Return to Glory (Hqn)

by Sara Arden

  “No.” He didn’t think it was strange at all, because he didn’t know if he wanted her to need him or not. If she did, he would go. Part of him wanted her to still need him. He wanted to be her knight in shining armor, her hero, her everything. That was the selfish part. But in his heart, he knew that it would be best for her if she didn’t need him and for her to see that. To be confident and strong, to understand how amazing and powerful she really was.

  Then there’d be no stopping her, and Jack McConnell would be a pit stop and a memory on her road to glory.

  Jack had never known something could hurt like this without a physical wound.

  “I’m coming, Bets. I’ll text you with arrival times.”

  “Okay.” She sighed. “Thank you, Jack.”

  “Anytime.” Christ, why had he said that? Anytime? Dumb ass. You’re flying to Paris and she didn’t even ask you to come.

  Anytime.

  Stupid.

  “I’ll see you soon.” He disconnected and dialed Connie.

  “Hey, Connie. You said I could call you if I needed anything and I think I need something.” Shit, I’m as bad as Betsy.

  “What do you need?”

  “Can you watch my house for a few days? Set the faucets to drip if the temperature freezes, that sort of thing?”

  “How long are you going to be in France?” She laughed.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh so it’s that kind of trip. I’ll take care of it, kiddo. I can’t promise no wild parties, though.”

  “Connie, you do whatever you want.”

  She laughed again. “Bring our girl home.”

  That was the last thing he wanted to do. He wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize this for her.

  If she was homesick, he’d bring her a little bit of home. If she was lonely, he’d spend time with her. If she needed someone to tell her it was okay, he’d do that, too. But he would not tell her to come home.

  “I’ll see what I can do. Thanks. I’ll leave the key under the mat.”

  As he was booking his flight, he wondered what it had been like for her to fly to Paris with Marcel. He wondered if she thought about him at all. She was so angry when she left, and rightfully so. He knew what he said hurt her. It hurt him to say it.

  When he started packing, he looked at the two journals on his desk, the ones Andrew had asked him to keep, and he debated whether or not to bring them. In the end, he decided that he should probably take them. Even though they were his words, it was easier to write some things than to speak them.

  He shoved them into his duffel and grabbed his passport.

  He was going to Paris.

  The crowds, the strange sounds—they were all things he would’ve had a problem with not too long ago. But if he stayed focused on what he had to do, he found that, while it was uncomfortable, he could do it. Like retrieving the blanket.

  Like making Betsy go. It was uncomfortable, but he could do it.

  * * *

  JACK HAD NEVER been to France before, but the only sight he was interested in was Betsy. And seeing her again, even stepping off a plane in the airport in Paris, it was like coming home. Glory wasn’t home; Betsy was.

  Her eyes were wide, tremulous. She looked both hopeful and afraid. Seeing her was like aloe on a burn, and he drank her in. She’d changed, yet she was the same. She still had a sweetness about her, but there was a grit, too. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it was simply because they were in Paris and rather than the rockabilly fatale, she’d adopted an Audrey Hepburn kind of understated elegance.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.” She flung herself into his arms and he caught her easily.

  She smelled like vanilla and lavender, no trace of sugar. “You haven’t been baking.”

  “No. Abelard says I love it, so it comes easily to me and I must work on other disciplines.”

  “So obviously, you passed whatever test he had for you.”

  “I did.” She pulled away from him and looked up into his eyes. “The only reason I passed is you.”

  “What did I do? You were the one who was here. You did it.” And he was so proud of her.

  “Only because I asked for help. I didn’t realize how hard it was, or what I put you through.”

  He was suddenly uncomfortable and that feeling of his skin being too tight was back in full force. Was this why she’d brought him here, to tell him this? “Again, that was all you, sweet thing.” The endearment escaped before he could stop it.

  She smiled softly then. “There’s the Jack I know.” Betsy fidgeted with her hands, smoothed invisible wrinkles from her red blouse the way she did when she was nervous.

  “What’s wrong, Bets?”

  She still wouldn’t look at him. “I made you come all this way and now I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  “Damn it.” She sniffed. “Why couldn’t you have been this way before I left?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head and plastered a smile on her face. “I’m just so glad to see you.”

  “You, too, Bets.”

  “You know, and I probably shouldn’t say this, but when I first applied for the internship here, I imagined you’d be here with me. I was such a little girl then.”

  Jack didn’t say anything. He couldn’t, because he was at war with himself. He missed her so much, needed her because she was the sun. But she needed to do this by herself more.

  “I’m scared.” She looked at her hands again.

  This, this he could handle. This he could do. He understood fear and if she needed him to slay dragons, that’s what warriors were for.

  He tilted her chin up gently to force her to look at him. He wanted her to see the sincerity in his eyes and know she was safe. “Whatever you’re afraid of, I’ll take care of it.”

  She laughed, a high-pitched titter. “I didn’t want to tell you here.”

  “Would you rather we find a place where we can look at the clouds and talk about their shapes until you’re ready?” he teased, reminding her of when she’d first told him she loved him. She’d been afraid then, too, but had forged ahead. Jack was trying to remind her that she was fearless.

  But instead she said, “And that turned out so well.”

  “Betsy, you’ve made it all sound so dire. It’s not like you’re the head cheerleader trying to tell the quarterback she’s pregnant.”

  Only she didn’t think it was funny. She paled. “No, I was never the head cheerleader. But you were the quarterback, so yeah, it’s kind of like that.”

  Jack might as well have been hit in the face with a shovel. A starburst started from the bridge of his nose and radiated outward until his fingers and toes were numb. His face was numb, his body was numb—everything was just frozen.

  Pregnant.

  Betsy. Was. Pregnant.

  He’d be a father. He couldn’t be a father. He was too much like his own dad right down to the drinking—only he’d never hidden his bottles in a cuckoo clock. No, no—he’d stopped. He was in control of himself. He’d do whatever Betsy wanted him to do.

  And for a second, he let himself think about what it would be like to have this fairy tale with her. To have a family, a life together. He wanted it so badly he could taste it.

  Unless she was settling.

  “God, Jack. Say something,” she pleaded.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked quietly.

  “I kind of thought you’d have an opinion. You said if it happened, to tell you. So I am. If you want to see the doctor’s confirmation—”

  “You thought I wouldn’t believe you?” How could she think he’d—

  “I didn’t know wh
at to think. Everything has been so screwed up between us that it’s like we’re not even Betsy and Jack anymore.”

  “We’ll always be Betsy and Jack.” He pulled her close again and she came willing, pliant in his arms. “Until the wheels fall off.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “There’s a lot to talk about, but we don’t have to do it at the airport.”

  “Are you hungry? I could cook for you.”

  “You’re already baking a new human. I don’t think you should have to do anything else.” He gave her a small grin.

  “We could go back to my apartment,” she offered. “It’s quiet. I don’t know if you’d rather stay at a hotel.”

  “Do you want me to stay with you?” He didn’t know if he could keep his hands off her. He missed everything about her. The memories of her were already faded from overuse, and just being with her was enough to bring them to vivid life all over again.

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  IT WAS BOTH strange and wonderful having Jack in her apartment.

  But it made Betsy realize that Paris wasn’t what she wanted at all. She’d been torn about wanting to go home, but seeing him and thinking about her future and about the child they’d made together, she’d never been surer.

  Even if he didn’t want to be with her, they couldn’t both be good parents if they were living in different countries.

  She still couldn’t believe he’d come. She called, and he came, no questions asked.

  He dropped his duffel bag by the door and looked around. She gave him the tour as she had done with the place above Sweet Thing. She showed him every lock, every safety precaution and every escape route. He’d taught her to think that way, and she liked that she knew those things. It made her feel just a little bit worldly and wise.

  Jack seemed to approve of most of her safety precautions, except the balcony. It made him frown. The first glimpse of the glass doors and the corners of his mouth drooped until it was full-on disapproval.

  “Are you happy here?” he asked.

  Betsy looked at him in surprise. She’d expected him to berate her about the doors. He seemed so stern standing there, his jaw set and his eyes watching her every movement. She took the time to really think about his question.

  “Happy enough, I suppose. This has been an amazing opportunity. I mean, I’m living in Paris. I’ve learned so much from Chef Abelard, and I’ve confronted my fears. You were right about that, but I can’t help thinking how the decorations are coming for the Winter Ball at the historical society. If they’ve put up those lighted wreaths on all the street lamps downtown. I wonder who is going to stuff India into a dress. I wonder who is going to feed my guys at the V.A. on Christmas Day. And my dad. He’s going to be home for Christmas for the first time in years. Those are all things that appeal to me much more than Paris.”

  “Because they’re safe and what you know?”

  There was no accusation there as there had been when he told her she had to come, she had to do this. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “It would be perfectly normal, you know. Especially considering that you’re pregnant. You’re all alone here.”

  “I’m not alone. I have friends. But it certainly isn’t Glory. All those things that make people ridicule small towns I find charming and homey. I love the city, but I love Glory more.”

  “To finish your internship, you’d have to stay a year. Longer, to take time out for the baby.”

  She couldn’t tell if it was a statement or a question. “Yes.”

  “I could move here to help you.”

  Her heart leaped in her throat. Joy flared, but then the light dimmed. She couldn’t take him away from the support system she’d fought so hard to get him to build and accept. This wasn’t just about her and what she needed.

  “Don’t make that face. I know what you’re thinking.” He flashed her a look and for a second, he was the golden boy again.

  “You keep asking about me, what I want. What I need. What about you? This isn’t just about me.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s about the baby, and what I want is what’s best for her.”

  “What is that?” She cocked her head to the side.

  “For you to marry me.”

  Her throat constricted and she was sure her heart stopped. “Why would you say that?” It was everything she hoped for and everything she feared all at once. She wanted to marry him, but she wanted it to be because he loved her, not because she was pregnant. Betsy realized she should’ve expected something like this. Of course in his mind that would be the answer.

  “Because it’s true, and before you start telling me how draconian it is that I asked you to marry me because you’re pregnant, think about it logically. Ramstein is four hours from here. You can deliver on U.S. soil and still finish your internship. If we’re married and something happens to me, you’ll automatically be entitled to all my benefits so you and the baby will always be taken care of. It just makes sense.”

  “Even if I don’t want to stay here? I don’t need to finish my internship. I’ve learned everything I can from Chef Abelard because I don’t need international acclaim. I don’t want it. I want Sweet Thing.” And all the dreams that were tied up with it.

  “I don’t want you to give this up because you’re afraid I can’t hack it here.”

  “I know you can.”

  “Or did I read you wrong and you don’t want me involved?” He looked out the window as he spoke.

  Her words came back to haunt her, as she knew they would. What she’d said about him not being fit to be a father. “No, Jack.” She put her hand on his arm and he looked at her.

  She wanted this man. She wanted him so badly, she’d take him any way she could get him. He was offering her everything. Home, family and most important, himself.

  But she wanted him to love her.

  No, she wanted him to be in love with her. She wanted to be the first thing he thought about in the morning and the last thing he thought about before bed. She wanted to be his everything.

  She wanted to be to him what he was to her.

  When she imagined him proposing, it had always been something desperately romantic, worthy of novels and bards. But Betsy thought about the first time they’d made love in her old room. It hadn’t been as she’d imagined it, but it was even better because it was real.

  This was real. It wasn’t perfect, but life rarely was. She could say no, waiting for something that would never happen, or she could accept Jack’s proposal—and him—the way they were. Imperfect.

  “Ask me,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

  “Will you marry me, Betsy?”

  She’d said once that they’d drink blackberry cordial at their wedding, and now he’d asked her, but instead of filling her with joy, it made her heart feel cracked and fissured.

  His eyes searched hers as he waited for her answer. As if he didn’t know what it would be, as if he didn’t know that she’d been waiting for this day since she was a little girl and told her mother that she’d decided she was going to marry Jack McConnell.

  “Yes. Of course, yes.”

  He pulled her against him. “I swear, I’ll make you happy, Bets.”

  She inhaled the scent of him and let his warmth wrap around her. He was so strong, so hard everywhere and so familiar.

  And he was hers.

  “Will you take me home? I want to spend Christmas with my family—our family.”

  “Anything you want, little mama.”

  The way he said that caused shivers to dance down her spine and her body to heat and ache everywhere he touched her.

  “Anything at all?” She scored her nails down his back in a light tease. Betsy didn’t mind being the aggressor when it came to their bed sport, because she knew he wanted
her. He couldn’t hide that visceral reaction. Even now his body’s response was immediate.

  “Anything.”

  He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist and she remembered the last time they’d touched like this, remembered how she’d cried out that she loved him, and how he said he didn’t love her.

  She pushed it out of her mind. Betsy refused to think about it. That was then and she wouldn’t let the past define her. He’d committed his life to her; so what if he wasn’t in love with her?

  “Jack.” She said his name as much to ground herself in the moment as she did to plead with him for more. More skin on skin, more friction, more everything.

  “I’ve missed you so damn much.” His hands moved over her body languorously.

  The times before, they’d been so intense, so hurried, as if the moment would be snatched away from them. This was different. He seemed almost reverent and maybe even a little in awe as he touched her.

  Or perhaps that was just her imagination.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she loved him, but he knew. He didn’t need to hear it, especially since he wasn’t going to say it back. Betsy knew she shouldn’t say she loved anyone, not just Jack, with any expectation of reciprocation. She’d read somewhere that, when love speaks, it should be because it can’t remain silent, not because it expects something in return.

  She brushed her lips against his and he quickly took command of the kiss. Again, it was different. Perhaps he was more confident of his own appeal? There was definitely something different about him, and it was utterly delicious. Jack McConnell wore his damage very well, but he wore his power even better.

  Betsy tilted her head to the side to give him more access as he trailed languid kisses down her throat. He lingered at her collarbone, his hot mouth giving way to the light scrape of his teeth against her skin, making her shiver with anticipation.

  “Do you need some heat, sweet thing?”

  No, she was already so hot she was dizzy. Betsy clung to him, her arms tight around his neck and her legs still locked around his waist.

  “I thought about this, about you, the whole flight.”

  “Tell me.”