"Yeah." Slowly, then, he rolled to one side, and lay like a dead man on the quilt beside her, eyes staring glassily at the ceiling.
Without his warm, solid weight atop her, Carol felt the chill of the night air dance across her body, raising gooseflesh and sending a shiver rolling along her spine. She wanted to do it all again. She wanted to slow down next time and enjoy the whole process. There'd been such an urgency this time, it had been all explosions and fireworks. Now she wanted to try it slow and deliberate and lingering.
But Jack wasn't even touching her now. It was as if the explosion of desire had shattered him and sent him sprawling to the other side of the universe.
The moon drifting through the curtains sent lacy patterns of light splashing across the walls and ceiling. From the living room, classic rock thumped a steady beat that almost sounded like a heartbeat.
She inhaled sharply, deeply, and wanted to just go on enjoying the soft glow spreading through her body. Unfortunately, her lover . . . she hugged that word to her for a minute or two . . . had different plans. Now that the passion was spent, he was going to be sprinting for the door. She'd known he would. Had expected it, even. That didn't mean she had to like it.
Dammit. But she could already feel Jack distancing himself as he sat up and reached to the floor for his clothes.
He froze. "Shit."
"What?" She blinked and tried to focus on the snarling look on his face as he glanced over his shoulder at her.
"Condom broke."
Her heart gave an odd little thump. "Well, that can't be good."
"Ya think?" He stood up, snatching his pants up from the floor and stepping into them.
Ramifications rattled through her. She wasn't an idiot. But she also wasn't going to ruin what had been a terrific littJe bout of sex by worrying about something that might happen.
"Are you healthy?" she asked.
"Yes." The word was bitten off.
"Me, too."
"And that's it?"
"Well, I could have you shot, but that seems a little harsh."
"This isn't a joke, dammit."
"It's not the end of the world, either," she snapped, and mentally said goodbye to the lovely little glow she'd enjoyed so briefly.
"Yeah, how does getting pregnant strike you?"
"Also not apocalypticlike," she said tightly, meeting
his steely blue gaze and giving him back as good as she could.
'That's not even a damn word."
"It is if I want it to be." She sat up, pushed her hair back from her face, and met him glare for glare. Stark naked and completely comfortable with it, she folded her arms over her chest. "I wasn't exactly planning on getting pregnant," she said, "but if it happens—which it won't—I'll handle it."
Shaking his head, he stared at her as though she had just sprouted wings. "I knew this was a mistake."
"Hey, I didn't hold a gun to your head or anything."
"Doesn't matter," he said, picking up his sneakers. "Look. I'm—"
"You said you wouldn't be sorry later," she reminded him, cutting him off quickly. She so didn't want what was left of her good cheer to disappear in a burst of wanting to bash him over the head with something heavy.
He inhaled sharply and let it out on a slide of frustration. "Yeah, I did."
Carol scooted off the edge of the bed and walked to him. She watched him watch her, his gaze drifting over the length of her before lifting again to meet hers.
"Jack," she said softly, lifting both hands to cup his face. "You don't have to be careful of me. I can look out for myself. I've been doing it for a long time."
His jaw twitched and she knew he was gritting his teeth again. The shutters she was so used to seeing in his eyes were back again and she couldn't help wondering what secrets lay behind them. What pain haunted him.
"I don't want to hurt you."
"I know that."
He lifted one hand to her cheek, touched her briefly, then let that hand drop to his side again. "But I probably will."
Then he turned, opened the door, and pushed past the waiting Quinn to leave the room. It wasn't until she'd heard her own apartment door open and close after him that she sat back down on the bed and whispered, "Yeah. You probably will."
so maybe it was just summer and not fiery retribution.
Sean whipped his damp hair back out of his eyes, then wiped his sweaty face with his forearm. "Let's go three out of five."
"Christ," Jack said as he drew a long, deep breath of hot air into his lungs. "Don't you know when to quit?"
Sean grinned. "Name me one Reilly who's a quitter."
Jack stiffened slightly.
"Besides you," Sean added.
"Low blow, Sean." Man, the last thing he needed at the moment was a lecture from his younger brother. Anger chewed at his insides, but to be honest, he wasn't mad at Sean. Just himself. No surprise there.
Striding across the driveway, he snatched his T-shirt off the grass and used it to wipe the streaming sweat from his bare chest. "If you're gonna start talking to me, I'm going home."
"Wait up, wait up," Sean said, as Jack started walking down the driveway. "Sorry. Cheap shot."
Jack stopped. Quitter. It wasn't a name he liked to think fit him. Never in his life had he walked away from a battle. Until two years ago.
But that hadn't been a fight he could win.
He'd gone in losing.
Turning around, he looked at his brother. Sean stood in the middle of the driveway, staring at him hard enough to see into his soul. To see things Jack didn't particularly want looked at.
Reaching up, Sean shoved both hands through his hair, then let them drop to his sides again. "You can't blame me for trying."
"Yeah, I can."
Nodding, Sean tore off his dark green T-shirt and wiped his face before tossing it into a heap at the side of
the driveway. Then he braced his feet, lifted both fists, and threw a couple of short, sharp jabs. "Okay then, come on. Let's go a few rounds. Make you feel better."
Despite himself, Jack smiled briefly. "I think it's a sin to beat the crap out of a priest."
Sean snorted a laugh. "Probably. If you could pull it off. Who says you can?"
"Me." Jack shook his head as he started back up the drive. Sean shifted position, keeping his fists up and ready and a wary eye on Jack.
Jack walked past him, and headed for the old ice chest sitting in the grass beneath an ancient oak tree. The air in the shade was at least ten degrees cooler and he sighed with the relief of it. His head was pounding, his skin still sizzling, and there was an ache around the heart he'd thought had shriveled up and died two years ago.
Sighing, he flipped up the red lid on the cooler, reached inside and pulled two bottles of beer free of the half-melted ice. Frigid water clung to his hand as he scraped it across his face before turning. He held one of the bottles out toward Sean like a peace offering.
Sean kept his fists ready and suspicion in his eyes. "Is that a real offer?" he asked. "Or a trap to get me close enough to pound on?"
"It's a beer, Sean." Jack sighed. Hell, if he tried to take a swing at a family member every time they stuck their noses into his life—he'd be a human windmill. "Just a beer."
"Okay, then." Sean's long legs carried him into the shade in just a few strides. He snatched the bottle from Jack, twisted off the top and took a long, satisfying swig. After a long minute or two, he slanted a look at
Jack again. "Want to tell me what's got that dark cloud you live under even blacker than usual?"
Jack spread his arms wide. "Does this look like a confessional to you?"
"How would you know?" Sean countered. "Been a hell of a long time since you were in a church."
Jack took a long drink himself and let the icy brew spread a chill throughout his body. He welcomed the cold. Hell, he was more used to the cold than warmth anymore anyway. So what if he'd gotten close to real heat the night before? So what if he'd indulge
d himself and pretended, if only for a while, that he was entitled to it? So what if he'd allowed himself to believe for a moment that he'd paid his penance?
"As long as you keep saying masses for me," Jack said, taking another sip, "I'm covered." He dropped to the cool, soft grass and stretched out, the bottle of beer cradled on his abdomen.
Sean sat down close to him and studied the heat shimmering in waves above the driveway. He'd thought to get Jack talking. But he should have known better. His brother was, if nothing else, closemouthed. Always had been. Had to pry his troubles out of him with a crowbar. Or, Sean considered briefly, a two-by-four upside the head.
Of course, that wasn't very priestly, either. So instead, he took another shot at the "confession was good for the soul" thing. "What's going on, Jack? And why won't you talk to me?"
He didn't even open his eyes, but his mouth tightened into a grim slash across his face. "Can't you just be my brother? Do you have to be my priest all the damn time?"
"I am being your brother, idiot." And damn, it hurt
to see his older brother torn up like this. Two years he'd suffered, punishing himself for surviving something he couldn't have changed. "How much longer, do you figure?"
Jack turned his head and opened one eye to stare at him. "How much longer for what?"
"Until your sentence is complete."
His eye closed again, as did the rest of his features.
But Sean wasn't a Reilly for nothing. He'd never give up. Not as long as there was a chance to help Jack find what he'd lost. "You were your own judge and jury, Jack," he said, his voice quiet, but filled with determination. "I figure you know the sentence handed down better than anyone."
"If I promise to go to mass on Sunday, will you let this go?"
"Tempting," Sean admitted. "But no."
Jack sat up, gripping his beer tightly. Sunlight filtered through the oak leaves and laid dappled shadows on his face. Even after all this time, his eyes were still shadowed and he clung to the nightmare like a dying man holding on to his last hope.
"People died that night, Sean."
"Yeah, Jack." Sean reached for him, squeezed his brother's forearm. "Two people. Not three. You didn't die, too."
"Yeah I did," Jack muttered. "I just didn't have the sense to lie down."
Journal entry:
People are still looking for me. It's weird y but every once in a while, I want to just stand out on North Pole Avenue and
shout, "It's me. I'm the one you re looking for. I'm the one who gave away her baby"
But nobody would believe me.
Nobody's even thought for a minute that I might be the one.
But I am.
I'm the one who walked away from the one person who would have loved me.
Christmas Carol's bustled with chattering tourists. Voices rose and fell with a constant roar of sound that successfully drowned out the Christmas music drifting through the stereo speakers. While their wives picked up and put down Carol's entire inventory, bored husbands kept tired eyes on children. Most of them had probably come into the store to escape the outside heat, Carol knew. But a little air-conditioning could convince at least a few of them to open their wallets.
She shifted a look at the teenage goody counter and smiled at the girls clustered there. Even on her day off, Lacey ended up in the store, Carol thought, smiling. Of course, in Christmas, there weren't that many places for teenagers to hang out. Lacey, Peggy, and a few of their friends giggled and gossiped as they examined the new nail polish and lipsticks that had just been stocked. Still smiling, she turned her gaze on the baby, enthroned in her carrier, propped on the counter.
"You're gonna be a giggler, too, aren't you?" Carol asked, stroking the baby's soft cheek with a fingertip. Liz waved her tiny fists, screwed up her delicate little mouth, and gave a mighty ... yawn.
Hers, Carol thought. The baby was hers. This bundle of love was here to stay. Permanently. And in a few months, she'd apply to adopt Liz officially. Then they'd
be a real family. A family that no one and nothing could pull apart. The family she used to dream about.
Of course, in this reality there wouldn't be a handsome daddy coming home from work to kiss his wife and play with his kids. Instantly, an image' of Jack blossomed in her brain and Carol fought back a sigh. The night before, they'd connected, in more ways than just physically—though that part had been awesome.
And then he'd retreated behind the wall he kept built around himself. A wall so high, Carol had no idea how to scale it. Or even if she should.
That was the hardest part to admit. She just didn't know if she should keep trying to reach a man who was so bound and determined to keep her out.
"What do you think, Liz?" she whispered, as the bells over the door clanged to announce yet another visitor to the shop.
Looking up, Carol smiled at her UPS man. "Hi, Tony."
"Hey." He nodded and balanced a large box on his hip as he handed her the electronic pad. "Got a package for somebody named.. ." He checked the label. "Jack Reilly. He your new tenant?"
"Yeah, but he's not here."
"Doesn't matter. I'm way behind today. Hit a traffic pileup on 101. You sign for it and I'm outta here."
"You got it," she said and scribbled her name on the Etch A Sketch-like space provided. He dropped the box on the counter next to the baby.
"See you, Carol," he called out as he headed for the door again.
"Right. See you next trip." But she wasn't watching Tony. Instead, she looked at the box. The return address read, "Detective Hal Jacobson, LAPD." Curious, she tucked the box below the counter, then tried to forget
about it while she faced a customer buying an entire set of hand-carved wooden angel ornaments.
Journal entry:
The baby smiled at me today.
And it felt. . . weird.
Almost like she knows who I am or something. But she can f t. She's just a baby. And besides, nobody knows the truth.
Carol's going to be her foster mother for real, now. That means she gets to keep the baby forever. But that's good. I left the baby in the square so Carol would find her. I wanted Carol to have the baby because I knew she 'd love her.
Tm happy.
Really.
"Somebody got lucky."
Carol's eyebrows lifted. "It showsT
"Only to those who love you," Phoebe assured her as she threw open her front door and stood back so Carol could step inside her house. "So, details."
Carol set the baby carrier down on the coffee table, then reached down and undid the straps holding Liz safely inside. Lifting the tiny girl into her arms, Carol turned to look at her friend, already plopping down on one of the two red floral couches in the big room.
"It was ..." She fished for an appropriate word and just couldn't find one. Nothing was big enough. Complex enough. Great enough. She blew out a breath. "Really good."
"Well, that was nice. And annoyingly vague." Phoebe
brushed her red hair back from her face, propped one elbow on the arm of the couch and studied her. 'This wasn't just sex for you, was it?"
Carol frowned at her friend. For heaven's sake, was she really that transparent? "Are you giving up medicine for fortune-telling or something?"
Phoebe grinned and shook her head. "It doesn't take a gypsy to see what's in your eyes, Carol," she said. "God, you're glowing like a nuclear reactor."
"Swell. Now I'm a nuclear accident."
"Hand over the baby and tell me what's going on."
Carol bent down and slipped Liz into Phoebe's waiting arms. Then she turned and started walking in circles around the living room.
She'd been in Phoebe's house so many times, it was as comfortable as her own place. Her gaze moved idly across the oversized furniture, the Tiffany lamps, and the polished oak floor. There were medical books stacked on the coffee table and thrillers and romances tucked into the bookshelves. An army of pewter and crystal fairies danced along the man
tel over the fireplace and the wooden blinds at the windows were thrown open, allowing sunlight to slant into the prisms hanging there, throwing pale, wavering rainbows around the room.
"I didn't mean to do this, you know," Carol said, not sure if she was speaking to Phoebe or herself.
"Fall in love, you mean?"
Carol whirled around and stared at her friend. "I haven't. Not yet. Not completely. Probably. I'm pretty sure."
Phoebe shook her head and cuddled the baby close, running one unpolished fingernail along her tiny cheek. "Face it, Carol. You're sunk."
She sighed and let herself drop over the back of the sofa onto the cushions. "I am. It's pitiful."
Phoebe laughed gently. "No, not pitiful. Just you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Her friend sighed and lifted her gaze from the baby to Carol. "You're just not the casual-affair kind of woman, Carol. Face it. You're the home and hearth and kids and dogs type."
"And you're not?"
Phoebe winced a little.
Carol saw it and said quickly, "I'm so sorry, Phoebe. I wasn't even thinking."
"It's okay. Long time ago." Not in her heart, of course. There, it was always yesterday. The day she'd gotten a phone call telling her that her husband and son had been killed in a traffic accident. But in reality, it had been five long, lonely years.
"I'm really sorry, Phoeb"
She smiled at her friend and eased old pain into the locked room in the bottom of her heart, where she usually kept it. "Relax, Carol. I'm good." She inhaled sharply and forced a smile she hoped didn't look as brittle as it felt. "My point here was ... I had my white picket fence, the family, and the dog. I'm not looking for that again."
Carol looked at her for a long time and Phoebe hoped dearly that her friend would just let this go, because she really didn't want to stare at her own past anymore. Thankfully, Carol seemed to sense that.
"Just call you Footloose Phoebe?" she asked, smiling.
"That's right." She blew out a breath and nodded to herself. "Love 'em and Leave 'em Phoebe. That's me. But you're different, Carol."
She smirked. "Whether I am or not isn't really
important. The thing is, I'm falling for the wrong guy again. And I can't seem to stop myself."
Some Kind of Wonderful Page 15
