Your Fierce Love (The Bennett Family)

by Layla Hagen

  And right now, the morning after, she isn’t answering her phone. Yeah, I respected her wish last night about not calling, but after spending most of the night awake, I broke down and called. Zip. Nada. No answer.

  My phone rings, and I desperately hope it’s Clara. It’s not. My baby sister’s name appears on the screen.

  “Hey!” she greets cheerfully. “What are you up to?”

  I debate for a moment telling her what happened, then decide against it. It’ll open a can of worms.

  “Not much.”

  “Do you want to have a late breakfast? Pier 39? I’m in the area.”

  “You got the day off from the gallery?” I ask in confusion.

  “Something like that.”

  “Sure, I can be there in twenty minutes or so.”

  Twenty minutes later, I’m heading toward Pier 39, making my way through streams of tourists who’ve gathered around the docks to see the sea lions roasting in the sun.

  Summer waves at me from one of the tables. I almost do a double take when I see Pippa with her too. Somewhere at the back of my mind, a little voice tells me something’s gone awry. I mean, my family is up for impromptu get-togethers often. But both my sisters just happen to want to have a late breakfast on a workday? Smells like dead fish to me.

  “Hey, baby bro,” Pippa says, as I sit on the third chair around the table.

  “Didn’t know you’d be joining us too.”

  She stretches her arms, closing her eyes. “The morning is too beautiful to spend it inside the office. It’s good to be in the sun.”

  She’s not fooling me one bit, but I go with the charade. “Right. Let’s order.”

  After the waitress writes down our order—I just want coffee, my sisters order half the menu between them—and takes off, both my sisters train their eyes on me.

  “You look a bit tired,” Summer comments. “Slept badly last night?”

  “Nah, everything’s peachy.”

  Summer’s eyelid twitches, and Pippa’s eyebrows climb up to her hairline. The girls definitely know something. I don’t know why this surprises me. I should accept the fact that the women in my family always have the upper hand, an ace up their sleeve. Any day now, I’ll come to terms with it.

  “How’s Clara?” Pippa asks. The waitress arrives with our drinks, and the three of us are silent until she leaves.

  “In Boston.” That much is true.

  The girls fidget more, exchange glances. And even though I could torture them for hours—I’m a pro at this after so many years—I’m impatient today.

  “We can do this all day,” I inform them, pushing my coffee cup away and setting my elbows on the table. “Or we can cut right to the chase. Did you talk to Clara?”

  “Before we choose sides, how about you tell us what’s going on?” Pippa suggests without answering my question.

  The waitress appears again, this time with the food, which she lays out in front of my sisters. They don’t even glance at it. Bad omen. My sisters can’t resist food when it’s in front of their nose, unless it’s for a good cause. Or a lost cause—which I suppose I am.

  What’s a man to do when his sisters shoot daggers at him with their eyes? Confess all of his sins.

  They both listen with rapt attention as I recount everything that happened yesterday. And damn it, saying everything out loud makes it a million times worse.

  “Let me get this straight. A woman tells you she’s pregnant, and the first thing you ask is if she doesn’t want the baby?” Summer looks like she wanted to punch me. Pippa just pinches her nose but remains silent, which is the surest sign I’ve fucked up so badly, she doesn’t even have a comeback.

  “Not my finest moment, okay? She was all jerky and couldn’t look me in the eye, and I couldn’t understand why she’d keep it a secret from me when she had no problem saying it to that woman she’d just met between interviews.”

  I know how much Clara wants a family; she told me the day she visited the apartment. But she also described her ideal partner as someone who’s the polar opposite of me. So, for those decisive moments, I thought maybe she was all jerky and hadn’t told me because she didn’t want a family with me.

  “Here’s a thought—maybe she was nervous about telling you?” Pippa says, opening and closing her hand. I have a hunch she’d like nothing better than to close that hand around my neck, squeeze a bit.

  Summer nods. “You guys aren’t married or engaged. She was in between jobs. And then she found out she was pregnant. It’s no woman’s ideal situation. Maybe she was afraid you’d react badly.”

  I press my palms against the socket of my eyes. I can’t believe myself. She is everything to me. Everything.

  “Jesus, all of you men have the tendency to put your foot in your mouth, but you’re in a league of your own,” Summer exclaims.

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Did she hit you?” she continues.

  “She’s not a violent person.”

  “Neither am I, but my palm’s twitching. I badly need to hit you for her.”

  Words I never thought I’d hear from my baby sister.

  “Let’s concentrate on the issue at hand. I need to talk her.”

  Pippa scoffs. “How about what she needs?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Her message said you’ll talk when she’s back, right?”

  “Yeah,” I say hopefully. Pippa seems to understand far more of the situation than I do.

  “To me this just reads like she needs some distance from your sorry ass.”

  “Distance? How’s that helpful? She’s pregnant, for God’s sake. What she needs is for me to take care of her and pamper her and make sure she’s not overworking herself.”

  Pippa’s mouth twitches. “You’re aware Clara has been living thirty years of her life without you, yes? She’s very self-sufficient.”

  “But she doesn’t have to be, that’s the point. What if she’s sick? The first trimester is the one with morning sickness. I’ve read about it.”

  “Did you now?” Summer asks. For some reason, she seems to be having a field day with this.

  “Yes, I did. I had a long night with no Clara to read just about everything. This isn’t the time for her to be alone. I want to take care of her, and the baby.”

  “So you’re happy about the baby?” Pippa asks.

  “Of course I am. Last night, before everything blew up in my face, I planned to ask her to move in for good, make this official. I love her, and I love that baby too.”

  “Your heart is in the right place,” Pippa concludes. My sisters exchange another glance, and something in their expression sets me on edge.

  “When did you talk to her? What did she say?” I ask them.

  “She didn’t say much,” Summer says quickly.

  “You’re lying.” I’m looking straight at Summer now. Pippa has a good poker face, and she can stick to her guns if needed, but Summer has never been able to resist spilling information to me when she had it. Until now.

  “Not lying. Just withholding information,” Summer says weakly.

  Pippa groans. “She told us that in confidence.”

  “Girls,” I warn. “I need to know what she told you.”

  A moment of silence, and then Pippa shakes her head. “I’m usually not a fan of breaking another woman’s confidence, but I do think you need to know. She called me yesterday, and I was with Summer. It took her a while to get to the point. I think she was trying to test out if we’d be happy about the news or not. She was...well, from experience I can tell you pregnancy hormones aren’t a joke. It’s like PMS on steroids. Once I burst out crying during a commercial for baby cough syrup because I suddenly thought how awful it must be to have your baby die from a fit of coughing.”

  Summer and I stare at her, stricken. Pippa is oblivious to our horror.

  “But back to Clara. When she finally did tell us, she said she hoped we’d love the baby too, accept him o
r her as part of the family, even if Clara wouldn’t belong to it. She told us that she’d manage being a single mother, she’d come through for her baby, and she wasn’t worried about the money, but that she really hoped the child wouldn’t grow up without an extended family, because it would be a lonely childhood. I suspect she was thinking back to her own childhood.”

  Jesus. I lean back in the chair, running my hand through my hair in frustration. Clara is amazing, and I’ve never felt more grateful for something as I am for having her in my life. I have no idea what I’ve done to deserve her, but I’m madly in love with her, and I want to shout it from the rooftops. For now though, I want to tell her. She needs to know.

  “I need to talk to her,” I repeat for maybe the hundredth time today.

  “Wait for her to return, like she asked,” Summer insists. “I think she really wants to focus on the training so she makes the final cut.”

  Tapping my fingers on the table, I start whipping up a plan. I’ll need it to be solid, and it will involve textbook groveling. I will not lose this woman.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Clara

  The training is a ten-hours-a-day deal. They put the six of us together with a dozen candidates for their children’s nonfiction department, since most of the techniques the trainer teaches can be applied no matter the illustration type. We receive a lot of individual feedback. It’s intensive as hell, and even more competitive than I thought. Since everyone knows they’re only going to hire three out of six for the fiction illustrator positions, tensions are high between us. Everyone’s polite, of course, but the negative vibes...yikes.

  “Ms. Abernathy, these lines could be sharper. Focus on them,” the trainer says. He’s a tall man, maybe a few years older than I am. The trainer’s feedback motivates me to do my very best and kick ass. What doesn’t go with ass kicking? Lack of coffee, moderate consumption of sugar, heartbreak, visions of Christmases where I’m the only one putting presents for Beanie under the tree—I’m calling the baby Beanie until I know the sex; it’s sweet, but not emasculating, and it only vaguely sounds like Blakie.

  On the second day, I add morning sickness to the mix. The hotel is just a block away from the headquarters, but if I don’t head out soon, I’m going to have to miss breakfast so I’m not late. Since I had no morning sickness until now, I was hoping to go through the pregnancy unscathed. After spending fifteen minutes with my head in the toilet, all those hopes go to hell in a handbasket.

  After calming down, I wash my face and return to the room with small, tentative steps, sitting on the bed, sniffing myself, because I have a suspicion I still stink of vomit.

  Sniff. Sniff. Blech. Suspicion confirmed.

  I’ll have to hop in the shower. Judging by the nausea at the back of my throat, I’ll have to skip breakfast anyway.

  I’m halfway to the bathroom when there is a knock at my door. Reluctantly, I change direction. One of the receptionists is in front of my door, carrying a huge bouquet of sunflowers.

  “Ms. Abernathy, we had these delivered for you,” she quips, jerking her head back in alarm when I lean in to take the flowers. My fabulous Eau de Vomit must have reached her. Poor woman.

  She scurries away and I shut the door, bringing the flowers to the small desk in a corner. I itch to read the card that came with them. I can see it, wedged between the green stems of the sunflowers. The second I put the flowers on the small table, I snatch the card from them. The writing on the card belongs to Blake.

  I am proud of you. You’ll kick ass and get the job. I know it.

  Blake

  I turn the card. No more words. Was there a second card and it got lost? One that said I’m sorry? And possibly I love you and Beanie, but I’m working on not getting my hopes up too much. Hint: it’s not working.

  I look between the flowers, but...nothing. Right. Grabbing my phone, I call Blake right away. He answers after the first ring.

  “You got the flowers?”

  “And the card. I’m thinking there were two and one got lost.”

  “Nah, it was all a ruse.”

  “What?”

  “I wanted to talk to you, but you asked me not to call you. Knew you’d call me right away if I sent that card.”

  My heart hammers so fast, I need to sit down. “You’re being sneaky again.”

  “Always for a good cause.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “That’s good because I have a lot of talking to do. Just listen. I’m sorry for my knee-jerk reaction. I didn’t mean it. I am thrilled about the baby and I love you and—”

  “Wait.” As much as I want him to love me, I need to get something out of the way. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it. I—we can work everything out with the baby so you’re part of its life. But don’t say you love me just because of the baby. Don’t get my hopes up if you don’t mean it.”

  Well, too late anyway, because I can feel hope swelling in my chest already, desperately wishing he means it.

  “I do mean it, Clara. I love you. That evening I was planning a big dinner, asking you to officially move in, make a love declaration.”

  “You were?” I whisper.

  “Yeah. I was waiting for you to have the interviews behind you, thought it was the right moment. But there is no right moment, just right now. This is our moment. I love you, and the baby.”

  “You love Beanie,” I whisper, my heart all but bursting out of my chest.

  “Huh?”

  “That’s what I’m calling the baby until we know the sex.” I touch my belly in round circles.

  “Terrible, even for a nickname.”

  We both laugh, but then our chuckles fade into a long and heavy silence.

  “Blake, I need time to process this,” I say eventually.

  “I thought as much. Look out for a delivery tomorrow too.”

  “Why?”

  “I can do better than flowers, but thought I’d start small.”

  My smile reappears. “Blake.”

  “I want to see you, Clara. There is nothing I want more. But I won’t come until you ask me to. Now go and kick ass.”

  ***

  I do just that, starting my training day with renewed energy, and my heart significantly less heavy. The next day, Blake sends me a box of crystallized ginger with a note that says Ginger is supposed to help with morning sickness.

  Wow, I’d read about it, but what with the fabulous training taking up every waking hour, I didn’t even have time to run to the pharmacy for any cures. And speaking of time, I’m dangerously close to running late, which is why I head straight out of the hotel, munching on the ginger. Ah, these are going to make my life so much better.

  On my way, I thumb off a message to Blake.

  Clara: How did you know about my morning sickness?

  He answers a few minutes later, just as I enter the building.

  Blake: I have my methods. Any time you want me to fly over there and take care of you, let me know. Any time.

  Grinning, I slip my phone in the front pocket of my jeans, joining my group.

  ***

  “All right, everyone! Let’s order in lunch, and maybe it’s time for a round of introductions, get to know each other better,” the trainer suggests. I think the competitive vibes are becoming unnerving even for him.

  The introductions reveal I’m the only one to have passed the three-zero mark here in the room. Everyone else ranges from college graduates to midtwenties, but I don’t mind. It might have taken me a long while to get here, but I’m not going anywhere except forward. Still, some of the looks the recent graduates gave me when we introduced ourselves this morning were downright comical. I forgot that when you’re twenty-two, thirty seems ancient.

  All this I owe to Blake, for pushing me, for believing in me. If it weren’t for him, I’d still be getting ready. I’d still be waiting for the right moment. Blake put it right. There is no right moment. Just right now.

  The first thin
g I do once training is over for the day is call him.

  “Hey!”

  “Hey back. Wait a second,” he says softly. I recognize the voice of Blue Moon’s location manager in his background. A sound of a door follows and then silence. “I can talk now.”

  “I realized I forgot to say two very important things when we spoke.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Sorry for not telling you about Beanie right after coming home from the doctor.” I only have half a block to walk to the hotel when I stop and head for the small park on the adjacent street instead. I don’t want to go back into the stuffy hotel bedroom just yet. “I got all wound up because I remembered that conversation when I first visited the apartment when you said how you weren’t even thinking about starting your own family, and—”

  “And I wasn’t. I was happy being everyone’s favorite uncle. But falling in love with the right woman changed that.”

  Swoon level dangerously high!

  I sit on a bench in the almost empty park, the wood backrest a little too hard under my skin. It’s a fine end of August evening. Blake continues, as if he didn’t just make my insides melt.

  “But your search for someone ‘safe’ and ‘non-argumentative’ didn’t pan out, huh?”

  I wave my hand dismissively, even though he can’t see me. “Oh, about that. I was dead wrong. Apparently I want a man who doesn’t back down from an argument when he thinks I’m standing in my own way. You make pushy sexy as all get-out. And if it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t be here, so thank you. That was my second point.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. And Blake? You do make me feel safe with your reckless, furniture-breaking-sex style of approaching life.”

  “Is that your long-winded way of asking me to fly out to Boston?”

  I grin. “Nope. Not at all.”

  ***

  When Blake said he could do better than flowers but was starting small, I assumed he was talking about cutesy stuff like more flowers and ginger cures. Boy, was I wrong. He pulls out the big guns the next morning when the receptionist hands me a small rectangular package. Inside, I find a key to his apartment, and no note. But I don’t need more words.