“I told you, I was helping her out. She had some things that needed fixing around the place and she can’t afford to pay for it.”
“So she called you? Out of all the people in the known freakin’ universe?”
“Yeah, she did. Because I offered to help. Because I could see she was doing it tough and I knew you weren’t going to step up.”
Steve’s eyes narrowed. “What I do or don’t do is none of your business. Just like Pippa and Alice are none of your business. Stay away from both of them.”
Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Steve had burned Pippa when she’d gotten pregnant with his child, essentially abandoning her, and now he wanted to dictate who she had in her life? He never would have thought his friend was capable of being such an asshole.
“What’s your problem? You don’t want her but no one else can have her? Do you have any idea how big a dick that makes you?”
“So you do want her.” Steve sounded triumphant.
Harry stared at his friend. Out of everything he’d said, that was the bit that stood out to Steve?
“What’s going on with you, man? How can you not see that what you’re doing is wrong? You have a daughter. A gorgeous little kid. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
Steve laughed, the sound bitter and hard. “As if this is about the kid. You want in her pants, that’s all this is. You always have, and all this bullshit is your way of justifying it to yourself.” Steve threw a hand in the air, as though he was throwing something away. “Go ahead, screw her if it’s that important to you. Do her every which way from here till Sunday.”
He headed for his truck. Harry watched him, frustration and anger warring inside his brain. Part of him wanted to tackle Steve to the ground and pound some sense into him the way he would have when they were both fourteen, but he knew it wouldn’t change anything.
He didn’t understand where his friend’s head was at. The way Steve had treated Pippa, the way he was denying Alice… It was messed up, and Harry couldn’t reconcile it with the guy he thought he knew. Better yet, he didn’t want to.
If someone had asked him a month ago to come up with a scenario that would threaten his friendship with Steve, he would have drawn an absolute blank. He hadn’t thought it was possible—maybe because he simply didn’t have the imagination required or perhaps because he was too freakin’ naive for his own good. Certainly he never would have imagined that Steve could be such a jerk.
The way his mate was behaving was deal-breaker stuff. The kind of stuff that made a person reevaluate everything.
Harry stepped backward.
He didn’t want to go there, even in his thoughts. In his heart, he still believed Steve would come around. Maybe not as unequivocally as he had earlier… But the hope was still there.
Harry went inside, but instead of stripping for the shower he’d been looking forward to, he headed out to the garage. He pulled on his boxing gloves then he zeroed in on the long bag, pounding the padded vinyl with everything he had.
He rained blows on the bag until he was breathless and shaky and covered with sweat. Gripping the bag with both arms, he leaned his head against it, sucking air into his lungs.
Everything was messed up—and for the life of him he didn’t know how to fix it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE NEXT DAY, Pippa woke at five o’clock to a crying child, worked on her assignment till eight, dropped Alice at day care, went to university till lunchtime, then raced to the gallery for an afternoon shift.
It was delivery day, when all the artists delivered their latest works. As well as dealing with any customers, Pippa’s job was to unpack and catalog the new pieces and enter them into the computer system. The gallery dealt with in excess of fifty local painters, sculptors, jewelry makers and other artists, many of whom weren’t naturals at organization or administration. By the time she’d put out a few spot fires, soothed some ruffled feathers and listened to several life stories there was precious little time left to get the actual cataloging done and she wound up doing nearly an hour of unpaid overtime.
She didn’t begrudge it, because Gaylene had always been so supportive of her, but she was aware of time ticking away as her fingers flew over the keyboard. The moment she was done she locked up and sped to day care, apologizing profusely for being so close to the final pickup time. Alice was pleased to see her, all bright-eyed and smiley, and Pippa spent more time than necessary strapping her into the baby seat, kissing her cheeks and tickling her belly.
As she let herself into the house, she was very aware that Harry was due in under half an hour. Feeling more than a little frazzled and stressed, she warmed up a bottle for Alice and started the sauce for spaghetti bolognese. She was mixing garlic butter for garlic bread when the doorbell sounded.
She glanced at the clock. Harry was early. Just her luck.
Pippa sucked a smear of garlic butter off her thumb as she walked to the front door, trying to think of something suitably light and smart-arsey to say to him to smooth over the hump of what had happened last night.
She swung open the door, witty quip ready to roll—and stilled.
It wasn’t Harry filling the doorway, it was Steve.
For a moment she was so gobsmacked words deserted her, witty or otherwise. She hadn’t seen him, even in passing, since the day she’d given birth to Alice. Her stomach dipped unpleasantly. Her hand tightened on the door.
“Hi,” she finally managed to say.
His face was expressionless as he flicked a glance up and down her body. “We need to talk.”
Just as he was the last person she’d expected to find on her doorstep, those were the last words she’d expected him to say. She’d been trying to get him to talk to her—for Alice’s sake—for more than a year.
Yet the thought of him being in her home made her deeply uncomfortable. She was so angry with him, so disillusioned. She didn’t want to sit at her dining table and talk as though he hadn’t tried to will their daughter out of existence for the past six months. If she was free to obey the dictates of her gut and her emotions, she’d screech at him like a fish wife and order him off her front porch.
She compromised by nodding and gesturing for him to fall back. “Okay. But out here, not inside.”
He retreated to the top of the steps and she joined him on the porch. Even though she knew it would appear defensive, she crossed her arms over her chest. She couldn’t help herself—she was defensive. This man had set himself up as her enemy, and now he was here, out of the blue. She didn’t trust him and she had no idea what he was about to say to her… She’d be out of her gourd not to be defensive.
“So, what’s going on, Steve?”
He looked exactly the same as he had when she’d first met him—slightly scruffy sun-bleached hair, deeply tanned skin, bright blue eyes, well-muscled body—but his undeniable good looks left her completely cold today. Knowing that beneath his happy-go-lucky, laugh-a-minute facade there was a scared, angry little boy who didn’t have the backbone to shoulder his responsibilities killed any lingering appeal he might have had for her.
“I wanted to give you this,” he said, pulling something from his pocket.
It took her a moment to register that it was a wad of cash, held together with a grubby rubber band.
“I figure the baby must have expenses. Things she needs.”
Pippa blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
He gestured with his outstretched hand. “It’s a couple of thousand. To help you out.”
Her gaze dropped to the money almost against her will. Two thousand dollars would be a wonderful, luxurious safety net to have in her bank account right now. She wouldn’t have to juggle her school fees with her medical insurance payments. She wouldn’t have to take every shift that came her way. She could let down her guard enough so that her shoulders didn’t feel as though they were permanently up around her ears with stress…
“I don’t understand,” she said.
Steve sighed and let his hand drop to his side. “I heard you’d had some car trouble and that things were tight. I figured this would help.”
“It would.”
“So?” He held out the money again.
The practical part of her brain screamed at her to take the cash and worry about the whys and wherefores later, but everything else in her baulked. Legally and morally, he owed her a great deal more than two thousand dollars. If she took his money now, she would be signaling to him that she was prepared to forgive almost anything as long as the price was right.
She wasn’t. She couldn’t. This wasn’t the kind of relationship she wanted with Alice’s father.
“Why now?”
“I told you, I heard you’d had car trouble.”
“You didn’t think we might have needed some help before now? Why do you think I went through the nightmare of dealing with Child Services, Steve?”
His face fell into the impatient, frustrated lines she’d become so familiar with after their breakup. “Look, either you want the money or you don’t. I just figured you’d like to be in a position where you didn’t have to accept favors to get stuff done. But what do I know?”
“Is this because Harry’s been helping me out?”
It was a stab in the dark but the way his expression instantly shuttered told her she’d guessed correctly.
She stared at him, even more confused. Harry was Steve’s friend. Why on earth would Steve be over here offering her money so she wouldn’t have to accept favors to get stuff done from Harry, of all people?
Steve jammed the money into his pocket. “It’s none of my business, but you know what Harry’s like. He’s a dog. If he hasn’t tried to throw the leg over yet, it’s only because he hasn’t got around to it. This way, you can pay someone to help you out.”
Steve watched her closely as he spoke and it struck her that he was trying to gauge her reaction.
He wants to know if I’ve slept with Harry.
The realization hit like a lightning strike. Suddenly it all made sense: the impromptu visit, the unexpected money offer, the sudden interest in Alice’s expenses. All of it driven by jealousy. Or, more accurately, a proprietal, dog-in-manger sense of territory. After all, Steve had had her first. God forbid that anyone else want her now that he’d discarded her, especially someone he considered a friend.
A friend who’d called Steve on his poor behavior and made him feel small—Harry had all but admitted as much the night he’d shown up on her doorstep, determined to ride to her rescue.
For a second anger was a physical burn in her belly.
This man was the father of her child, and the only thing that had prompted him to make contact with her was pride. Big, fat, wounded male pride.
“Wow. That is— Wow.” She gestured forcefully, unable to articulate her outrage. “You have got balls of steel, you know that? Big, dumb balls of steel.”
As if he sensed the Vesuvius of fury welling inside her, Steve took a step backward.
“How dare you come over here pretending you give a shit about me and your daughter when all you want to know is if Harry’s been in my pants. I have begged you to take some interest in Alice. I’ve offered you access despite the fact that you lied your ass off so you wouldn’t have to support her. I pleaded with you to at least talk to me so we wouldn’t have to go to Child Services, and you wouldn’t even give me the time of day. But the thought that Harry might be sleeping with me brings you running with a big wad of cash in hand—”
She ran out of words, made speechless by the sheer, unmitigated gall of the man with his dumb surfer-boy hair and his thigh-hugging jeans and his striking aqua-blue eyes.
How could so much asshole be contained in one person? He was the worst mistake of her life, a catastrophic walking-talking failure of judgment. The thought that she’d once let him inside her body, that she’d slept beside him and showered with him and shared meals with him literally made her stomach turn.
And yet he’d given her Alice, and her daughter was the best thing that had ever happened to her. The jury was still out, but Pippa was almost convinced Alice had even been the making of her.
The thought punctured her anger and suddenly she simply felt tired and sad. “You know what? Just go. I don’t have the time or the energy to deal with your bullshit.”
She turned to re-enter the house but Steve stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“You think you’re special? You think you’re any different from all the other girls he’s screwed and left behind?”
It was too much. She’d tried to take the higher ground, she’d tried to walk away, but Steve clearly couldn’t let it go and she was only human.
Her chin rose. She looked him dead in the eye. “Oh, I know I’m different. Last night, Harry told me I’d ruined him for all other women—this is while we were still lying in the hall because we didn’t make it to the bedroom. Most of the time we don’t, actually. Not that it matters. Harry’s pretty creative, if you know what I mean.” She glanced at the hand that still held her forearm.
He released her, his mouth an angry line. She had no idea if he believed a word she’d said, but she didn’t really give a damn. She just wanted him gone, out of her life.
Pippa stepped into the hall and shut the door firmly behind her. She held her breath, waiting for the sound of his boots on the steps. Only when she was sure he was gone did she lean against the door and take a deep, shuddering breath.
What a jerk. What a gold-plated, shameless, egotistical jerk.
She couldn’t believe he’d come over here and gone through the charade of pretending he gave a fat rat’s caboose about his daughter in order to safeguard the sanctity of his ex’s vagina. That was what it came down to, after all. He wasn’t interested in any other part of her. He certainly wasn’t interested in Alice or whether Pippa had enough money to care for her adequately. He simply wanted to ensure that Harry didn’t have what he’d once had.
Pathetic, ridiculous caveman stuff. And it made her want to weep for her daughter. The other night she’d told Harry that she couldn’t afford to hope that Steve might one day come around. It was a lie. In her heart of hearts, buried deep, was a foolish, naive dream that one day Steve would get past whatever was stopping him from having a relationship with his child and come looking for Alice.
It’s never going to happen. Face it and accept it and let it go.
She returned to the kitchen and resumed mixing the garlic butter. It came as no great surprise that her hands were shaking. She concentrated with all her might on slicing the bread and slowly the shaky feeling subsided. It wasn’t until she slid the foil-wrapped roll into the oven that it occurred to her that Harry must have really struck a nerve with Steve for him to be so bent of shape and angry about Harry possibly being involved with her.
She stilled as the implications of her realization hit home.
Harry and Steve had known each other for years. She didn’t even know how long, although the stories and anecdotes they’d recounted to her had gone back into their early teens. They surfed together, they hung out together, they had each other’s backs… And now they were at odds because Harry had been kind and foolish enough to pull over when he saw her stranded on the side of the road.
It didn’t sit well with her, even though she knew that she had done nothing to create a wedge between the two men.
Apart from telling Steve that you and Harry were doing each other, you mean.
She winced. She’d been so busy spitting in Steve’s eye she hadn’t stopped to consider the repercussions of her hasty words. Whatever was going on between Harry and Steve would only be exace
rbated by what she’d implied—okay, by what she’d blatantly rubbed in Steve’s face.
Sometimes she wished she could uninstall her stupid temper like an underperforming phone app and get on with her life. This was the second time in as many weeks it had gotten her into hot water. And both times she’d ended up owing Harry an apology.
Right on cue—because apparently her life had become a French farce—the doorbell rang. She smoothed a hand over her hair, then made an impatient noise. Not only did she know, without a doubt, that she looked worn out and pale and definitely not at her best after a long day and a wrangle with her ex, she also knew it wouldn’t make any difference to Harry. Especially once he’d heard what she had to confess.
Bracing herself, she went to answer the door.
* * *
“HEY. RIGHT ON TIME. Sadly, dinner is not, but it won’t be long,” Pippa said as she opened the door.
The moment Harry laid eyes on her he knew something was wrong. He didn’t know how he knew, he just did.
Maybe it was the way she was smiling with only her mouth. Or maybe it was the way she held herself, as though expecting something bad or painful to happen in the next few seconds or minutes.
“What’s wrong?”
She blinked. Then quickly shook her head. “Nothing. Why?”
“Bullshit. What’s going on?”
She eyed him for a beat, and he guessed she was trying to work out how much effort it would take to convince him to believe her lie.
“Steve was just here.”
Damn.
Last night, after Steve had taken off and Harry had finished pummeling his punching bag, he’d debated with himself over whether he should tell Pippa what had happened. His conclusion, after more than an hour staring at his bedroom ceiling, was that what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Whatever was going on, it felt like it was between him and Steve. He’d figured it would stay that way.
He’d figured wrong. Obviously.
He’d been silent too long and Pippa tilted her head to one side as she studied him.
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