“Okay. I get it.” He picked her up under the arms, holding her carefully away from him.
Her little face crumpled. He wasn’t giving her what she wanted. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to get too close. He didn’t want to hurt her.
“Waaaaah!”
Fuck it. He settled her against his chest the way he’d seen Rafe and Jen do. She curled closer, her wail fading to a whimper.
“That was all you wanted?”
“Ba,” she confirmed. She was drooling on his shoulder, but no way was he gonna move her. Not when she’d finally stopped crying.
His heart thudded fast and hard as he tried to understand what had happened. Becca had been upset. And he had comforted her. The man least equipped to be a father.
She nestled closer, letting him have all of her weight. Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed. She was asleep. She’d fallen asleep in his arms.
His legs went weak, and he sank to the couch. Had he ever fallen asleep in his father or mother’s arms as a baby? He couldn’t imagine it.
Neither of his parents had wanted the responsibility and inconvenience of a child. Their favorite pastime had been yelling at him for anything and everything. Getting the wrong brand of cereal at the store, because the one his mom liked was out of stock. Wearing a hole in the knee of a threadbare pair of hand-me-down jeans.
If he’d kicked them, even as a baby, they’d have lost their shit. But he hadn’t. He’d been frustrated and upset, but he hadn’t been angry with Becca. His anger wasn’t uncontrollable, and it wasn’t random. He only ever felt it when he was around people who reminded him of his parents.
Liv was right. He’d shoved that anger so far down that even now, six years after his parents’ deaths, it was still struggling to get out.
His phone vibrated. Antonio and Francesca must’ve gotten his message.
He dug the cell out of his pocket. It was easier this time, with Becca cuddled close. “Hello?”
“Mr. Ward?” His realtor Holly’s high-pitched voice renewed the throbbing pressure in his head. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I haven’t received the documents yet.”
“Right. I’ll get those to you tomorrow.”
“Of course. But we have a bit of a time crunch. If we don’t respond to the offer within the hour, it will expire.”
Becca shifted, trying to get away from the high-pitched whine, and annoyance spiked through him. “So let it expire.”
Holly laughed nervously. “Normally it wouldn’t be a problem if we were a bit late, but these buyers are quite eager to close a deal. I have it on good authority that if we don’t accept by the stated deadline, they’ll move on.”
“Then we’ll find another buyer.”
“That’s possible, of course. But I wouldn’t recommend it. In this market, the probability of getting another full-priced offer, let alone one that’s all cash, is… Well, I’m afraid it’s simply not realistic.”
Becca shifted slightly. He felt her heart beating, the steady rise and fall of her chest, and the words came out of his mouth without any conscious direction from his brain. “Take it off the market.”
“Excuse me?”
“Take it off the market.”
“Let’s not be hasty,” Holly said, speaking faster with each word. “Think about what you’re giving up. Picture yourself in that condo. A two-minute commute to work. An easy walk to any kind of restaurant you’d like. Beautiful bay views from your living room.”
She was right. He needed to think this through.
He closed his eyes, trying to follow her instructions, but the picture that formed in his head didn’t have the sleek, modern lines of a condo in one of the new, downtown high-rises. He saw a craftsman-style table next to a hand-knitted rug. Liv sitting in the old rocking chair he’d picked up at a garage sale and restored, holding a baby with blue eyes and brown hair.
His baby. His house.
His headache disappeared. He knew exactly what he wanted. Finally.
He opened his eyes. “I’m sorry, Holly, but I’ve changed my mind. I’m taking the house off the market.”
Holly’s voice went up a full octave as she screeched about how he was going to regret this decision for the rest of his life. Becca shifted restlessly.
“Sorry to cut this short, but I don’t want to wake the baby.” He ended the call.
Too late. Becca was already awake. She stared at him, expression serious, before finally announcing, “Ga.”
“I think I messed up, Becca.”
“Gaba,” she said, which was probably baby for I’m not your therapist, but it was such a relief to say the words out loud that he kept going. “I told Liv I didn’t want a baby, and she got pretty mad.”
“Ba?” Becca’s tone was skeptical.
“Okay, she wasn’t just mad. She left me.”
“Gababa!”
“You think it’s that easy?”
She stared at him, drooling expectantly.
“Okay. Fine. I’ll call her.” Easier said than done, because his hands were so sweaty he could barely dial Liv’s number.
He was afraid she wouldn’t answer, but she picked up on the first ring. “Hi.”
Her voice was scratchy and worn, and he wanted to rush over to her house, throw her over his shoulder, and bring her back to his house where she belonged. Where he could take care of her. “I’m not going to sell the house.”
Silence, except for the faint rasp of Liv’s breath. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”
Of course not. He wanted to tell her why he’d changed his mind. He wanted to describe the baby he’d pictured—a composite of the two of them. He wanted to tell her that he’d changed Becca’s diaper. That Becca had been upset and he’d picked her up and she’d snuggled against him. That her warm body and the beat of her heart had shifted something fundamental inside of him. That he understood where his anger was coming from, and he was going to do something about it.
“I…” He swallowed. The words jumped around inside his head, the simple sentences getting impossibly scrambled.
“Caleb? Are you still there?”
Becca grabbed his index finger, stuck it in her mouth, and started gnawing.
“Hey! That hurts.” He pulled free and shoved the giraffe between her jaws.
“Are you talking to me?” Liv asked.
“No. I, uh…I’m babysitting for Becca.” He was seriously messing this up, but the harder he tried to come up with a way to fix it, the thicker the haze of static clouding his brain grew.
“Okay. Well, I’m in the middle of something, so let’s find another time to talk.”
He couldn’t wait for another time. He couldn’t wait one more second. “I love you, Liv. I need you back.”
“No.”
“I took the house off the market. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”
“No, Caleb.” Her voice was sad but steady, and he forgot how to breathe.
“But—”
The line went dead.
Shit.
He called back, but she didn’t answer. Not the first time, or the next seven times he tried.
His chest felt funny. He kept having to remind himself how to breathe.
“Well…” Talking helped—it took his mind off the panic attack he was having—so he went with it. “I really fu—” He caught himself at the last second. “Messed that up.”
Becca abandoned the drooly giraffe. She crawled over to him and hugged his knee. “Ba.”
“Yeah. Ba.”
She held both arms out to him, and it was the most natural thing in the world to pick her up. She curled around him, and his tense muscles relaxed. His lungs finally remembered how to pull in air. He held her small, fragile body close, making a promise to her without words. I will never let anything hurt you.
Had his parents ever felt this? This instant bond, this instinctive need to protect another, smaller person?
He couldn’t imagine it. He’d never looked into their
eyes and seen anything but obligation.
He was different.
He’d convinced himself that the only way he could stop himself from turning into his own parents was to choose a wife who was already a perfect mother—his own hands-on tutor. But he’d already seen what a parent should be in the countless hours he’d spent at the Vorettis’ house. The rest of it, he was going to have to learn by doing. He and Liv would learn together.
“I should’ve told her I want her to have my babies. I should’ve told her I want to make one right now.”
“Babaga?” Becca looked alarmed.
“Relax, kid. I didn’t mean right now. I’d wait for your dad to pick you up first.” The heady adrenaline of his realization began to fade, and he sighed. “Not that it matters, because Liv isn’t going to let me anywhere near her.”
“Badada?” Becca asked. He was probably projecting, but it seemed like she wanted to know what he planned to do about it.
“I’m going to talk to her. As soon as I tell her what I’ve told you, everything is going to be all right.”
He really did believe that—at least, the logical part of his brain did. But he wasn’t feeling logical. He was feeling like a crazed caveman who solved these sorts of problems by throwing his woman over his shoulder and carrying her to the nearest flat surface.
He took deep breaths and reminded himself of the facts. Liv loved him. She wanted to have his children. She wasn’t going to leave him forever because he’d made one mistake. All he had to do was explain things to her.
His brain treated him to an instant replay of their last conversation, and his ribs clamped tight around his lungs. What if his mind went blank again? Liv wasn’t going to wait forever.
By the time Rafe picked up Becca, Caleb was pacing the house like a mental patient. The walls closed in. He couldn’t be here. Not without Liv.
He drove to her parents’ place, but no one was there. He couldn’t go back home, but he had no idea where to find Liv, and none of the Vorettis were answering their cell phones.
Back in his SUV, he shoved down the accelerator, not knowing or caring where he was going until he saw the gothic lettering on the sign. Permanent Ink.
The band around his lungs loosened. He didn’t need pretty words to convince Liv that he was committed to their family. What this problem called for was action.
As he strode down the sidewalk, toward the place where everything had started, he made one last call to Liv’s number.
“I’m heading into Permanent Ink,” he said to her voicemail. “If you want any input on what’s going on my arm, be here in ten minutes.”
CHAPTER 22
WHEN OTHER PEOPLE had their hearts broken, they got to wallow. They spent weeks in bed, their faces puffy with tears, Love Will Tear Us Apart wailing from the stereo, losing ten pounds because they couldn’t stomach anything except the occasional dark-chocolate truffle.
Liv got thirty-six hours. She hadn’t even finished that first box of truffles when her mother swept into the room without knocking and yanked open the blinds.
Liv squinted against the sudden brightness. “Mom!”
“Enough moping. You have a store to open. Surely there’s some work you should be doing.”
That vague sense of dread that had been lurking in the pit of Liv’s stomach ever since she’d ended things with Caleb solidified into a concrete block. She’d been a total hypocrite, telling him to grow up and accept what he really wanted when she hadn’t even womaned up enough to tell her parents the real story about the tattoo.
It was time to come clean. No matter what the consequences.
“Actually, I need to talk to you about the store. I have something to tell you, and after I do, I’m pretty sure you’re not going to want to loan me the money.”
“You’re pregnant!” Mom slapped a hand to her chest, like she was trying to keep her heart from leaping through her ribcage. “Oh, Livvy. Couldn’t you have waited until after the wedding? You’ll have to marry Caleb right away, of course, and—”
“I’m not pregnant.”
“Oh.” Mom sounded almost disappointed. “No, of course not. Caleb would never be so careless.”
“It’s this tattoo.” Liv jerked up the sleeve of the oversized t-shirt she’d stolen from Caleb. “It’s not Caleb’s name.”
Mom squinted at the band of ink, like she was waiting for some secret, hidden image to come into focus.
“I mean, it is his name, but I didn’t get it for him.”
“Of course you did. Why else would you have…” Mom sucked in a breath, finally getting it.
“I lied to you about breaking up with CJ. We were still together when I got the tattoo.” Liv focused on the Clash poster she’d stuck to the wall at age sixteen, so she wouldn’t have to see how disappointed Mom was. “And I was so worried you were going to pull my loan that I roped Caleb into this ridiculous scheme to pretend to be my boyfriend.”
“But it didn’t stay pretend for long,” Mom said, completely missing the point.
“No. But I still lied to you. I don’t deserve that loan.”
“No?”
“I make bad decisions. You put your trust in me, and I let you down.”
“All of that is true. But you’ve also grown immensely. You’re on track to open your own business. You finally found a healthy relationship.”
Liv finally risked a glance at her mom. “In case you haven’t noticed, Caleb and I broke up. Actually, I broke up with Caleb. Another example of my great decision making. You and Rafe and Alex were right. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to make a real relationship work, so the second he gave me an excuse, I ran.”
“Then you’ll have to find a way to fix it.”
Mom said it like it was so simple. And maybe it was. Liv loved Caleb, so she would find a way to work things out.
“And I’ll be honored to loan you the money you need to start your business. I’m expecting great things from you.”
Liv toyed with the hem of her shirt. The offer was everything she’d thought she wanted, but it no longer felt right. She didn’t want anyone to give this to her. She wanted to earn it.
She met Mom’s gaze, managing a smile. “Thank you. Your faith in me means more than you know. But I can’t take it.” She hadn’t thought through the words beforehand, but as she said them, she knew they were true. “I need to be an adult. To prove to myself that I can do this on my own.”
“But I don’t want you to have to wait years and years. This is your dream. It’s what you should be doing with your life.”
“I’m not going to wait. I’ll just start a little smaller than I was planning. I have enough money saved that I can get a website up and sell my designs online. I’ll have to keep working at Hannigan’s for now, but it’ll be worth it.”
“I’m so proud of you, Livvy.”
Liv hadn’t realized how much tension she was carrying until it disappeared. She hurled herself against Mom’s chest, the way she used to as a toddler, when the feel of a parent’s arms closing around her was enough to cure any hurt. And, maybe, Mom’s hug had retained its power, because instead of dread, Liv felt a focused determination. She was going to find Caleb. They both had some growing up to do, but they would do it together.
“Now.” Mom let her go. “What’s that noise I keep hearing?”
Liv had to strain to catch the muted ringing. “It’s my phone.”
It’s Caleb.
She tore through her room, clumsy with urgency, finally finding the phone under a bolt of soy fabric blend she was experimenting with.
The second she made contact with the plastic case, the phone stopped ringing. According to the display, she’d missed nine calls from Caleb.
The voicemail indicator went on. She tried to play the message, but her hand slipped.
Mom had the phone before Liv could try again. “Here.”
Caleb’s low, deep voice filled the room. “I’m heading into Permanent Ink. If you want any input
on what’s going on my arm, be here in ten minutes.”
Liv’s heart thudded dangerously. No! He couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t let him do it.
She shoved her feet into some flip-flops, ran one hand through the tangled mess on top of her head, and pulled on a sweatshirt over her outfit—yoga pants and Caleb’s shirt. This was no time to mess with a bra.
“Go!” Mom threw her purse across the room like it was a football.
Liv grabbed the woven hemp bag and raced out the door. “Don’t worry,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ve got this under control.” And she did. Because she had to. Because that was what adults did.
*
“Caleb Gavin Ward! Where the hell are you?” Liv stormed past the counter.
“Hey! You’re not supposed to go back there!” The pierced guy manning the register tried to cut her off, but terror speeded her steps.
“Caleb!”
“Liv?” called a voice from the far end of the hallway.
She hauled the door open. There was Caleb, in the same chair she’d sat on four and a half months ago. The tattoo machine was sitting on a side counter, already finished with its job, and the artist was applying ointment to Caleb’s bicep.
There were only three letters, but they were so big she had no trouble reading them, even from the doorway. Liv.
“Holy crap! What did you do?”
He regarded her cautiously. “I love you. And I want you to have my baby. Maybe even more than one. We should probably see how the first one goes, but—”
“You stupid moron.” Tears pushed at her eyes, powered by so many different emotions she wasn’t sure if she was more angry or relieved. “You didn’t have to get my name tattooed onto your arm. You could have just told me that.”
“You weren’t answering your phone.” Caleb glanced at the reddish skin where he’d inked her name, and had the gall to smile.
“And you call me immature? What happened to ‘think before you act?’ ”
“Uh…” The tattoo artist backed away from Caleb. “I’m gonna give you two a minute.”
Caleb looked at her, all traces of laughter gone now. “I did think about it. Want to know what I realized?”
Pretty in Ink (Voretti Family Book 3) Page 20
