Keaton chuckled. “No.”
“Thank God,” I added. Hearing her name brought forth a rush of feelings I couldn’t deal with. In all the Simon shooting drama, I forgot about her time in Canada with Keaton, and her baby, as well as the timing of their return to Storybook Lake, until that moment. A wave of fatigue washed over me and a headache split my skull. “Hey, bud, I’ve been here for quite a while now, and I’m going to head back to the hotel for a nap, but I’ll be back later, okay?”
Keaton jerked his head down to look at me. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Um, I need to go get some sleep. You can stay here if you want.” I wouldn’t be able to talk it out or reason away my feelings if he came along. He needed to stay with Simon so I could find a logical way to wrap my head around this whole mess. I didn’t want to fight with Keaton, and I knew if he came with me, we would argue and probably end this whole thing between us. I wanted him to stay with Simon so I didn’t have to let him go just yet.
He shook his head. “No. I’ll drive you.”
I nodded, kissed Simon’s cheek, and promised to be back later. In the peaceful quiet of the car, I laid my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. By the time we reached the hotel, my headache ebbed, and I followed Keaton upstairs to our room. He pushed the door open, and with a hand at the small of my back, guided me inside. A small writing desk with a wooden chair sat at the front wall of the room. Plopping down, I rooted through the desk, unable to steady my hands. I found a bible, a notepad, several pens and--aha--a deck of cards.
Removing the cards from their laminated box, I stared at them. This could work.
A pros and cons list, or cards. Either way, I needed to trust my instincts. On one hand, I could forget everything I knew, or believed I knew, about Keaton and Danielle. I could go with my heart and let myself love him again. On the other hand, I could simply ask him all the things I needed to know. Who fathered the baby? Did he sleep with Danielle? But what if the answers to those questions weren’t the ones I wanted? In this situation, I would let the cards decide. If I drew a high card, I asked the questions. Low card meant roll with it.
I drew the first card. An eight. Damn. No help there. I tossed it aside and drew again. A seven. What the hell? I’d used cards to solve every major perplexity in my life and it never failed me before. Okay, it led me to some bad decisions, but I never drew two middle cards in a row before.
“What are you doing?” Keaton eyed me from his spot on the bed.
“I’m conflicted and I’m trying to decide how to work it out.” I sounded curt and a bit angry.
“Conflicted?”
Keaton ignored my tone, looking at me with the greenest eyes I’d ever seen. The eyes I’d fallen in love with so many years ago and never forgot. I had it bad.
“Yes, conflicted. Confused. Mal-adjusted.”
“I know what it means.” He spoke slowly, as though dealing with a mental patient or a mid-tantrum toddler. “I don’t get what you’re doing.”
“High card goes one way, low card goes the other.” The game didn’t exactly require excessive brain wattage. Only basic counting skills. A kindergartner could figure it out. Yet, I experienced serious difficulty.
He nodded, smiling. “And which way are we hoping it goes?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged and drew another card. A six. Seriously? Maybe I needed to lessen the odds. I took out two cards and placed them face down on the table.
“Well, what’re you conflicted about?” His genuine tone of interest only added to my conflict.
I put the rest of the deck down and turned in the chair to face him full on, a deep breath filling my lungs. He looked good. “You, mostly.”
“Me?” He pointed to himself, mocking me, his sexy grin out shining the sun streaming through the windows. “Conflicted about me?”
“Yeah. I’ve spent a lot of time that way since you came back to town.”
“And drawing cards helps?”
I nodded and he grinned.
He crooked his finger. “Come here. I think I can do better than the jack of clubs.”
I shook my head, needing space and distance to figure this out. A closer proximity to the perfectly cologned, beautiful-eyed Keaton would only make matters worse. “I think not.”
He walked over to stand in front of me and pulled me gently to my feet. It took one split second for him to wrap his arms around me.
“Did you know sometimes being conflicted is nothing more than sexual frustration screwing with your mind?”
He feigned serious, but I could see a glimmer of humor in his gaze. Thanks to Keaton, I understood the concept of becoming lost in someone’s eyes.
“You don’t say.” Oh what the hell? I could play along. Pulse racing, I reached up and twirled a strand of his hair around my finger. Decisions warranted research. Maybe I could make tonight my test panel.
“Yes. It’s like a medical fact. I think I saw it on the Discovery Channel.”
“Quite the discovery, I bet.”
“Yep.”
His hands slipped under the back hem of my shirt, gently working the flesh at the base of my spine. Chips of the ice around my heart dissolved.
“I can help you work it out, you know, if you want me to be the one who helps you.”
Oh. My. God. He wore his adorably sexy, self-conscious look well.
“But you’re the problem. I don’t think you’re offering the kind of help I need.” I tried to pull away, but his arms tightened around me. To be frank, I didn’t try very hard.
“Oh, don’t underestimate.” He lowered his head for a kiss laced with passion, memories, and desperate needs.
I put my hands against his chest and shoved away hard. “Is Danielle’s baby yours?” Of all the things I’d wanted to say, that one hadn’t made my top ten list. Especially not when for a moment, I’d been wrapped in his arms. My brain, heart, and mouth, at some point quit communicating.
“What?” He dropped his arms. “I don’t know…Joss…” He turned away from me. “What are you asking me?” He ran his fingers through his hair and whirled back toward me. “Seriously?”
Oh no. He’d always been a terrible liar. My stomach churned, and I actually got light headed. I took a deep breath, blew it out, and forced my voice to remain calm. “I asked you if her baby is yours.”
He stood, looking at me, his eyes blinking rapidly as his hands went first to his hips, then his sides, and finally crossed over his chest. “He’s not…well, you know…probably, maybe not mine.”
The mattress groaned as I plopped down on the bed, and my heart introduced itself to my belly button as it passed through. “Probably, maybe not?” My voice hid the panic churning in my stomach.
“I was lonely and drunk and missing you, and she was there reminding me of home and--”
“Do not freaking finish that sentence.” I would never survive hearing him say she reminded him of me.
“Joss, I have always been yours and no one else’s. Whether or not I slept with her, and to be honest, I don’t know if I did.”
“How do you not know if you slept with someone?”
His remorse mirrored in the lines on his face, in the achy rasp of his voice, in the hunch of his shoulders. “Losing you wrecked me. I couldn’t get away from the ache, so I drank.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “A lot. I could have slept with her, but I don’t know.”
“But if you were guessing?” I braced my hands, squeezing the edge of the mattress in my fist.
His lids fluttered shut. Years of sadness echoed in his tone. “I’ve never wanted, or loved, anyone else.”
“But you slept with her.” I breathed deeply, willing the tears to stay away, then patted the bed next to me. When he sat, my head tilted until it rested on his shoulder. “I want you to know that having you with me the last couple of weeks has meant more to me than you’ll ever know. I’ll always be grateful for that, but”--
the words burned in my throat--“I can’t do this anymore.”
“Jocelyn, please don’t,” he whispered and clasped my hand in his, squeezing, hanging on as though my hand and my will linked together. “You’re always going to be the guy that breaks my heart.” I lifted my head to meet his gaze, then, unable to stand the anguish, looked back down. Seeing the hurt reflected in his eyes and the sad line of his lips almost broke my resolve.
“I wasn’t with you when…if I slept with her.” His voice trembled.
“I know.” Oh, how I wanted to forgive him, but my sorrow stepped forward to dim that desire.
“You didn’t want me anymore.” Now his tears came freely, sliding in tracks down his cheeks.
He’d been wrong. I’d wanted him. More than I'd wanted to eat, breathe, or live. I’d wanted Keaton Shaw. But the hurt trumped the want, so I’d built a solid wall of anger and clung to it. “Please, go now.”
I watched him as he stood and walked to the door. He put his hand on the knob and turned back to me, “Joss--”
“Please, Keaton.” He didn’t bother to take his things, simply walked out the door.
* * * *
“Hey, Joss.” Simon sat up a little higher in his bed. “Where’s Keats?”
Hearing the nickname Simon had given him when we were young brought tears to my eyes. “He went home.” I rubbed the moisture away and lifted my head higher. “How are you today?” I hoped his injury would dull the fact I’d utilized absolutely no finesse in changing the subject.
“I have a headache, so they keep giving me drugs.”
I could relate, but I attributed mine to the hours and hours I’d spent crying, rather than dramatic brain trauma. “Gosh, can I have some?”
“They don’t fix a broken heart.”
His powers of perception hadn’t suffered at the speed of the bullet. “I don’t have a broken heart,” I said, denial my new best friend. “I have a headache. Two very different regions.” I waved my hands in front of my body.
He nodded. “Whatever you say.”
I crawled up on the bed beside him and put my head on his chest. “Thanks for not dying.”
“My pleasure.”
I closed my eyes and slept curled into his side, until he woke me hours later.
“You’re a bed hog.” He grinned as I wiped the sleep from my eyes.
“Sorry.”
“You snore, too.”
I slapped his chest. “I do not.”
“No. You don’t.” He reached out and grabbed my hand. “You want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. “Not really.” Except I did. “He slept with someone, and now she has a baby, and it might be his.”
“Wow.” He shook his head in wonder. “I feel disconnected from life right now. Like you guys are all grown up, and I’m still wondering who won the homecoming game at school.” He frowned and turned to face the window.
“I know.” I gave his hand a little squeeze. “What are the doctors saying? Do they think you’ll get it back?”
He shook his head. “They don’t know. They keep saying things like, the brain is a mystery, and they talk about therapy, miracles, and big stupid doctor words that don’t mean anything. They don’t know shit.”
“What did they say to do?” We needed a plan.
“Hang in there. Talk to people about what I have been doing and get back to normal as quick as I can.”
Helping Simon would help keep my mind off Keaton, except that all of our memories connected us to Keaton. Helping Simon remember would undoubtedly scar me to the point of possible debilitation, but the choice didn’t belong to me. Simon needed my help, and no matter what it took, I owed him that much. “Okay. We can do that. Like pictures and stuff? Maybe a trip to California like when we were kids?” Every summer for our first fifteen years of life, mom dragged us to California because she loved the ocean. She made those trips special, especially for Simon who learned to surf, jet ski, and swim with dolphins, while I spent most of my time in trouble.
“Yeah. Maybe.” Mom charged into the room with Alex hot on her heels. She rushed to the bed and slathered Simon with kisses.
I rolled my eyes at Simon behind her back, and he shot me a wide grin. He always did revel in being her favorite.
“I was so, so worried about you.” She’d used all of her breath to finance her loving exertions.
As suddenly as she’d burst into the room, she stood and began fluffing a pillow. Then with one hand, she covered Simon to his chin with a blanket in the already warm room, and smoothed his hair from his face with the other.
Alex stood by me and wrapped his arm around my waist. “How you holding up?”
I nodded my response.
“Well, you look like you could use some dinner.”
I couldn’t honestly remember the last time I ate more than a bag of chips from the machine downstairs. “That sounds wonderful.”
“Honey, we’re going to go eat. Would you like to come along, or will you be staying here with Simon?” He asked as though he didn’t already know the answer.
His voice reminded me of home, and for a split second I wished my memory would shoot me back to seventeen and leave me there.
“Oh, I’ll be staying with Simon.”
She turned back to my brother, and I stuck my tongue out at him.
“You two go ahead.”
Her dismissal made it obvious she no longer needed us in the room. She wanted to be alone with her precious son.
I glanced at Alex, and we shrugged in unison, then strolled out of Simon’s room and down to Alex’s car.
“So, how are you doing? Tell the truth.”
His concern touched a place in my bleeding heart. Though he resembled the closest thing to a real dad that I’d ever known, I just didn’t see myself confiding in him.
“I’m fine. How are things with you and Mom?”
He shrugged as we inched through traffic to a chain steakhouse. “We’re figuring things out. She missed me,” he said proudly.
“Oh, for the love…say it isn’t so, Alex.” When he didn’t respond, I said, “You think that’s good, don’t you?” Even to my own ears it sounded like an accusation.
“Yeah, it’s good.”
I hid my grimace, turning to look at the scenery out the window.
He turned into the parking lot. “You and Keaton doing okay?”
My heart weighed heavy and beat hard, thumping painfully against my ribs. “I think we’re finally through.” I pasted on the fakest smile I could muster. “It’s okay, though. It was time for us to make a decision, and now we have. So, we’re good.” If good meant on the verge of tears with no ability to control it. I dabbed at my eyes with a cocktail napkin.
“Are you?”
I grimaced. “Oh, don’t be such a know it all. It’s better this way.”
Alex and I waited at the bar for seating and had a couple of beers in front of us before we resumed our conversation.
“What about you and Mom?”
He shrugged.
“I convinced myself you were running off to Vegas to get married.” I laughed at the absurdity of the idea.
He chuckled, then coughed. “We were.”
His eyes squinted at me, probably guessing my reaction would be less than positive. I hadn’t exactly lobbied for their perfect union when they got together the first time.
“Oh no!” I groaned. “You cannot marry her again.”
“Why not? We love each other, have history, and--”
“Blah, blah, blah. You can’t marry her because she is nutty and flighty, and she cheated on you.” My fingers fiddled with the coaster on the counter. “Alex, she broke your heart.” Gosh, we shared a lot in common. We’d both loved hard and been hurt for our efforts.
“That happens in life.” He took a long pull of his beer. “I forgive her.”
“Why?” The question sounded mean, but I wanted to kn
ow how he’d found it in himself to forget she’d cheated, lied, and hurt him.
“Because, sometimes, someone comes into your life and they change everything for you. You’re willing to risk the hurt to feel you’re loved by the only person you’re willing to take a chance on. Even if it’s only for one moment in time, you know this is your person.” He smiled his familiar, knowing smile again. “Hurt fades away, and when it does, you find the love you thought was gone. Your mom is that person for me.” He patted my hand. “She’s my person.”
I didn’t point out his sentimental foolishness, deciding to let him live his delusion. He could believe whatever he wanted about my mother, but she would hurt him again, his heart would break, and where would he be then?
On one hand, I was happy to have Alex back in our lives. He treated my mother like a queen, and I didn’t know a father other than him. He loved me and Simon. On the other hand, I’d witnessed first-hand how she hurt him and us by ripping him out of our lives. I’d never forgiven her, even if Alex found a way. She never thought of us when she booted him out and brought Tim the Terrible into our house.
I experienced a moment of relief, followed by one of sadness that Keaton and I never made a baby, though we’d been close. It would have been easy to drown in sorrow if I continued thinking about Keaton’s kids, or kids with Keaton.
Once, even the idea of a baby scared me to the point of causing nightmares. The example my mother set hadn’t been all that inspiring. When I sat down and thought about having a baby with Keaton, carrying a child of my own remained a far off dream. But then, one tiny little baby saved my marriage. Even if only for a small glimmer of time.
Chapter 19
Past November - Age 24
From the first minute I walked in the door and told Keaton about the baby, he refused to let me open a cabinet on my own. He cooked, cleaned, and did laundry. Then he allowed me to sit on the couch and watch television while I ate whatever healthy dinner he’d cooked for me.
He cut back on his hours at work and spent most nights at home with me. Every night, I received back rubs and foot rubs. We only watched shows I wanted to see on TV, and whatever music we listened to came from my playlists. I starred in my perfect dream life while completely awake. If I knew his attentions would be this complete, I would have agreed to babies long before then.
Here He Comes Again Page 15
