Suddenly You

by Sarah Mayberry

  Something cold dripped onto her chest. She touched her cheek, noticing her own tears for the first time. Alice stirred against her breasts. Light and sound filled the street as a police cruiser swung around the corner and came to an abrupt halt in front of her house.

  Harry looked up at her, checking to see if she was okay.

  She wasn’t okay. She was foolish and self-destructive and enormously self-deceptive.

  But she was about to take steps to remedy that.

  * * *

  HARRY SPARED A QUICK glance for the police cruiser before leaning close to Steve’s head.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” he warned as the police exited the car.

  He shifted his weight, removing his knee from the other man’s back and standing. He kept his movements slow and careful, because he was more than aware what the police saw when they looked at him—six foot two of tattooed muscle. In their lexicon: trouble. He’d had enough unwarranted attention from them as a younger man to know the drill.

  He held his hands out from his sides to show he was unarmed and kept his posture relaxed as the first policeman approached warily.

  “One of you gentlemen want to tell me what the problem is?”

  Steve pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. The stink of booze and cigarettes rolled off him.

  “A domestic situation. No one was hurt.” Harry glanced across at the porch, worried about Pippa.

  He caught a quick glimpse of her pale face before the policeman blinded him with his flashlight. Harry flinched away from the brightness.

  “You look like you copped a hit,” the policeman said.

  “No one was hurt,” Harry repeated.

  Steve was already in enough trouble. At the minimum he would be arrested for drunk and disorderly, along with property damage. He wanted to shake his old friend for the way he’d scared Pippa, but Harry couldn’t help thinking that if he’d made a bigger effort to hunt Steve down and clear the air in the past week, tonight might have been avoided. Maybe.

  Not that he hadn’t tried. After Steve had ignored his phone calls, Harry had swung by his place one final time. Steve’s car had been in the drive, but he’d ignored Harry’s knocking. Fed up to the back teeth, Harry had left one final, pissed-off message letting Steve know the ball was in his court.

  Apparently this was Steve’s response.

  “Maybe you should walk me through this from the beginning. Do you have any ID on you, sir?”

  Harry reached into his pocket and handed over his wallet. He turned to check on Pippa again. She was halfway down the steps, her expression tight as she braced herself for the hoopla that was about to unfold. Harry felt a fierce surge of protectiveness. If he could, he’d make this all go away for her and Alice. He’d fix things with Steve and manage the police and ensure that all the messy loose ends and small hurts in her life were healed.

  He couldn’t do any of that, but he could offer her comfort.

  He held up a hand to stall the policeman.

  “I just need to talk to my friend,” he said.

  He’d barely taken a step when the cop moved to block his way.

  “If you don’t mind, Mr. Porter, I’d like to clear this up first.”

  Harry shot the man an irritated look, then returned his gaze to Pippa.

  “You okay?” he called.

  She nodded, the movement stiff and jerky. Her cheeks were shiny from tears. The need to comfort her made him flex his hands.

  “I take it you don’t reside at this address, Mr. Porter?”

  Harry sighed and gave the cop his full attention. Clearly, he wasn’t going to get what he wanted until the other man was satisfied.

  The next half hour was spent going over and over the night’s events. Steve was moved to the other side of the lawn where the second policeman presumably went through the same routine with him. Another cruiser arrived after ten minutes and Pippa disappeared inside with a female officer.

  The whole time he answered questions and repeated himself, Harry’s mind was with her. He needed to know she was okay. Needed to hear it from her own lips. Needed to dry her tears and assure her that she and Alice had never been in any danger and that Steve would never try something like this again. Ever. Not if Harry had any say in it.

  It was another twenty minutes before the police were satisfied they had enough information. Most of the neighbors had given up on the floor show by then, although there were a few stragglers watching from a distance. Steve was cuffed and pushed into the back of a cruiser. Harry watched him, torn between guilt and righteous anger.

  What a freaking mess.

  “We’ll need you to come down to the station tomorrow to sign your statement, okay, Harry?” the policeman said.

  Somehow, over the past hour, they’d progressed to first-name basis.

  “No problem.”

  The policeman offered his hand. Harry shook it and turned toward the house, eager to get to Pippa. He took the steps two at a time and was bounding onto the porch when Pippa emerged from the front door, seeing the policewoman out.

  “Hey. How you holding up?” Harry asked, ignoring the policewoman as she brushed past him on her way to the steps.

  “I’m fine.”

  She wasn’t fine, anyone could see that. He reached for her but she took a step backward. He stilled, studying her face. Her cheeks were pale, her glasses smudged, making it hard for him to see the expression in her eyes.

  “They’re taking Steve away now. They’ll probably hold him overnight.”

  She nodded tightly. “They explained that.”

  He was aware of the police car starting up behind him and pulling away from the curb. It was all over.

  Except Pippa wouldn’t look him in the eye.

  “Let’s go inside. I’ll make you a cup of tea,” he said.

  It was his mother’s cure-all for most traumas. White, with lots of sugar and a plate full of biscuits.

  He stepped toward the door but she shifted, blocking the entrance. It happened so quickly he knew it couldn’t be anything but an instinctive reaction.

  He frowned. “Pippa—”

  “I need you to go, Harry.”

  His frown deepened. “Pippa. What’s going on?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t want to sleep with you any more.”

  Not what he’d been expecting. By a long shot. It took him a moment to get his thoughts together enough to respond.

  “Can I ask why?”

  “Because I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

  He flinched. “You think I’m like Steve?”

  He was insulted by the comparison, especially after what had just gone down.

  “Look, it doesn’t matter, anyway. You were only in this for the fun, and tonight it stopped being fun. So let’s just call it quits before it gets any messier than it already is.”

  He was starting to get pissed now. Barely an hour ago, he’d had his hand up her skirt on the couch. Things had been good—great—between them. Now he was being given his marching orders?

  “Who said I was only in this for the fun?”

  She looked him dead in the eye. “You did, Harry. Repeatedly. Remember?”

  Right. That stupid conversation they’d had after the first night. The one where he’d told her he wasn’t a good bet. At the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do and say, because he hadn’t wanted to lead her on or hurt her. But things had changed since then. He’d felt it. He knew she had, too. This thing between them had become about a lot more than sex very quickly.

  He reached for her again, determined to prove as much to her but she kept her arms crossed tightly, her body stiff and unyielding.

  “Could you please just go?”

  He wanted to protest. He wanted to demand she tell him what had suddenly changed, why she was suddenly pushing him away. But there was something about the way she held herself, the way she looked at him that told him she was close to losing it. She’d had
a bad night. The father of her child had just been led off in handcuffs. The last thing she needed was him demanding anything.

  “I don’t think you should be on your own tonight.”

  “Harry—”

  “Is there someone I can call for you? A friend? What about Becca? Or the woman from the gallery?”

  She stared at him. She blinked rapidly for a few seconds, combating welling tears, then pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

  “I’ll be fine on my own. I’m used to it.”

  She was so determined, despite the threatening tears. Or maybe because of them.

  “Can I come tomorrow to talk?”

  “I don’t think there’s much point, do you?” She straightened, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. “You’ve been really terrific, Harry. With the car and the ceiling and everything else. I’ll always be grateful for what you’ve done for me and Alice. But I can’t afford to muck around anymore. My life is serious. I’ve got Alice. I can’t afford to screw up.”

  “You think what happened between us is a screw-up?”

  Somehow she dredged up a smile. “It was fun. While it lasted. And now it’s over.”

  She turned and slipped inside the house. He caught one last glimpse of her as the door closed between them. She looked distant and closed off, all her vibrancy clamped down. Then the door was in his face, black and solid and unequivocal.

  He stared at it for long seconds, trying to understand what had just happened. He’d wanted to comfort her, reassure her—and she’d kicked him out.

  No, not just kicked him out, she’d given him his marching orders. She didn’t want to see him again. They were over.

  It didn’t feel over for him. In fact, it felt the exact opposite of over.

  He turned and walked to the edge of the porch, sinking onto the top step. He stared at the empty street and the night-dark houses and felt like the biggest fool under the sun.

  Because what kind of an idiot only worked out that he was in love with a woman when she shut the door in his face and told him she never wanted to see him again?

  It had been under his nose for weeks. The way he’d kept coming up with excuses to see her—the car, the broken door, the ceiling repair. The way he’d bent over backward to ensure she was happy. The way he hadn’t been able to keep his hands to himself, though he’d known right from the start that getting involved with her would be complicated.

  He loved her. Her scent. Her smile. Her warm eyes. Her self-deprecating humor. Her soft, smooth skin. Her stubbornness. Her temper. Her vintage dresses and old-fashioned shoes and big glasses and bright underwear. He loved all of it, because it was all Pippa, and he couldn’t get enough of her.

  Harry shook his head as he remembered that first kiss in her half-repaired bedroom. He’d been so stupid, so slow. He should have known then. The moment his lips touched hers, he should have known.

  Instead, he’d told her he was a bad bet for anything more than a good time, and he’d brought violence and rage to her doorstep because he’d failed to clear the air with Steve.

  He’d bumbled through this whole relationship like a stupid kid who’d didn’t know his arse from his elbow.

  Was it any wonder—really?—she’d shut the door in his face? Was it any wonder she thought he was a mistake waiting to happen?

  Way to go, dickhead. Really well played.

  Heaviness settled in. He ran his hands over his head, trying to think. Everything in him wanted to hammer on her door right this second and lay his heart at her feet in a big, unscripted blurt. He’d tell her she was wrong about him, that he wasn’t like Steve. That he loved her, and that what had happened between them had never been just about fun.

  It was such a strong impulse it pushed him to his feet. He barely managed to stop himself from approaching the door. Despite his own sense of urgency, he understood instinctively that now was not the time to declare himself.

  Pippa had had a shock tonight, and she was holding herself together through sheer willpower. She’d been scared and shaken by Steve’s out-of-control rage and confusion. She wasn’t used to drunken idiots showing up on her front lawn with baseball bats, yelling the house down and smashing stuff up. She wasn’t used to having the police arriving on her doorstep, lights and sirens blazing.

  She’d asked for time. She’d asked him to go. The least he could do was honor her wishes. For now.

  He headed for his car. He had to use an old T-shirt from the trunk to clear the broken glass from the driver’s seat. He drove home with the cold night air rushing into the car. Once there he wrapped a bag of frozen peas in a damp towel and pressed it to his face and lay on his bed thinking about Pippa and Alice and how much he wanted to be with them and how stupid he was not to have realized it sooner.

  He must have fallen asleep at some point because he woke in the morning to a soggy pillow and a bag of defrosted peas beside him. The whole right side of his face ached and he approached the bathroom mirror warily. Sure enough, his right eye socket was purple and gray. A lovely memento of a shitty night.

  He wanted to drive straight over to Pippa’s place, but he sucked it up and did what needed to be done first. He went to the police station and signed his statement, then he waited over an hour on a hard wooden bench before Steve was released from the holding cells.

  He looked like utter crap, seedy and greasy, with grass stains on the knees of his jeans. He stopped in his tracks when Harry stood to meet him in the foyer. Neither of them said anything. After a beat Steve walked past him and out through the automatic double doors.

  Harry followed and found Steve waiting for him on the small patch of grass in front of the station, his brow furrowed as he squinted against the brightness of the morning sun. Harry took up his own position a few feet away, eyeing him neutrally. Early-morning traffic buzzed past and the smell of cooking oil drifted across from the nearby McDonald’s. After a beat Steve spoke up.

  “How bad is the Monaro?”

  “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

  “Send me the bill and I’ll take care of it.”

  Harry shrugged impatiently. “Like I give a shit about the car.”

  “You love that car.”

  “Mate… This is bigger than the Monaro.”

  Steve’s gaze dropped to the grass. “Out of all the girls you could have gone for…” He shook his head.

  “I love her.”

  It was the first time Harry had said it out loud. He was surprised how good the words felt in his mouth. How right.

  Steve’s head jerked up. His gaze was searching as he stared at Harry. After a few seconds he nodded. They were old enough friends that he took Harry at his word. They’d both thrown a lot of four-letter words around over the years, but never that one.

  “So, what? You and Pippa are going to do the whole white picket fence thing…?”

  “I don’t know,” Harry said.

  For all he knew, Pippa might shut the door in his face again. He was hoping she wouldn’t, and he planned to put his foot in the way and state his case if she did, but he wasn’t about to make any bold predictions at this early stage.

  “I suppose you’re going to keep hassling me about her,” Steve said.

  “Nope.”

  Steve raised his eyebrows, clearly not convinced. Harry shrugged.

  “I’m not your keeper. You want to be an asshole for the rest of your life, go right ahead.”

  Steve’s jaw twitched.

  Harry eyed him, wondering what to say to get through to him. “Look. I don’t know what’s going on in your head where Pippa is concerned, but you have to know she didn’t get pregnant to try and trap you. But you know what? Even if she did, Alice had nothing to do with any of that. She’s your kid, man, and you haven’t even seen her since she was born. She’s got your eyes and your hair and Pippa’s nose and the most amazing smile. She’s freakin’ gorgeous, and she’s yours. How can that mean nothing to you?”

  Steve’s nost
rils flared. He ducked his head, kicking at a bare patch in the lawn. Harry was reminded forcibly of the inarticulate, messed-up kid who used to gravitate to the Porter house in search of sanctuary from an ugly home life.

  “Mate…” Harry said, moved by the pain he could see in his friend’s face.

  “I never wanted to have kids. Made myself a promise I never would.” The words came out as though they hurt. “Knew I’d be shit at it…”

  “You’re not like him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Harry had wondered if that was the problem, but he’d never dared express the thought before. Maybe he should have. Maybe they wouldn’t be standing in front of the police station having this conversation if he’d voiced his thoughts earlier.

  Steve shook his head.

  “You’re not,” Harry insisted.

  “What I did last night, that was a classic Jack Lawson move.”

  Harry reflected for a second. It was true. There was no point denying it.

  “So don’t let it happen again.”

  Steve frowned, shooting Harry a quick, searching look. “That easy, huh?”

  “Why not? I know you, mate. I’ve seen you at your best and your worst. This stuff with Pippa… So what if having a kid with your ex-girlfriend is not what you had planned? Life throws crap at you all the time. You roll with the punches and get back up again. It’s the only thing you can do.”

  Harry pulled his car keys from his pocket. “Come on. I’ll give you a lift home. You’ll have to clear the glass off the passenger seat, but it’s better than walking.”

  Steve’s mouth kicked up into a sheepish almost-smile at the reference to the broken glass. Harry started for the parking lot, Steve falling in behind him.

  “How’s your eye?” Steve asked.

  “Awesome. Thanks for asking.”

  “You could have ducked.”

  Harry glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, Steve was smiling.

  “Just for that you can buy me breakfast.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  PIPPA WOKE EARLY and pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. Alice was fretful, no doubt responding to Pippa’s jangled nerves. Pippa fed her and rocked her and as soon as it was light outside put her in the stroller and went outside to clean up the broken glass from the driveway.