by Liz Crowe
Hannah ran out, slamming the door behind her. Nick stalked out of the room, but turned before he went into his office. “Get out of my house. Get out of my life. I’ll be at Alyssa’s tonight, so I don’t want you to be there. I mean it Ian,” he held up a hand as if sensing the steps Ian was taking to him, to hold him, apologize, fix it. “We are done.” Then he shut the office door with a firm, quiet click, which in many ways was even more final than the slamming front door.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The hell was back. The headaches, sensory overload, throat-closing dread and the deep darkness of his reality closed in on him as Nick sat at his computer, ignoring the worried noises from his dog and the pinging of incoming emails. His phone rang—Jake’s ring tone. He ignored it. He had done the dumbest possible thing. Been untrue to his nature, fallen for a woman, while being manipulated by a man to suit his own selfish pleasure. He stood, nervous, needing forward motion. By the time he walked out of the office and into the kitchen, he realized he had not eaten all day and decided to find food to help some of the churning in his gut.
Brutus was excellent at guiding him around to the various areas of the kitchen so he could function on his own. He could even cook some things alone, as the dog would bark when necessary and the stove had a loud timer he’d retrofitted with a Braille control panel. He put a pot of water on for noodles, grabbed two beers from the fridge and downed them while sitting at the table, brooding.
He would not let Hannah do this. While part of him loved the thought of a baby—his baby—the practical part of him knew that was stupid, lame. He had no business being a father, or so he kept telling himself. It was her body. She should and would do whatever she wanted about it. He got another beer, grateful that Brutus would let him know when the water boiled, but a third beer, plus all the emotion of the past hours or two made his eyes droop. The table’s cool surface felt good on his hot face. He drifted off, knowing he’d meet Dan in his dreams. And he did.
The dog’s frantic barking woke him. That and his lungs’ urgent need for air in the smoky kitchen. He fell to the floor, sensing the heat from a fire that must be slowly engulfing the counter nearest the stove. The harsh smell of burning wood and plastic made him gag. He felt mired in lethargy, as if he were drugged but kept coughing, unable to move. The last fire surrounded him again. His eyes burned, pain from his broken leg made him grunt and grab it, only to find it healed. He heard noise, yelling, gunshots. His head pounded as his lungs tried to suck in clean air only to find it full of poisonous smoke.
Something grabbed his hand, something sharp. He fell onto his back, as the world narrowed to a tiny pinprick, and he heard him—Dan—calling for him crying out his name. A baby was shrieking. He tried to roll over and get to his hands and knees but couldn’t. “Hannah!” he yelled, but it came out a weak whisper. “Hannah, don’t…” he wanted to cry but his ruined eyes wouldn’t allow it. His face was wet from something. He touched it, tasted salt on his fingertips and then he couldn’t hear or feel anything else. But the baby…it kept crying.
“Hey, hold this one, will ya?” Alyssa poked his shoulder and Nick held out his hands for a nephew, loving the baby smell that permeated him. “He’s fed, but won’t go to sleep. Work your Uncle magic.”
He coughed, his lungs still recovering from the searing kitchen fire that ruined half his house. The little boy snuffled around, making mewling sounds. Nick kissed him. “Settle down, little man. Give your mom a break.” Tyler had come home finally but was still on a monitor twenty-four hours a day, and Alyssa absolutely refused to leave him on his own. Especially after one scare that sent them back to the hospital for an overnight in a small oxygen tent. So, the household took turns being awake with him. Nick didn’t mind. He loved it. Frankly, the sensation of his nephews in his arms was the single thing that allowed him to feel normal by grounding him in a tiny bit of sanity and keeping him from doing something permanent about his misery.
He had steadfastly refused to let Ian or Hannah near him. Mortified for being so supremely irresponsible as to set the fucking house on fire like some kind of invalid he was grateful all the computers and servers had survived. The fire department had been able to contain the blaze to the back corner of the house. But, of course, he couldn’t live there anymore. He palmed the baby’s back, shifted down on the couch so the boy was nearly horizontal on his chest. He kept patting, soothing, both Tyler and himself. He stayed awake per Alyssa’s orders but let his thoughts drift while the infant rooted around before he fell asleep.
He wondered how Hannah was, if she’d recovered from her procedure, if Ian had made the Honey Red beer, and whether he’d ever retrieve that magical, connected feeling he got when he was with them both. Something was pulling at him, making him want to be up and out of here, on his own again. While that seemed right, healthy, it also terrified him at the same time. Alyssa put a hand on his cheek. “Sleep, Nick. I’ll sit here and feed Lucas. The boys are around so if his alarm goes off somebody will hear it.”
Nick nodded, groggy from lack of sleep. He still didn’t have a handle on Gavin’s other twins but they seemed to be getting used to him now that he lived in their house. One of them, Nathan, had started reading to him the day he showed up from the hospital, burns on his hands, his lungs still weak, and alone once again. He was enjoying the Harry Potter books, but actually liked talking with the kid. He was a quiet, very smart boy, while his brother Alex was loud, showy and best Nick could tell an asshole in training.
He let sleep take him. And entered the dark, quiet place where even Dan had abandoned him.
Hannah sat on the hard plastic chair and filled out the medical forms—she had no allergies, no heart murmur, asthma, religious objections to blood transfusions; all very innocuous, as if she were there for a checkup. Her hands shook. Telling the receptionist she had a friend coming later to pick her up, she mentally concocted an excuse for the phantom friend. How hard could it be? She’d refused to tell her mother, knowing how that conversation would end.
The waiting room was like a cold storage unit. She rubbed her arms and turned in the forms, smiling weakly at the perky girl behind the desk, and ignored the rest of the women sitting around the room. She clutched her hands, pretended she was doing the right thing, making her choice as a strong, independent woman. A woman with no husband or even boyfriend to help her out, a job she wanted to keep, and zero support otherwise.
“Hannah?” A nurse appeared at the door, her smile so wide Hannah winced. Jesus, these people could at least act sad. This was sad. This was bullshit. She was about to…she shook her head and followed the woman down a sterile hall. She sat, got her vitals taken, had to endure a painful, boilerplate counseling session. “No, I don’t feel okay about this. No I don’t really want to be here. No, I don’t want to talk about it. Yes, can we please just get the fuck on with it?” words she didn’t say, but thought, loudly in her head.
“Okay, Hannah,” the perky nurse was back, grinning at her as if they were buddies about to have a girl’s night on the town. “Get changed here, then I’ll be putting the IV in to give you something to help you relax. The whole procedure only takes a few minutes. I don’t see your friend yet though. You should call and check on them before we give you any meds.”
The door shut. Hannah sat. Unshed tears clogged her throat. Of all the tears she’d allowed herself while with her men—tears of joy brought on by tapping deep wells of emotion she’d forgotten she possessed, it seemed they’d dried up since catching Nick and Ian alone, fucking, when she’d come over to tell them the truth. Memories of Nick, his beautiful green eyes, his words, his body and soul overwhelmed her, making her clench her eyes shut.
And Ian, his brutally handsome, but angry face, harsh words about their sex only arrangement, the first time they’d had sex…made love…when he’d been so gentle and loving. The men, at each other’s throats, the poor dog trying to break it up. Hannah Williams, you are a fool. Get this done. Get back to your life, and l
eave all that shit behind. She’d contacted the head hunter again, determined to get the fuck out of Ian’s orbit for good, hoping she could escape by leaving Ypsi Brewing altogether.
She clutched the generic hospital gown, stared at her hands. Then stood, looking out onto the busy parking lot. Nick’s voice that time, on the kitchen table ghosted through her brain. When she knew damn good and well she had no diaphragm in and had taken him. She clenched her jaw, gripped the curtains and let a rogue tear drip down her cheek before brushing it away.
She had not spoken to either man since rushing to the hospital the night of the house fire to make sure Nick was okay. He wouldn’t talk to her anyway. Alyssa claimed he was embarrassed, thinking everyone would assume he’d try to kill himself again. But it had been an accident. She’d kissed his cheek and left the hospital room, unsaid words making her throat ache. Ian snagged her on the way to the elevator, his eyes wild with worry. “He’s fine.” She said, unwilling to engage in conversation beyond the basics.
“I know,” Ian had said, tugging her close. “How are you?”
“I’m …. None of your business anymore.” She’d ripped herself away from him, leaving a piece of her heart in his hands before walking away.
Now, she put a hand on her still flat stomach, and let what was left of her heart lead. She opened the door, handed the gown to the nurse who stood, waiting with her IV needles and drugs. “Thanks, anyway,” she said, squaring her shoulders and walking out the door, already talking to the baby inside her. “It’ll be okay kid. My mom will help, and she’ll only make us a little nuts. But it will be worth it.”
Chapter Thirty
Ian groaned and rolled over, reaching for his man, his woman. Then opened his eyes and picked up the heavy mantle of loneliness he’d put aside when he finally fell asleep the night before. He’d had baby duty the night before, happy to help but had forgotten how much work it was. Willing to go along with Alyssa’s somewhat paranoid insistence that Tyler never be left alone until the doctors let him sleep without full monitoring he’d walked the floor holding the kid as he cried, then slept. His head ached, his heart pounded. He needed Nick. He wanted Hannah so bad he could feel it as a physical spike of pain in his gut. But the man had stayed sequestered in the guest room, and Ian hadn’t the energy to try and lure him out.
But he had finished that, hadn’t he? And he had nearly lost Nick again, despite what the man said, he knew that whole fucking fire thing was his fault. He sat, tried to rally the energy to get on with the day. Hannah had been completely distant, not communicating with him beyond the necessary words of work. He kept wanting to ask about the baby, the abortion, to make sure she was okay with everything. She’d been gone for three days, during which time he assumed she’d taken care of it. And of course, that was his fault, too.
He rose, took a shower, got dressed, drank coffee, played his father role, and went to work on autopilot. Hannah was there already, doing her thing and ignoring the shit out of him. As usual.
Gavin called about halfway through the day. “Nick went home today.”
“Oh?” he tried to remain casual. “The new place?”
They’d decided to buy a new house, a handicapped accessible one for him just a few miles from Alyssa and Gavin’s place, making a fresh start sans memories and bullshit. Ian thought it was a good idea. And only wished he could help. But he’d done enough already hadn’t he?
“Yeah. Alyssa’s not happy about it. She’s having some kind of serious let down moment right now. But on the up side Tyler is off the monitor.”
“Yeah,” he felt lame but had no words as he gazed at Hannah through the maze of stainless steel fermentation vessels. She was leaning back, talking with one of his younger brewers. The guy smiled at her, touched her arm. They both laughed and the look on the guy’s face made the hair on the back of Ian’s neck stand up. He gritted his teeth and looked away. He had slammed that door shut but good with his asshole reaction to her news and his selfish sharing rules. She was not his to possess or be jealous of or even care about anymore. But he did; so much so that it kept him awake every night.
“You okay?” Gavin’s voice sounded a million miles away.
Ian sighed. “I have made my bed, brother, and now I’m wallowing around in it. Nobody’s fault but mine.”
“Well, that is just about the lamest shit I have ever heard out of your mouth. And I’ve heard my fair share of it.”
Ian winced at his brother’s angry tone, mainly because the man was right. He had never shied away from what he wanted. Why he couldn’t manage to reach out to either of the people he loved right now, to at least make some sort of amends was beyond him. He felt encased in cotton, numb, marking time and avoiding what mattered. And he couldn’t seem to change that. “Yeah, well….”
“I hear Hannah is leaving us.”
Ian sat up, his face burning. “What?”
“Yeah, she put in her resignation yesterday. I thought you knew….” Gavin’s voice trailed off. “Well, anyway,”
“Exactly. I gotta go.” He tossed the phone down on the table and waited a half second before bellowing out that asshole kid’s name who was eyeballing his woman.
Hold up, Donovan. Not your woman. Not anymore.
Fuck it.
“Hey, Roberts! Get your ass back here and show me how you jacked up my fermentation log with your bullshit entries.”
The kid jumped and scurried back to him. Hannah met Ian’s gaze for a few seconds, then turned away. The rest of the day was a blur of work, avoidance, checking on the Honey Red, which was in secondary fermentation and smelled heavenly. He suddenly wished Nick were here, sticking his nose in the beaker of rich red, honey infused brew. Fury washed over him. He dropped the whole fucking thing in the sink, watched it shatter into a zillion pieces and stomped out of the brewery, out to his truck and pointed it towards home. He touched the quick dial on his steering wheel and smiled when Jamie’s voice filled the cab. “Hi, Daddy. Can we go swimming? Tracy said we could.”
“How about this buddy—how about I pick you up early, like now and we not only go swimming, we get ice cream for dinner?”
“Yay, Daddy! Ice cream for dinner!” The kid dropped the phone with a clatter that echoed around in Ian’s ears a second until he realized Jamie had forgotten to hang up. He gritted his teeth. Time with his son had been rare lately. He’d been so focused on his own selfish needs. This was good—getting him back on track, thinking about what was really important, like his family or what was left of it. Without fully acknowledging that he considered both Nick and Hannah as family, he cranked the radio and ignored the throbbing empty space in his soul—where he’d had true happiness once and managed to toss it away.
Chapter Thirty-One
Hannah watched Ian stomp out of the brewery after letting a beaker of Honey Red shatter in the large sink. She gulped and had to grip the leg of a tall stainless steel vessel to keep from running after him. She missed him so much. They’d developed such a great working camaraderie both before and after climbing into each other’s pants. She cursed herself for letting it get too personal. And she was on fire with lack of attention, that much was certain. Her hormones were roiling around like a fucking stew, making her hot, cold, ecstatic, and irrationally furious in turns. The doctor said that she should be able to hear a heartbeat at her visit in about two weeks and her nausea had stopped, finally leaving a void of horny energy she had a tough time dispelling alone.
She sighed, and leaned her head against the cool metal. She had to leave, even though she was worried about her new insurance plan covering what would be a fairly obvious pre-existing condition. Now that all the doctor visits, hospitals and shit were mapped out in front of her it made her more than a little breathless. It was an expensive thing, this pregnancy, and at the end of it she’d have a child to support. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and tried not to call him, but she wanted to hear his voice so badly, to relay this mess, get his advice. Anything. But he�
��d made it clear that her getting pregnant was the end of his interest in her, period. And Nick still wouldn’t respond, no matter what she did. She had talked to Alyssa and Gavin but even they had no explanation for the full shut down that Nick had embraced. Maybe, if she told him the truth, that she was still pregnant…she shook her head. No, this was her issue now, not his. A tiny voice of reason reminded her that she could tell him, should probably let him know and that would likely break down his new emotional stronghold, the one that resisted both her and Ian. But her stubborn streak clicked in, prohibiting it.
As she stood pondering her dilemma, her phone buzzed with a call from Alyssa. “Hi, how’s the baby farm?” She asked. Alyssa had been a very good friend through all of it, but even she could not convince her brother to let Hannah back in his life.
“Oh, fine, smells like puke and shit, and I don’t think I’ve had a shower in about a week. But, you know, great. Listen, I just dropped Nick off at his new place. I left him there, because he wanted to be alone, but…,”
“I’m not going to his house Alyssa. He doesn’t want to see me any more than Ian does.”
“Sweetie, you aren’t trying hard enough. Those boys may think they are stubborn alpha males but I think you just gotta take over, show them you know what’s best. I swear you guys could make it work, especially since….”
“No.” Hannah leaned back against the fermenter.
“Have you even told him you didn’t abort?”
“No. It’s no longer any of his business.”
“Well, okay. Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be such a bitch.”
“Oh, please. Just wait a few months. You haven’t even touched the inner bitch yet.”
“What about…you know, the dog thing?”
