When the lawyer said they’d been classmates years ago, he hadn’t even considered that far back.
“So, who the hell is she?” his lawyer had asked as they’d left the law office.
“Some girl I went to elementary school with. She was quiet and shy and everyone teased her…”
“Let me guess—she struggled in class and was a little chubby?” Even his lawyer looked annoyed by the meanness of kids.
He’d nodded.
“So, what? It’s a revenge thing?” Kevin had asked, coming to the same conclusion Ben had.
“I guess so.”
And unfortunately, he wasn’t sure he didn’t deserve it.
Which was why he needed to find the boxes containing his old school memories to try to figure out just how much trouble he was actually in.
“The old boxes?” his mother asked now, raising an eyebrow. “Since when are you sentimental?”
Since never. This trip down memory lane was simply to save his ass. He was going to have to be straight with his mother. “Do you remember a girl I went to school with in Denver—Kristina Sullivan?”
The old-fashioned kettle whistled on the stove, and she waved a hand for him to follow her down the hall. “Kristina Sullivan from Denver,” she repeated. “It doesn’t sound familiar.”
It hadn’t to him at first, either, but as Kristina had recounted stories of their past in the conference room, old images of schoolyard bullying had his stomach in knots. Kids hadn’t been kind to Kristina. But he took comfort in the fact that he didn’t recall participating in the teasing and taunting. Did she remember things differently?
She hadn’t seemed angry or vengeful in the boardroom that morning, but that might be because she knew her lawyer would make sure he paid for any forgotten past mistakes—financially and with his reputation.
An image of Olivia Davis’s piercing dark eyes flashed in his mind, followed by the same gut-twisting sensation he’d felt untangling her hair from the tree.
His mother snapped her fingers. “Was she the little girl who lived in the trailer park just outside of town?”
He nodded, a memory of her rundown home appearing in his mind. Every Christmas, their local church sponsored less fortunate families in the neighborhood, and most lived in Pine Oaks Trailer Park. Kristina’s family always refused to accept the donated hampers of food and toys, so the family would leave them on the broken front step. He remembered looking in the side mirror as they drove away and seeing Kristina and her brother bringing the box inside once they left.
The lesson on kindness and giving back to the community hadn’t been lost on him. The three children’s charities he supported now were a testament to that.
“Why the sudden interest? Did you see her recently?” his mother asked, pouring a cup of chamomile tea. The soothing scent filling the kitchen did nothing to soothe his frazzled nerves.
“You could say that,” he mumbled, lowering his gaze to the floor when she swung around to face him.
“Oh, Ben—what did you do?” she asked, shooting him her best I’m-your-mother-and-I-can-still-ground-you look.
“I might have married her.”
Luckily his instincts were as sharp as his reflexes, otherwise he’d never have caught his fainting mother right before she hit the floor.
* * *
“Damn,” Olivia muttered as the stack of folders the medical clinic had couriered over fell across the tiled office floor. She hoped nothing in them was loose. Mixing up the contents of these files could make the selection of a sperm donor a little trickier.
Setting her coffee on the reception desk, she readjusted her purse and bent to pick up the files.
Madison came to her aid.
“It’s okay, I got this,” Olivia said, quickly, gathering them. She’d only been working for the firm for ten months; she had no intentions of telling anyone about her plans until she could no longer hide a pregnant belly behind a banker’s box.
Unfortunately, despite her scramble to reach the files farthest away, she wasn’t fast enough.
She should have requested the files be sent to her home, but she had a two-hour gap between appointments that afternoon, and she was eager to start the selection process.
Madison studied the files in her hands and shot Olivia a wide-eyed look.
Deep breath. There’s no way the young, twentysomething paralegal would recognize the fertility clinic logo on the corner…
“You’re planning to have a baby?”
Oh my God. “Shhhh…” She sighed, taking the folders from her and standing. “Please grab my coffee and follow me.”
Inside her office, she set them near her purse on the floor and took her coffee from her. “Thank you. Um…when you were hired you signed a confidentiality agreement, right?”
Madison nodded, her asymmetrical pixie cut hair falling in front of her eyes. “Yes. And believe me, it’s so hard to keep quiet about some of the…”
Olivia held up a hand. “Don’t admit that to anyone.” Though she got it. The high-profile clients and their often sensitive situations made for some pretty juicy gossip…not that she had many girlfriends to spill to anyway. Moving around a lot with her aunt as a child, after her parents died, Olivia had never bothered to make lasting friendships—a trait she’d carried into adulthood. And was starting to regret. With her aunt gone now, she was feeling the loneliness even more.
Was she hoping a baby would fill that gap?
Across from her, Madison’s perfectly applied fake lashes met her thin penciled-in eyebrows. “Oh, I swear, I’d never say anything.”
“Good. Well, this information needs to be kept to yourself as well, okay?”
She nodded again. “No one knows?”
“Not yet.” And hopefully not for a while. She wanted to prove herself with a few more cases before requesting a maternity leave from the company. She wasn’t even sure what she would do after the baby was born—the temptation to return to L.A. was strong now that her aunt was gone. In fact, she might have already, had she not discovered the fertility clinic in Glenwood Falls.
She sat and wiggled her computer mouse until the Hawaiian sunset screensaver disappeared. It was the default on the computer, and she’d never changed it to a personal picture, like most of her colleagues. No selfie shot with a significant other or recent vacation picture. Her dating history was laughable, her career demanded all of her time, and she couldn’t remember the last vacation she’d taken. And even if she had a pet, she’d refuse to post pictures of it everywhere. She kept her professional life professional and her private life private, though lately she’d been wondering where that left her.
Instead of leaving, Madison sat. “Those were sperm donor files, right?”
How did she know so much? She simply nodded, opening her email.
“Have you chosen one yet?”
“Not yet,” she said, scanning the 164 emails appearing in her inbox. By the look of all of the urgent flagged ones, she probably wouldn’t get to the files itching to be read until midnight.
“Have they harvested the eggs?” Excitement was evident in Madison’s voice. “When is the implantation?”
Wow. Did the girl specialize in this field? “I really need to get to these emails.”
Madison looked disappointed as she nodded. “You’re right, you’re busy. Sorry. I just find it fascinating.”
What was fascinating? That she’d let her window to conceive naturally slip by and was now feeling the desperation of a ticking biological clock? “It’s okay,” she said simply, then quickly added, “but this stays between us.” Though it did feel oddly comforting to not be keeping the secret exclusively anymore.
Madison stood to leave. “I was conceived through in vitro.”
Olivia’s head snapped up. “You were?”
She nodded. “My parents were older when they decided to have a family.”
Older. Right. At thirty-six, she wasn’t exactly considered a geriatric mother, but she wa
sn’t far off.
“I think it’s really awesome. If you want to talk to someone about it.”
She didn’t. “I’m good. Thanks. Just remember not to say anything.”
Madison made a zipping motion with her lips as she left the office and closed the door behind her.
Slumping back in her chair, Olivia sighed. Seeing the Sullivan v. Westmore file on her desk, an image of Ben appeared in her mind. That man would make gorgeous babies. If he’d marry a woman he barely knew, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d donate sperm to one.
* * *
The asthma-inducing layer of dust on the boxes in the attic made Ben hesitate. Did he really want to send all of that settled, heavy protective coating spiraling into the air around him? He was currently being haunted by one ghost from his past; he wasn’t sure he could handle any more.
He scanned the small space above the garage. Christmas decorations, old quilts from their childhood, boxes of family photos up to three generations back, some of his father’s old tools. He moved along the beams, and insulation immediately clung to his pants and shirt. He wasn’t dressed for this.
He rolled the sleeves of his shirt. When he spotted boxes labeled with his name in the corner, his stomach tightened. The memories of his elementary school days were coming back slowly; though they were faded, they offered him no sense of peace.
Neither had his mother’s words when she’d regained consciousness only to slap him on the side of the head. “What the hell were you thinking?” she asked now, joining him in the attic.
He hadn’t been thinking. He’d been piss-ass drunk. Unfortunately, that didn’t take much as he wasn’t a heavy drinker. He treated his body with respect, knowing it was his greatest ally in prolonging his time on the ice. “I told you, I don’t remember that night.”
She eyed him. “Vegas…New Year’s Eve?” Realization dawned on her still pale face. “Tell me this isn’t about Janelle’s engagement.”
He should have known his mother would have heard. One of his brothers had probably mentioned it. More than likely Asher—the guy was glued to every sports news station app possible. And Ben’s ex-girlfriend’s public engagement had been splattered all over Sports News Vegas.
He glanced around. “Are those my only boxes?”
“Ben, honey, it’s been years. It’s time to move on.”
He nodded. The thing was, he thought he had moved on, but seeing Janelle’s surprised, glowing expression as her co-anchor had dropped to one knee on set had been like a bullet to his chest.
It had reminded him of another New Year’s Eve, when their own three-year relationship had ended just before the countdown. Only shot after shot of Jose Cuervo had been enough to dull the ache.
“Well, you know I’d love nothing more than for you to settle down, but this isn’t ideal, and I know you don’t want to stay married, so what are you going to do?” his mother asked.
“My lawyer has filed for divorce, and we’re trying to keep all of this out of the media.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Trying being the operative word. In the meantime, I need to remember the deal with this Kristina woman and figure out why the hell I married her. And why she’d want to marry me.” The idea that this was a revenge thing made him shudder.
He grabbed a blanket and, turning his head away, shook it free of as much dust as possible before laying it across a box labeled with Asher’s name. He sat and reached for the closest box of his own items.
“Good luck,” his mother said, starting to descend the ladder.
“Not going to help?”
“Nope.”
Great. He might get out of there by midnight. He blew the dust away before opening the flaps and looking inside.
Old hockey trophies and medals, team photos…He sorted through them quickly, not needing to see the items to conjure memories. Hockey had been his life for so long, every moment of his twenty-eight years on skates were etched in his mind.
As a kid growing up in Glenwood Falls, every day had been spent outside as much as possible. The only question was whether the lake was warm enough for swimming or frozen enough for ice hockey. For a young kid in love with the sport, there was no better experience than a game on an outdoor rink in the cold fresh mountain air. The large ice surface didn’t restrict the number of players, and they’d play with the neighborhood kids until the last signs of daylight disappeared over the mountains, even forgetting to eat. Their parents’ “Be back before dark” was often forgotten as well, resulting in their fathers’ arrival at the lake long past curfew, where they’d stay and play just a little bit longer with his warning not to tell their mothers.
He closed the box and moved it to the side, noticing his first pro-scale hockey stick on the floor. He smiled as he reached for it, wiping it free of dust. He stood and flipped the stick over in his hands, still loving the feel of it, or rather the memories the feel of it evoked.
The stick had been a Christmas present from Jackson when he was twelve—the year they’d both made the AAA Junior league. His brother had wanted the high-scale pro-caliber stick, from the moment they’d seen it inside Rolling’s Sports before the season started.
Of course their parents couldn’t afford to buy one for each of them, so Jackson knew that if he wanted one, he’d have to get a job and save for it. And he did. Every morning for three months, his brother would climb down from the top bunk in the room they shared and head out to deliver the daily paper before the school bus picked them up. He saved every cent he made, kept it in a Mason jar under the mattress, where he thought it was hidden, but Ben could see it above his head through the metal bedsprings, filling up each week after collection.
Seeing the cash his brother was earning tempted Ben to get a part-time route as well, but he’d liked his sleep a little too much. Besides, it wasn’t the stick that made the player, but what he could do with it.
Waking up Christmas morning to see the stick under the tree with his name on the tag had surprised him, and now he wondered if Jackson had known even then that he lacked whatever special quality Ben and Asher seemed to possess—the drive or the determination or just sheer will to make it to the big leagues.
Ben sighed, playing with the edge of the fraying red tape. He still couldn’t believe Jackson had turned away from the opportunity of a lifetime: a second chance to play in the NHL.
Ben liked his brother’s fiancée well enough, and they seemed happy together, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment that Jackson had chosen the quiet, simple life as Junior league coach over the dream.
He wondered if his brother would ever regret it.
Setting both the stick and the thoughts aside, he resumed his mission to find the old elementary school yearbook. Three boxes later, he found it.
The spine on the thin, forever-closed hardcover yearbook creaked as he flipped to the page of his third grade homeroom class. His goofy, toothless grin and long, disheveled hair (hockey season playoff hair) smiled back at him, and he shook his head. Thank God, he’d filled out in his teenage years. At age nine, he’d had only his fast skating and puck handling to carry him through the various leagues.
His gaze scanned the page for Kristina and his chest ached when he saw the sad smile on the little girl’s chubby face. Memories of the teasing chants he’d heard following her down the hallways of school and the way she’d eat lunch alone, or didn’t eat lunch at all, which was far too often the case, made him close the book abruptly.
Damn. Kids were cruel sometimes, and he hated that he may have played a part in that little girl’s pain.
And shit, if she was out for revenge now, who was he to stop her?
Chapter 4
Olivia leaned against her kitchen counter, her favorite coffee cup in her hand—the words NEVER TRUST A NON-COFFEE DRINKER fading after years of use—bit her lower lip, and stared at the pile of file folders on her round, glass-top table.
Oh, come on, she told the nagging, p
ersistent nerves. This was just part of the process.
She’d known she’d have to select a donor, but until she was faced with rifling through profile after profile of potentials, the reality of the situation hadn’t hit. Since starting the in vitro process, all talk had been about the procedure, and the focus had been on her—her ability to conceive through in vitro methods, her ability to carry a baby to term and deliver safely, and her readiness for a family.
Not until yesterday’s appointment had she ever allowed herself to think about the other half of the equation—the part that made it all possible.
She shook off her apprehension, picked up the files, and carried them onto her deck, which overlooked the backyard of the apartment complex. The snow was long gone, though it was still visible along the mountaintops in the distance, and the trees were starting to bud. She loved this time of year—new beginnings, new life…
She sat on her rocking swing chair and tucked her legs under her. Pulling her sweater closer to her body as the mild day gave way to a cooler spring evening, she reached for the first folder.
Just like reviewing potential cases.
The identities of the donors were kept anonymous, but the files listed everything from physical descriptions of height, weight, and eye, skin, and hair color to any family illnesses. They also provided a chart that listed any aptitudes or acknowledged weaknesses.
Not surprisingly, few weaknesses were admitted to.
As she scanned the first donor’s medical history, she paused. The doctor had said to select the closest candidate to her idea of the perfect donor. But what was her idea of the perfect sperm? Smart, handsome, funny, driven, quiet determination…Seemed like a lot of expectations to put on a tiny swimmer you can’t even see without a microscope.
Besides, selecting an astrophysicist as a donor didn’t guarantee her a baby who would be a rocket scientist someday, but the odds were a little better, at least.
The testimonials from previous patients of the clinic had really emphasized the caliber of donors offered, but she’d been so preoccupied with whether or not she could hold up her end of the bargain with eggs that hadn’t expired, she hadn’t given the Y chromosome much thought. Now she had a week to find what normally took women years of searching for Mr. Right to discover.
Maybe This Love Page 3
