Lacey laughed at Alex’s rueful grin, laughed for the first time in a long time. She hadn’t laughed since that fateful night as a matter of fact, and if it sounded pained to her ears, Alex didn’t seem to notice. She followed her out onto a nice little deck where a pitcher of iced coffee sat on a redwood table surrounded by matching chairs with striped cushions on each seat. A baby monitor rested beside the tall, ice-choked glasses and a hot tub bubbled in the far corner. A high cedar fence with lattice work and a bench in front of it afforded privacy.
Lacey saw Alex looking at the hot tub with a wistful expression, and the other woman flushed a little before confiding that they never found time to use it anymore. Little Aiden apparently commanded much of everyone’s time, and Lacey marveled at how a mere infant could monopolize his mother and both fathers. She wondered how she was going to manage on her own.
“It’s good news that Greg is back on the street, Lacey,” Alex said. “I’m sure he chafed being behind a desk.”
Lacey didn’t pretend. “I didn’t know he was, Alex. Back on the street that is. In fact, I don’t know much of what Greg is doing, or thinking, for that matter. We live together, but I’d know more about a roommate. I’ve tried everything I know to reach him. I’ve kept to the same routine, I’ve varied it not a bit, and I’ve been patient. Greg just won’t engage with me. It’s like I’m a ghost.”
Lacey couldn’t share that Greg rarely looked her in the eye and flinched a little whenever she touched him or even moved into his space. It felt like a slap in the face every time he did it, but Lacey persevered, albeit to no avail. She was moving past feeling worried and hurt into not being able to push the resentment and not a little bitterness away, and didn’t much like herself because of it.
Alex looked troubled and shook her head slightly but didn’t say anything. Lacey appreciated the younger woman’s sensitivity and the lack of platitudes. She gathered her courage and decided to confide. It was the kind of news that should have been shouted from the rooftops, shared with her parents and family, celebrated with Greg, but instead she had only this shy, intelligent woman who had gone through her own version of hell to tell. Lacey hoped she could borrow some of Alex’s strength, because she wasn’t certain she was strong enough on her own. She was worried how it would impact her job. She doubted Greg would even hear her, have her news register, and he wasn’t in any kind of state to deal with it in any event. Her mom and dad disapproved of her living in sin, dour Presbyterians still living way in the past, who thought she should have stayed at home until she married an appropriate man, a suitable man, not a cop, and certainly not a Catholic. Not that Greg practiced or likely even believed anymore. She would have to tell them, but wasn’t up to the task yet. She might never be, although didn’t know how she would be able to avoid it. Talk about crossing bridges when one came to them.
She opened her mouth to tell Alex, but something else came out, something that she hadn’t been able to share with anyone else either. None of Greg’s friends seemed approachable, being as flummoxed by his behavior as she was, and the only one who had really reached out to her with any authority was Alistair, and he made her nervous. He drew her, much as Greg did, probably by the very nature of his “profession.” He owned and ran the club, and Lacey didn’t dare connect with him. She felt too vulnerable.
“Greg won’t touch me,” she said. “He’s dominant, like Jeff and Devon are, Alex, as you know, so you must see how strange this all is. I mean, you met me at the club with Greg. It’s like he can’t stand for me to be around him, let alone have sex with me, or do a scene with me. Alistair came over and offered to set something up at the club, an intervention probably, and Greg looked at us as if we were aliens. If we had a bed in the office, he’d be sleeping there, and as it is, he’s on the couch more nights than not. I feel like he’s shut me out, cut me off, and is just waiting for me to tumble to it and figure something out. He walks away when I try to talk to him, yet he’s totally civil.”
Alex put her hand over Lacey’s and the dam broke. She wept within the shelter of Alex’s quiet support until the baby monitor squawked, and Alex jumped in a Pavlovian response. Lacey pulled her hand away and accepted the crumpled napkins Alex offered her.
“I’ll go get Aiden and be right back,” Alex advised. “Have some coffee.”
Lacey managed not to run out the door. That wouldn’t be fair to Alex after the other woman had heard her out, and she did want to see the baby. It was just that she felt so humiliated, being so powerless in the situation. It was Alex’s historical response to her own terrible betrayal that gave Lacey the idea to come and talk with her. She had managed somehow. Lacey chose to forget that in the end Alex had not had to do it all on her own. When she returned with a dark-haired cherub who stared at her out of his mother’s eyes, Lacey dissolved into another spate of tears. Alex held Aiden out to her and she took the child to hold him closely, rocking him until he protested loudly and then began to cry.
“He’s hungry, Lacey.” Alex freed one white breast in a totally un-self-conscious move and took Aiden and helped him latch on. He began to feed, and Lacey was moved from tears to laughter at the welcome silence aside from the greedy suckling noises. Alex looked like a Madonna, and her next words were prescient.
“When are you due, Lacey?”
Lacey shrugged. “I’m just over three months along, Alex. I conceived the same night as KarLynn got herself stabbed. Great timing, eh? It was the last time Greg got close enough to actually touch me, and he did me like he was affirming life itself, and created one. And now he’s not even one of the living. It’s freaking ironic.”
“Have you told him?”
“Nope. It wasn’t like we were planning to have a child yet. It was just one of those things that happen when little old me doesn’t like to use certain other kinds of birth control. So I guess I partly own it. Pretty hard to tell the father of your baby that he’s going to be a dad when he won’t look me in the eye or have a frigging conversation with me other than to say thanks for ironing my shirt.” Lacey fought tears again and managed a trembling smile. “No way do I want Greg to add resentment or even the thought of yet another burden to the other crap he’s feeling. I still care enough about him not to do that.”
“Anyhow, Alex, thanks for letting me vent. I’m going to leave Greg and will probably leave the city if I can get a job transfer. If not, I’ll move closer to the office and won’t be able to visit you very often. I’ll have to sell my car seeing as my savings are tied up in the house. Greg will eventually want to straighten that out, but who knows when, so…”
Alex suddenly interjected. “I think you should tell him, Lacey.”
Lacey stared at her friend, noting the perfect picture she made, baby at her breast and compassion and concern lighting her beautiful, oval face. “Why, Alex?”
“It’s hard to raise a child. Expensive, too. And a baby might give Greg a different outlook on life. Maybe it’s too soon to give up.”
Lacey heard an ugly sound emanate from her own mouth, and Alex heard it, too, because she flinched. Lacey gave it words and a voice. “Right. Greg gets the shock treatment, takes a baby to do it, never mind that he’s thrown us away. And what if he’s not stable? I’ve heard that he won’t see a therapist, although he clearly can’t handle things on his own! What if they fire him? What if he fucks up on the job because he’s so messed up and somebody kills him? What would that mean for a child?”
She grabbed a breath after her tirade and managed to calm down because Aiden was stirring, trying to nurse and turn his head to look at her all at the same time. “I’ll manage, Alex. I have a good job, and I’m hoping they’ll give me some time off when the baby comes, and there’re lots of single moms out there. Thanks for the coffee, hun. I’ll see myself out.”
Lacey drifted her fingers across Aiden’s downy head and headed toward the front door, carefully locking up behind her, having acknowledged Alex’s murmured good-bye with only a nod, no longer t
rusting herself not to totally lose it if she said one more word. She felt so alone, but it would be a temporary state of affairs. She knew that Alex would keep her confidence without even asking the other woman and regretted that she might not see her again. She hadn’t really gotten any advice, but she had pretty much made her mind up in any event. The drive home had her thinking through all the arrangements she had made in the last ten days or so, right under Greg’s unobservant nose, making no attempt to hide her intent. She was ready, and it made no sense to continue the charade, even if her heart felt like a lump of charred coal at the thought of never being with Greg again in any shape or form.
She had made the final overture, probably processing what Alex had quietly said, waited until Greg had crawled into bed after apologizing for once again missing dinner. He had been absent the whole evening if the truth were to be told. Lacey had eschewed a nightgown and slid over to him, spooning against his back, his warmth and the long, hard planes of him rubbing her nipples and thighs. She had just reached to caress him when he stiffened and spoke, “I’m tired, Lacey, and I took one of those damn pills, so give it a rest.”
That was the straw. The end of the civility. For a moment she wanted to push him, see if he would ante up, lose his temper, fight with her like they used to over important things, and then she lost the taste for it. He had trained her to be submissive to him, to surrender, and so she did. Lacey rolled over, putting her back to him and looked into the dark, feeling the wetness between her legs that only Greg could elicit literally dry up, and then laid a hand over her belly. She gave it a little pat and decided. Done. She’d make it official in the morning.
Chapter Three
“I’ll grab something on the way to work,” Greg announced as he filled his travel mug from the carafe. “I don’t expect you to make me breakfast every day.”
“The omelet is for me,” Lacey said quietly as she sat at the only place setting and shook out a napkin. She had to eat something in the mornings, according to her doctor. She was losing weight and should be gaining. She didn’t think she would be able to chew the thing, let alone swallow it, for her morning sickness hadn’t yet totally abated, and even the smell of her breakfast made her feel ill, not that Greg had noticed. The man who previously noticed every freaking little thing, right down to a change in the color of her manicure or a minute change in the length of her hair, wasn’t inclined to notice anything and wasn’t home long enough to do so, not even the suitcases standing in the hall.
“Oh. Well, that’s okay then. Don’t worry about dinner either.”
“I won’t, Greg. I was going to leave you a note, but that’s pretty cowardly, so if you can spare a moment, I’ll tell you now.”
Lacey dared to look up from the massacre of her eggs when the silence stretched out for more than a minute. For a moment the old Greg stared back at her, and her heart quickened its pace, and her pussy clutched on itself, and then his eyes shifted. He shrugged and pulled out a chair, sitting to face her. Her soul shriveled at his apparent indifference, but she managed to speak.
“I’m moving out today. You can reach me on my cell if you need my signature on anything.” She reached up and unhooked her heavy chain collar with its little emerald bangle, and let it curl down onto the table like a miniature river of gold. It made a clunking sound, kind of like the one her heart was making, a distant, final sound. Greg leaned back from the table. Lacey waited, hoping against hope that he would suddenly come to his senses and see that their relationship needed retrieving, that he would realize that he needed therapy, and that things would miraculously go back to the way they were before.
“Maybe it’s for the best, Lacey,” he said. “Things haven’t been too good around here.”
Lacey somehow held it together, bottled all the crass and cruel things up that wanted to tumble from her lips. She wouldn’t diminish herself. This had been his plan all along. He wanted her gone, and it had taken just over thirteen weeks, a total of ninety-four days, to push her away. Lucky thirteen. And all she had done was pay mute witness to his anguish that night, tried to take some of his pain onto herself, before he locked her out. He didn’t even have the balls to tell her like the man he used to be would have done. Well, fuck him. All the rebellious, nonsubmissive edges that he had successfully expunged in her, albeit with her pleased consent, seemed to resurrect in that moment, but while she drew strength from the fact, she refused to let it become evident. She just thought it really loudly.
The raised edges on the handle of the fork dug into her middle and index fingers, and she watched the skin fold over and whiten as she tightened her grip even more. But she didn’t let anything show in her face other than a studied calmness, a face she had modeled for her parents for years, and one that came back for her to utilize with surprising ease. When she remained silent, Greg nodded at her and left the kitchen. She heard the front door close quietly and then his vehicle start up, heard the sound of it pulling away, the rumble diminishing into the distance. Only when she was certain that he wouldn’t return did she allow the tears to fall. And the tears were for her baby, not for him, not for her, she assured herself. Greg would have made an amazing dad, at least the Greg of old would have, but there was no use hoping for something that wasn’t meant to be. She cleared the table, scraping her meal into the garbage, blinking against the stinging haze of moisture, and stacked her few dishes in the dishwasher. She added soap and turned it on, then took one last look around before grabbing her keys and going to get her suitcases. Greg either hadn’t seen them or hadn’t deigned to take them out to her car. Well, it probably would have hurt more if he had done so.
She rolled the bags out one by one and humped them into the trunk. The train case that wouldn’t fit, and the box of pictures and mementos went into the back seat. Her next door neighbor came out to pick up the paper and waved a casual hand. Lacey waved back and then looked away, not wanting to initiate a conversation and be forced to explain what the suitcases meant or come up with a lie. Mrs. Hodges went back inside, and Lacey hurried to get into the car and drive away. She didn’t look at the house again, choosing not to prolong what was now feeling like knives in her chest. She wouldn’t get to see the rose bushes bloom this year or see if the Japanese maple had made it through the winter, and there would be no cajoling the twins across the street to quit using their driveway as a skateboard park. There would be no cookouts in the back yard with their mutual friends. She turned left at the corner and drove to her new home, having taken the day off work to move in and begin her new life without rushing. She was so exhausted that she wasn’t certain she could even unpack today.
Chapter Four
Lacey absently rubbed her belly, grimacing at the cramping sensation, and shifted on her desk chair in an effort to ease the discomfort. She hadn’t felt well over the past few days, but put it down to stress. Her feet were swollen, and her legs ached and today her head hurt, too. Following the decision to leave Greg, she had found an apartment on the second floor of an old Victorian home. The landlady lived on the main floor and was quite elderly. It made Lacey feel a bit like having a grandmother close by, and Mrs. Withers indeed was very kind. The top floor was rented to a fellow who looked to be in his thirties, and he was away a lot of the time, something to do with computers.
David Astor had helped her haul her bags into the apartment that day when he’d seen her manhandling them up the stairs of the porch. He was a nice-looking guy, just above average height with a lean build, dark hair, and kind brown eyes. The exact opposite of Greg. Lacey felt his interest the moment he took the largest case from her and was glad that he travelled so much. She certainly wasn’t ready for any kind of involvement. Mrs. Withers knew she was pregnant, having divined it in some mysterious manner, and Lacey thought she’d play that card with David if he ramped up his attentions, although he had been nothing but sweet.
It had been a nice distraction, finding some appropriate furnishings for her new home and seeing them put into
their proper place over the past couple of months. She had taken her time, drawing things out, so as to fill her nonworking hours and not give herself time to brood. The ceilings in the apartment were high and the windows tall. She kept the latter from looking too austere by adding silk drapes that puddled on the floor beneath them, and grouped the furniture into little gathering places for reading or visiting in the event she ever felt like having company again. The antique kitchen appliances took some getting used to, but Lacey was a good cook and managed to make healthy meals and not lose too many things in the depths of the fridge. She had to use a stool to reach the high upper cabinets and cursed her lack of height more than once until she settled on using the bottom units for easy access storage. It wouldn’t do for her to lose her balance as her pregnancy advanced, and fall. She sincerely hoped the items stashed above the counter would rarely be needed.
The dining and living rooms were south facing, and the light buoyed her spirits on the worst of her days, and she still had plenty of those when she forgot to block thoughts and memories of Greg. She would be triggered by the damnedest things, like a whiff of a man’s aftershave in a restaurant or a song on the car radio, and then she would cry and cry. The pregnancy hormones weren’t helping either, although the morning sickness had passed. She hadn’t done very much in the baby’s room, other than to add some colorful curtains and buy a bassinet. She knew just the crib she wanted to purchase, and the changing table and the stroller, too, but had yet to sell her car and wanted to purchase quality items when she did so. There was still a lot of time left in any event, just about four months, although time did seem to be passing quickly, whenever she could avoid thinking of Greg that was. Because when she couldn’t, she would slip back into the past and remember things and the regret would make her heart feel like it was being squeezed by a giant, cold fist. The erotic memories were the hardest to repress, probably because her body was giving her evidence of just how potent that part of her life had been. She had woken up only this morning and gotten caught between a night and a day dream. It had taken a major effort to get out of bed, because it had seemed so real.
Done [Running to Love 4] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 2
