by J. Kenner
That lasts an hour and isn’t quite as satisfying as I’d hoped. Yes, I now feel completely relaxed, but at the same time, I spent the last hour with my mind running in worried, frustrated circles.
Twice I pick up my phone to call Sylvia—for years she had an incredibly strained relationship with her father, and I harbor the fantasy that she can offer me advice—but it seems horribly unfair to burden her with my problems when I know she must be going crazy with last-minute baby prep now that she’s only about two weeks out from her due date.
I end up pulling on yoga pants and a threadbare University of Texas T-shirt, then head into the kitchen to get some microwave popcorn. As I’m waiting for the kernels to start doing their thing, my phone chimes, signaling a call forwarded from the property gate. I frown—Gregory screens visitors during the day—then remember that today’s his day to run errands and he’s undoubtedly at the market.
I take the call, anticipating FedEx or UPS requesting a signature, and then freeze when I hear Frank’s voice. “Please let me come in. I really think we should talk.”
My instinct is to do just that. But I steel myself against it, because I’m certain that if I let him in my house—if I talk to him and let him get under my skin any more than he already has—then it will be all the more devastating for me if Damien and the guys find out that the worst is true.
“Nikki? Are you still there?”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I can’t. Please, just go.”
I end the call abruptly, grab my popcorn, and hurry back to the bedroom, forgoing the huge screen in the media center for the comfort of watching a movie in bed.
Unfortunately, I’m not able to concentrate on the movie at all. And when the end credits roll ninety minutes later, I’m lucky if I can even remember what flick I just watched.
I don’t know what prompts me to do it, but I grab my phone once more and open the app that ties into our security system. I check the camera that focuses on the gate, and even though I blew him off almost two hours ago, Frank’s car is still parked just off the driveway, close enough for him to hear me over the intercom if I change my mind.
I feel a little twinge in my gut. Would someone who’s guilty try so damn hard to make a case for his innocence?
Or maybe he’s too clever by half and trying to lull me in?
Or maybe I should never have opened the app in the first place, because now I have yet another scenario playing in my head. Well, damn.
I’m actually considering getting on the intercom and begging him to please drive away when my phone rings. This time, it’s not a call forwarded from the gate, but from Jackson.
“Hey,” I say, happy to have someone to talk to in order to drown out my own voice in my head. “What’s up?”
“She went into early labor.” His voice is rushed, hard with an edge of fear, and I immediately tense. “The baby’s cord is around its neck, but she’s too far along for a C-section.”
“Oh, Jackson.” I sit down, cold with fear. “I’ll be right there.”
“I can’t get ahold of Damien.” He sounds lost, and Jackson never sounds lost. Like Damien, he’s a man who is always in control. My fear ratchets up a notch as I realize that he’s afraid of losing the baby. Or, god forbid, of losing Sylvia.
“I’ll tell him. Just go be with her. I’m on my way.”
I hear a nurse approach, letting him know that Sylvia was calling for him, and then the click of the phone as he hangs up, obviously overwhelmed. I get that. I feel overwhelmed, too.
I bend over and take a deep breath to ward off rising fear, then hit the speed-dial for Damien. It rolls to voicemail, which means he must be somewhere without a signal, because I’m damn sure he’d take my calls today, even if he was negotiating a billion dollar contract.
I leave a message, then follow up with a text. I call Rachel, too, but she tells me that she’s already spoken to Jackson and is trying to reach Damien, as well.
Since I can’t do more on that front, I grab my purse and hurry down to the garage. I’d left Coop at Wyatt’s studio and driven home with Damien, and I don’t want to waste time calling Edward. I need to get to the hospital as fast as I can, and since the Bugatti has some serious speed, that’s the car I choose from Damien’s vehicular menagerie.
I’m in it and heading through the exit tunnel in less than three minutes. It opens on the road just past the driveway gate, and soon I’m racing toward the Pacific Coast Highway, a litany of faster, faster running through my head.
When the car suddenly shimmies and bounces and starts pulling to the right, I’m so focused on just getting to the hospital that it takes me a moment to realize that a tire has blown out and that I have no choice but to pull over.
Damn, shit, fuck.
I get out, stare at the tire, and then kick the damn thing out of pique. Theoretically, I know how to change a tire. In practice, though, it would take me the rest of the day.
I open my phone and pull up my Uber app, figuring I’ll get a ride and then text Gregory and ask him to deal with the car, and then I’ll try to get through to Damien again.
But just as I’m about to enter my request, a familiar blue Buick pulls up behind me. Familiar, because I was just looking at it on my security camera. The door opens, and Frank steps out.
“Need help changing the tire?”
I shake my head, then take the plunge. “No,” I say. “But I need a ride to the hospital.”
Frank doesn’t ask questions and he drives fast. As far as I’m concerned, those are more points in his favor.
“My sister-in-law,” I explain once I’m certain that he understands the urgency and is driving accordingly. “And my friend.” I tell him what Jackson told me, and he nods grimly.
“Try not to worry. She’s at a hospital in good hands.” But I see his hands tighten on the steering wheel as he accelerates through traffic.
When we reach a red light, he drums his fingers on the wheel impatiently, and I’m so moved by his effort to get me there as fast as possible that I hear myself apologizing.
“I’m sorry about everything. I know you want to talk—to convince me that you didn’t do anything. But I hope you understand that I need space.”
“I do,” he says as we finally start moving again. “But the truth is I wasn’t going to try to convince you. Damien and Dallas and that other young man are going to do that part for me.” He takes his eye off the road long enough to look at me. “Those photos aren’t mine, which means that if your husband and the people who work for him are as thorough as his reputation suggests, he’ll eventually realize that.”
I bite my lower lip. “Then what did you want to talk about?”
“I wanted you to know I understand. I know you have to be careful. I know you’re in a position now to attract a lot of fortune hunters. And I know that even outside of your life with Damien, you have reason to doubt the sincerity of parental motives. Neither your mother nor I left you in a very good position there, I’m afraid. So I get that. And when you know the truth and want to see me, well, my door will always be open.”
“Oh.” I can’t deny that his words move me. More than that, I can’t deny that I believe him. “Thank you,” I say as he pulls into the hospital parking lot.
He puts the car in park and smiles at me. “You’re welcome,” he says, and I think he understands that I’m not just talking about giving me a lift.
I hesitate as I open the passenger side door, but only for an instant. Then I ask, “Will you come in with me?”
I see the hope flare in his blue eyes so like my own. “Of course I will.”
We go in together, and just entering the hospital makes me a wreck all over again. Thankfully, Frank takes over, leading us to the maternity ward and then finding a nurse who can get us a status update.
Before she can pull up Syl’s chart, however, I see Jackson bounding down the hallway, his face alight with relief and pleasure. I race toward him and he pulls me into a tight hug
. “She’s fine,” he says. “It was close there for a bit, but they’re both fine. Sylvia, and our son,” he adds with an extra note of pride.
A laugh bubbles out of me and I reach out, automatically squeezing Frank’s hand.
“Where’s Ronnie?” I ask, thinking that she must be thrilled. Syl and Jackson had decided to wait to learn the baby’s sex, but I know that Ronnie was hoping for a baby brother.
“Cass and Siobhan took her to the cafeteria. Sylvia’s probably going to be out for a few hours—they gave her some sedatives. And they took the baby to be checked out and then to the nursery. He’s doing great. Had a scary couple of minutes, but everything is fine now.”
“I’m so glad,” I say, as I see Damien hurrying up the corridor. I drop Frank’s hand and race to him. “She’s okay,” I say. “And your nephew is doing just fine, too.”
He swings me around, then kisses me, and then captures Jackson in a bear hug. “Congratulations. I got all those messages and was fearing the worst. Sorry I couldn’t get here in time.”
“You’re in plenty of time,” Jackson says. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to my son.”
Frank pats my shoulder. “I’m going to go on now. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Can you wait? Not long, I promise. But I’d like to see the baby and talk to Damien, and then maybe we could chat some more?”
I can feel Damien’s eyes on me, and I wish I knew what he was thinking. But I want this—I want the chance to talk more with my father.
He hesitates, then nods. “I’ll wait.”
I halfway expect Frank to offer to walk with us to the nursery, and when he doesn’t, I’m relieved that he understands that I need to see Damien by myself.
We go with Jackson, who beams as he points out the six-pound, nine-ounce boy sleeping peacefully in a bassinet. “He’s had a busy day,” I say.
“And he’s absolutely gorgeous,” Damien adds.
“He really is,” Jackson agrees. “He takes after his mother.”
He moves between me and Damien so that he can put an arm around us both. “I love you two,” he says. “Stay. Bask in the miracle that is my kid. I’m going to go sit with Syl. I don’t want her to wake up without me there.”
“We’ll be here when she does,” Damien promises, and as Jackson walks off, Damien turns to me, but says nothing.
I know what he’s thinking.
“I have to believe him, Damien,” I say. “I have to believe that he didn’t come here to hurt me, but to get to know me. I have to because one day—not now, but someday—I want this.” I nod to the tiny sleeping boy in the bassinet. “And I don’t think I can do that unless I know—really know—that parents can fix their mistakes. That not every mom and dad will sacrifice their child on the altar of their own self-interest.”
“He left you,” Damien reminds me. “He just up and walked away.”
“I know. And I’ll have to deal with that. But he came back—and, Damien, I don’t think he came back with an ulterior motive.”
I expect him to argue. Or to at least remind me not to get my hopes up. So I’m surprised when he nods. “You may be right.”
“Really?”
“Ryan reviewed the hotel’s security footage. Someone entered Frank’s room. Stayed about three minutes, and left.”
“Who?”
“That’s what we want to find out. But it’s likely that they planted the pictures. Probably someone hired to do it. The real question is who’s behind it.”
“Ideas?”
“Several,” he says, and I nod, thinking of my mother, for one. Was she simply trying to make me think ill of Frank when she told me he’d asked about Damien’s fortune? Or was she deliberately planting seeds of doubt that would culminate with the discovery of the photos?
I shake my head, not willing to worry about it right now. I know Ryan and Damien are on it, and that’s sufficient for the moment. Instead, I focus on the good news. “This proves Frank’s telling the truth.”
“It suggests that he probably is,” Damien concedes. “But he may be smart. Or working with someone who’s smart.”
I know what he’s thinking. Sofia would have been sneaky enough to have someone plant the evidence on her rather than just bringing it. Like a double-blind, she’d have an out.
I don’t think Frank is working with Sofia, and I don’t believe Damien does, either. But the point is valid. Con men are clever. They’re smart. And they hide in plain sight with the mark of innocence all over them.
But I can’t think like that. Not anymore.
“Maybe I’m naive—maybe I’m going to get burned—but I believe he’s telling the truth. More than that, I have to believe him. Do you understand?”
Slowly, Damien nods. “I do.”
It’s all he says, but it doesn’t matter; I hear the rest of it. He’s still uncertain, but that’s okay. He won’t let his doubt interfere with me getting to know my father. And eventually, he’ll come around to Frank’s side.
Or if it turns out that I’m wrong…well, if that’s the case then Damien will catch me when I fall. But until then, he’s holding the net while I make a huge leap of faith.
I love him for that. And for so very much more.
Chapter 11
Dinner in the hospital cafeteria was a celebratory affair, with me and Damien, Cass and Siobhan, Ryan and Jamie, and Frank all lifting our iced tea and soda glasses and making toast after toast.
Afterward, Damien and I said our goodbyes and promised to get together with Frank in the morning. Right now, it’s sufficient that he knows that we believe him. Both me and Damien.
And, as Frank pointed out as we walked him to his car, there’s no rush. “I’m in LA for good. This time, I promise I’m not going away.”
Now, I’m curled up next to Damien in our bed. It’s only eight, but I’m exhausted, and I sigh contentedly as I run my fingers through his chest hair.
“Good day?”
“Exhausting day, but one of the best.” I prop myself up on my elbow. “Two new family members. I think that’s a record.”
I realize as I speak, that I’m already starting to think of Frank as more than blood—as family. A quick stab of fear cuts through me, because there is always the possibility that he’s as deceptive a snake as Damien’s father.
Right now, though, I have to believe that’s not true.
Beside me, Damien’s expression darkens. “Damien? What is it?”
“I was thinking of Jackson. What he went through today.” He pulls me closer, crushing me against his body so that the vibration of each word rumbles through me. “I couldn’t lose you, Nikki,” he says with a tight ferocity.
“You won’t,” I say. “And Sylvia’s fine. The baby’s fine.” I push myself up a bit so that I can see his face. The fear fading to warmth and then to the tiniest of smiles.
“Your face,” he says. “The look on your face as you watched that tiny little person.”
I say nothing; I can hardly deny having been mesmerized by the little guy.
“Someday you want one.” It’s not a question, merely a statement of fact.
I prop myself on my elbow. “We’ve talked about this. I’ve always wanted one. But our past. Our families. Our issues. My issues.” I shake my head, the motion almost like a shudder, and I think of how much I wanted to cut just this morning. “It’s always going to be inside me. That urge. Even with you here to help me fight it.”
“You think that means you’d be a bad mom?”
I consider the question, because it deserves an honest answer. “No—no, I don’t. I guess…” I trail off with a shake of my head.
“What?”
I draw in a breath as I try to put words to my jumbled thoughts. “It’s just that I never thought I’d be ready. I mean, I wanted kids, but in the abstract. In some amorphous future that I couldn’t pinpoint. But now—I don’t know. It’s different because I have a family now.”
“And you didn’t before,�
�� he says, and it’s another statement, not a question.
“I didn’t,” I agree. “I had a mother, but not a family. Now I have you. I have Syl and Jackson and Ronnie and the baby. I have Jamie and Ollie and Evelyn and Blaine and Cass and Siobhan and Lisa and Preston. And now Frank.” I meet Damien’s eyes. “I really think I have Frank, too.”
He smiles, just a little, but enough that I can see the hope in his eyes. And a hint of fear that I’m going to get burned.
Right now, though, I’m not going to worry about that. Because no matter what, the truth is that our family is small, but it’s growing. And maybe, I think, as Damien holds me close, his heart beating in time with my own, maybe one day it will grow a little bit more when Damien and I take the leap to that next great adventure.
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed this latest Stark Ever After novella! I absolutely love writing about Nikki and Damien, but as you know, the world of Stark International is growing (have you heard that Dallas Sykes is getting his own trilogy starting in April 2016 with Dirtiest Secret?), and there are only so many hours in the day to put the stories of all the characters I love onto paper.
But the birth of a child is always special, and as a thank-you treat, Deepest Kiss readers can download a free short story centering on Jackson and Sylvia and leading up to the birth of their son (and be one of the first to learn what they named the little guy!).
All you have to do is follow this link to subscribe to my newsletter (I promise not to flood your inbox) and you’ll be taken to a special page on my website where you can download the story in the format of your choice. And if you’re already a subscriber, never fear! You can follow the link as well to get your copy—and don’t worry; you won’t end up with duplicate newsletters!
And be sure to check out my website at jkenner.com to make sure you haven’t missed any J. Kenner novels or novellas!
Happy reading!
XXOO
JK
It was wrong for us to be together, but it was even harder to be apart . . .
