Just for Christmas Night

by Lisa Marie Perry

  “Don’t consider it.”

  Joaquin drew her close, held her shoulders, felt her grip his elbows. And their mouths met, bypassing any gentleness or hesitation. Both knew what they sought; both feared they wouldn’t find it even in a kiss.

  “God, Martha. I love you.”

  “Love shouldn’t tear us up. We should want this.” She sighed. “Step back from this right now, okay?”

  His hands slipped from her shoulders. Now he knew what defeat was.

  At the door, he turned to her when she whispered his name.

  “You didn’t ask if it’s your baby.”

  “No. I trust you, Martha. That’s what this love is.”

  Chapter 14

  Martha didn’t think she’d be the first visitor her father would ask for once discharged to recuperate in the comfort of his home and under the care of a cardiac nurse and dietician.

  Guilt said her presence would trigger another collapse—one that nitroglycerin and calcium channel blockers couldn’t defeat—so she’d refused to hightail to her parents’ home at the first summons.

  The second summons had arrived via a crisp, emotionless text message from Tem, advising her to fold up her office for the remainder of the afternoon and pay Marshall the respect she owed him.

  When she arrived at the mansion weighed down with fragrant flowers, she found a familiar Cadillac Escalade parked at the estate and sighed. Of course she wasn’t the first visitor Marshall wanted. Of course her parents had only been lying low during his hospital stay, until they could unleash their wrath in more comfortable surroundings.

  A housekeeper promptly relieved Martha of the flowers while another escorted her to the sunny breakfast room, where Tem sat regal in a wingback chair, sipping tea from a china cup. Clothed in a plain gray dress, with her hair gathered in a severe twist at the nape, she appeared subdued.

  Pointing her cup at a pitcher of chilled milk, Tem said, “Care for a drink?”

  “Guess so.” When Tem sent the housekeeper to fetch a glass, Martha asked, “Where’s Joaquin? I saw his truck.”

  “Discussing BioCures with Marshall and one of the lawyers. Business doesn’t pause for life’s uh-ohs.”

  “My baby’s not an ‘uh-oh,’ if that’s what you’re indirectly saying.”

  Tem shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

  “No, not really, when it comes to you, Ma. How could you trick me the way you did at the hospital?”

  Her mother rose, meandered to the doorway and waited for the housekeeper to return with the glass. Filling it halfway with milk, she gave it to Martha. “Are you keeping up with gynecologist appointments? Taking vitamins?”

  “I am. And I asked you a question. Why, Ma?”

  “I didn’t tell Joaquin you’re pregnant with his baby. You did.”

  “You set me up.”

  “It was a split-second decision, and it was for Joaquin’s sake. I couldn’t let you deprive him of being involved in his baby’s life.” Tem shook her head, somber. “I did the man a favor and he has the nerve to insult me.”

  “Insult?”

  “Do the words manipulative and disloyal sound complimentary to you?”

  Accurate, yes. Complimentary, no. “Seems he’d appreciate you having his back, and not mine.”

  “Well, that’s exactly what he didn’t appreciate. He’s of the mind that I manipulated and was disloyal to you.” Her brows quirked over her large, all-cried-out-puffy eyes. “At the hospital you couldn’t say whether or not he loves you, but he took care of that today. Could be something he blurted out in the heat of the moment, with no truth behind it.”

  Could be. But Martha’s intuition insisted it was the truth. He loved her, even if he hadn’t intended to shout it at the hospital or blurt it to Tem.

  “The NFC championship game is tomorrow. Marshall won’t be there—doctor’s orders. I need my unit to be solid. If the baby-daddy scandal could be contained until after play-offs…” Tem suddenly grabbed a linen napkin, jammed it against her eyes. Swearing, she whispered, “It’s not enough that Alessandro Franco’s targeting your father and me. Or that BioCures group is trying to put your father in a choke hold. Our daughters, one by one, are working against us.”

  “That isn’t true. We’re creating our own lives.”

  “I don’t want this. I—I want my life. Before, it’s like I had it all right here in my palm—” Tem made a fist, stared at it “—and I could hold my career and my family and my youth right here. But it’s all being pried out of my hand now. My husband has a heart condition, my football team is under investigation and my pretty little girl, the best uh-oh that ever happened to me, is pregnant. It’s all going away and I just want it back.”

  “No, Ma. You can’t have it back. You have to face yourself now—the person you are without Pop and the team and your daughters to hide behind.” Martha watched fresh tears flood her mother’s eyes. “We’re all still here. We’re in your life, but we aren’t your life. My life includes this baby and it includes Avery. Accept that.”

  Tem’s mouth fell open. “I thought it was Danica, but…it’s you. I see myself in you, Martha.”

  “I wouldn’t manipulate my children.”

  “No.” Wistfully, Tem smiled and took the untouched glass of milk, reclaiming her chair and returning to her solitude. “You’ll be a different kind of mother. That’s what makes you, you, and not me.”

  Martha went upstairs to her father’s office as Joaquin and one of her father’s corporate attorneys were leaving. Joaquin stopped, waited until the other man had walked away, then said to her, “I’m not one of Tem’s favorite people right now. Or Marshall’s, for that matter. But business—”

  “Is business. I know. You’re supposed to pick and choose your battles, not mine.” Martha brushed a fingertip over the cuff of his shirt. “Thanks, though.”

  “I love you. Your battles are mine.”

  “Stop saying that. I swear, it hurts to think about you loving me and knowing we can’t do anything about it.” Touching him, letting him wrap her up in his strength, would only deepen and intensify the hurt.

  She hugged him, pressing as close as she could. “We can’t talk this out today.”

  “But we need to, before the fight.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do something for me, Martha. Stay away from the gym for a while. Something’s not right with my uncle, and I need to figure out what.”

  “You sound more like you already know what, and you don’t like it.”

  “A guess. Swear I hope I’m wrong.”

  Dropping her arms, she let the man she loved go, and entered the office. “Does your cardiac nurse know you’re jumping back into work before you’ve even cut off your patient bracelet, Pop?”

  Marshall looked remarkably less exhausted than his wife. He grabbed a pair of scissors from a desk drawer and pulled up his sleeve to snip the bracelet. “Feeling all right, Martha?”

  “Ma told you I’m pregnant?”

  “So did your sisters, who begged me to not cut you out of the family.” With a swish, the blades severed the bracelet. “So did Joaquin, who asked me to not cut you from the publicity department.”

  “I don’t want the publicity department. I want the front office. Someday, I’ll prove I belong there.”

  “Then you’ll shake it off.”

  “Uh…I’m pregnant.”

  “Shake it off. Mentally. Don’t let it get to your head. It’s what I told Joaquin.” Marshall set down the scissors, considering. “Want a piece of the corporate world? What about my shares of BC Group?”

  “Get some rest, Pop. I’ll come back when you’re not sedated out of your mind.”

  “Papers are drawn, for when you want in.” He leaned back in his chair, shut his eyes. “Coronary artery spasm. It’s a variable I didn’t consider. BC Group’s pushing for a change, and I need to let the reins go on something. Not my team. That’s mine. But I’m rich and risky enough to see what you’ll do with shar
es of BioCures. Together, you and Joaquin would be majority shareholders.”

  “We’re not going to be together. Not in business or anything else.”

  “What you and he did… There’s no way in hell Tem or I can stand by that. But you’re going to raise that child without him?”

  “It’s looking that way. I still want the front office.”

  “Crawl before you walk, Martha. It’s a lesson you’ll teach your kid. I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to fire you.”

  “You’re offering me shares of BioCures,” Martha said, trying to comprehend the reasoning behind the maneuvers, “but are still considering axing me from the Slayers?”

  “Just making assessments. It’s what’s best for business.”

  *

  The Las Vegas Slayers had dedicated the NFC championship game to Marshall Blue. Avery, who had never attended a professional sporting event—and never imagined showing up to one in a trendy outfit from the spring collection of a designer whose name was routinely dropped on the red carpet—found herself in a reality she was almost too afraid to believe was hers.

  At least, for a little while it was. Discovering a pregnancy test in Martha’s house had bluntly put things into perspective. Martha Blue had good intentions and had welcomed her into a life that could’ve been ripped from a page in Avery’s dream-life binder, but Avery would never be part of the Blue family. They were together as a caretaker and foster kid, as friends, on borrowed time. Martha would eventually be sporting a baby bump and making arrangements to extricate Avery from her life.

  It had happened before, so Avery knew the drill. She was a temp, a filler.

  But it was difficult to remember this, to not get attached to Martha and her family, to resist hugging herself in pure happiness because Martha Blue and Joaquin Ryder had saved her.

  Whenever she wanted to be delusional, she pretended that they were in love and would ask her to be a part of their family—not caring that she’d been a crack baby, was short and small for her age and had some emotional scars that resurfaced whenever she started chewing her cuticles until they bled. The cold truth was Joaquin would be leaving after his boxing match, Martha had Complicated Grown-up Stuff that included a pregnancy she was keeping hush-hush and Avery was just a system kid who wasn’t meant to belong in anyone’s family.

  At Slayers Stadium, in the fancytastic owners’ box that offered gourmet appetizers and was bustling with people who exuded importance, she was enticed to fall into the delusion again. Martha had brought her to the press box and introduced Avery as her foster daughter, and had sat with her during the pregame fanfare.

  During halftime, Martha’s mother had pulled her aside to a computer where Marshall Blue had been called on a video conference and when she’d returned to her seat, she’d whispered, “Tem and Marshall asked for my opinion, and she’s calling my decision down to the field. Unbelievable.”

  “They’ve never asked for your opinion before?”

  “No, not regarding strategy. Not as employers seeking business input from an employee. They understood me, Avery. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. Understanding.”

  The game had ended on a clean field goal, and the owners’ box had exploded in roars, laughter, champagne and embraces. Tem Blue had grabbed Martha in a hug and Martha had pulled Avery into it, as well. And then it was the three of them joyful in the chaos, until photographers broke them up.

  “Chickadee, do you think you could get used to this craziness?”

  Avery had looked up at Martha, all the racket rendering her brain a little slow to catch up. “You mean I can come back here?”

  “Well, the Slayers’ next stop is the Super Bowl, but after that, absolutely. Because the owners’ box is always open to family.”

  Family… The idea that Avery could actually be more than a system kid—but part of a family—left her so giddy that hours later, when Martha finally took her away from the celebration sweeping through Las Vegas, she was still feeling floaty and light and secure.

  And wistful, because she thought about Renata now more than she had since running from the condo. She loved Renata for giving her a home and an education in cooking. She hated that cancer had weakened her, and that her creep of a son had taken advantage. But Renata was not her family, maybe because she’d never referred to Avery as family in all their years together.

  Voices lured her downstairs after midnight. With Rabbit twitching and sniffing, bundled in her arms, Avery moved quietly in her bare feet. Perhaps it was because every room in Martha’s fairy-tale mansion had a locking door, or because she was clued in enough to know Avery needed space and privacy, but for several nights Avery had felt safe enough to go to bed without her shoes on…and dream.

  Tiptoeing toward a broad column that divided the open main floor space into two distinct rooms, Avery peeked around it and saw Martha leading Joaquin Ryder to the living room.

  “Nothing’s changed,” Martha said. “You’re not going to throw the fight. You’re going to win that fight and go to Miami without me.”

  “Why can’t we bend or sacrifice?” Joaquin rested a hand on Martha’s stomach. “Why can’t we take that kind of risk?”

  “Because that kind of risk isn’t best for this baby. Either I’ll resent you each time you take on a fight or you’ll resent me for convincing you to give it up. Can’t do that to myself or you or my kids.”

  Avery gasped, but it made no sound. Kids. Instinct said to be thrilled, but it seemed as if Joaquin and Martha were about to walk away from what made them happy.

  “Slow dance with me, Martha. That’s something I can give you tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  Then both were looking at a smartphone and as he scrolled, she said, “Not that one. Keep going.” When they seemed to be in agreement, he tapped the phone and jazz music lifted into the air.

  Soundlessly kissing Rabbit’s forehead, Avery watched the boxer and the math geek heiress tutor who’d rescued her embrace in front of the winter tree. Not speaking, not laughing, they swayed together.

  She didn’t move until the dancing stopped and the two walked off to the foyer. Hoisting Rabbit to the crook of one elbow, she grabbed a piece of paper, a pen and a ribbon to thread through it. No way was she delusional now. No way was she wrong.

  Jotting love on the paper, she hung it on a branch and dashed upstairs.

  *

  The televised coverage of the Ryder vs. Brazda weigh-in at the Garden dominated local news and ESPN. After taking to the scales and staring down Eliáš Brazda for several thousand people filling the arena, Joaquin wasn’t interested in watching it when he arrived at the steakhouse inside the Rio and glimpsed the video streaming on his cousin’s phone.

  Today he was going to fire his trainer. At dawn he’d shown up at the gym for a workout to find Jules dismantling his office. He wouldn’t say what he was searching for and his pupils had been dilated. As if he’d recently taken a hit of something and was after a refresher. After Joaquin had demanded an explanation about the heavy bag that still hadn’t been replaced, Jules had zipped out of the parking lot before Joaquin could stop him.

  Jules, who’d seen the damage drugs had done to his sister, who’d rescued Joaquin from that certain fate by putting gloves on him and giving him a way out, was far down the same damn path.

  “Can’t hype this event more than that,” Othello said, turning his phone to give Joaquin a clear view of the screen. “Ready for Saturday?”

  “Othello, talk to me about your dad.”

  Othello put the phone away. “What about him?”

  “I know what he’s doing at the gym. My eyes were closed to it. But yours weren’t. You’ve known.”

  “He gets effed up in the office. That gym ain’t what it’s supposed to be about.” Othello picked up his glass for a swallow of iced water. “What it used to be about.”

  Othello’s comment about burning the gym to the ground came surging forward in Joaquin’s mind. Ge
t rid of the gym, get his father back. “This thing with Ciera aside, Othello, we need to talk to Tor and make some changes. Jules isn’t coming to MGM Grand tomorrow night.”

  “He’s your trainer.”

  “Not the way he is now. I can’t have him in my corner like that. We need to get him help. Can I count on you and Tor to have my back on Saturday?”

  Othello frowned. “He’s not going to appreciate getting pushed out of the picture.”

  “Maybe he’ll appreciate not ending up like my mother. If not, too freakin’ bad. His boys need to come together and save him and his gym—because he saved all of us. Sure as hell saved me.”

  *

  Martha was going to tell him tonight.

  Seduced by the hope in the atmosphere and the spirit of celebration in the city that still lingered almost a week after the Slayers secured a spot in the Super Bowl, she refused to leave MGM Grand on fight night still harboring lies. Assuming that pushing through everyone to get to Joaquin before the main-card fight would only screw with his head, she prepared to watch twelve rounds and afterward would put everything out there.

  She had to find out if there was any other choice than to let him go for love.

  Yet those best-laid plans were scrapped when her cell phone buzzed midmorning.

  I want to see you in a place where we can both be honest.

  Accepting a sleek, luxury-car escort to the location where she agreed to meet Joaquin, she found Ryder’s Boxing Club heavily secured and closed to the public. Tonight the gym would open as a watch party venue for the neighborhood to enjoy the entire pay-per-view event free of charge. It was a tradition she’d been glad to hear wouldn’t be altered in the aftermath of Joaquin firing his uncle as trainer.

  A bodyguard opened the door to her and stepped outside when she entered. She walked farther into the sunlight-dappled building and halted several feet from Joaquin, who sat on a set of ringside steps. His clothing simplified to jeans, a cotton shirt and a pair of sunglasses, he was total intensity and strength and ease.