The Bachelor Contract

by Rachel Van Dyken

  She swallowed the giant watermelon lump in her throat and gave him a jerky nod. Why was he so angry? She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Things had been going so well! What happened? Where did they go wrong?

  This was her life now.

  She lifted her head, refusing to be ashamed of what she had to do to survive.

  He didn’t really know the new Nikki, the one who was so poor when they separated that the only job she could find was working as a greeter at a car dealership before the massage therapist job finally opened at the resort.

  “It’s my home,” she said proudly, crossing her arms. “Besides, where else was I supposed to live? On the street?”

  “Your walls are pink and red,” he said in a harsh voice. “Your couch is yellow. It has holes in it.”

  Each word hit like a physical slap, and she flinched.

  “Your kitchen counter is orange with white flowers. You have exactly two mismatched green chairs and a table I’ve only ever seen on Brady Bunch reruns.” He breezed past her, and the smucking sound of the refrigerator being opened preceded a bright light spilling into the room. “You have no eggs, no cheese, nothing but milk.” She heard a cupboard open. “Oatmeal and cereal.”

  Tears slid down her face. So this was how her fairy tale would end? This was how they would gain closure? With her rich and beautiful ex-husband taking stock of all the things she didn’t have? Was he really that hateful? That the deal breaker would be a list of things about her apartment that bothered him?

  “I like oatmeal and cereal, and I like my home,” she said in a shaky voice. “Now, please leave.”

  “No.”

  “No?” she repeated, wishing like hell she could see him so she could slap his arrogant face off. “Fine, then I’m calling the cops!”

  “I’ll just hide the phone.”

  “Leave!” she screamed.

  “No.” His hands braced her body. “I’m not leaving you. Not now. Not ever fucking again.”

  “I did fine without you!” she screamed in what she hoped was his face. “I survived! I’m happy!”

  “Well, I’m not!” he roared back at her, stunning her into silence. “You were supposed to get money, Nik!”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “From me. You were supposed to get money so you didn’t have to work. So you could do whatever the hell you wanted.”

  “I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “My lawyers—”

  “Lawyers?” She suddenly couldn’t breathe. Yes, she’d talked to one of his lawyers years ago when they’d divorced, but the lawyer had never mentioned anything about money. “You mean the guy who called me and said I needed to sign papers?”

  “Nik—you were supposed to sign papers so you could get money and so our divorce would be—” He suddenly stopped talking. “Tell me I’m not losing my mind here. Tell me you know what I’m talking about.”

  She shook her head over and over again. “Don’t you think I would be living in at least a bigger place if I did? But does it matter anyway? I wanted to start over. And I have.”

  “Sweetheart…” Brant cupped her face. “That’s not the point.”

  She sniffed. “Then what is?”

  “That you were never supposed to have to struggle. You never had to. Do you really think after all these years that I would walk away without making sure you were okay? Do you really think that’s the kind of man you married?”

  “But—” She blinked at the blur of a face in front of her. “You just, you left, you said we were too broken, you said good-bye, you didn’t even—” Don’t do it—shove the memory back. “You didn’t even kiss me good-bye.”

  “Because I never would have fucking left if I did.” Brant crushed his mouth to hers, his lips punishing as he spread his hands around her back and lifted her onto the kitchen table. His fingers slid up her thighs and squeezed. “I wouldn’t have been strong enough to walk away.”

  “So it took strength to walk away?”

  “That and a heavy dose of anger, shame, and hostility, and a hell of a lot of guilt.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, you’ll have to murder me to get rid of me. Just make sure we’re still married before you do it, though, or you won’t get the twenty million.”

  She broke the kiss. “‘Still married’?”

  “I say twenty million and you fixate on the marriage part?” He nuzzled her neck as he continued attacking her with his mouth.

  “But”—ah, it was hard to think straight when he kissed her like that—“why would we still be married?”

  His lips found hers again before he pulled back. “Because you only got the money once you signed the divorce papers. If you didn’t get the money, then my only assumption is something happened with the paperwork.” Her heart thudded so wildly in her chest she thought she was going to have a heart attack. “Meaning you’re still my wife.”

  He silenced her protests with another kiss. And another.

  “And if that’s the case”—his grip tightened on her ass as he slowly moved one hand up to unzip her dress—“then it seems like I’m finally home.”

  Home. He was home. She was his home.

  She arched beneath him as he tugged the dress down to her waist and then lifted her up only long enough to take off the rest of her clothes and lay her across the table.

  “Home,” she repeated, reaching blindly for him as she heard the sound of another zipper, more clothes flying everywhere, and then warmth, so much warmth.

  Heat.

  His chest against hers.

  His breath fanning her neck as his tongue slid across her lips, teasing her tongue. Brant’s teeth nibbled her ears as he poised at her entrance. She felt his throbbing heat.

  And she wanted every inch of him.

  With an all-consuming kiss that left her gasping for air, he rose over her and slid into her—stripping away any restraint she thought she had, and making her insane for him.

  Only him.

  It had only ever been Brant.

  Chapter Thirty

  He moved inside her, he took his time kissing her, and when the sensations of her heat surrounding him, clinging to him, nearly pushed him over the edge, he stopped and focused on her all over again.

  Nikki gasped as a sea of pleasure built between them. He plucked kiss after kiss from her mouth like he was picking berries, then sucked her juice between his lips, addicted to the way she tasted more than any alcohol, any drug.

  Her body tightened around him, her legs wrapped up in his, their bodies as close as physically possible. She flew apart seconds later, and when he followed, he watched her face, the wonder, the love, the sheer perfection of her lips as her head fell back in surrender.

  “You’re perfect,” he whispered.

  “We’re still married.”

  “God, I hope so,” he whispered. “Now, focus on us, this, here, right now.” He kissed her again. “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  He breathed out a sigh of relief, then pulled away from her and helped her to her feet. “I’m pretty sure the last Thanksgiving we spent together included shower sex. In fact, I’m positive.”

  “Are you?” She grinned. “I’m pretty sure table sex trumps shower sex.”

  “How would you really know if you can’t compare the two? That sounds pretty unfair.”

  “And you’re all about being fair.”

  “I would hate to hurt the shower’s feelings.”

  “Oh, so now you’re worried about the shower.”

  “Nik, I’m just trying to be selfless here.”

  She laughed and grabbed his hand. “Eight steps past the kitchen, three steps into the bedroom, and two steps to your right.”

  Guilt damn near crushed him as he followed her through the small apartment. She should be living in the penthouse; she should at the very least have a roommate, someone to help her.

  Four years. Four years she’d lived lik
e this. And for what? His pain? His pride? His inability to forgive himself? To forgive her for the hurtful and justified words she had thrown at him?

  He flicked on the light to the bathroom and froze as she started feeling around to turn the shower on.

  A picture of her and Cole sat on the counter. He was hugging her, looking directly into the camera, and she was looking away.

  It haunted him long after they showered and went for round two. It haunted him when he tucked Nikki into his body and told her to have good dreams. It haunted him hours later when he went in search of food while Nikki got ready for work.

  And when he was sitting at the hotel an hour later in the lobby, he was still haunted.

  “What?” Cole waved a hand in front of his face. “You know, for someone who just got laid, you don’t look very happy.”

  “I left her money,” Brant admitted. “She never got it.”

  “No shit. I’ve seen her apartment, helped her paint the walls and everything.”

  Suddenly it was too much. He’d left her. And Cole had been there the entire time.

  He felt sick, so sick he wasn’t sure he could even have the business meeting he’d planned while Nikki took care of her next two clients.

  “Brant?” Something in Cole’s voice changed. “Are you okay?”

  Brant nodded.

  Cole waved over one of the waiters and ordered lunch while Brant stared into his coffee cup.

  “This isn’t about the money, is it?”

  “We lost our child,” Brant blurted. “To go through that at any point in your life is unimaginable. To follow it up with a fire that nearly kills your wife—only to find out you’re the reason it started. To take someone’s sight a day after you held her while she cried herself to sleep.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain that type of pain, or how desperate it makes a person to want to make it all go away.”

  Cole muttered out a few curses and leaned on the table. “Nikki told me, she had her reasons for telling me…what I don’t understand is why you feel like you need to.”

  “You were there for her when I wasn’t.”

  Cole locked eyes with him. “Yeah. I was.”

  Leave it to Cole to make it harder on him than it already was.

  “What if I can’t make her happy? What if I just hurt her—what if the hurt between us is so big, so great, that we can’t start fresh?”

  “You have brothers.”

  “Huh?”

  “Brothers,” Cole said again. “And yet you’re sitting here, asking me for advice?”

  “Family sees the best in you no matter the cost,” Brant said honestly.

  “And me?” Cole grinned.

  “I’m pretty sure every time you see my face it takes an insane amount of self-control not to punch me or run me over with a car.”

  “You’d be right,” Cole grunted. “On both fronts. Lying to you doesn’t help me out, neither does kissing your ass.”

  At least they agreed on that.

  “So?” Brant spread out his arms and sighed. “What do I do?”

  Cole stared at him long and hard. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

  Finally, Cole frowned and leaned back against the chair. “I think you have to talk about it. All of it. I think you need to lay yourself open, vulnerable, bloody, beaten, and ask her the question you’ve been avoiding since you came here.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Are you worth it?”

  * * *

  “You ready for our next date?” Brant asked, opening up the door to the limo and helping Nikki inside. She slid across the plush leather seat. He tried to keep his tone happy, light, but if she could see his face, she’d see it was pale. If she traced her fingers around his mouth, she’d feel the strain lines; if she could see his eyes, she’d see nothing but pain.

  “You sound different,” she pointed out. “We can do the date another time, if you aren’t feeling up to it tonight.” She reached out to touch his thigh.

  The door closed behind them. The limo moved. His heart slowed to a painful rhythm in his chest as a piercing silence filled the car.

  “Brant?”

  “This date…” He cleared his clogged, betraying throat and squeezed her hand. “It isn’t one of my favorite memories. It’s one that never happened. But one that needs to happen, all right?”

  “Should I be scared you’re kidnapping me?” she joked, her eyes a bit watery. Could she sense his sadness? The swirling cloud of doom hanging over them, the chasm still separating them, that would be separating them until he did this?

  “Can’t kidnap something you already have, right?” he answered in a sad voice.

  “No.” She blinked down at their joined hands. “You can’t.”

  Too soon, the limo pulled to a stop. Too soon, rain started pounding on the roof of the car.

  “We’re here,” he announced, pulling out an umbrella before the door opened.

  With a smile on her face, Nikki put her hand in his. He pulled her under the cover of the umbrella. His body was tense, his face tight, his eyes already filled with tears.

  “Where are we?” She sniffed the air. “I know it’s raining, we’re outside, and I’m standing on grass, but that’s about it.” She ducked her head against his chest. “Brant?”

  He didn’t trust himself to answer. But he knew he could at least hold her close, keep her safe from the rain even if that meant that he couldn’t keep her safe from the tumultuous emotions building up inside—ready to explode and destroy anything in their path.

  Brant Wellington was a dangerous man when he lost control, and he knew, in his heart, all hell was about to break lose.

  They might not survive it. But in order to make it to the end, they had to go through it.

  No more numbing. No more ignoring.

  He stopped walking and pressed the single, thornless rose into Nikki’s trembling hands.

  “Here lies Noah Arnold Wellington.” His voice cracked. “May you fly on the wings of eagles and into your Savior’s arms.” Nikki fell to her knees, grass staining her jeans as she pressed her palms against the cement headstone. Tears poured down her face. Brant continued. “Born on August 1, 2014, died—” He couldn’t stop the choking sob that escaped.

  I have everything.

  I’ve lost everything.

  Run.

  Nikki reached up and grabbed his hand. He joined her on the cold, wet grass, the umbrella long forgotten as rain mixed with his tears and hers, running from their cheeks onto the ground they had been forced to bury their child in.

  “Died,” Nikki finished, “August 1, 2014.” She buried her head in Brant’s chest. “Seconds after he changed our lives forever.”

  They sat in silence.

  They cried in silence.

  He was fucking done with silence.

  “I’m sorry.” Two words. So simple. So full of meaning. “I’m so damn sorry.” He squeezed her harder. “I’m sorry we lost him. I’m sorry.” The floodgates opened.

  And the dam broke, causing the chasm between them to collapse as she grabbed his face with both hands and said the words he’d been needing to hear for the past four years: “It’s not your fault.”

  It was. Everything was his fault.

  “He died because he wasn’t healthy. There was no heartbeat, Brant. It’s not your fault.”

  “Maybe if the apartment wouldn’t have been so old, so—”

  She kissed him. She tasted like salt and regret. So much regret.

  “Brant, it was not your fault. It wasn’t mine. It was life. Life happens. Just like the fire happened. You were trying to do a good thing. You were trying to help me.”

  “I was terrified,” Brant admitted. “Terrified that I’d lose you just like I lost him—and then, rather than deal with the fact that you were pushing me away—wanted me gone, the guilt…” He shook his head. “On top of the risk that I almost lost you, too, that you blamed me, it was too much to handle. I felt it. All of it. I was
sick with it. Sick with feeling. I just wanted it to stop.”

  “Ignoring it doesn’t make it stop.”

  “No.”

  “I came here, you know,” she admitted. “I never got this close—it hurt too much—but there’s a maple tree over on the far side of the property. I used to imagine I was here playing with him in the leaves, rather than visiting his grave and dusting those same leaves off of it.” Her voice broke. “I used to dream he was still alive. You were with us, in every dream. I’d close my eyes and I’d see you laughing with me, chasing him, hugging him, and I’d tell myself, My life is perfect.” She sighed. “And the best part was, when I opened my eyes, I saw nothing but shapes, so I really could imagine you were one of them.”

  Brant couldn’t stop the pain as it sliced him from head to toe, and when he didn’t think he could take it anymore, he collapsed against Nikki.

  And let go.

  He grieved.

  For their son.

  For them.

  For lost time.

  For all of it.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The silence was good.

  It was finally good.

  Not filled with things left unsaid, things that needed to be discussed. A giant wall of emotions was always built in those silences.

  But this silence was different.

  She embraced it as Brant clung to her like she was his lifeline. For four years she’d thought she needed him. Never once did it occur to her that he needed her more.

  Or that maybe it wasn’t the man’s job to chase; maybe the woman needed to choose to fight, too. Choose to fight for them when tragedy hits the man in the knees and keeps him down.

  “I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I shouldn’t have said those things.” She ran her hands over his perfect face. “I shouldn’t have made it easy on you to leave. I was too hurt. Too rejected. Too angry. And I think a part of me felt like maybe I deserved to lose you too.”

  His mouth fused with hers over and over again.

  She pulled away. “Forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, Nik.”

  They stayed in each other’s arms for another few minutes before they made their way back to the car.