Happily Even After

by Lena Matthews

  Creigh rolled her eyes. “Are you as prepared to marry every woman you sleep with on the off chance the condom breaks?”

  “I didn’t say you two should marry.” The very idea turned his stomach. “But yes, I would be prepared to take care of my child if the situation was reversed.”

  “Well that’s what makes you, you.” She smiled faintly.

  His mind was too clouded with the image of her with another man to appreciate the humor in her comment. All Dean could think of was the how. “So is that what happened?”

  Creigh frowned. “Is what, what happened?”

  “Did the condom break?”

  Creigh picked up one of the accent pillows from the couch and buried her face in it. “Ugg…just stop,” she muttered from behind the plush square.

  “Tell me.”

  Annoyed, she slammed the pillow down onto her lap and looked up at him, chin raised defiantly. “You want to know all the details. Fine, here it is. We went to dinner, had drinks, then went back to his place and had sex in the missionary position. Which, including the time it took to undress, took fifteen to twenty minutes, after which he called me a cab, walked me to the door, and waited in the doorway as I did the walk of shame to the waiting car. The end. Happy?”

  Dean’s entire body was tense, his stomach sour. “Not at all.”

  “That makes two of us. Honestly, it would be comical if it wasn’t so sad. Who gets pregnant the first time they have sex besides stupid teenagers and groupies?”

  “You got pregnant on the first time with him?” he asked, testing the truth of her words.

  “Yes. Funny, right? I’m like one of those NBC The More You Know commercials. Apparently when the condom companies say they’re only ninety-seven percent effective, they’re not kidding around.”

  Dean rubbed his hand over his eyes. He was having a hard time processing his emotions and an even harder time keeping his damn mouth shut. He wanted so badly to rage against her, yell at her, and punish her for being with another man, but he knew it would do him no good. Being pissed off and shouting wouldn’t make her any less pregnant, and it wouldn’t make him feel better, especially if he ended up alienating her in the process. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, searching for divine grace.

  “I’m so happy we’re sharing; aren’t you?”

  Dean let out a rough chuckle and looked back at her. “Surprisingly, not so much.”

  “Yeah, imagine that. So is it your turn now?” She clasped her hands together and smiled mockingly at him. “You want to tell me about your latest conquest?”

  “Do you want to hear?” he asked with all seriousness, because he would tell her if she did; then maybe they could start from scratch on equal footing once more.

  She looked away, game forgotten. “No, bragging is so unbecoming.”

  “It’s nothing to brag about it. Regardless of what you might think, I’m not out there sleeping around.” Dean didn’t know why he felt the need to explain, but he did.

  Creigh looked back at him. “Have you slept with more than one person?”

  “Yes.” He hated the shimmer of pain that glimmered in her eyes, but he couldn’t lie.

  “Then you beat me,” she said tersely.

  Dean knew it wasn’t his place to ask, but he found his lips forming the words nevertheless. “He was the only one?”

  “Yes.” She met his gaze head-on, leaving little doubt to the truth of her words. “And despite this conversation starting out as us being on the same page for the sake of the kids, I reserve the right not to tell them any of this.”

  “I can respect that.” Besides, that little piece of information had been for him. “Speaking of the kids, I should probably get going.” Dean stood and glanced down at his watch. “The last time I left them alone with Gino this long, he fleeced them for their allowance.”

  “I told them about playing poker with him. Your brother cheats.”

  “Trust me. I know.” Dean walked over to the small mess he’d made and began to clean up.

  “I can get that,” she protested, rising to her feet. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “For me either.” He shoved his leftovers back in the bag they came in. “Besides, you need to rest. You look tired.”

  “Sweet talker.”

  “I always manage to put my foot in my mouth when I’m around you.” Damn, he just couldn’t win. Jerking his head toward the door, he gave a tired smile. “I’m going to go before I say anything else that might offend.”

  He turned and headed toward the door but stopped when he felt her hand on his arm. He glanced down at her hand before looking up at her in confusion.

  “It’s not always,” she said softly before releasing her hold on him.

  “Well, that’s good to know.” It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  Chapter Three

  The sound of Harlow’s bedroom door slamming rang out like a shot throughout the otherwise silent house. Creigh tried her best not to flinch and to keep her gaze away from Dean, who was leaning against the wall, watching her intently. Right now she needed to focus on Hamilton, whose eyes were as wide as saucers.

  “You okay, Hambone?” She tried to keep her tone light.

  He shrugged and looked down at his pants. He pulled at a loose thread on the olive and gray fatigues, all the while kicking his foot against the base of the couch. Normally Creigh would have chastised him for scuffing the love seat, but because of the situation at hand, she was willing to let it slide.

  “Do you have any questions?” she asked, praying he did. Whys and hows were a lot better than silence in her book.

  She moved from the recliner to his side and put her arm around his tiny little shoulders, worried about the added weight she was adding with her news. Sometimes, with all the pretend battles he fought to defend the world, she forgot how really young he was. Her little man was still just her little boy. “You know you can tell me anything. If you’re upset about the baby, you can tell me. It’s not like you have to be excited—right away,” she added hopefully.

  “I know.” He cut his gaze to Dean for a quick second, then away.

  What is that all about? Creigh looked to Dean for guidance. For someone who said he wanted to be there to show a united front, he’d been surprisingly silent throughout the whole exchange. Not that there was much he could add, but still, something would have been better than nothing.

  Dean caught her gaze and gestured with his head for her to leave the room. Normally his high-handed suggestion would have grated on her nerves, but truthfully Creigh could think of little else to do. If Dean thought a man-to-man conversation could help, who was she to disagree?

  Tired and weary to the bone, Creigh nodded her head, then focused her attention back on Hamilton. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips across his tightly coiled hair and breathed in his childlike scent. “I’m going to go lie down for a little bit before I start dinner. If you want to talk, you know where I am.”

  She left the room but didn’t go far. Moving so she wouldn’t be seen, she stood in the hallway and watched as Dean took her place beside Hamilton on the couch. Dean placed his arm around their son’s shoulder and pulled him close, moving his head down so it was resting on top of Hamilton’s. The stiffness so evident in their son only a few minutes earlier seemed to melt away as the two of them begin to speak in hushed tones.

  Her heart ached at the sight. Even though she and Dean both tried their best to make the divorce as painless as possible for the kids, Creigh couldn’t deny both children missed having Dean around full-time. It was a feeling she knew well.

  Happy that Hamilton was at least talking to Dean, she turned around and left them to it. Before heading to her room, she stopped by Harlow’s room and knocked gently on the door, opened it, and peered inside. As expected Harlow was lying on top of her purple princess duvet, her arms crossed over her chest and a petulant expression on her pretty brown face. Apparently the storming away hadn’t helped her
disposition much at all.

  Even though Creigh knew it was going to take time, the rejection smarted nevertheless.

  “I just wanted to let you know I was going to be in my room lying down if you wanted to talk.” But from the look Harlow shot her, Creigh knew it was highly unlikely, especially when her daughter rolled over to face the wall, leaving Creigh to stare at her back. Ignoring the obvious dismissive gesture, Creigh put as much cheer in her voice and said, “I love you, baby.” She didn’t wait for a reply, closing the door and knowing instinctively there wouldn’t be one.

  Creigh’s eyes burned from unshed tears, but she held it together until she was safely in her room. Once there, though, she gave into her pain and let the tears flow.

  She closed the door firmly behind her, then made her way over to her bed, throwing herself down on the comforter much in the way she imagined her daughter had just minutes ago. Reverting back to her own childhood, she grabbed one edge of the quilt and rolled herself up in it burrito-style, so she was at the center of the warmth and comfort. Creigh was in desperate need of a hug, even if it was a manufactured one given by a comforter.

  Her bedroom door opened some twenty minutes later. The noise of the creaking door alerted her from her cocoon and caused her to lift her head so she could see who it was. To her embarrassment, it was Dean, and he appeared highly amused to find her wrapped up in her comforter. Shutting the door behind him, he made his way over to the bed and bent his head to look into the center of the quilt. “There you are. For a second I thought the bed had swallowed you poltergeist-style.”

  “No, I’m fine.” Mortified but fine. Creigh rolled out so she was lying flat and the covering was back in place on opposite sides of her. Taking a deep breath, she eased up and moved to the middle of the bed, where she crossed her legs. All the while she did this, Dean just stood back and watched with a shit-eating grin on his handsome face.

  Great. Creigh undoubtedly had bed hair. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, her nose stuffed, and what little makeup she had on earlier was either long gone or had seen better days. Either way, she wasn’t about to win any beauty contest. And as usual, Dean was looking good. Tight jeans, clean gray T-shirt underneath an open long-sleeved black one. Basically his signature look that took him less than five minutes to perfect but always made her feel like she had to spend an extra hour dressing to look half as good as he did naturally.

  Life was simply not fair. But that was a lesson everyone was learning today in her house. Irritated with the hand she’d been dealt, she snapped at the one person who could handle it. “Well, come on in. Don’t bother to knock or anything.” Even to her own ears, she sounded bitchy, but at this point it was either be a bitch or cry, and she was done crying in front of Dean.

  Instead of firing back with an equally snappish reply, Dean had the good grace to look sheepish. “Sorry, force of habit.” Dean took a few steps back toward the door. “Want me to go back out, then come back in?”

  “No.” Now she was just being stupid. “Please come in.”

  “Oh okay.” He glanced around the room and frowned. “You redid the room.” He pointed to the comforter. “That’s new.”

  “Yes.” Their old bedding held too many memories.

  “It’s nice,” he said casually before changing the subject. “So, if it will make you feel better, I’d be more than happy to take her door off the hinge for slamming it. I was tempted to do it right then and there for being disrespectful, but figured it was best to let her stew in her own brattiness for a while longer. But enough time has gone by, and it won’t take but a second to remove it. I promise you, if you leave the door off for a month, she won’t ever slam it again. My folks taught Annabelle that lesson early on.”

  “Tempting, but I think I’ll let her slide this time.” Creigh shot him a soft, sad smile. “Harlow is taking a lot in right now. Did you notice when I first said it, she lit up like a Christmas tree, at least until she learned the father was an ex-boyfriend?”

  In that brief second Harlow had been close to her dream, her parents getting back together. The disappointment that had filled Harlow’s face would stay with Creigh forever. The only time she could remember seeing her daughter more upset was when she and Dean told them they were divorcing.

  “I think she thought the baby was yours.”

  “You’re going to have to give her some time. You’ve had four months to adjust to this. She’s had an hour.” Dean walked to her side and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Also you have to keep in mind Hamilton is the only prototype for her to base her younger sibling’s images on. She’s thinking Hamilton 2.0 is a bad thing. When she realizes this baby is no Hamilton, plus really cute and cuddly, she’ll be over it in no time.”

  Creigh smiled faintly. “Can I get that in writing?”

  “Absolutely.” Dean’s voice held conviction that soothed her. If anyone would know about sibling rivalry, it would be him.

  “And Ham?” Was she going to have to wait on him too?

  “We talked.” Dean grinned. “He was a little confused about where babies came from.”

  Creigh frowned. “Then why didn’t he say something to me?”

  “It’s a guy thing. There are some things you just don’t want to talk about in front of your mom. Once I gave him the bare basics, he was all good. In fact, once that was out of the way, he seemed sort of excited about the idea of having a new sister.”

  “He did?” And she’d missed it.

  “Apparently our son is very progressive. He says women are just as good soldiers as men are, and under his command he’ll have her in fighting form in no time.”

  Creigh chuckled. Leave it to Hambone to make lemons into lemonade. “He really said that?”

  “Sure did; then he went in search for one of his old camouflage shirts for the baby.”

  Her heart lightened for the first time since she discovered she was pregnant. It really was going to be all right. Smiling, she unconsciously placed her hand over her womb, giving the baby a bit of the good energy she was feeling. “Well, one out of two ain’t bad for starters.”

  “Exactly.” Dean’s voice was wooden, but his gaze was intensely centered on her hand.

  The brief moment of camaraderie seeped away, leaving Creigh feeling raw and exposed. Clearing her throat to garner his attention, she rose to her feet and offered him a weak smile. “Well, thank you for stopping by. I do appreciate it.”

  “It was nothing, and I’m in no big hurry to rush off. You can lay up here and rest, and I’ll take care of dinner.”

  As ungrateful as it was, Creigh felt angered by his presumption. “Dean—”

  “I’ve gotten real good at those tofu tacos Harlow likes; even Hambone is warming up to them. He calls them rations.” Dean shrugged his shoulders. “But whatever works right.”

  “No, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” And the reason she didn’t was because it sounded too good. No, not just sounded, but felt too good. There was nothing she wanted more than to make today pajama day and climb in a fresh pair, then slip under the covers and not worry about if the kids were going to get dinner and a bath. Dean could do it all for her. He’d been the king of making sure she had plenty of time to rest, both when she was pregnant and when she wasn’t.

  He’d never been good at communicating, but he’d mastered the fine art of pampering to a tee. And as much as her body craved that sort of attention right now, her mind knew it was a bad, bad idea to become accustomed to having him around again just to watch him leave later on when things became too hot for him to handle.

  “You craving something? You want me to run out and get sandwiches for you and the interloper?”

  Interloper had been the same nickname he’d given Harlow and Hamilton when she’d been carrying them. The familiar phrase caused her throat to tighten. What she wouldn’t give to go back in time and sleep with Dean instead. Not only would the sex have been better, it would have meant something, and it would be the two of them e
xpecting this child. Not just her.

  She was in this alone, and she needed to start acting like it. No more leaning on Dean. No more using him for hero support. She was going to have to learn how to lie in the bed she’d made.

  “No,” she said louder this time, with more force in her words. “Not just to the sandwiches but to the tacos and anything else you can magically make in five minutes or less. I’m saying no to you staying. You lent your support. Crisis adverted. You can go home now.”

  “I see,” he said stiffly. “You want me to leave.”

  “I think it’s…best.”

  “Best.” He rose from the bed and stepped back. “For who?”

  “For me,” she said firmly, all the while thinking, for my heart.

  “And it’s always about you, isn’t it, Creigh?” Her answer seemed to have infuriated him more. “Things got too hard in our marriage, and you wanted out, because working to fix it, well that made no damn sense at all.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Everything.” He snorted and shook his head in disgust. “Let me ask you this. Are you sure this mystery father doesn’t really want anything to do with the kid, or is it you who doesn’t want him to? Because here I am, trying to help, and you can’t give me the boot fast enough.”

  Is that what he thought? Is that what he really thought of her? Hurt, she stepped back and tried to distance herself from him emotionally and physically. “What I don’t want is another fight, especially with you. This isn’t your problem, Dean, and I don’t know why you keep inserting yourself in it.”

  “Why are you so damned scared of needing me?” His dark, furious gaze never wavered from hers.

  Creigh opened her mouth to fire off a snappy reply, then promptly shut it. She didn’t have an answer for his question. Not one at all.

  His jaw tightened. “That’s what I thought.” Dean walked to the door and pulled it open before striding through. She waited, expecting him to slam the door behind him, but instead he stood there for a brief moment. “I really wish I could figure out how to cut you out of my life as effectively as you’ve cut me out of yours. It really takes talent to be so cold.”