Now Kevin patted the bag with a self-conscious smile and said, “Jason. He’s growing so fast.”
Zach was dying to point out that no baby should grow fast enough to be over two years old, eighteen months after a divorce, but he didn’t think Rae would appreciate that.
“He’s a handsome boy,” she said politely, but Zach knew she was lying, because all kids looked like walnuts or dried-out marshmallows until they hit 5 and got real people faces. In fact, he and Rae had discussed that phenomenon at length over breakfast. He found her hand and squeezed. As always, she knew exactly what he was thinking; she shot him a desperate, wide-eyed look that seemed to say, Please don’t make me laugh right now.
He bit his lip.
“This is Zach, by the way,” she said, bumping her shoulder into his—like Kevin might have missed a glowering, 6 foot 2 inches of human being.
“Hi,” Kevin nodded, his eyes darting to their joined hands.
Zach grunted. Rae trod on his foot. He cleared his throat and said, “Hi.”
Kevin’s smile was thin-lipped and sharp-edged as he turned back to Rae. “I’m glad you’re moving on,” he said, like he was bestowing a magnanimous blessing. Zach just about managed to stop his jaw from dropping.
“Thanks,” Rae said. “I was really worried about my cheating ex-husband’s opinion, but now you’ve said that, I can breathe easy.”
Kevin rolled his eyes. “Come on, baby. I’m trying to be nice here.”
“Good for you. Are you ever coming out of that elevator, or?”
He looked down, as if he hadn’t known he was standing right on the threshold, stopping the doors from closing. “We’re talking. Aren’t we talking?”
Rae sighed.
“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Kevin said. “I mean, I didn’t think you’d be invited.”
What the fuck? Zach stiffened, opening his mouth to tell Kevin exactly where he could shove his surprise—but Rae sank her nails into his hand in an unmistakable warning. Don’t.
Okay; so, she wanted to handle this herself. Perfectly reasonable. Totally fine with Zach. But if she could just give him a few minutes at the end of the conversation to beat her ex into a pulp, he’d really appreciate it. He tried to make that request via a combination of telepathy and speaking looks, but it didn’t seem to work. She was too busy glaring at Kevin with an intensity that should, by rights, have turned the man to dust.
“I’m a very good writer,” she clipped out, which was possibly the nicest thing Zach had ever heard her say about herself. “You of all people should know that.”
Kevin shrugged. “You are a good writer. But you have no head for business, for what’s marketable.”
“I have words, though. Lots of them,” Rae said, each syllable distinct as a shot. “Do you?”
Silence. Tension simmered. Zach was simultaneously furious and proud.
Kevin’s silence grew self-conscious, and Rae smiled. With painful politeness, she asked, “Now, could you move? We have somewhere to be.”
Kevin’s expression darkened, and his gaze slid over Zach. “How old are you?”
Rae sucked in a breath. Zach just rolled his eyes. This motherfucker. “I’m old enough to mind my business and keep my promises. How about you?”
Kevin’s gaze narrowed and a muscle ticked at his jaw. He turned away as if Zach hadn’t spoken. “Baby—”
“Stop calling her that.”
“Zach,” Rae muttered, “leave it.”
Zach looked down at her, astonished. “Are you for real?”
“Just leave it.” She pulled away from him, leaving him cold, and walked into the elevator—or rather, she tried to. But Kevin, standing there between the doors, didn’t fucking move. She was forced to slide past him, discomfort all over her face as her body brushed his.
Zach clenched his jaw so hard he was surprised he didn’t crack a molar. Fuck his plan and fuck the condoms, for now, anyway. He followed her into the elevator, but he didn’t just slide past Kevin; he grabbed the bastard by the shirt and shoved him, bodily, into the lobby. The other man spluttered and cursed as he fell, spilling nappies and a bottle of formula out of his little dad bag. Zach was suddenly sorry for the kid who’d have to grow up with a pathetic, bullying father like this one.
The elevator doors slid shut.
And Rae exploded. “Are you out of your mind?”
He stared. She was pissed—furious. Well, he was pretty pissed off himself, so at least they matched. “What the hell are you shouting at me for?”
“You think because you’re bigger than everyone else, you can go around pushing people?” she demanded, like he’d just shoved a kid off a swing.
Through gritted teeth, he corrected, “I think anyone who’s man enough to get in my way is man enough to be moved.”
She raked her hands through her hair, pulling hard, turning away from him as if she could hide her growl of frustration. But he saw her screwed-up, angry face reflected a thousand times in this mirrored goddamn box, and every different angle made him feel a little more like shit.
“Rae—”
“No.” She swung around to face him, holding out a hand. “Don’t say my name like that, like you can just make everything—”
“Oh, so now I can’t say your name, but he can call you fucking baby every five seconds, and I just have to—”
“Do you think I wanted you here to get into pissing contests with Kevin? Do you think no-one noticed you throwing him around like a fucking towel? I don’t want attention, Zach! I don’t want drama! Not right now, not at work.”
That hit him in the gut just as the elevator slowed and the doors eased open. A group of women in gym wear, all smiles and sweat, walked into the cloud of tension, and their chatter slowed. They shot Zach and Rae wary looks as they pressed their floor number. Rae tucked herself into a corner to make room for them, pushing her tongue against the inside of her cheek.
She was self-conscious, and it hit him like a ton of bricks that he was the one making her feel that way. He knew she didn’t want to be talked about. She’d told him five fucking minutes ago that she refused to argue in public, for God’s sake. And what had he done? Caused trouble, put his own bullshit first, and acted jealous and possessive. All because he’d come face to face with the man she’d chosen for twenty-two years, while she’d never really chosen Zach at all.
So much for his brilliant fucking plan.
The gym-goers left the elevator first, but Rae didn’t move, didn’t speak, when they were gone. She just stayed tucked into her corner, her eyes distant, different. Burning rather than dreamy. He had the uncomfortable thought that instead of fantasising about imaginary worlds as usual, she was currently fantasising about roasting his balls over an open fire. Fair enough. He followed her lead and kept his mouth shut until they made it to their hotel room.
As soon as the heavy door closed behind them, he said, “I’m sorry.”
She sat on the bed, nodding slowly, looking anywhere but him. “Right.”
“I shouldn’t have done that. Any of it. And I won’t do it again.”
She swallowed, her fingers twisting in the still-rumpled sheets. She looked angry and anxious and a little bit lost, and the knowledge that it was his fault suffocated him. He turned away, closing his eyes, taking a breath.
He should give her space. That was usually what people wanted, right? For him to leave? And he was supposed to be giving her what she wanted, always. Plus, he was still furious, his hands itching to wrap themselves around Kevin’s throat, and there were only so many ways he could deal with those urges. He strode past her and shoved a few things into his duffel, then said, “I’m going to the gym. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, still avoiding his gaze. Probably resisting the urge to murder him.
He hesitated by the door. “I’ve got my phone. If you need me, call me.”
She nodded. But somehow, he doubted she would.
As soon as Zach left, Rae picked up her p
hone and dialled Hannah’s number. It took three rings before that cool, familiar voice poured calm directly into her ear. “Hello?”
“Han. Hi. What are you up to?”
There was a pause. Rae knew she sounded unnerved and shaky, that her breaths were more like pants, but she prayed to every god she knew that her friend wouldn’t mention it. And, because Hannah Kabbah was a blessed angel—or maybe because she knew far more about emotional wobbles than her controlled exterior suggested—she didn’t.
“I’m actually in a blanket fort with Nate right now,” she said, as if that was perfectly ordinary.
Rae tugged the tail of her own braid. “Is that a euphemism? Because I can definitely call back.”
“It’s not a euphemism. We’re meditating.”
In the background, she heard Nate snort. “We’re counting sheep.”
“That’s meditation,” Hannah told him sternly. “Be quiet. Close your eyes. Rae, is everything okay?”
“Tell me why you’re counting sheep,” Rae demanded, like a particularly invasive loon.
“We’re winding down before bed. It helps Nate sleep. The blanket fort isn’t strictly necessary, but the kids are really good at making them. We always meditate before bed, or we drink something hot, or I fill in my planner and check off my goals while Nate reads a magazine.”
Hannah went on to describe, in detail, the issue of Photo District News Nate was reading this week. Then she segued into a soothing speech about Duke. He was apparently fast asleep at the bottom of Nate’s daughter’s bed, and had developed a marked fondness for one of the girl’s stuffed rabbits, which she had graciously gifted to him. Duke was apparently carrying it around as carefully as a new-born.
By the time Hannah was done, Rae’s balled fists had unclenched, her tense muscles had eased, and her heart didn’t shake inside her chest with every beat. Her breaths weren’t a step away from sobs anymore, and her skin didn’t prickle all over. She tapped her tongue against the scar on the inside of her cheek and felt herself knitting back together.
She whispered, so Nate wouldn’t hear, “Zach and I had an argument.”
Hannah hummed sympathetically. “Was it bad? Is he being an arse?”
“No. I mean, he was, but he apologised. I just… I really hate arguing.” It made her soul shrivel up and whimper, made her young and small and terrorised through force of habit. Even though she knew most people—especially Zach—didn’t argue solely to cause pain. Even though she knew most people wouldn’t rip her words and worries apart, then stitch them back together into Frankenstein’s Attack. Even though.
Quietly, Hannah said, “Did you tell him that?” As if she’d heard Rae’s thoughts instead of her woefully inadequate words.
“No. I couldn’t. And he thought I was pissed, so he disappeared.”
“What a twat.”
In the background, Nate said casually, “You wouldn’t happen to be talking about my brother, would you?”
“No,” Hannah said. “Rae, go and find him. He’s a big puppy. He’ll give you a hug and make everything fine again.”
Nate’s voice returned. “That definitely sounds like my brother.”
“Shut up and count your sheep. Rae, are you listening to me?”
“Yes.” Rae nodded firmly. “Yes. I think you’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
"I’ll let you get back to your, er, sheep, then.”
“Wonderful. Goodbye.”
But when the call ended, Rae sat rooted to the bed for at least another thirty minutes, sorting through her feelings like tangled skeins of thread. Like plot strands she couldn’t quite figure out how to untwist. She felt as though she’d written herself into a corner before she’d even met Zach, never dreaming that she would meet someone like Zach. Someone who hurt her by mistake instead of calculation, who apologised instead of manipulating, who gave more than he took and never, ever stole. Who wasn’t exempt from her anxieties, but didn’t exacerbate them either.
A churning stomach and sweaty palms were Rae’s habitual responses to confrontation. But now they’d faded, she realised what was absent from her usual post-argument cocktail of emotions: fear. She wasn’t afraid to follow Hannah’s advice. She wasn’t afraid to go looking for Zach. She didn’t dread trying to fix things, the way she would with her mother, or Kevin, because she knew Zach would never try to hurt her.
And she had no idea how to handle that knowledge. It felt a little bit like trust.
She found him in the weights section, suspiciously alone, as if the dark cloud around him had driven other gym-goers away. She’d always hated gyms, with their salty-stale tang of other people’s sweat and their shiny chrome machines that mocked her general lack of fortitude. She’d long wondered why people used places like this when they could take a nice walk instead. But as she approached Zach in his grey, low-slung joggers and the thin, white vest that displayed so much chest, she understood.
Obviously, people went to the gym to spy on works of art like him. What a eureka moment.
He was lying on a bench, pushing a barbell stacked with weights up over his chest, which perfectly fit her cartoonish ideas of what people did at gyms. At first, he seemed to be grunting with each push, but as she drew closer she realised he was talking, muttering acidly under his breath.
“Baby. Baby, baby, fucking baby.” Like he wanted to rip the word to shreds and stomp on it.
Something twisted nervously inside her, but she gave that something a stern talking-to and pulled herself together. She walked into his line of sight, making enough noise that she wouldn’t startle him, before speaking. “Isn’t someone supposed to watch when you do that? To make sure you don’t drop it and die?”
His bitter chant halted the minute he saw her. Though his pale skin was already flushed with exertion, she could’ve sworn he was blushing. Still, he didn’t avoid meeting her eyes. The blue fire of his gaze burned her from head to toe. He heaved the barbell higher and said, “This is about one-sixty. I’m not going to drop it and die.”
“I have no idea what one-sixty is.”
“Approximately one of you. But you’re right; come and spot me. It occurred to me today that I should cut the macho bullshit and use my brain more often.”
A smile tugged at her lips. She went to him, her nervous wreck of a heart leading the way. Placing a knee on the bench and her hands on his legs, she said, “I’m watching.”
“Uh…” His heavy thigh muscles tensed under her touch. He put the weight he’d been lifting on the bar above his head, then cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”
“I’m holding you down,” she said, “like when someone does sit-ups.”
His laughter was rich and musical. Even though he was clearly laughing at her, she found herself smiling along rather than dying of mortification.
When he stopped chuckling and sat up, she said dryly, “I take it that’s not what I’m supposed to do?”
“Not really.” A chunk of hair had come loose from her braid, and he twirled it around his finger. “But don’t stop on my account. I’ve got no complaints.”
“You’re not even lifting anymore.”
“No, I’m not. Something more interesting came up.” They were both straddling the bench now, face to face, her hands still on his thighs. He sighed. “I really am sorry, Rae. I was thoughtless and selfish, and… I know I fucked up.”
“I’m sorry, too. I was just trying to avoid confrontation—”
“Which you don’t need to apologise for,” he said firmly. “Really. You don’t. Please don’t.”
She almost choked on her relief, not because he didn’t want an explanation, but because he was so eager for things to be okay again. She’d never fixed a mistake with someone she loved without paying a pound of flesh. He was the only one who cared like this.
Just to be sure, she asked, “Are we okay?”
He met her eyes. “We’re always okay, sunshine.”
“Baby,” she blurted
, the word landing between them with a thud.
He blinked, arching his eyebrows. “Uh…”
“That’s my name,” she explained hurriedly, wetting her lips. “Baby Ann McRae.”
He blinked again, harder. A faint smiled curved the corners of his mouth. But the last thing she expected him to say was, “Ann?”
“…I’m sorry?” Her second name wasn’t usually the one people focused on.
“Your parents called you Baby,” he said, “then decided to pair it with Ann?” Humour danced in his eyes now, and something else, something warm and glad. She felt a surge of connection, as if she’d taken a step toward him after weeks of standing scared and still. It should alarm her. Instead, it made her giddy.
“My dad wasn’t around for the birth. He travelled a lot with the army, and Mum never wanted to follow.”
Zach huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “He must’ve been pissed when he came home.”
“Oh, yeah. He’s the one who started calling me Rae.”
Zach’s smile gentled. “He’s gone now, right?”
She’d mentioned it before, probably. Dad had been much older than Rae’s mother, but his heart attack thirty years ago had come as a surprise. “Yes,” she murmured.
Zach brought one of her hands to his lips and kissed her palm. “Alright,” he said. “Baby, then.”
Oh, God. She winced. “Just because you know my name, doesn’t mean you can use it.”
His expression darkened for a moment before he carefully smoothed out his scowl. “Kevin sure as hell does.”
“He was trying to piss me off. I barely let him say my name at our wedding.” She wrinkled her nose at the memory.
“You really hate it that much?”
“I don’t hate it,” she said honestly. “It’s just not mine. Not really. Anyway, you can’t tell me you seriously want to call me Baby.”
He grinned. “I want to call you a lot of things, babe.”
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