Shame the Devil (Portland Devils Book 3)

by Rosalind James

  He said, “It’s bigger. Isn’t it?” He remembered it feeling harder than he’d expected, and faintly rounded. Now, the rounding was more than faint. It was right there. Not down low, where he’d expected it. Curving all the way from above her belly button.

  “Fifteen weeks,” she said. “I’m past the first trimester, which means I feel so much better. I had to tell people tonight, though, because nothing fits. You advanced the program, that’s all.”

  “How big is the baby?” He knew so little about this.

  “Sort of orange-sized. Starting to look like a teeny little person.” She hesitated, then added, “There’s a test they do. A blood test, besides the one we did, since I’ll be thirty-five when the baby’s born, which means I’m higher risk. I got the results of that this week, too.”

  He got a jolt of alarm right down his body. A visceral thing, like lightning crackling in the air. “What? Something’s wrong?”

  Wait. That would be good, wouldn’t it? This was too complicated, and he didn’t do complicated. He did simple. If she couldn’t have the baby after all—that would solve all his problems. So why didn’t it feel like that? Why did he feel like his heart had stopped?

  “No,” she said, and there her hand was, right over his where it rested on that round little belly. “Everything’s right. It’s a genetic test. For chromosomes and … everything.”

  “Oh.” It took a second to sink in. The relief, and the realization. “Oh. You mean they can tell the sex.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You probably wanted one of those parties or something. Got cheated out of it again.”

  She smiled again. “No. I wouldn’t even know how. I’m just … regular, you know? Not too good at that kind of thing. I don’t want to be some princess. I just want to wear tighter things again. To be able to feel pregnant. To be able to say I’m pregnant, and show it off. Not to feel ashamed of it.”

  That was another hard twist of his heart. She shouldn’t have had to be ashamed, and it shouldn’t be happening now. And then he realized what she’d said. “So do you know what it is?”

  He had no idea why he was holding his breath. It was stupid.

  “Yes.” She still had her hand over his, curved over that bump, and it was warm. “He’s a boy.”

  41

  Friends

  A boy.

  He was still for a long, long time, and then he felt the sigh from deep inside her, and she said, “Harlan.” Turning on the bed so she could get both hands on his face, looking into his eyes. “You can be a good father to a boy. You can be a great father. You’re going to know how.” She leaned forward and kissed his mouth, nothing but gentle. “I know it. I’m sure.”

  “I’m …” He couldn’t think of what to say. He had no clue.

  “You’re scared,” she said. “I’m scared, too.” She laughed, just a breath. “You bet I am. But that’s normal. It’s a big thing, a baby. A big responsibility. You do so many things wrong, even while you think you’re doing your very best. Being scared just says you take it seriously. That you want to do it right.”

  Wait. This was what he’d come here for. He said, “That’s the only thing I know. That I need to do some things right. Starting with taking care of you.”

  “You don’t have to take care of me,” she said, because of course she did. She took her hands away, too. Straightened her dress. Got ready to be efficient and cheerful again. “And don’t tell me your lawyer’s advising you to say things like that, because I won’t believe it. He’s told you to keep your distance from me. Talked about implied promises. Told you that—”

  “Stop.”

  It was just a word, but she jumped, so he softened his tone. “Look. I don’t care what my lawyer says. I had a lousy dad. I don’t have a clue how to do this thing right, but I’m pretty sure you start by taking care of the mom. So that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “Exactly what are you suggesting?” she asked. “I’m working. I’m fine. Or not exactly fine, but I’ll do it. I’ll find a way.”

  “I don’t want you to find a way!” It came out too harsh, and she jumped again. He sighed. “Look. If you’re going to be living in Portland, I want you and Dyma with me. Well, I want you with me anyway. That’s the right thing, and it’s what I want. And I was glad when I found out the baby was mine. I was scared as hell, but I was glad, too. That’s what I came up here to tell you. And I think you should move in.”

  She reared back. She did more than that. She stood up. “That’s …”

  “Wait,” he said. “Hear me out. I’ve got a big place. Well, you’ve seen it. It’s got guest quarters above the garage. Little kitchen in there and everything.”

  “I’m going to live above your garage.” She had her arms crossed now, which wasn’t a good sign. “Sure those aren’t the maid’s quarters?”

  “Fine. Then how about this? I move you in all the way. You can have your own bedroom, or even better, I move you into mine. I see what you need, and I give it to you. Every single day.”

  “Uh-huh.” She was looking at him narrow-eyed. “Like … clothes?”

  “Well, hell, yeah, clothes. And anything else you need.”

  “Like, for instance … an orgasm?”

  “Aw, baby.” He got hold of her hand and pulled her into him where he sat on the bed. Slowly, because she wasn’t exactly resisting. He got her between his knees, put his hands on either side of her waist, and asked, “You only want one? You need to learn how to be a little more demanding. How to ask for what you want. I could help with that, too.” He leaned forward and kissed her through her pretty dress. Right there where his baby was growing.

  “Yeah,” she said, but she sounded a little breathless. “That’s not happening.”

  “Which is the reason for the guest quarters. Annabelle needs more than I can give her. A friend, at least. You and Dyma need a place to stay until Dyma starts at Washington. You’re going to be working in Portland, and I’m not going to have you living in some crappy, moldy, dangerous place.”

  “Moldy?”

  “It’s Portland. It’s wet. I need to know you’re safe and fed and happy, and that you’re not getting worn out.”

  “You make me sound like a puppy.”

  He had to smile, and he had to kiss her belly again, because it was right there, and pull her in a little closer, too. “No. Not a puppy. A woman.”

  “How about if you want to date somebody else? How about if I do?”

  He froze.

  “Yeah,” she said. Still sounding breathless, and she wasn’t moving away—in fact, somehow, she had her hands on his shoulders now, and she was hanging on like she wanted to be there. “That’s a tricky one, huh? What if I invite my big, strong new boyfriend over, while I’m living in your maid’s quarters?”

  He thought, I’ll have to hurt him, that’s what. Clearly the wrong answer. He said, “Where’s Dyma while this is happening?” A pretty good save, in his opinion.

  “Dyma,” Jennifer said sweetly, “is hanging out with Annabelle, the same way she is right … now.” She’d lost her train of thought a little there, maybe, because his hand had drifted down the back of her leg and found its way under her skirt. And that was nice. Smooth skin, and those round thighs. He was a fan.

  Focus.

  He was focused.

  Focus on the other part.

  He didn’t say that she couldn’t find somebody new, not while she was pregnant. She was pregnant right now, and she’d look good to just about any guy, ripe and juicy and luscious as a peach straight off the tree. Blake had some ex-players working for him, and Harlan could think of two or three of them right now that he didn’t want anywhere near Jennifer.

  She said, “That’s got you, huh.”

  “Nope,” he said. “I just can’t manage to say anything that’s acceptable. I know the right thing to say. I just can’t say it.”

  She didn’t want to say this, either.

  She needed to say it anyway. />
  She said, “Yeah. You know? I realize … that’s not going to work for me.”

  His hand stopped moving on her thigh, which was good. Well, not good, since it had made it most of the way up, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and that felt … Well, anyway. That was the exact reason this wouldn’t work.

  She took a step away, looked at him sitting there in faded Levi’s and a Devils T-shirt, the extensions gone and his hair cut short again, making him tougher and harder, the way he’d been when she’d met him. The way that made her knees go weak. The way that felt like the real man.

  Oh. He was waiting for her to say something.

  She heard her mom’s voice. Tell the truth, and shame the devil.

  “I can’t do that,” she said. “I had casual sex with you already. Once, because the second time wasn’t casual. I told myself it was, and I knew even while I did it that I was lying. The first time wasn’t, either, not really. Not for me. I had casual sex with you zero times, and that’s the truth. My heart can’t do casual, or it can’t do it with you. And I’m headed straight for pain.”

  He started to say something, and she held up her hand and said, “Please. Let me try to say this. I just realized something. Something about how I felt when I saw you come in the door. About how I feel every time I’m with you. I can’t just date you and hope for the best. If I go any further down this road, I’m going to be so …” Another pause, but there was no way out except straight through this. “You’re not just going to be the father of my baby. You’re going to matter too much. It’s going to hurt so bad to fall in love with you, and I can’t go there. I can’t spend another four years of my life throwing my heart away. I can’t spend one more year like that, not when I know that you aren’t a staying-around guy, because you told me so. And that’s OK,” she hurried on. “You get to be any way you need to be. It’s your life. But what I need is for us to be friends.”

  “Friends,” he said slowly.

  “Yes. I care about you. I care about Annabelle, and I want to help you both. And you’re right that these next months are going to be …” Her chin wobbled, and she did her best to firm it up. “Hard for me. That I’m feeling financial pressure. That the thought of finding someplace to live in Portland that I can afford, trying to figure out how to take a couple months off to recover and be with the baby and still help Dyma, how to pay all that out-of-pocket medical, even if I have insurance, and how to help my grandpa, too, scares me to death. I’ve run the numbers every way I can, and I still keep coming up short. You can’t even sell plasma if you’re pregnant.” She smiled to show him it was a joke, and he didn’t smile back. She thought, finish it, and did. “I don’t see how Dyma doesn’t end up having to take a year off school to save money and help me with the baby, and I can’t stand for her to have to do that. I can’t stand it. She should get her life. She’s not the one who made my choices, and she shouldn’t have to pay for them. So …”

  This was crazy. This was terrifying, because there was no way that worked without hurting.

  Then do the thing that hurts least.

  “So,” she went on, “I’ll take your offer. Because I almost have to, if I’m honest, but also because I’d be helping you, too. That’s what’s going to let me do it. I’ll live in the guest quarters, and Dyma and I will be like … like caring neighbors. I can do that. But I have to guard my heart, and I have to guard my pride. So you and I are not having sex. I’m not kissing you anymore. You’re not touching me anymore. We need to be friends.”

  42

  Doing It All Wrong

  When they finally emerged from Jennifer’s bedroom, Blake and Dakota were on the couch watching baseball with Oscar, who was in an easy chair and looked like he missed his recliner. Jennifer said, “I should have invited your dad, Dakota, especially if I’d known you guys were going to end up watching sports. Except that I don’t have a big enough table.” Trying to be breezy, like she was embarrassed to imagine the others thinking she and Harlan had spent the last half hour all tangled up in each other, making slow, sweet, passionate love while her grandfather and her daughter and his sister and his ex-quarterback, who was also her boss, sat outside the door pretending not to hear. Which was, actually, exactly what he’d wanted to do. Minus the other-people-hearing part.

  Although, since all of her makeup was washed off, her eyes were still puffy, and her skin was still blotchy, he doubted anybody was actually thinking it. Some women could cry and not look messed up. Those women weren’t redheads.

  He asked, “Where are Annabelle and Dyma?”

  “Finishing the dishes,” Oscar said. He still didn’t look all that friendly. Well, Harlan guessed he could understand that. He hadn’t exactly covered himself with glory at any point here.

  Jennifer said, “I’ll go get them,” and did it.

  Blake looked him over. “Got to say, you look like hell.”

  “Well, yeah,” Harlan said. “Figures.”

  “Oh, nice,” Dakota said. “Give him a break, Blake.”

  “Nope,” Blake said. “I don’t think so.”

  Jennifer came out of the kitchen with the girls, and Harlan told her, “You should sit down.” Since there was exactly one spot left to do it—on the couch with Blake and Dakota. This was a pretty tiny place.

  It wasn’t terrible. She had pictures on the wall, curtains at the windows, a blanket on the couch, and a tablecloth printed with tulips covering the kitchen table, but he’d bet every piece of furniture had been on sale. Possibly garage sale.

  He’d also bet that she’d felt excited to have a place of her own.

  Dyma said, “Is this another big announcement? Or are we all sitting around making awkward small talk? Because if it’s that, I could take Annabelle to the movies or something. Oh, wait. It’s Harlan’s theater, right? I just realized that. Kristiansen Theater. That’s you. It’s great,” she told Annabelle. “Like, totally restored Art Deco. It has a pipe organ. Nobody in Wild Horse knows how to play it, but it has it.”

  Harlan said, “It’s not going to be awkward small talk. At least …” He ran a hand over his hair and tried to get his thoughts together. “It could be awkward, but it’s an important talk.”

  “Uh-oh,” Dyma said. “What?”

  Jennifer said, “We’re moving in with Harlan.”

  That went over like a lead balloon. Blake said, “That’s a lousy idea.” Dakota said, “Wow.” Dyma said, “What?” Oscar glowered, and Annabelle said, “Great.”

  Well, at least one person was happy.

  Jennifer had her hand up. “It’s not like that. He has maid’s quarters over the garage. We’re living there.”

  Blake said, “And here I thought I couldn’t like this idea any worse.”

  “It’s not maid’s quarters,” Harlan said. “It’s a two-bedroom apartment. It’s nice. Totally separate from the main house.”

  “She not good enough to live in the main house?” Oscar asked, like the definition of can’t-win.

  “No,” Harlan said, then realized what he’d said when Oscar sat up straighter and deepened the glower. This guy hated him. He wasn’t used to it, but he got it. “Let me put it another way. Let me say that I wanted to move her right in with me, the whole deal, and she said no. This was the most I could get her to do. I want her to be safe. I want her to be able to take care of the baby and not have to worry about how she’s paying the rent. I want Dyma to go to college.”

  “Why wouldn’t I go to college?” Dyma asked.

  “I notice you’re not talking about putting a ring on her finger,” Oscar said.

  Jennifer spoke up, because Jennifer always would. Jumping in to help him. “If he offered,” she told her grandfather, “I’d say no. We don’t know each other well enough. Besides, I’ve done fine so far as a single mom.”

  “Not that fine,” Oscar said. “And you call that security? Living in his garage until he gets tired of having you there? Happy for the crumbs?”


  Harlan said, “You want me to propose? Fine. I’ll do that.”

  He didn’t lose control. Not ever. He didn’t rage. He didn’t cry sad tears. He didn’t weep with joy, either. But these last few weeks, losing control felt like all he’d done, and it was happening again. A buzzing in his brain, recklessness in his heart, and no control at all over what would come out of his mouth next.

  Everybody was sitting frozen. Even Dyma didn’t have anything to say. As for Jennifer, she looked dumbstruck.

  He said, “Jennifer. Will you marry me?”

  Oh. You were supposed to kneel down. Did people really do that? Well, yeah. He’d seen it on enough athlete social-media statuses to know.

  He did it. Got on a knee, took her hand in his, and said, “I want to do the right thing. If this is it, I’m ready to do it. Will you marry me?”

  She was crying. Not in the right way, though. These were angry tears. She snatched her hand away and said, “Don’t … mock me. Don’t … just because I told you I was … how I felt about you, that doesn’t mean you can make fun of me! It doesn’t mean you can hurt me.”

  “Jennifer. Baby.” He was up, grabbing hold of her. “I’m not.”

  She shook her head and kept crying, and Harlan wanted to tell Oscar, “See? See what you did? Asking her to move into my bedroom was wrong, and this is even more wrong. I don’t have a mom to ask. I don’t have a dad to ask. I’m going to do this wrong, and now I’ve hurt her worse.” He didn’t say it, because that wasn’t what was important.

  “Well,” Blake said, “that was epic. Epically wrong, of course, but …”

  “Yeah,” Harlan said. “I get it. Jennifer. I’m sorry.”

  “Maybe you should go back in the bedroom and try again,” Oscar said.

  “No.” Jennifer had moved away. “I’m fine. It’s fine. I’m just ..” She was tearing up again, then heading off down the hall. In the direction of the bathroom, probably.