About That Night

by Beth Andrews

  But she couldn’t give in. Not even on something so small. She had to be strong. To keep control.

  If she gave it up for one second, she’d never get it back.

  She tucked her hands behind her back to hide their trembling and had to force the word out, the one word she knew would cost her Clinton. “No.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  C.J. WAS FREEZING his ass off. It didn’t help that his ass was bare, that he was practically begging a woman to give him a chance, to give them a real chance at being together. Being happy.

  Being a real couple.

  “No.”

  That one word went right through him, cutting him like a knife. “What?” he asked, because there had to be some mistake. When he asked a woman for anything, when he asked anyone for anything, they always said yes.

  There was no way he could ask a woman to spend a few lousy days with him—to basically take a mini vacation—and have her say no. To tell her he was falling in love with her and hear her beg him not to say it again.

  “I can’t,” Ivy said.

  He wanted to swipe the lamp off the bedside table, to rant and rave and demand she stop being so damned stubborn.

  Demand that she feel the way about him, that he felt about her.

  He’d opened up to her. Had given her the key to his heart.

  And she didn’t want it. Didn’t want him. He pulled on his pants before facing her again.

  “You mean you won’t,” he said, the words ripped from his throat.

  She stepped toward him, her hand reaching for him, but he backed up. He couldn’t handle her touching him. Not now. Not after what had happened between them last night, not when he was so raw now. “You want things I don’t. Marriage will never be in the cards for me. I’ve always known that. But that doesn’t mean anything has to change between us.”

  She sounded so hopeful, looked a wreck, as if this was tearing her up inside as much as it was him, but that couldn’t be true. If it was, she’d see that they were meant to be together, that they should raise their child together.

  Unless...

  “Do you love me?” he asked, never having asked the question before, ever. He’d always known where he stood with people, from his family to his friends to his lovers to people he worked with and people who worked for him. But now...this...he had to know.

  “Clinton, I...” She pressed her lips together. “I care about you.”

  “That’s a start.” A good one, if not exactly a declaration of her undying affection. As a matter of fact, she didn’t look very happy to be admitting it at all. “Do you think the feelings you have for me now could grow into love?”

  “How am I supposed to know that?” she cried, throwing her hands up. “I have no idea what the future will bring.”

  He shouldn’t push her but he had to know. “It’s not that hard a question, Ivy,” he said, unable to stand there and listen to her placate him with useless, meaningless words. “Do you want to be with me? Do you see yourself building a future with me? A family? Yes or no. Damn it,” he snapped when she hesitated. “They’re simple questions, ones that deserve an answer. I deserve an answer.”

  She swallowed. Stared over his right shoulder, then met his eyes. Sighed. “I don’t know.”

  And just like that, with one simple whispered confession, it didn’t matter how much money he had, how much power, how he lived like a freaking king. He didn’t have Ivy and would never have her. He had nothing.

  “Then I guess there’s nothing else to say.” He wasn’t about to take his shirt from her, so he grabbed his keys and the suitcase he’d brought upstairs with him last night. “I’ll have my attorney get in touch with you about child support. We can work out a custody agreement later. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me be present for the birth.”

  “Of course. Clinton,” she said, walking toward him, so beautiful it hurt to look at her. “Don’t go. We can go back to the way things were. How they have been.”

  “Go back to seeing each other only on weekends? To me giving and giving, constantly trying to prove myself to you? To prove you can trust me?” He shook his head. “No. I won’t go back. And you won’t move forward, at least not with me, so I’ll move forward on my own.” He went to the door. Opened it but didn’t dare look back, not when everything inside him screamed at him not to go. Not to let her go. “Goodbye, Ivy.”

  And he walked out before he lost the last of his pride and accepted whatever small scraps of emotion she tossed his way.

  * * *

  THOUGH IT HAD been over three weeks since Clinton had walked out of her life, Ivy could still remember that moment as if it had happened yesterday. She’d never forget how he’d looked, so crushed, so angry. Just as she’d never forget how it had felt as if her heart was breaking to watch him go. How she’d curled up on the bed, inhaling his scent from his shirt and cried, wishing things could have been different.

  Wishing she could be different.

  She’d thought...had hoped...he’d come back. That he’d change his mind. That he’d realize what they had was good enough. There was no reason to risk it by tossing around I love yous and moving in together with the ultimate goal of getting married. No, she’d done the right thing. He was probably just being noble, thinking he had to offer her a commitment because he’d gotten her pregnant.

  She carried a serving tray of blueberry scones into Bradford House’s dining room. Smiled at the elderly couple staying in the Blue Room as she set the tray down.

  She missed Clinton like crazy, and he hadn’t even called. Had just had his attorney contact her to set up child support payments. The amount was more than fair, and she wouldn’t have to work should she choose not to.

  She wanted to work, needed it, which was why she was glad she had a shift at O’Riley’s tonight. Luckily, Kane hadn’t treated her any differently since she and Clinton had stopped seeing each other, but she knew he wondered what was going on. He might act as if he didn’t care about his brother, but she didn’t believe it.

  He had asked Clinton to be his best man. She couldn’t help but think that had been an overture on Kane’s part. The first step at a possible reconciliation between them. She hoped she was right and that they would be able to mend the rift between them. She knew how important Clinton’s family was to him. Even Kane.

  She pushed the door open and stepped inside the kitchen, went directly to the sink and stared out the window. Summer was over and school had started last week. It wouldn’t be long before the nip of fall entered the air and the leaves started changing. The baby kicked. Hard. Ivy smiled. She was now seven months along but she hadn’t done much to get ready for the baby, a part of her still hoping Clinton would come back. She hated that he was missing it, that he wasn’t able to enjoy the preparations.

  “Did you hear?” Fay asked breathlessly as she came into the room followed by Gracie holding Mitch’s hand.

  Ivy turned. Frowned to see Fay so obviously upset. “Hear what?”

  “Charlotte Ellison just called to postpone her bridal shower,” Fay said. “One of Kane’s brothers has been hurt, and she’s not sure if they’ll be traveling to see him soon or not.”

  Everything inside Ivy stilled. A roaring filled her head.

  “What happened?” Ivy demanded. “Which brother? How hurt is he?”

  “Not Clinton,” Fay said, rushing over to take both of Ivy’s hands in hers. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you that right away.”

  Ivy was shaking and had to sit down. She almost dropped right to the floor, but Fay helped her around the island and onto a stool, got her a glass of water while Gracie made Mitchell a peanut-butter sandwich.

  “It wasn’t Clinton?” Ivy asked, needing to know for sure. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m positive. It’s the one in the marines.”

  “Zach,” Ivy breathed, relieved beyond measure that Clinton was safe and whole. “Is he going to be all right?”

  “I don’t know,” Fay
said. “From what little Charlotte told me, it’s really bad. The Humvee he was driving triggered a roadside bomb. Two of the men with him were killed instantly and he was severely injured.”

  Oh, no. Poor Zach. And poor Clinton. He must be terrified. And going crazy that there was nothing he could do to help, to fix it, to make sure his brother pulled through.

  Fay nudged the water glass in Ivy’s hand. “Take a sip.”

  Ivy did so but her throat was so tight, she could barely swallow.

  “You should call him,” Fay said gently.

  Ivy didn’t pretend not to know who Fay was referring to. She pulled her phone out, needing to hear Clinton’s voice, but put it on the counter when she realized he wouldn’t want to hear from her. His brother had been severely injured and he hadn’t even told her. Hadn’t reached out to her.

  “He won’t want to hear from me,” Ivy said quietly.

  Fay brushed Ivy’s hair back. Squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sure he will.”

  “Fay’s right,” Gracie said from the table where she was cutting the crust off Mitch’s sandwich. “The cowboy needs you. You should definitely call.”

  Ivy shook her head. The thought of someone needing her was terrifying. And thrilling. “I hurt him.”

  Gracie swiped peanut butter from the knife with her forefinger. “We figured as much. But that’s not the reason you won’t call him.”

  “It’s not?” Ivy asked.

  Sucking the peanut butter from her finger, the teen shook her head. “No. You’re not worried he’s still mad or even that he won’t forgive you. You’re scared. You’ve been afraid of him since the night you met.”

  “What are you talking about?” Fay asked, which was good, since Ivy was unable to form any words.

  “There was something between them from the moment they met,” Gracie said, twisting the lid back onto the peanut-butter jar. “That kind of connection, especially when it’s instantaneous, can be frightening. So it’s easier to pretend it doesn’t exist. Safer, too. It’s scary to want something so much. Especially if there’s a chance you won’t get it. Or worse, that you will and then lose it again.”

  Ivy wanted to laugh, wanted to tell Gracie that she was crazy, that her theories were ridiculous.

  But she knew, deep in her heart, the teenager was right.

  She’d let fear run her life. But no more.

  Grabbing her phone, she got to her feet. “I’m really sorry to leave you in a bind,” she told Fay, “but I’m taking a few days off.”

  Knowing how stubborn Clinton was, those few days would probably be more like a week. But she’d take as long as she needed to convince him to give her, to give them, another chance.

  Fay waved that away. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll manage just fine.”

  Ivy gave her a grateful hug then turned and embraced Gracie warmly. “Thank you,” she whispered into the teen’s curly hair.

  Gracie leaned back and grinned. “What’s the point of having friends if they can’t tell you when you’re being an idiot?”

  Ivy laughed for the first time in what seemed like weeks, so happy to have these two women in her life. “Wish me luck.”

  “Luck,” Fay and Gracie said at the same time as Ivy raced off to face her greatest fear.

  A man with the power to break her heart.

  * * *

  C.J. PACED THE space between his desk and the sofa in his home office. He had work to do but he couldn’t keep his focus. Not when he was so worried about Zach. He hated waiting, but that’s about all he’d done since he’d gotten word about Zach’s injuries. Wait on call after call, from doctors to tell him how Zach’s surgery had gone. From nurses to let him know if his brother had survived the night, if he was in pain, what they were doing for him next.

  Once Zach’s condition had been stable enough for him to travel, he’d been transported to a hospital in Germany but C.J. had no idea how long it would be before his brother would be stateside again.

  He wiped a hand down his face. He hated waiting, and he hated feeling so useless. At least he’d been able to get Zach’s mother and younger half sister on a flight to Germany. He knew Zach would rather have them there than any member of his father’s family.

  But now there was absolutely nothing C.J. could do to help his brother.

  The intercom buzzed and he answered it.

  “Mr. Bartasavich,” Paul from the front desk said, “there’s a woman to see you but her name isn’t on the list.”

  Ever since word had gotten out about Zach’s injuries, the local media had been bugging his family for the full story. But C.J. wasn’t about to turn his brother’s sacrifice into a juicy snippet for the society page.

  “Tell her I have no comment,” C.J. said. He turned away only to have the intercom buzz again.

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Bartasavich,” Paul said quickly, “but the young lady has asked me to tell you that she’s not here for a quote. She has something of yours.”

  C.J.’s scalp prickled. No. It couldn’t be. But a part of him, the traitorous part he tried to ignore, hoped it was Ivy. He pressed the button. “Send her up, Paul.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He went into the foyer, ducked into the bathroom and checked his hair. Realized what he was doing and forced himself back out into the hall. It probably wasn’t even her. There was no reason for her to come all this way, not after the way they’d ended things.

  But when someone knocked on the door five minutes later, he yanked it open, his heart in his throat.

  And there she was. Ivy.

  He blinked but she didn’t disappear. Not a hallucination. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d imagined her since he’d left Shady Grove. He’d catch a glimpse of blond hair, and his heart would stop. He’d hear a husky voice, and he’d think she was near. But it was always just his overactive imagination, conjuring her up, torturing him with the memory or her.

  He wished he could forget about her, but she carried his baby. They would be tied together for the rest of their lives.

  The Ivy before him was bigger and rounder than the one who’d worn his shirt as he’d begged her to love him.

  She was real and she was here.

  Shit.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked lowly, roughly.

  “I came as soon as I heard,” she said. “How’s Zach?”

  Clinton wanted to break down, wanted to lose himself in the fact that she was here. She might not love him, but she was here. For him. But he couldn’t. He had to be strong. “He might not pull through,” he told her blandly. He didn’t want her sympathy, though it filled her eyes. “He’s lost his right arm above the elbow and his right leg above the knee. He has massive internal injuries and a head injury. He’s...” C.J. had to stop to collect himself. “It’s touch and go each and every goddamn hour.”

  His brother might die, and there was nothing C.J. could do to stop it. To help him. To save him.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her hand over her mouth. “Clinton, I’m so, so sorry.”

  She reached for him, and for a moment, he wanted to let her take him into her arms, wanted to rest his head on her shoulder and just hold her. But he couldn’t. He didn’t trust her. He’d given her his heart, and she’d tossed it back at him.

  He stepped back. Told himself he shouldn’t feel bad at how crushed she looked as she slowly lowered her arms. “You shouldn’t have come,” he told her.

  “I couldn’t stay away. You need me.”

  Her words blew through him. “I needed you three weeks ago,” he reminded her. “I got over it.”

  “Don’t say that.” She glanced down the empty hall. “Could I...could I come in?”

  “You’re asking to come in? Given up breaking and entering?”

  She held his gaze. “I am asking. I’m asking you to let me in, Clinton. Please.”

  He couldn’t refuse her even when he wished he could. When he knew it would be better for him, less painful, to
turn her away. With a sigh, he stepped aside. She brushed past him. She smelled the same, the familiar scent hitting him like a left jab. Her hair was down, falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She wore a deep burgundy top that molded to her stomach, high-heeled boots and jeans so tight, he had no idea how she’d even got them on her very pregnant frame.

  Women and their endlessly fascinating mysteries.

  He’d no sooner shut the door behind her when she shoved something at him. “Here,” she said, pressing an envelope into his hand. “This is for you.”

  He frowned. Something told him not to open it but he couldn’t contain his curiosity.

  “It’s a check,” she blurted.

  “I can see that.” It was, indeed, a check. One drawn on her personal checking account made out to him for the amount of fifty thousand dollars. He put it back in the envelope, held it out to her. “I don’t want it.”

  “I figured as much but I need you to take it.”

  “Why? So you won’t owe me anything? So you won’t feel indebted to me?”

  “So we can start over.”

  He froze. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Didn’t trust what she was saying.

  “I...I made a mistake,” she continued. “I was so scared when you asked me to move here with you, when you said you were falling in love with me, so terrified when you brought up marriage and the future. I pushed you away because I was scared.”

  He narrowed his eyes, not daring to hope. “What are you saying?”

  She inhaled deeply, rested her hands on her belly. “I miss you. I miss you so much I can barely breathe. I think about you all the time, and knowing I lost you because of my fear kills me. Please give me a second chance.”

  He wanted to. It was pathetic how desperately he wanted to take her into his arms and tell her not to worry about it, that he was willing to take whatever scraps she would give him. But he had his pride, and his pride had always been his downfall. “I can’t, Ivy. I don’t want to be with you on weekends or several times a month. I want more than that. I deserve more than that and so do you and our child.”