by Maggie Wells
“I decided I didn’t have the right to tear a family apart because I wanted to prove I could seduce any man I wanted.”
His ear ached from having the phone pressed tight, but he couldn’t ease his grip. Not yet. He knew what was coming, and he had to be braced for the next logical question.
“What happened with your baby, Jake?”
He swallowed hard, forcing down the cold lump of bile lodged in his throat. He spoke softly, trying to keep his voice steady. Cool. Detached. Like Darla. “I was engaged. No one knew. Particularly not our parents.”
“Would they have disapproved?”
Her question caught him off guard. He and Courtney had conjured a multitude of reasons for not taking their relationship public, but approval, or disapproval, had never entered into the equation. They were both serious students with lofty ambitions. Both had their grad school admissions in hand. He’d be off to Cambridge to attend MIT, and she’d be staying in Tuscaloosa. They both had their sights set on doctoral programs. A wedding would be a good three to five years off, so there was no reason to get their families all stirred up.
“No, they wouldn’t have disapproved. It wasn’t the best time.” He cleared his throat. “The timing wasn’t good, so we decided not to tell them.”
We decided. The words bounced around in his brain as he searched his memory for any form of mutual agreement. All he came up with was a vague impression of Courtney carrying on about how she didn’t have time to look through bridal magazines and him nodding along in agreement. As usual. “She decided,” he amended.
“And you guys decided the timing wasn’t right for a baby, either?”
He heard the stiffness in Darla’s tone and the unspoken censure jolted him right out of his reflections. “No. No, we didn’t decide. We didn’t decide anything.”
“Then you have a kid?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
He heard the shock and caution in the word. Also, a passel of other questions piling up. And maybe a hint of judgment. All the anger he’d been tamping down for the past thirteen years detonated. Heat consumed him from the inside out. He pressed the tips of his fingers into his eye socket, trying to hold onto the last threads of his self-control.
“Yeah. Courtney said I had a right to know, but she also said it was her body and her decision.”
His throat clogged with emotion. His fingers curled so tight around the phone he wondered if maybe he could crack the case with the strength of his frustration. He forced air into his lungs, let his hand fall to his side, and opened his eyes wide.
The cloud cover was swift-moving and sparse. He thought maybe he caught a glimpse of the stars above. Or maybe only a seven-forty-seven cruising over.
“And now I’ve made my own decision, Darla. I don’t want this half-assed sort of relationship. I want more. A real relationship without limits or boundaries. Marriage. A family.”
He’d spoken his fondest wishes out loud, and they sounded good. Really good. And horrible, all at the same time. Still, he’d hit the ignition switch, and now there was no stopping.
“I want you. And Grace. And maybe a couple more one day.” He rushed on, hurtling into the unknown. “I want to take you to dinner at my parents’ house and listen to you razz Brian until he turns red as a beet. I want everything, Darla, and I want to have it with you.”
His pause stretched into a silence. A silence so drawn out it sliced him to shreds. Unable to take it a moment longer, he pushed on.
“If you decide you want the same thing, well, then we have something to talk about.”
Without waiting for her response, or lack of one, he ended the call. Flat on his back, he stared up at the chalky-white primer he’d rolled over perfectly good paint and wondered what the hell he’d been thinking.
****
Jake stirred late the following day. His skull pulsated like a jacked-up subwoofer and his mouth was so dry he had a hard time prying his lips apart. He had to work to get up enough spit to swallow, and the instant he did, he regretted the decision. His tongue tasted like he’d been sucking the sweat out of used gym socks. He breathed through his nose as he tried to decide which would be worse—opening his eyes or crawling blindly to the bathroom.
Neither seemed like a winner.
Mustering what had to be super-human strength, he managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed. Well, one leg. The other had already been hanging halfway off. His toes curled when he felt the slippery layer of plastic covering the hardwood floor. Groaning, he took a quick inventory in an effort to put all the jagged pieces of the previous night together.
He’d been painting.
Darla.
Married guy.
Baby.
My baby.
My baby would be almost Grace’s age. They could have been friends.
There. That.
He cracked an eyelid and groaned again. This time longer and louder. Slamming his eyes shut, he squeezed them tight, hoping to block out the image of Grace Kennet and the almost-twin he’d conjured for her. The thought of his kid being one-tenth as cool as Darla’s nearly slayed him. And when visions of what might have been didn’t actually slay him, he’d headed into the kitchen to find his old friends, Jim and Jack.
Telling himself the pain was nothing less than he deserved for being such an ass, he opened both eyes wide and held them open as the light streaming through his windows seared his retinas. Empty liquor bottles lay discarded on the floor beside a crusted paint tray and roller. A can of dark blue paint stood open in the center of the jumble. Apparently, his international friend, Stoli, had decided to crash the painting party along with Mr. Daniel and Mr. Beam.
Painting.
That explained the obscene amount of light in the room. He’d taken the blinds down to paint. A bonehead move. Apparently, the first of many.
Gripping the edge of the stripped-bare mattress to steady himself, Jake blinked once. Twice. All of his bedroom furniture stood clustered around him like mourners come to wake the dead. A third, final and very deliberate blink guaranteed he wasn’t seeing things. The wall across from him was, in actuality, painted so badly he cringed.
“Oh, shit.”
Sliding to the floor seemed the better option than testing his legs. Crawling across the floor on his hands and knees, he scanned the vicinity until he spotted what he needed. His phone. The sleek new device was now decorated with smears of midnight blue paint, but he didn’t waste time lamenting its previously pristine condition. He couldn’t spare the worry. Not when he’d laid his heart on the line for the woman he loved only to have her stomp all over it.
Again.
Jake pressed the button to wake the screen, then thumbed his way past the built-in security. No missed calls. For the most part, the nothingness was a relief. He hadn’t been the poor, pathetic loser who drunk-dialed his ex. Or she hadn’t called him. Poking at the screen, he double-checked the call log, then blew out a long, comforted breath. There was only one outgoing call logged from the previous evening. To his brother, Brian.
He tried to recall the conversation with Brian but came up empty. There’d been one. Brian’s laughter still rang in his ears. But he couldn’t quite remember what he’d said. Tossing the phone aside, he worked himself into a crouch, then managed a gingerly walk to the attached bath. He’d positioned himself at the commode when the pounding started.
Groaning with a mixture of pain and relief, Jake pressed the heel of his hand to the center of his forehead. “Just a minute,” he croaked in a voice barely more than a whisper.
The demon at his door only started pounding harder.
“Hang on,” he shouted, then winced at the reverberation of his own voice.
There was a pause went a long way to restoring his faith in a merciful God, but it didn’t last. This time, the thumping sounded like a small army was trying to batter down his door. Muttering under his breath, he zipped, flushed and
flicked on the water in the sink. Heedless of the noise, he took the time to wash his hands and splash water on his face before he emerged.
His bedroom wasn’t the least bit improved on second glance.
The walls were freshly painted—mostly. Deep slashes of dark blue cut across areas that hadn’t garnered quite as much attention from his roller. His steps faltered as he stared at the disastrous result of his painting rampage. Bits of jarring white primer peeked out from behind the dark stripes. Like a tiger in reverse. A tiger clad in Auburn blue.
“Answer the door or I’m calling Mom and telling her you’re brokenhearted,” Brian shouted through the door.
Jake knew Brian was issuing a threat, but in his fractured state, the thought of his mother’s comforting presence wasn’t entirely unappealing. His heart hurt nearly as much as his head. And if there was one thing the mother of two precocious boys excelled at, it was soothing away hurts. Physical and emotional. Even the self-inflicted wounds.
Still, he heard genuine worry in Brian’s voice. As the big brother, he knew he needed to suck it up and play the game. “Shut your mouth before I shut it for you,” he snarled as he flipped the locks.
Brian gave him an appraising once-over, then smirked as he turned to the man standing beside him. “At least he didn’t get any on the walls.” Jake glanced down at his paint-smeared ‘Roll Tide Roll’ T-shirt and jeans and grimaced.
Mat Cabrera laughed and hefted two gallon cans of paint in each hand, his biceps bulging as he performed a textbook curl. “Cool. I can get back to my regularly scheduled programming, then.”
“What are you guys doing here?”
“Friends don’t let friends drink and paint,” Mat said with exaggerated sobriety.
Oh, sobriety. Jake nearly sighed, he missed it so much.
“We might be too late to keep you from doing something stupid,” Brian said as he picked up the box of painting supplies at his feet. “But we can help you fix it.”
Jake stepped back and gestured for the other two men to enter. He let the door swing shut and it closed with a teeth-rattling slam. Running his hand over his hair, he gave his head the slightest shake he could manage. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be at a project house today?”
Mat grinned. “Fraternity day.”
Brian nodded. “We told Christian we had a family emergency and left him in charge of the Iota Eta Pi guys.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Jake forced a reassuring chuckle. “Bet he loved that.”
“Ol’ Christian will whip those boys right into submission.” Mat smirked. Nodding to the back of the condo, he shook the cans of paint and primer. “Got some of the original gray Harley had sitting around. I’ll go eyeball the damage.”
The brothers waited until they heard Mat’s low whistle before turning to face each other. Uncomfortable, Jake shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and rocked onto his heels. “Thanks for coming.”
Brian gave him a wan half-smile. “I figure I owe you some sweat equity.” The smile faded. “Do you want to talk?”
“I’d rather lick the paint off the walls,” Jake responded without hesitation.
Brian acknowledged the sentiment with a single nod. “Then we paint.”
Jake swallowed hard, grateful for the unprecedented mercy his baby brother was showing. “Thank you.”
One corner of Brian’s mouth kicked up. “I figure you’ve had your ass kicked by a girl. I’ll want to wait until you’re feeling fresh.”
Manufacturing a wry smile of his own, Jake inclined his head. “Appreciate the thought.”
Brian shifted the box in his arms and started toward the bedroom. “Speaking of fresh, you might want to consider a shower, man. You reek.”
“This from a guy who spends his time dissecting dead fish.”
“So I should know,” Brian called over his shoulder. He paused in the bedroom doorway. “Chug some coffee and hit the shower. We’ll get things lined out in here.”
“Thanks, Bri.”
His brother nodded. “And I won’t tell Mom. At least, not yet.” Jake raised his eyebrows at the qualifier, but Brian only shrugged. “Hey, a guy never knows when he might need to deflect, right?”
Chuckling, Jake nodded his complete understanding. “Right you are, Squid.”
Chapter 12
Darla barely slept a wink the whole weekend. There was nothing like seeing your guy with another girl to stir a woman to action. But her call to arms hadn’t gone quite as she planned.
“Mom! Crossing guard.” Grace clamped a hand on her arm and gave her a shake.
Darla stomped on the brake in time to avoid rear-ending the car ahead of her in the drop-off line. Mrs. Welchel, the crossing guard, stood in the middle of the road wearing a bright yellow rain slicker with a neon-orange mesh vest. A person would have to be blind to miss her. Or simply blindsided.
“Geez, pay attention,” Grace muttered, falling back in the seat.
“Sorry.”
She seemed to have spent the entire weekend apologizing to her daughter. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t put the phone call out of her mind. She moved through the days on autopilot, all the while retracing the steps in her relationship with Jake and trying to figure out exactly how they went so far off the rails. She’d called him Friday night planning to sweet—or sexy—talk him into putting the last couple of weeks behind them and picking up where they left off. She’d tell him she missed him. She was willing to go that far. And if he responded well, she could suggest he come over to her apartment.
The place where no man had come before. Literally.
Darla turned into the designated drop-off lane. The two remained silent as they crept forward three feet at a time. When they finally inched up to the front door, Grace unclipped her seat belt and turned to look at her.
“You okay, Mama?”
Her daughter’s gentle tone and worried frown tugged a smile Darla didn’t know she had from the depths of her self-indulgence. Breaking the rules established on some arbitrary day in the middle of the fourth grade, she reached over and stroked Gracie’s thick curls.
“I’m fine, baby.”
Her answer was a lie and they both knew it, but their gaze met and held. She may not have known what she was doing when she decided she was going to keep her baby. But from the time she first held Grace to her breast, Darla knew she’d made the right decision. Probably the first and last time she’d ever felt so certain about anything. Until now. Looking into Gracie’s eyes, she felt the same unbreakable connection she’d discovered the first time she held her.
It’ll be okay. We have each other. You’re everything I need. Always. Forever.
But she didn’t have to say the words. Instead, she gave her baby the first genuine smile she’d managed to work up in weeks. “Have a good day.”
“You, too, Mom.” Fumbling with her overstuffed backpack, Grace tumbled from the car. Darla’s heart filled to bursting as she watched the teen untangle her feet, point her chin at the double doors, and take off like a ship heading toward the mouth of the bay.
Shifting gears, Darla made her way out of the drop-off line at a snail’s pace. Her thoughts drifted back to their confusing phone call. She’d dialed in a moment of weakness. She’d been bored and lonely. Alternately feeling sorry for herself and incensed.
Connie and Grace saw no reason to alter what had become their Friday night date night, regardless of Darla’s plans. Or lack of them. To make matters worse, she wasn’t invited to join them. When she’d broached the subject, Connie brushed her off with an airy wave and the suggestion that it was time for her to learn to enjoy her alone time. The implication being that she had plenty coming.
But she didn’t want alone time. Well, not alone-alone time. She liked alone time when she had Jake and their usual Friday night plans. Dinner. Sex. Talking. More sex. And then those sleepy morning snuggles she pretended she didn’t want or need, but s
ecretly wished would never end.
She thought maybe they could get some of it back. Seeing him with another girl made her realize how much she wanted to get him back. Unfortunately, when he answered the phone, her confidence and her carefully rehearsed spiel went flying out the window. Instead she acted like a jealous girlfriend. Then she completely freaked out when he’d asked the big question.
“Who is Grace’s father?”
The answer had been on the tip of her tongue. He’d never know how tempted she’d been. And maybe it was time to strip off the shroud of mystery and conjecture she’d hidden behind for so long. Say the name. But not then. She couldn’t tell Jake before she even told Grace. That wouldn’t be right.
Darla huffed a bitter laugh as she pulled into the parking lot behind The Pit. She hadn’t realized how long it had been since anyone had poked that particular sore spot. At first, everyone asked. After a while, they gave up, preferring to fill in the blanks themselves.
Turning off the ignition, she sat staring at the stream of fragrant smoke billowing from the smokehouse. She sniffed. Chicken. Bubba always made more chicken on Mondays because he thought people wanted to atone for their weekend indulgences. He was right. Chicken on Mondays, ribs to celebrate the end of another work week.
Choices.
Life was all about choices. Big ones, little ones, careful ones designed to make life easier, and the more reckless variety. Some turned the world upside down.
The minute the strip turned pink she knew what a fool she’d been, but she couldn’t get rid of the baby. It wasn’t Gracie’s fault her mother was an idiot. And though Gracie’s father was far from blameless, his wife and daughter had done nothing to deserve the upheaval Darla could bring to their lives. So, she’d made a choice. Then her parents had made theirs.
Poor Harley. He hadn’t had much of a choice, but once he committed, he was in. All in. Smiling, she thought about the day he’d stormed into The Pit, livid over the rumors she hadn’t bothered to squelch. Unlike most other St. Pat’s people, Darla’d always liked Harley. He was funny and sharp and sweet in his own way. At least, she thought he was sweet with his mother.
