by Dani Wade
He had no answers but was grateful when the warm glow was swept away by a heated wave of passion. This he was familiar with. This he could handle.
Not soon enough he was stripped to his boxers and slipping into the bed beside her. Every time he was with Willow brought new experiences to him, new insights. But tonight, of all the things he remembered, that first moment when she opened her eyes and smiled sleepily at him hit him square in the chest and stayed with him to the next day.
Her gorgeous welcome allowed him to fall asleep, but the unfamiliar bed and all-too-familiar thoughts pushed him from her way too early. He didn’t sleep well at the best of times, but this time of year it was impossible for him to get more than a few hours at a time. Thoughts of his brother, of his guilt, made rest illusive.
Like a beacon, the water lured Tate downstairs, past his forgotten briefcase and carry-on and the coffee he needed to start each day. All the way to the door he opened only once a year. It had started calling a few days early this year.
Tate stood for long time with his palm pressed against the door that led to the underground swimming cave, as if testing the temperature. This was the place his family had seen as a symbol of their life force. They had started on the water. Made their home on the water. Made their living on the water. They’d had enough hubris to believe they controlled it.
Tate had learned better.
He forced himself to grasp the handle and turn it. When the door opened, the sound of rushing water filled his ears.
What so many had called an amazing creation didn’t inspire awe in him. The dim break of dawn spilled into the deep, low room from the mouth of the cave, allowing him to watch the push and pull of the waves against rocky surfaces long worn smooth. It was not magical. Not to him. Tate considered the place evil incarnate. The source of his family’s power...and with his brother Adam’s death, it had become the source of their demise.
Never again would Tate trust the water. It might have been the source of his family’s successes, but they’d failed to acknowledge its power to destroy. Now, when he looked at the beach and the waves, or even considered driving across the bridge to the mainland, all he could see was the deceptive calm that hid the malevolent power beneath the surface.
He hated the weakness that came with the fear, but the power was real...and far from benevolent. Tate gripped the door frame hard enough for his hands to ache. He needed the strain to keep him anchored.
Suddenly a delicate hand covered his, a lithe body pressed against his back. Willow didn’t try to peek around him. Didn’t ask any questions. Instead she rested her cheek between his shoulder blades to once again offer him comfort.
His body shuddered as the tension flowed from him. Her gentle touch reminded him that he wasn’t alone.
“Are you okay?” she finally whispered against his bare back.
He wasn’t. But for once, with her, that wasn’t an insurmountable problem. So he told her the memory that kept him from sleeping in her bed. “Tomorrow would have been his birthday.”
Thirteen
Tate’s words haunted Willow as she headed to town for supplies. He would spend the day prepping the house for the incoming storm. She’d make sure they had everything they needed—along with a little extra.
That attitude felt a little too close to homemaking for her comfort. Less like a job and more like a desire to take care of someone on a personal level. She tried not to think of it that way, but the association lingered around the edges of her consciousness anyway.
If she could get up the nerve, she planned to throw Tate a little well-deserved celebration. He’d been pleased that his contract negotiations had gone through and had asked her to get something for a special meal, but she was more interested in celebrating his personal milestone than the professional one.
Hopefully he’d enjoy it. From what she’d learned from Murdoch, no one had celebrated Tate’s birthday for a long time. Not since his brother’s death. Which was beyond sad. She knew he loved his brother, but Tate’s life hadn’t ended. The fact that his parents had acted as though it had was beyond cruel.
Now she could see how it played out in so many ways in Tate’s life. But to her, this one was significant. Letting someone know they were special, that their presence here on earth was appreciated and welcomed, was important to the building of self-worth.
Tate’s family got a big fat F for failure in many areas, but especially this one in particular.
Besides, spending some time together, showing him how much she appreciated him as a person, might soften the blow she could feel approaching. As much as she wanted to deny it, she was terribly afraid that his nightmare was about to come true. Her odd symptoms were getting too frequent to ignore.
With that in mind, she turned to her sister Jasmine as they walked together down the aisle at the large, local shopping center. “How is Ivy?”
“Bless her heart, she’s miserable,” Jasmine said, shaking her head. “The nausea is just killing her. And I don’t see how she’s going to look for work every day, she’s so tired.”
“Poor thing,” Willow added, but she was turning the information over in her mind as she pushed the cart down the aisle.
“She’s a nervous wreck, too,” Jasmine added, oblivious to Willow’s distraction. “She only left work a few days ago using her leave, and the replacement keeps calling her, telling her the boss is asking more and more questions.”
Willow imagined he was...after all, he knew more than anyone that there was unfinished business between himself and his executive assistant. “She should quit answering the phone.”
“That’s what I told her. She’s putting in all these applications because she insists she should support herself.” Jasmine rolled her eyes.
“She’s been that way since her first job, you know that. It’s a hang-up.” They all had them in some form or another.
“Yeah, but she’s struggling. I think maybe a job would help her feel like she has some control in this situation. But I really wish she’d give herself a break. I think she’s afraid if she waits too long, it will be harder to get work because she’ll be closer to term.”
Willow shook her head, but she completely understood Ivy’s concerns. An employer would have to really want to hire her to overlook a large pregnant belly at an interview.
Getting back to her own worries, Willow asked, “So she’s tired and nauseous?” Willow had only one of those symptoms. Did that mean she’d dodged a bullet? Were the other things she’d experienced just an odd coincidence?
“What’s that look on your face?”
Willow brought her attention back to Jasmine. Uh-oh. Her sister had stopped midaisle to study her...a little too closely. She tried to blank her expression. “What do you mean?”
Jasmine’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t try that innocent look on me. That hasn’t worked with me since you were a little kid with gangly legs.”
This was her sister. Willow knew she could trust Jasmine to keep her secrets. It was just—the thought of saying her suspicions out loud scared her. Heck, whispering them even... But Willow really needed someone to talk to.
This wasn’t a subject she’d paid any attention to over the years. She could have looked it up, but until now she’d been afraid of confirming that her suspicions were true. And besides, the last thing she wanted filling her brain were all the horror stories floating around the internet.
So Jasmine was her best option.
Willow tried for her most matter-of-fact tone. “What exactly are the symptoms of pregnancy? Besides nausea, of course.”
Jasmine gasped, her voice notching up an octave. “Girl! Are you—”
“Would you hush?” Willow demanded, glancing around. It would be just her luck to run into a student while her sister was grilling her about the consequences of her sex life.
Jasmine frowned, but lower
ed her voice. “What are you trying to say, Willow?”
“Nothing,” Willow said, feeling contrary. “I’m trying to ask something, in a subtle way.”
“I don’t think it worked.”
“I noticed.”
They stood there staring at each other in stalemate until they both began to giggle... Jasmine was the first to sober up. “So I’m guessing you have reason to believe you might be pregnant?”
“I shouldn’t be.”
Jasmine simply raised her brows at that. How did she look so elegant all the time, even when she was in interrogation mode? “Would you stop beating around the bush and tell me what’s going on?”
Willow lowered her voice even more. “I took a morning-after pill, so I thought everything would be okay. But I’ve felt weird ever since.”
Jasmine’s frown echoed her own.
“But I’m not nauseous. So that’s good, right? I’m just exhausted. And things taste weird. And sometimes I feel dizzy—”
Jasmine started walking. Willow stared for a few seconds, then hurried to follow. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“For someone who is so smart, you can be incredibly dumb at times,” Jasmine said over her shoulder.
Willow should be offended, but she knew her sister was teasing her. “What did I miss?”
Jasmine marched determinedly through the store, leaving Willow confused and a little out of breath as she tried to follow with her full shopping cart. Seeing Jasmine pause to scan the pharmacy section gave her concern, though.
“You do realize that the morning-after pill has a failure rate, right?” Jasmine disappeared down one aisle, then came back with a small box. “Just use this. Then you’ll know for sure.”
Willow stared down at the pregnancy test, almost afraid to touch it. Then came the nausea...right on schedule.
“Come on,” Jasmine urged, nudging the box in her direction. “We can buy it right now and have answers in less than three minutes.”
“No,” Willow said, appalled at the idea. “I’m not doing that here.”
Jasmine’s small smile infuriated her. “At the house, then,” she countered.
“I’ll...” Willow swallowed hard. “I’ll take it with me. Then we’ll see.”
Jasmine quickly snatched the box out of her reach. “As long as you promise to call me when it’s done,” she insisted.
“Oh, trust me. I’ll let you know.”
“ASAP. After telling the father, of course.”
Now, didn’t that sound like a pleasant prospect?
* * *
Tate squeezed his fingers into fists, forcing himself to ignore the ache that told him to continue writing. He’d been in the flow for several hours now. As much as he wanted to continue working, he needed to attend to other matters.
Still, it felt strange for writing to not be the most important thing in his life anymore.
But the clock told him that Willow would be starting dinner about now. They’d talked about something special to celebrate his new contract, but Tate had a few ideas of his own that he hadn’t shared. So he saved his document and shut down his computer before heading down the stairs.
As he walked by, he could hear Willow in the kitchen. He smiled. She didn’t give herself props for how good of a cook she was. Tate looked forward to every meal, and often came down early for a glimpse of the menu items. But today he kept moving until he reached the front formal living room.
The furniture in this room was from the early sixties, as far as he could tell. He’d never bothered to change it out, because the space wasn’t in use. If a family lived here, the large area would be perfect for a leather sectional, a couple of recliners, a large television and maybe a game area, but for just Tate and Murdoch, all that wasn’t necessary. He walked through, noting the clean floors and lack of dust. Willow had obviously cleaned the room, even though no one was ever in here.
His steps gradually slowed as he approached the opposite wall. He slowly pulled back the floor-to-ceiling curtains to reveal French doors leading out onto a covered deck. The outdoor space had been used for parties and long summer days by the ocean.
At least, it had been by his parents.
Tate hadn’t set foot out here since they died. He hadn’t had any use for it. The very thought of returning to this incredible space where he’d spent so much of his childhood and teenage years always had him breaking out in a sweat. Just like it did now, but this time he refused to let it stop him.
Despite years of disuse, the door unlocked and opened easily. Tate had to grin. This was probably as a result of Murdoch’s efforts. They’d never talked about it, but Tate knew Murdoch did many things to maintain the house and grounds. He’d disagreed with how Tate had cut himself off from others and the beauty surrounding them. Murdoch had handled upkeep on the underground cave, the beachfront and nursery. Until he’d left, he’d handled the inspections of the third floor, too. Tate had no interest in all the “history” up there. Murdoch’s attempt to keep Sabatini House in livable condition was his way of voicing his opinion without having to deal with direct conflict.
The way they both liked it.
Sure enough, the furniture on the deck had been carefully covered and secured. Tate kept his gaze trained on his task without letting it stray to the water nearby. He made quick work of the preparations. Soon he’d taken the tarps off a table with two chairs and strategically placed them for viewing the approaching sunset. He prepared another side table to hold the food. When he’d told Willow they would have a nice dinner, he hadn’t told her exactly where.
Tate wasn’t necessarily ready to talk about commitment or permanence over the salad course, but he could no longer ignore what was happening with Willow. The emotions and sensations he experienced when they were together—both in bed and out of it—were unique. The feelings Tate had around her both scared the spit out of him and left him wanting more. He had to acknowledge whatever this was in some way—for his sake and hers.
He returned to the kitchen right on time. Willow already had the tray loaded to carry the serving dishes into the breakfast nook where he normally ate alone. Without a word, he relieved her of the burden. Then he loaded their place settings onto the tray as well and headed out of the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” Willow asked.
After a brief pause, he finally heard her steps as she rushed to follow him. When she caught up he stood to one side of the open French doors. Then he stepped through and led her to the seating area he had set up.
When he didn’t hear her follow, he put the tray down on the side table and glanced back. She stood just outside the doorway, looking confused. He tried not to smile as he returned to her, took her hand, then led her to her seat, which faced the ocean.
“I thought you never came out here because of the bad memories,” she finally said.
“Surprised?” he asked.
Her smirk was extra sassy. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Then her expression sobered. “But honestly, Tate, I can’t believe how well you’re dealing with your fear of the water.”
Tate glanced at the sun as it slowly sank into the horizon, leaving the sky various shades of pink and purple. “It’s time, don’t you think?” He shifted his gaze to her. “I know you do. But to answer your first question, yes, I’m enjoying some of it.”
“Especially shocking the pants off me,” she teased.
“Oh no,” he said, letting her playful tone distract him from his darker side. “There’s better ways to accomplish that goal.”
Her grin made him light up inside. For the first time since she’d come to Sabatini House, he served her. He set their places, then filled their plates. As they ate, Tate found he was okay as long as he didn’t stare directly into the ocean and didn’t allow himself to remember those heart-wrenching moments from so long ago.
/> Sometimes the monsters get bigger if we let them hide in the dark. One of the protagonists in his books had said that. Tate should have listened to himself a long time ago.
“Are you going to tell me what brought this on?” Willow finally asked after about twenty minutes of small talk.
Tate allowed himself to savor his bite of beef while he formulated his answer. “You’ve been good for me, Willow.”
“Are you sure?”
Sarcasm wasn’t what he’d expected, though he should have, considering his audience.
“Yes. We both know I don’t express my gratitude very well—”
“Humph.”
He ignored her for the moment. “But I do appreciate all you’ve done here and wanted to show you I’m making an effort.”
“Don’t do it for me,” she insisted, shaking her head. “Do it for you.”
“I will. I—” For a strange moment, words failed him. “Willow, these last few weeks have been incredible—”
Her distressed squeak caught his attention.
“What is it?” he asked.
Her wide green eyes were full of worry. “Did you serve me dinner, then show me you’re making positive changes, so you could tell me you don’t need me anymore?”
“Is that what you want me to say?”
Now she looked confused. “No.”
“Then it’s a good thing that wasn’t my plan.”
She sat, chest heaving, face flushed. Part of him felt bad about her distress, but the other part was amused. And flattered. At least she wanted to stay, even though he’d been a jackass on occasion.
“Then what was your plan?” she asked.
He couldn’t help teasing a little more. “If you’d stop jumping to conclusions, I might be able to finish.”
She gave a short nod, but he’d swear her eyes were teary before she lowered her eyelids. Time to get down to business.
“Whatever this is,” he said, gesturing between the two of them, “it’s different for me. Unique.”
