Loving You

by Maureen Child

Weird stuff was spinning in his head. Jonas had come out of his room to remind Nick about his next football game, ’cause he’d said he would go, but just in case he forgot … But then he saw Nick and Tasha arguing real quiet, so he couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  But they looked really mad, so he figured he’d stay there to keep watch, ’cause he really liked Nick, but he had to take care of Tasha, right? But then Nick kissed her and Tasha kissed him back and then Jonas couldn’t leave ’cause it was just too … weird.

  He swung his hair back from his face—thought maybe Tasha was right about the haircut thing—and looked at Tasha again. She didn’t look mad anymore. She was smiling, sort of. And she looked kind of like Molly looked whenever her boyfriend came to pick her up from work. All shiny-eyed and kind of excited.

  And he wasn’t real sure how he felt about that.

  CHAPTER 14

  “I fired them.”

  “Who?” Paul asked.

  “Two nanas.” Nick yanked at his hair with enough strength to snatch himself bald. But the accompanying pain didn’t quite diminish the guilt chewing at his insides. He’d needed to tell somebody about it. Hell, Nick admitted silently, he’d needed to talk about everything. Which was why he was standing here on his brother’s backyard deck confessing to something he still didn’t believe himself. “I fired two little old nanas.”

  Paul laughed shortly, then forced his grin into submission when he caught Nick’s dirty look. “That probably didn’t do much for your karma.”

  “Funny. Thanks. I really needed that.” Paul could make jokes. He wasn’t the one who’d had to look two little old ladies in the eye and tell them they were out of a job.

  Nick’d gone to the address Travis had left on his answering machine, determined to view the “fan mail machine” in action. But he hadn’t been prepared for the truth. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting, but it sure as hell hadn’t been two grandmotherly types, sitting at a long folding table, signing pictures of him. They’d offered him tea and cookies, showed him pictures of their grandchildren, then given him a tour of the square, joyless office where they toiled, pretending to be a professional football player.

  Ridiculous, he thought now, with a shake of his head. The sight of those two old women writing “Running Backs Rule” was something that would stay with him for a while. The whole damn thing was just so idiotic. Frank Sinatra crooning from a small boom box, tea steeping in a flowered pot beneath a crocheted cozy, and homemade cookies in a Tupperware container. Nanas. That’s who had been signing his pictures. Little old ladies making some extra cash by practicing their penmanship, which, he thought, as he recalled the careless scrawls he’d seen, could use some work.

  “Christ, Nick.” Paul laughed and reached for his beer. “Relax. It’s not like you foreclosed on an orphanage or something.”

  “It was like firing Mama.”

  Paul shuddered. “That’s not even funny.”

  “You’re tellin’ me,” Nick said, disgusted. “Those women were mad.”

  “You were scared of ’em?”

  “Damn straight.” Scowling, he added, “Though they cheered up fast when I gave them a hefty ‘retirement’ bonus.”

  Paul hooted with laughter. “You paid ’em off?”

  “You bet. Otherwise I’d have been looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.” He eyed his brother solemnly. “Don’t ever piss off a grandma.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  Nick took a seat in the pine Adirondack chair opposite his twin brother. Setting his bottle of beer down on the round pine table between them, he propped his elbows on the varnished surface and cupped his head in his hands. His brain felt as if it were expanding, getting too big for his skull. Which would go a long way toward explaining the pounding headache that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

  He’d been batting a thousand since dinner at Tasha’s place the night before. Agreeing to a father-son campout. Kissing Tasha and discovering a brand-new world that he’d had to turn his back on—and then capping it all off by waking up bright and early this morning to piss off two old women who had looked like they could have cheerfully murdered him.

  Yeah, things couldn’t get much better. Oh, wait.

  There was more.

  The letters he’d retrieved from the dueling nanas’ office. Before he’d fired them, the two women had shown him three file cabinets where every fan letter received had been neatly tucked away alphabetically. Under “B,” he’d found all four of the letters Jonas had written him. The childish, painfully careful handwriting had tugged at his heart even while it nudged his conscience. If he’d been paying attention to business instead of feeling sorry for himself, he’d have known about Jonas months ago.

  He’d already read those letters twice—and now they were burning a hole in his back pocket.

  “What’s going on, Nick?”

  He looked at his brother. Paul was the calm one. The logical one. The one Mama insisted was the most like their father. Paul had always been able to look at any situation and see both sides. It had been a real irritating quality when they were kids. Now it was just what Nick needed. Besides, Paul was the one person Nick knew he could count on to be completely honest with him. They were more than brothers, they were twins. And that bond went deeper than most people would ever understand.

  Reaching for his back pocket, Nick pulled out the four letters Jonas had written to him. He ran his fingertips across the wrinkled papers, then tossed them onto the table, letting them slide across the varnished wood toward Paul. Grabbing up his beer, Nick took a long drink and said, “Read these. Then we’ll talk.”

  * * *

  “Tasha, you can’t run away.”

  “Why not?” Tasha looked over her shoulder at Molly, standing in the doorway of Mimi’s bedroom. Going up onto her toes, Tasha reached for the top shelf, where Mimi’s old suitcase was stored.

  “For one thing, Jonas will never go.”

  “Of course he’ll go, if I say we go.”

  “He won’t leave Mr. Wonderful.”

  Nick. It always came back to Nick. Gritting her teeth, Tasha stretched, her fingertips scraping at the old blue Samsonite, but she didn’t budge it. “Damn it.” She swatted the blasted thing, and still it didn’t even topple. When Mimi stacked things, they stayed stacked. Nerves jangled inside Tasha and her brain skittered uneasily from thought to thought and couldn’t seem to find a happy one to land on.

  She rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers, but it didn’t help. She’d hardly slept all night, thanks to the fantasies her imagination had continued to pump through her mind.

  Served her right, she thought. She never should have let him get that close. And she damn sure shouldn’t let him do it again.

  So why did she want him to so badly?

  “Hello? Earth to Tasha.”

  “I’m here,” she muttered, pushing thoughts of Nick and wild fantasies to a small dark corner of her mind where they would stay … until the next time she tried to sleep. “And I heard you. Jonas won’t want to leave Nick.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Fine.” Tasha turned around, whipped her hair back from her face, and stared at Molly. “You’re right. He probably won’t want to go. But I’m still in charge. He’ll do what I tell him to do.”

  Molly pushed away from the doorjamb, walked slowly across the room, and then plopped onto Mimi’s old four-poster. “And you want to tell him to pack up his little backpack and start hiding?”

  Tasha winced at the image. “No.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Tasha stepped away from the closet and walked across the glossy hardwood floor toward the wide window overlooking the backyard. Beyond the glass, the day was cloudy and gray. Cold wind shuffled through the leafless trees and rolled Jonas’s football aimlessly across the brown lawn. Mimi’s chrysanthemums were bedraggled now, past their prime, but still lending splotches of color to the otherwise
drab day. Tasha’s gaze locked onto the bright yellow and purple flowers as if they were a shining light of hope in a sea of misery.

  The mattress creaked as Molly leaned back and propped her head on one elbow. “It’s not too late to try my idea.”

  “Which one is that?”

  “You know, marry Nick and both of you have Jonas?”

  “Marry him.” Tasha huffed out a breath. “Sure. I’ll just make a note and take care of that this afternoon. I can already see the society column in the paper. ‘Millionaire Football Player Marries Runaway Beautician.’“ She gave a pretend sniff and touched an invisible hankie to her eye. “It’s so beautiful.”

  “Sarcasm isn’t pretty.”

  “Yeah,” Tasha said wryly, “but it gets the job done.”

  Molly just looked at her. “Tash, you can’t run.”

  “Why not? I have before.”

  “That’s why not.”

  Tasha shifted her gaze from Molly back to the windblown world beyond the glass and waited for her to continue. That she would was never in doubt.

  “You’re not that kid anymore, Tash. You’ve got a life here,” Molly pointed out. “A job. A house. People who depend on you. And you have me.”

  At that, Tasha glanced at her friend again. Molly’s grin tipped up one corner of her mouth. Her pixielike haircut framed her face in spiked tufts that gave her an impish look. That effect faded along with her smile as she said, “Seriously, Tash. You can’t just take off and start over every time you’re threatened.”

  Tasha wrapped her arms around her middle and let Molly’s words sink in. She knew her friend was right. But logic didn’t have a damn thing to do with what she was feeling. Her emotions were swirling through her body, churning in the pit of her stomach, and short-circuiting what was left of her brain.

  The one clear thought that kept pounding itself home was, Run. Take Jonas and run.

  Turning her back on the window, she slumped down, perched on the edge of the windowsill, and braced her hands on her knees. Blowing out a breath, she looked at Molly. “How can I stay and lose Jonas?”

  “Jeez, pessimist much?”

  “Hello?” Tasha sat up straight, reached up, and scooped her hair back from her face. “Have you been paying attention? ’Cause if you’ve missed an episode or two, let me just bring you up-to-date.”

  Pushing up from the windowsill, Tasha stalked toward the bed and didn’t stop until her knees bumped into the mattress. Staring down at her best friend, she said, “You should have seen Jonas this morning. He almost floated out the door to go to his game. All he can talk about is this father-son camp-out.”

  “So?” Molly said, rolling over and sitting up. “Why shouldn’t he be excited? Tasha, he’s never had this. Never been one of the guys. Never had a dad.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Tasha sat down and flopped back, letting Mimi’s pillows catch her when she fell. She inhaled sharply and drew Mimi’s scent deep within her. The soft floral perfume Mimi had preferred seemed to cling to this room, strong enough to haunt, faint enough to remind Tasha that the woman who once wore it was gone. What she wouldn’t give to hear Mimi’s laughter-shadowed voice telling her to get a grip. Tasha smiled to herself in spite of everything. Mimi’s advice had always been short and to the point: Do what you can and do it the best you can. Everything else will take care of itself.

  And right now, Tasha wished more than ever that Mimi was still here. That Jonas was safe. That Nick had never appeared in their lives.

  And hell, as long as she was at it … wished for a million bucks. That had just as much chance of happening as any of the rest of it.

  Her heart ached for Jonas, but he was too young to protect himself. That was her job. And not having a dad at all was way better than having a father who did nothing but break your heart. That much she knew all too well from experience. “He’s counting on Nick. Counting on him too much.”

  “You can’t protect him from everything.”

  “I can try.”

  Molly reached out and laid her hand atop Tasha’s. “You’re not Wonder Woman, Tash. Life happens. People get hurt. Then they get better and they go on.” She paused a minute, then added, “You did.”

  Tasha stared up at the water-stained ceiling. Too many years of a leaky roof had left permanent marks on the old wood. Just as too many years of neglect and abuse had left marks on Tasha’s heart and soul that were still there, despite the time that had passed. A part of her wondered if old hurts ever really disappeared. Or were they just buried under new ones?

  “He’ll have you, Tash. One way or the other, he’ll still have you.”

  “Maybe.” Tasha turned her head on the ancient tapestry pillow to look at Molly. “Maybe he’ll have me. But if Nick is his father, then I’ll lose him. And if Nick isn’t his father, I might still lose him. The only sure way I have of keeping Jonas safe is to run.”

  Molly sat back, leaned against one of the thick pine posts at the foot of the bed, and stared at Tasha through narrowed, thoughtful eyes. “To keep him safe, or just to keep him?”

  “What?”

  Molly shrugged and picked at a loose thread in the old lace bedspread. “It’s just that I keep hearing what you want for Jonas. I don’t hear you wondering about what Jonas wants for Jonas.”

  “He’s a kid.”

  “Who’s had to grow up fast. Nobody should know that better than you.”

  “My point exactly.”

  “Tasha, think about it for a minute, okay?” Molly leaned forward, her gaze locked with Tasha’s. “Remember what it was like when you ran away.”

  “I remember,” she said, not needing the moment or two to dredge up the past. It was always with her, just one breath away. It haunted her when she least expected it. A scent, a sound, would awaken the memories, and in an instant she could find herself back in an alley, hiding in shadows.

  The fears and hurts she kept under lock and key suddenly slipped from their cages to snake through her chest and wrap cold fingers around her heart. It had been terrifying. To be all alone. No one to turn to. No one to talk to. No one to trust. And still, it had been better than the home where she hadn’t felt loved or safe.

  “Now ask yourself,” Molly whispered. “Do you want Jonas to have those same memories? Do you really want him to be a runaway, too?”

  “It wouldn’t be the same. He wouldn’t be alone.”

  “He’d be running.”

  “With me,” Tasha said tightly.

  “And when do you stop running, Tash?”

  She’d thought she had. She’d thought she’d found a home. She’d thought this was her place. Here in the Victorian where she’d learned to trust again. To love again. But if keeping Jonas safe meant leaving it all behind, she would do it.

  Did she want to take Jonas from the place he loved, from his friends, his home? Did she want to live under assumed names and keep skipping ahead of Social Services and nosy neighbors? Did she want to sentence him to the same kind of uncertainties she’d known until Mimi had turned her life around?

  And was it really only Jonas she was worried about? If she couldn’t be honest with Molly, the least she could do was admit the truth to herself. Nick scared her. Not just for Jonas’s sake, but for her own. He made her nervous. He shook the foundations of her little world with the strength of a 6.0 earthquake. He made her want things she knew she couldn’t have. And yet she couldn’t stop the wanting.

  But would running change that? she wondered. Wouldn’t Nick’s eyes, his smile, his touch, remain in her mind and haunt her no matter where she went?

  She shifted a look at her friend. “How do I stop running, Molly?”

  Molly smiled and shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s as simple as just taking a stand and refusing to move.”

  Tasha flung one arm across her eyes. “I take a stand and I could lose everything.”

  Molly flopped down onto her stomach and stretched out beside Tasha and lifted her fri
end’s arm off her eyes. When their gazes met, she said, “Tash, the only way you could possibly lose that kid is if you deliberately try to keep him away from the man he thinks is his dad. Do that, and Jonas might never forgive you.”

  * * *

  “He’s your son?” Paul set the letters down onto the table and stared at Nick through wide astonished eyes. “You have a kid?”

  Nick huffed out a breath. Jesus, it was a relief that Paul knew what was going on. Sure, he could have talked to Carla, but he was pretty sure how she felt about this whole thing already. It was Paul’s cool head he needed now.

  “I don’t know,” Nick finally said. “Maybe. Possibly. Probably. Damn it, I’m not sure.”

  “The boy sounds sure.”

  Nick slumped back in his chair and tented his fingers atop his chest. “Of course he’s sure. He believes his mother.”

  “What do you believe?”

  “That’s why I’m here, Paul. I don’t know what to think. Or believe.” He scraped one hand across his face. “I saw a picture of his mom. I don’t remember her.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Exactly. And I can’t tell the kid that, can I?”

  Paul winced. “Guess not. Have you had a DNA test done?”

  “No.”

  “Why the hell not?” Paul’s eyes flashed behind his glasses, and as if he suddenly felt as though they were blocking his view, he snatched them off and set them aside. “Christ, Nick. That should have been the first thing to do.”

  “That’s what Jackson said.”

  “He knows?”

  “He’s a lawyer.”

  “Yeah, but if Jackson knows, then Carla—”

  “She knows, too.”

  “Man.” Paul whistled low and long. “And she hasn’t told Mama yet?”

  “It’s a miracle, I know.”

  “One that can’t last,” Paul warned him.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “What’re you doing about this?”

  “I’m spending time with him.” Nick sighed. “Going to his football games.”

  “He plays football?”

  “Receiver,” Nick said, smiling, and he felt that ripple of pride that he’d become so accustomed to since meeting Jonas.