by Lisa Ruff
Evan laughed and Patrick tossed the block of wood at him. His phone rang before he could make any rude remarks. He flipped it open and saw the name and number. “Chris! How’s it going, man?”
“Not so great.” Chris paused. “There’s no good way to tell you this, so I’m just gonna say it. Greg got swept off Vertex, Patrick. He’s dead.”
“What?” Patrick’s delight disappeared in an instant. “When?”
“Day before yesterday.”
Patrick closed his eyes, as if blocking out sight would shut out reality. Pressing a thumb and forefinger into his eyes, he held back the stinging tears that threatened. “How’d it happen?”
“A squall popped up. They got hit hard with winds and waves and Greg went over the stern. I don’t know why he wasn’t clipped in. The tactician saw him fall, but he was gone before anyone could grab him.” Chris’s voice choked to a halt. He cleared his throat. “They recovered his body. They think he was probably dead when he hit the water. He must have struck his head on something.”
“Oh, my God.” Patrick shivered to think of it.
“We need you, man,” Chris said, bringing Patrick’s attention back to the phone call. “You have to come skipper the boat.”
“Whoa, Chris. I’m going to have to think about that.”
“Think fast, then. I want you here yesterday.” Chris sighed. “Everybody’s slayed over this, Patrick. It’s like we’re all wandering around in a fog or something. Total chaos, too. Greg held us all together, y’know? Without him…” Chris trailed off and there was a silence on the phone. “We need you, man. You’re the only one who can take over for him.”
“That’s not—”
“It is, Patrick. With you at the helm, I know we can win this thing.”
“I’ll…I’ll have to call you back later,” Patrick said. His mind was reeling, trying to take in all the things his friend was saying. “I…I don’t know what else to say, Chris. Tell Stacy…tell her how sorry I am, please. And everyone on the crew.”
“I will, but I’d rather tell them you’re on your way to win this one for Greg.”
“I’ll think about it and give you a call,” Patrick repeated. “Bye.” He closed the phone and stared at it.
“What was that about?” Ian asked.
“Greg Chastain was swept off Vertex Commander.”
“Oh, shit. Where?”
“I don’t know exactly. It must have been this side of Australia.”
“Is he—” Ian didn’t finish the question.
Patrick took a breath as a sharp stab of grief hit him. He dropped the phone back in his pocket before bracing his hands against the workbench. His head drooped between his shoulder blades for a long moment. He couldn’t speak the two words. They were too painful. If he said them aloud they would become true—the last thing he wanted—but silence would not change the reality. He raised his head and looked at his brother.
“He’s dead.”
Ian put the plane down and walked around to Patrick’s side of the table. He pulled his brother into his arms. They held on tight to each other for a long minute, while Evan gripped Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick pulled back, wiping away tears and taking a deep breath.
Ian gripped Patrick’s biceps. “You going to be okay?”
Patrick nodded halfheartedly. “He was a good friend.”
“What happened?” Evan asked.
Patrick repeated what Chris had told him.
“What the hell was he thinking, not clipping in?” Evan asked with a frown.
Patrick shook his head. “I don’t know. If the weather was good, he might not have bothered. Sometimes you don’t, you know. It depends on how the ship’s run.”
“Still—”
“He was the skipper. It was his call.”
The three men were silent. “Well, I’m sorry, man,” Evan said. “Did he have family?”
“A girlfriend. Stacy. I met her in France last time I was there.” Patrick thought about the shy, sweet woman with Greg on the docks. She must be devastated.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” Ian said.
They grabbed their jackets and headed out of the workshop, across the parking lot. Once away from of the yard, they walked down the street to a small waterside bar just past the marina. The bartender called a greeting. Ian ordered three beers. Evan led the way to a table in the back, overlooking the water. Immediately after they sat, a waitress in tight blue jeans and dyed-blond hair plunked three pint glasses on the table.
When she left, Patrick raised his glass in a silent toast for his friend. After they drank, Patrick said, “There was a second reason that Chris called me.”
“What other reason could he have?” Evan asked, eyebrows raised.
Patrick turned his glass on the table, then looked at his brother and his friend. “They want me to take Greg’s place and skipper the boat for the rest of the race.”
“You’re kidding!” Evan’s eyes lit at the news. “That’s fantastic.”
“I haven’t told them whether I’d do it or not.”
“Of course you’ll do it,” Evan said. “The next leg is through the Indian Ocean. What a ride!”
“It would be a great sail.” Patrick smiled at his friend’s vicarious glee. For a minute, grief was pushed aside.
Evan leaned forward. “Can you bring a friend?”
“I doubt it.”
“What about Kate?” Ian asked.
Patrick took another sip of his beer. “She’s my reason for hesitating.”
“But it’s the Globe Challenge. The big one. The one you’ve always dreamed about,” Evan reminded him. “You can’t say no.”
“Sure I can.” Patrick looked out the window. “I’ve done that stretch of ocean before and I will again. That’s not the problem.”
“So what’s the problem?” Ian asked.
“Greg Chastain.”
“He’s dead.”
“Yeah, but I owe him a lot,” Patrick said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “He gave me my first shot at running a big boat. If it weren’t for him I wouldn’t be where I am today.”
“I doubt that,” Evan said. “You’re one of the best. He may have given you a start, but you did the rest on your own.”
Patrick shrugged the praise away. “Maybe, but I still owe him. Greg had a shot at winning this one. The boat’s second in the standings.” He looked at his brother. “If I take over, I could finish what he started. I could even win it for him. For his memory.”
“But Kate’s nearly eight months’ pregnant,” Ian said, his voice soft.
“Yeah.” Patrick sipped his beer. An idea hit him. “She’s not due for five weeks, right? There’s a layover while they do repairs and get ready for the next leg. I could go over for a couple of weeks, maybe three, then come back and be here for the baby’s birth. Afterward, I can go back and skipper the race. It might work out.”
“What if the baby comes early? Or late for that matter?” Ian shot a hard glance at his brother. “And, even if the kid pops out right on your schedule, do you want to leave Kate for the rest of the race? You’re talking months, Patty.”
“But this is important. It’s about finishing what Greg started.”
“What about finishing what you started?” Ian asked.
“I will be finishing it.” Patrick looked over at his brother impatiently. “Why does everyone think racing and being a father are mutually exclusive?”
“I’m just saying—”
“Look, you were the one that said I could do both.”
“When did I say that?”
“That day I punched my truck. You said it was reasonable that I could do both.”
“That was—” Ian stopped and huffed out a breath. “You talk some sense into him,” he said to Evan.
“I say talk to Kate and see what she says, but bottom line, I’d do the race,” Evan said. “This is the Globe. It’s only run every four years. You’d be skippering the best boat ever t
o come out of this country. You turn this down and you might not get another shot.”
“How often does he get to see his first child born?” Ian asked, slapping his hand on the table.
“It’s not going to happen tomorrow,” Evan said with a shrug. “I agree with Patrick. Fly over for a couple of weeks, then come back for the kid.”
Ian looked back and forth between the two other men. “You guys are both nuts.” He turned to Patrick. “You have a chance here, Patty. Don’t let it slip away.”
“I’m not going to,” Patrick said. “Look, when I tell Kate about Greg, she’s got to understand how important it is that I do this.”
Ian shook his head, but was silent. Patrick sat back and lifted his glass. This was his opportunity. And also a chance to show Kate how their lives could work around racing. It seemed like a perfect, simple plan. He would be a father and a racer. The best of both worlds.
KATE WAS SURPRISED to hear a knock on her door that evening. She checked the peephole and was more surprised to see Patrick standing there. She felt a rush of the same confusion she had felt earlier. After he had told her that he owned the house, she hadn’t known what to say or how to act. He had kept up a commentary about the place, asking her for opinions and advice, mentioning nothing about the future.
Only when they reached one room did he pause. He didn’t say it, but she knew they were in the room he had picked as the nursery. It was so bright and cheerful. Kate could easily picture it furnished with a crib and changing table, a rocker in one corner for night feedings.
Now she hesitated, uncertain what other surprise he might have for her this evening. She put a hand on the door knob and clicked open the dead bolt with the other, slowly pulling the door open.
“Hi.” The word came out part greeting, part question.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
She frowned and stood aside, closing the door behind him. Looking at him in the better light of the hall, she was alarmed. His eyes were red rimmed and, usually so opaque, tonight they held a wealth of sadness.
“What’s wrong?”
He shrugged. “I got some bad news today.”
He looked so lost just then that Kate took his arm, urging him into the living room and to a seat on one of the sofas. “Sit down, Patrick.” Her voice was gentle and soft. “Tell me what happened.”
Patrick sat, propping his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. “A friend of mine died.” His voice was muffled but filled with pain.
“Oh!” Kate sucked in a quick breath and laid a hand on his shoulder. She felt it tremble slightly. She sat down and put an arm around him. “How did it happen?”
Patrick scrubbed his hands down his face. “He was racing in the Tasman Sea. He was swept off the boat.”
The news made Kate gasp again. Immediately, fear for Patrick flooded through her. “Oh, no.”
“It was a freak accident. It should never have happened.”
Kate struggled with her composure. The thought of Patrick being lost that way sent her heart into a fast, frightened pulse. She tamped down the anxiety, taking deep breaths, reminding herself that he was here, safe in her living room. Sitting back on the sofa, she focused on Patrick’s drawn face. She needed to help him, not let her own fears take over.
Patrick’s eyes lost their focus as he told her about the man he had known and admired. “I’ll miss him.”
“He must have meant a lot to you.”
With a nod, Patrick dropped his head against the back of the sofa. They sat in silence for a long time. Wind from a passing squall rattled the windows and blew a splatter of rain across the glass. Eventually, Patrick turned his head to look at Kate.
“Thanks for listening to me ramble.”
“I’m glad you came over.” Smiling, she reached out and squeezed his hand.
“There wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be,” he said softly.
His words brought a flush of pleasure to Kate’s heart.
Patrick straightened from his slouched position. Leaning toward her, he ran his fingertips down her cheek lightly. “Can I stay?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.
Kate looked at him, outwardly calm while a storm raged inside. Her heart and her head were in sudden and violent battle. No, her head raged, he’ll only hurt you again. Yes, her heart countered with a sigh, all these lonely nights, he’s the one you missed.
“Please. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
His eyes pleaded with her, dark gray and sad. Kate found herself nodding her head. Patrick’s look of relief and gratitude swept her doubts away. He rose to his feet and drew her upward. With their arms around each other, they went into the bedroom. There were no words spoken as they prepared for bed, first one using the bathroom, then the other.
Kate smiled at herself in the mirror as she dried her face. She couldn’t feel less sexy tonight and she doubted her bloated body would hold any appeal for Patrick. How different this was than the last time he had shared her bed. He was under the covers when she returned to the bedroom. She climbed in beside him, laughing a little at her grace-lessness.
“Sorry. It’s going to be a little like sleeping with an elephant tonight.”
Patrick chuckled. “I’ll manage, Mrs. Jumbo.”
The Dumbo reference made her giggle. She turned off the bedside light, then arranged herself on her right side, facing away from Patrick. Without speaking, he tucked himself against her back. It was similar to birthing class, but they were lying on their sides. He slipped one arm under her neck, below her pillow. With the other hand, he urged her to lean into his chest. The support of his strong body was much better than the mound of pillows she normally used. When he rubbed her back she nearly groaned aloud.
“Where have you been all my life,” she said on a moan of pleasure-pain from his ministrations.
“Now I know why you let me stay the night.”
“You have to earn your keep.” Kate sighed and relaxed into him even further. Patrick nuzzled his face into her hair and fell silent. He stopped his massage and his hand slid over her belly. The baby kicked once against his touch, then twice. His fingers spread over her. Slowly, as if waiting for her to protest, he pulled at her gown until he could reach the bare skin of her stomach.
His touch was electrifying and Kate gave a little cry of shock, quickly smothered. Patrick made a humming noise in her ear, low and hoarse. The arm under her neck curled around to cross her chest and cup one of her breasts in his palm. It tightened in response to his touch and she moaned as he circled the nipple with his thumb. Meanwhile, he explored her pregnancy with his other hand, smoothing and teasing her skin. As his hand slipped lower to find the sensitive spot between her legs, Kate grabbed his arm.
“No, Patrick.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No, I just—”
“Then let me touch you, Katie,” he said softly. His breath in her ear made her shiver. “You’re so beautiful.”
“I’m nearly eight months’ pregnant. That is not beautiful.”
He laughed softly. “If you only knew.” He paused and Kate held her breath, waiting. “When we’re in class together and you’re in my arms, I want time to stop and all those other people to disappear.” Patrick’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I want to touch you all I can, Katie. You’re carrying my child. Mine. I think you’re gorgeous.”
Kate’s heart filled her throat and she couldn’t speak. He gently twisted his wrist free of her grasp and sought the delicate bud between her legs once more. She gasped and sighed at the touch of his callused fingers. He knew exactly how much pressure to exert, where to press and when to tease. She felt him grow hard against her and reached a hand back to caress him. He stopped his pleasuring of her to take her hand and raise it to his lips.
“This is for you. Not me.”
“But I want you, Patrick,” she said in a whisper of need. “Please.”
“I don’t want to hurt the baby.” He kissed the
back of her neck.
“You won’t. I promise.”
He let her hand stroke him, his breath fast and hot in her ear. When he moved away, she released him. He drew her leg up and over his as he positioned himself and slid slowly inside her from behind. As he thrust carefully, his fingers returned to their tantalizing forays. Slowly, he built her pleasure until she was writhing in his arms, desperate for release. She moaned and begged him to finish what he had started. Patrick complied, pressing himself deep within her and using his thumb to send her over the edge of ecstasy. Kate cried out, feeling the tingle spread to every nerve ending. His muffled shout of pleasure joined hers seconds later. She panted and a laugh came to her lips.
“Oh, my Patrick,” she said on a sigh.
He clasped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. Kate put her hand up and slipped her fingers into his thick hair, holding his head against her. Sleep claimed her quickly, though, and she fell, relaxed and content in his arms. Tonight she would not be lonely.
Chapter Twelve
Kate woke when sunshine spread across the room and hit her face. She opened her eyes and knew she was alone in bed. A sense of déjà vu swept through her and she looked toward the bathroom, expecting Patrick to come through the door. He didn’t, but it didn’t upset her. She had slept too well to let his desertion throw her. He might be gone, but he had given her one of the best nights of her life.
She levered herself up and began the slow process of getting out of bed and to the bathroom. It had been much easier in the night with Patrick’s assistance. She smiled as she splashed water on her face and ran a brush through her hair. Even the fact that her bathrobe barely closed around her girth didn’t ripple her pleasure.
Shuffling down the hall, Kate heard voices coming from the kitchen. When she reached the doorway, her mouth dropped open in astonishment. Patrick and Molly sat on either side of the table, coffee cups on the table before them. A newspaper was gutted and scattered over its surface. Molly wagged a finger at Patrick as he looked back at her, a grin on his face.
“That’s where you’re wrong, young man—”
