Remnants of the Heart (Winds of Change Book 3)

by Kristen M. Fraser

  “Brad was just having one of your brownies. You ought to make him some.” Barbara gave a knowing look before disappearing into another room.

  “Oh.” Hannah’s cheeks flushed. She shoved her satchel under her arm as they walked out of the clinic.

  “Do you bake much?” Brad held open the passenger door for her.

  “Sometimes. Not as much as I used to, though. It’s not much fun baking for one person.” Lowering her gaze, she pressed her lips together, as though she’d said something she shouldn’t have.

  “Well, I’d be happy to be a taste-tester if you need one.” He grinned before closing the door and rounding the front of the ute.

  As they drove toward town, he made small talk about the work he’d done that day. A small job for a retirement village. It was something any of the retirees could’ve done – transplanting a rose bush from one area to another – but he was grateful for the work. Money was money, and he needed every cent he could get at the moment.

  “I hope you like bowling.”

  “Bowling as in … lawn bowls?”

  “Tenpin.”

  “Yes, although I haven’t played in years.”

  “Nor have I,” Brad said as he pulled into the driveway of the tenpin bowling centre and parked between a white SUV and a hatchback. “This should be fun.”

  The lanes were busy, and after paying and selecting their shoes, they made their way to the lane.

  “I’ve always hated these shoes.” Hannah laughed, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder as she rested her foot on the seat to tie the laces.

  “We all look like clowns, not just you.” Brad winked before selecting a ball from the rack behind the lanes.

  Neon lights coloured the bowling hall, and eighties music pumped from the sound system. They were flanked by a family of five on one side, and two couples on the other.

  Hannah stepped up to the line and released the ball. Brad held back a laugh as he watched it bounce off the gutter and knock down two pins at the last minute. “I forgot how heavy the balls are,” Hannah said as she held her hands over the stream of warm air blowing up from the ball return.

  “Do you want me to get a kiddy ramp?” Brad grinned. “Or we can put the gutters up.”

  With her hands on her hips, Hannah whirled to face him. “Ha! I think I deserve your turn after that comment.”

  Before he had a chance to react, she grabbed a ball from the return chute and sent it spinning down the lane.

  Brad stood and watched it glide across the polished floor, right on target.

  “Whoo! Strike!” Hannah punched the air as the ball hit the kingpin and sent the remaining pins toppling over. Brad shook his head in disbelief. Before he knew what was happening, Hannah spun around and launched herself at him, sending him staggering backwards. He braced his hands on her hips so they wouldn’t fall. A few awkward seconds passed before her eyes widened and she quickly pulled away.

  “I – I’m sorry,” she mumbled, darting out of his way. She grabbed her water off the table and sat down, gesturing for him to take her turn.

  As he stepped up to the line, Brad tried to focus on his technique and the pins at the end of the lane, but he was still recovering from Hannah’s reaction to the strike she’d bowled - unabashed excitement as she’d launched herself into his arms. He hadn’t seen even a hint of that side of her before, but he liked it.

  Hannah remained reserved for the rest of the evening. They shared a bowl of fries, and although she laughed at his jokes and cheered for him with each turn, something was off. He wondered if she was embarrassed about her earlier display of exuberance.

  Apart from the faint tunes playing through the speakers, the drive home was relatively quiet. Hannah sat with her arms folded and her gaze fixed out the window. Brad’s thoughts were scrambled, and he couldn’t figure out the right thing to say to start a conversation, or how to bridge the gap that had opened up between them.

  As he pulled up outside her house, he killed the engine and turned to face her. “Thanks for coming tonight. I had a good time.” He’d forgotten how much fun bowling could be.

  “I did too. Thank you.”

  “Is everything okay?” His thumb tapped on the steering wheel.

  Grabbing her bag off the floor, Hannah nodded.

  “You seem awfully quiet. I’m not sure if I’ve said or done something to upset you.” Was she still embarrassed from throwing herself at him?

  Tucking her hair behind her ear, Hannah smiled softly. “You haven’t done anything. It’s the most fun I’ve had in years.”

  “Really?” It had only been bowling. Sure, he’d had a great time, too. He hadn’t felt so relaxed or laughed so hard in a long time. But, years?

  She nodded, plucking at a loose thread on her shirt.

  “Why’s that?” he asked softly.

  “There was a family tragedy about two years ago.” She met his gaze, before lowering it to her hands in her lap. The lone streetlight at the end of the cul-de-sac cast a soft glow across her skin. “Since then, I’ve been trying to get through each day without being dragged down by the memories.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Brad felt like he’d been punched in the gut. His gaze shifted out the windscreen and landed on the swarm of insects hovering around the streetlight. From appearances, he’d had no idea she’d been struggling. She was always happy. Always upbeat. Always had a kind word for everyone. He wondered what had happened two years ago. What kind of family tragedy? Had she lost someone, too? All in good time. Don’t rush this.

  The click of the passenger door opening drew him from his thoughts.

  “Thanks for tonight, Brad. I had a great time.”

  “Thank you, Hannah.” He touched her arm to halt her movements. Holding her gaze, he leaned across and placed a kiss on her cheek. Her soft smile melted him as she stepped out and closed the door. With a promise to call, he watched her walk away. The scent of her lemon shampoo lingered, and his lips tingled from where they’d touched her skin. The kiss was simple, yet so profound, revealing a side of himself he’d never known. A goodnight kiss on the cheek was a first for him. And surprisingly, it had been tender and sweet. Just like Hannah, who deserved so much more than he could ever give, but he was going to try his best to give her all he had.

  Chapter 14

  Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

  Brad huffed with each jab on the boxing bag swinging from the back patio. Sweating it out with a workout or going for a run was now part of his Sunday morning routine. He didn’t miss waking up at midday, or the cracking headaches associated with spending the weekend passed out on the couch from drinking too much. Instead, he was out of bed at dawn ready to burn some energy.

  The exercise was helping him sleep better and giving him clarity of mind. His desire for a healthier lifestyle may also have had something to do with the brunette he’d been seeing and getting to know over the past few weeks. Something about her made him want to be better. To try better. Even Sophie had remarked on the change, and how she was liking the ‘new’ Brad.

  He pummelled the bag once more just as a knock sounded at the front door. He grabbed the bag to stop it swinging. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he shucked off the boxing gloves and made his way through the house.

  Opening the door, his smile faded and his stomach pitched at the sight of the woman standing on his doorstep. Platinum blonde hair was pulled high into a messy bun. Her face was devoid of makeup and her eyes were puffy. Her fake tan made her look jaundiced. Laura Hermanson. She looked nothing like the high maintenance woman he’d broken up with seven months ago. Their relationship had been on and off for a couple of years. More off than on. Complicated, was how he’d described the relationship to Abby. But now, it was over for good.

  In hindsight, Laura had been someone to numb his pain with. There was no romance. No heart involvement. Just a need to lose himself for a while to deal with his grief. He always felt worse afterwards, but for some stupid reason, he always too
k her back.

  “Laura? What are you doing here?” He didn’t want to deal with her shenanigans or manipulation. Especially on such a fine Sunday. He was meeting up with Hannah later and didn’t want Laura’s games to ruin his day. He’d fallen for it in the past, but he wouldn’t this time.

  Her gaze darted around, and she gnawed on her chapped bottom lip. She was on edge. They’d never touched drugs, but by the looks of her twitching and shuffling of her feet, something wasn’t right.

  “Can I come in?” Even her husky voice, something he once found attractive, lacked its usual allure.

  “I’m kind of busy.” Busy working out. Busy cleaning the house. Busy … anything to avoid talking to her.

  “Please, Brad.”

  His gaze shot to hers. He’d never heard that pleading tone before. Sure, she’d been whiney and needy. But never desperate. Something was seriously amiss. With a frown, he nodded and stood aside so she could enter.

  Clutching her hands in front of her, she paused in the living room. “It looks different.”

  “It’s tidy.”

  A faint smile touched her lips as she perched on the edge of the couch. Brad lowered into the armchair, putting half a room and the coffee table between them.

  “You’re looking well,” Laura said, shifting on the cushion to find a comfortable position.

  “Laura.” Brad sighed, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. He wasn’t in the mood for the small talk and fake compliments. “Why are you here? We broke up months ago.”

  Strands of straggly blonde hair curtained her face as Laura picked at the chipped red nail polish on her fingers. “We have a baby,” she murmured. “You’re a dad.” Her grey eyes were sunken discs in the hollow of her cheeks as she met his gaze.

  “What?” His gut clenched as though he’d just been kicked. A baby? Was she mad? What kind of universe did this woman live in?

  “A baby,” she repeated. Tears brimmed her eyes and splashed over sallow skin.

  “When? How?” He stood and paced the room. Was that all he could say? “How do you know it’s mine?” He whipped around to face her.

  Laura’s bottom lip quivered and her hands clenched on her lap. “He’s four weeks old. And he’s yours.”

  With one hand on his hip, Brad ran a hand over his mouth as he glared at the woman seated before him. Fury ignited in his veins. “Why are you telling me this now? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  “Because we broke up, and you told me in no uncertain terms that you never wanted to see me again.”

  Yes, he’d done that. He hadn’t been the most mature person in the relationship at that time. Knowing the vitriol that had spilled from his lips, he’d probably scared her away. But the fact that she was claiming he’d fathered a child was something beyond belief. He didn’t want to ask the question, but he had to be sure.

  “How do you know it’s mine?”

  Her eyes widened with hurt before they narrowed. “I can’t believe you had to ask. I don’t sleep around, Brad. I haven’t been with anyone since we broke up.”

  Leaning against the wall, he folded his arms. “I’m sorry, but when you turn up on my doorstep after I haven’t seen you for months, claiming I’m the father of a baby, then you’ve got to understand my reasons for asking the question. I don’t know what you’ve been doing since we broke up.”

  She was thinner than when he last saw her. Her shoulders shook, and he felt like a jerk by not comforting her, but the bomb she’d just dropped was a lot to process.

  “I can’t do this,” she sniffed. He slid the box of tissues across the coffee table. Anger and confusion vied for clarity. His blood boiled, thundering through his veins as he eyed the fragile woman before him.

  “A baby doesn’t just appear, Laura. You’ve had nine months to tell me. Why now?” Why not when she’d discovered she was pregnant? Why not partway through the pregnancy?

  She closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. Her fine brown lashes were in contrast to the thick false ones he was accustomed to seeing on her.

  “I thought I could do it alone,” she mumbled, plucking at the tissue. “I thought I’d get through it, and maybe in a year or so, I would let you know. But … I can’t. I’m not cut out to be a mother.”

  “Wha …”

  “I can’t do it, Brad.” Her eyes shot open to reveal empty chasms of despair. “You’re my last resort.”

  He lowered himself to the couch and leaned forward, clasping his hands. “What do you need? Money? I can pay child support. We can work out an arrangement.” With his mounting debts, he didn’t know how, but he’d scrape the money together somehow. He owed her that. He owed his child that. His child. Sheesh. He was a father?

  Tendrils of hair fell from her bun as Laura shook her head. “I don’t need your money. I need …” Gnawing on her bottom lip again, her eyes darted back and forth. He’d forgotten about those nervous habits of hers. The ones that appeared right before she would deliver some bad news. “I need you to take the baby.”

  “You need …” He cocked his head to the side. “You need me to babysit? Sure. If this baby is mine, then I’d like to meet it.”

  “Him. It’s a boy. His name is Jarrod Gregory.”

  Brad’s breath gushed out of him as though he’d been punched in the gut. The fact that she’d chosen his father’s name as the middle name was enough to form a lump the size of Uluru in his throat.

  “And not to babysit. To look after. To raise. To keep. It’s either you or adoption.” Laura stood and smoothed out the wrinkles on her loose-fitting clothes. Her words sank in as she moved toward the door.

  “Wait …” Brad darted to the door and watched as Laura’s brother, Scott, stepped out of the rusty beat-up car parked at the kerb. He jerked his chin in a silent greeting before opening the back door. Brad covered his mouth as Laura carried what looked like a large plastic basket up the path. His heart thundered against his ribs as she drew near.

  “This is Jarrod. Your son.”

  He cautiously peered in the carrier. Thick, dark hair covered a small head poking out the top of a blue cotton blanket. Tiny hands were curled to his chin. Dusky lips parted as he slumbered. He was peaceful. Perfect.

  Tears stung Brad’s eyes and he stumbled backward. There was no mistaking the child was his. The slightly upturned nose was a Tolbrook family trait.

  Scott nodded at him as he silently carried a bundle of baby items inside. Brad was too consumed by emotion and the jumble of thoughts in his head to take notice of anything.

  “His health record and birth certificate are in the black bag. I’m so sorry, Brad.” High-pitched ringing filled his ears as Laura dashed down the driveway and climbed into the waiting car. Scott jogged behind, jumped behind the steering wheel and sped away with a screech of tyres.

  Brad closed the front door and walked over to the living room where Laura had deposited the baby carrier containing his son. His son! He dropped to the floor, leaning his back against the couch. Clasping his hands around his knees, he gazed at the dark-haired babe, swaddled in blue, dwarfed by the car carrier. His tiny chest rose and fell with each breath. He was so small. So fragile. Reaching out, Brad gently trailed a finger over Jarrod’s marshmallow-soft cheeks. His cheek twitched and slender fingers unfurled from a fist. Brad could only stare at the tiny creature as questions ping-ponged around his brain.

  How had he been so reckless to allow this to happen? What if Jarrod woke up? What was he supposed to do now? What if he started crying? He didn’t know the first thing about babies. No one in his family had one. Abigail was going to be a stepmum to her fiancé’s daughter, Chloe, but she was beyond the baby stage. And he wasn’t about to call his mum and ask for help, because he needed time to process everything first.

  Brad peered into the bags Laura had dumped next to the coffee table. Clothes. Nappies. Baby wipes. Blankets. Bottles. The health record book, and birth certificate, with his name listed as the father. And a handwritten note i
n Laura’s loopy writing on a lined sheet of paper, giving a brief outline of how to make up the milk.

  Whimpering noises sounded from the carrier. Brad peered over at Jarrod. His eyes were closed. His lips parted. And then, the loudest cry he’d ever heard bellowed from his mouth. Rifling through the bags, Brad looked for something, anything, to quieten him. Jarrod’s cries grew louder. His face became redder. His lips quivered and his arms flung out of his swaddling, and Brad wondered if he would explode.

  “Shhh, little guy,” he murmured. What was wrong with him? What was he supposed to do? He unbuckled the child restraint and awkwardly cupped one hand under Jarrod’s head and the other under his back and slowly lifted him out. He was slightly longer than the length of Brad’s forearm, and he cradled him to his chest like fragile glass, rocking from side to side in an attempt to soothe his cries.

  Tears pricked his eyes at how crazy and wonderful and surreal it felt to be holding a baby in his arms. His baby. His son.

  In her whirlwind visit, Laura had mentioned adoption, but there was no way he was going to let someone else raise his child. He had no idea how it would work. How he could afford it. How he could juggle a child with his landscaping business. But somehow, he would make it work.

  Jarrod’s cries intensified, and Brad cringed against the ear-piercing wails.

  “Shh …” He bounced the baby up and down, trying to appease whatever was bothering him. “Come on, little one. Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

  Above the relentless wails, his phone rang. Lowering to the couch, he positioned Jarrod in the crook of his arm and glanced at the screen. Sophie. Great. He’d call back later, if and when Jarrod settled.

  Why wouldn’t he stop crying? Was he hurt? Was he hungry? Laura had mentioned something about feeding, but what was it? He’d been so shocked with the initial news that he hadn’t really been listening to everything she said about Jarrod’s feeding, sleeping and everything else that came with a newborn.

  Brad lowered Jarrod back into the carrier, tucking the blanket around him before rummaging through the bags Scott had carried inside. A cooler bag held two baby bottles filled with water. A tin of formula was in another bag. Rubbing his eyes, Brad peered at the label and followed the instructions to make up some milk. After shaking the bottle, he lifted Jarrod out once more and settled on the couch. Cradling his son in his arms, he held the teat to his lips and laughed as his little mouth latched on.