neither is throwing what we had aside for a horde of groupies.” She closed her eyes, letting out a trembling breath. What happened to a quick drink with Jennifer this evening, followed by a weekend relaxing with Josh? How had she found herself skirting such a gaping, surreal chasm so quickly? How had she gone from laughing through Wombat Stew without a care in the world to being on the edge of a mental breakdown in one afternoon? How had this happened? And whose fault was it?
Yours? For not telling Nick fifteen years ago what he deserved to know?
She opened her eyes and gave Nick a level look. “I’m going. Please don’t follow me.” She snatched up her trousers from where they had fallen to the floor during their last kiss and shoved her legs into them, refusing to look at him as she did so. “I’m sure if you leave now you’ll get back to Sydney before midnight. Drive safely.”
“Lauren,” he began, but she ignored him. She had to. As hard as it was, she ignored him. She strode from Jennifer’s bedroom, through her best friend’s home, out the front door. The winter night air wrapped around her instantly, turning her flesh to goosebumps and her nipples to aching points of flesh. And even as her traitorous mind reminded her how wonderful Nick’s lips felt wrapped around those nipples, she walked on, leaving Nick standing on Jennifer’s front porch, his stare on her retreating back like a caress she longed to succumb to. She walked to her car, climbed in and drove away. He didn’t follow, just as she’d asked.
And it wasn’t until she was unlocking her front door, a bag of hot fish and chips from Murriundah’s only take-away café hanging from her fingers that she allowed herself the weakness to think of him again, and even then, it was only to wonder how he’d found her in Murriundah to begin with.
“Doesn’t matter,” she grumbled. “As long as he’s not here when the sun comes up.”
“Finally!” Josh yelled from the living room, his voice a deep baritone as smooth as silk. “I’m starving!”
She heard his feet—already an enormous size eleven—thump on the floor and then Josh was in the kitchen with her, complaining about how hungry he was as he tore open the bag of food and stuffed a hot chip into his mouth, his grin just like his father’s, his eyes even more so.
Lauren’s chest squeezed tight. Damn it. How was she to ignore Nick Blackthorne in her life when all she had to do was look at her fifteen-year old son to see him?
Chapter Five
Nick watched the night swallow Lauren’s beat-up old Honda Civic, the taillights fading to two dull red spots in the darkness before disappearing completely. He dragged his hands through his hair, ignoring the chilling winter air turning his flesh to goosebumps. He didn’t know what surprised him the most—that Lauren still drove the same car she had fifteen years ago, or that he wasn’t going after her.
He wasn’t going after her. Shit, was he actually going to let her drive away? After dropping a bombshell like that? A son? A teenage son?
He swallowed, scraping his nails through his hair again. A dull weight sat on his chest. His breath puffed from him in balls of white mist and his gut felt like it was one big, knotted mess. Added to that, an angry pain throbbed where Lauren had smacked his head with her satchel, making each blink an exercise in self-torture.
Huh. Self-torture is trying to do the maths on an equation you don’t have all the numbers for, Nick.
“Well, that didn’t go the way I thought it would.”
Nick started at Jennifer’s voice. Dull pain stabbed through his temple at the abrupt jerk, making him wince. He gingerly turned his gaze to his left and watched her climb the stairs to her front porch. “And what way was that?” he asked.
She gave him a wide grin, reached out and pulled his right eye open a little with confident fingers before he could move. “I kinda expected you both to be lip-locked on my bed, to be honest. That’s why I stepped outside,” she answered, studying his eye with a contemplative gaze. “How’s your head, by the way? Splotches in your vision? Giddy? Flashing lights?”
He chuckled. “No. Does that mean my doc gives me permission to go after Lauren?”
She moved her fingers to his other eye, widening it with a gentle tug. “I’ve seen that expression on her face before. You go after Lauren tonight and she’s going to knee-cap you.”
He chuckled again, staying still as the vet who looked like an exotic princess inspected his eyeball. “Not part of my plan either.”
“So what was your plan, Mr. Rock Star, if you don’t mind me asking?” She released his eye and took a step back, her expression changing. Gone was the detached medical practitioner, and in her stead stood a woman wearing an undeniably curious air. But a wary one as well. “Until this afternoon, Lauren had said all of about ten words about you.”
Nick’s heart did a rapid little thud at the idea of Lauren talking about him. “What were those ten words?”
“‘I went out with Nick Blackthorne once. Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.’”
Dull disappointment dropped into his gut. “That’s twelve words.”
Jennifer cocked a dark, straight eyebrow. “So it is. Now give. Apart from kissing her in my bedroom, what were you hoping to achieve by turning up here?”
The protective tone in her voice didn’t escape him. “In all honesty, until I saw her in the playground, it was just to ask her to a wedding. Now…” He let out a ragged sigh. “Now I’m not leaving Murriundah without her.”
“Whoa. That’s a big statement to make.”
Nick shrugged. “What can I say? I aim big.”
Jennifer narrowed her eyes. “And are used to getting what you want.”
“And am used to getting what I want,” he agreed, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. The cold was seeping into his bones. His breath grew whiter on the night. But he didn’t want to go inside. He wanted to stand here on the porch in case Lauren came back.
Oh, man, you really are the romantic, aren’t you? This isn’t a song, Nick. This is real life. She’s gone and she’s not coming back tonight. Not for you, at least.
He licked his lips, his stare fixed on the last place he’d seen Lauren’s taillights. “Can I ask a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Is Josh’s father around?”
Jennifer snorted. “If he is, I don’t know it. She’s never told me who he is.”
“Have you asked?”
“Quite a few times.”
“What about Josh? Does he know?”
Jennifer shook her head. “Not as far as I know. It doesn’t seem to worry him, but then again, he’s a pretty special kid. Talented soccer player and a mean guitarist.”
Nick licked at his lips again. His mouth was dry.
“Now it’s my turn,” Jennifer was saying, her voice level. Serious. “How long ago did you and Lauren have your…thing?”
“It started twenty odd years ago.” He gave her a sideward look, his pulse pounding far too fast in his neck. “Lasted a few more after that.”
“So not just a casual fling then?”
Nick’s chest squeezed tight. “No, not just a casual fling.” He thought of all the days and nights spent with Lauren. Laughing, loving, just enjoying being with each other even if it was doing something as menial as washing the dishes after dinner. God, he missed doing the dishes. How surreal was that? He missed talking to Lauren about her day as he wiped the suds off their freshly washed plates.
“She is. Very good. Not always easy with a teenage boy, mind you. Especially one as full of life as Josh.”
The image of the baby in Lauren’s arms became a boy—one with dark hair and blue eyes. Nick slid his gaze to Jennifer again. “How old is he?”
“Fifteen.”
His breath caught in his throat at the answer Lauren wouldn’t give him. Fifteen. Jesus, her son was fifteen.
Fifteen.
Jennifer was saying something. Something about Josh just having his birthday only three months ago. Something about Lauren buying him a…a…
Three months. That means the baby was born seven months after you left her. Which means she was two months pregnant and you didn’t even…
“Know it,” Nick murmured, a numb weight pressing down on him. All over him.
“Sorry?” Jennifer stopped, giving him a confused look. “What did you say?”
Nick shook his head, his mind whirling. “Nothing.”
Her eyes narrowed. “When you say your…thing…with Lauren lasted a few years more, how many more are we talking about exactly?”
Nick ran his hand over his mouth, that pressure bearing down on him some more. Suffocating him. “It ended fifteen years ago,” he said, the words like dust in his mouth. “Fifteen years and seven months to be precise.”
Jennifer stared at him. “Oh, fuck.”
Nick’s gut clenched. His blood roared in his ears. His heart slammed into his throat. Hard. Fast.
Jesus, he had a son. He had a son to the only woman he’d ever loved and she hadn’t told him.
The world swam. Sickening waves of cold pressure crashed over him. He thought of the shit of the last two years of his life. Of discovering he was adopted when his parents were killed in a car accident. Of tracking down his biological mother to a gravestone in Germany. Of learning he had a kid brother who never knew he existed either. A brother who’d been abused by his biological mother’s boyfriend. A brother who’d committed suicide only months after Nick found him.
He thought of all the secrets in his life he’d never known and now this. Now he’d discovered he had a son.
A son. And he’d never known that either. Fifteen years he could have spent getting to know him. Hell, at the very least lived with the knowledge the woman he loved had borne him a child. But, as with the rest of his existence that had nothing to do with music, it was a fake reality. His family, his life, a farce. Nothing but words to a fucked-up song written by some other composer.
His whole fucking life was a lie. And Lauren, the one person he trusted, the only person he loved, had kept the most important thing a man could ever know from him.
Someone reached into his chest and ripped out his heart. Someone else slammed a fist into his gut. He stood motionless, his brain incapable of comprehending any of it. Christ, he’d come to ask her to a wedding, to say sorry for treating her like he had and now he had a son?
His knees gave out. Just like that he was stumbling sideways.
“Hey!” Jennifer’s hands grabbed at his arm and hauled him back upright. “I think you need to—”
He shrugged her off, shaking his head as he did so. “I’m fine.”
“Err, yeah, that’s why you almost collapsed.”
He shook his head again. “I’m okay.”
Bullshit you are. Fuck, you’ve got a son. A son you never knew existed.
Why hadn’t she told him?
Why hadn’t Lauren told him?
You still don’t know if Josh is yours. You were hardly home the last few months before you up and left her for good. She may have found someone else. You don’t know—
But he did. This was Lauren. Infidelity and Lauren didn’t go together.
And Nick Blackthorne and Dad do?
“I guess I should have worked it out before,” Jennifer said, the words like smoke tickling at Nick’s fraying nerves. “Josh looks like you. Hell, he even sounds like you, especially when he sings.”
Nick’s heart smashed harder, trying to splinter his breastbone. “Sings?”
Jennifer gave him an unreadable look. “I’ve been at Lauren’s house when Josh is playing SingStar with his best friend.”
A shiver rippled over Nick’s skin, making his hair stand on end. He closed his eyes, trying to picture a fifteen-year-old him. He couldn’t. It was too long ago, a life too far in the past. Hell, at fifteen all he could think about was Lauren Robbins and what colour undies she was wearing. It would take a couple of years before he found out. At fifteen he’d had no clue where he’d be standing at the ripe old age of thirty-six. At fifteen, he’d had no clue he’d be who he was now.
Who’s that? A rock star? Or a selfish prick?
“So, Mr. Blackthorne?” Jennifer still studied him with that guarded, ambiguous expression. Like she was half way to thinking he was about to go crazy and climb the nearest clock tower. “Do I take you to your car now? Are you driving back to Sydney? Or are you staying in Murriundah tonight?”
He blinked, the questions kicking him out of his stupor. “Do you mean am I going to do a runner now I know about my son?” He shook his head, awakening fresh pain in his temple. “No.”
“But you’re not going around to Lauren’s tonight, are you?”
That protective edge was back in the vet’s voice—a hard strength he couldn’t miss even in his shell-shocked state. He gave her a small smile. “Something tells me if I said yes right now I’d find myself waking up on your sofa with a headache.”
“I have the Detomidine ready to go.”
Struggling to cling on to his sanity, Nick raised an eyebrow. If he focused on something else, something believable, maybe his world could make sense again. And at the moment, whatever the vet beside him was talking about was more real than the notion of him having a son. “Detomidine?”
She nodded. “Perfect for sedating big dumb animals. Will knock out a horse in a few minutes.”
He laughed, a short hollow chuckle. “Jesus, remind me never to piss you off.”
“Don’t hurt my best friend and we’re good.”
His throat filled with a heavy lump. Hurt Lauren? It seemed he’d hurt her enough to last a lifetime already. Enough for her to not tell him he had a son. Christ, how much did she have to hate him to keep something like that a secret?
And how much had she hurt him now? How did he even begin to process what he’d just discovered? Fuck, he felt like he’d been torn apart and—
“Are you staying at the Cricketer’s Arms?”
He turned to Jennifer. His head ached. A lot. Christ, it felt like it was about to split open. “Their penthouse room.”
She laughed, the sound nervous. The top-floor room at Murriundah’s only hotel, two stories off the ground and adjacent to the communal loo, was hardly penthouse status. The Cricketer’s Arms was, however, the only option an out-of-towner had, and that’s what he was now, an out of towner. He’d stopped being a local sixteen and a half years ago.
“I tell you what,” Jennifer said. “You can crash on my sofa until you figure out what you’re doing next. That way I can keep an eye on your head.”
“No.”
She raised her eyebrows at his short answer.
His stomach lurched. He didn’t need to be near anyone at the moment. He couldn’t. He needed to be alone. He wanted to climb into a bottle and stay there. Drink his shock away until the hurt in his soul was drowned. Get so drunk he didn’t have to consider that every time he got back on his feet he found or lost another person in his family.
He swung away from Jennifer, studying the darkness beyond her front porch. Murriundah sat silent around him, as if it felt his disbelief. “Where’s my car?”
She stiffened. “Where are you going?�
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“To the pub.”
“To the Arms? Not to Lauren?”
He bit back a harsh growl. “No, not to Lauren.” Not right at this moment. He didn’t think that was smart. He wanted to ask her why she hadn’t told him. He wanted to ask her if it was true, if Josh really was his son? His son.
His gut knotted.
He needed to go. Now.
He needed a drink. He needed…
Lauren.
“I’ve gotta go,” he muttered, stepping down Jennifer’s front steps. “I’ll come collect my car keys tomorrow.”
“I don’t think—” Jennifer began, but he ignored her. He hurried away, the night’s chill biting at his skin. His jacket was inside, along with the keys to his rental car, but he didn’t want to go back into Jennifer’s house. Not when one look at the bed’s crumpled duvet would remind him immediately of what he and Lauren had been doing on it moments before she revealed she had a son. He had his wallet and his phone. That’s all he needed tonight. That and a bottomless bottle of scotch.
The loose gravel on the side of the road crunched under his feet as he made his way to the Cricketer’s Arms. He didn’t have to orientate himself to know where to go. A person could walk from one side of Murriundah to the other in thirty minutes flat. All he needed to do was find the main drag, a straight strip of crumbling bitumen that sliced the town in two, and follow it toward the mountains overlooking the eastern end of town. He refused to think about the situation. He refused. He focused on the sound his feet made, focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He wouldn’t let himself think about it. Not now. Not yet.
Not until he’d had a drink.
Not until he was well and truly drunk and numb. Not until he could think about what Lauren had done without wanting to… Christ, without wanting to what? Wring her bloody neck for keeping the truth from him? Scream at her until he lost his voice—and wouldn’t Walter Winchester just love that? Shake her? Hug her?
Kiss her for giving him family when he thought he had none?