by ANGEL PAYNE
I set off to find my warden in the grand expanse of the estate. Elijah was usually in the office, by the pool, or fussing around the kitchen. The kitchen staff was patient with his relentless meddling and persistent “helping,” but to me, he just seemed underfoot.
But just the walk to the kitchen took its toll on my system. By the time I came into the wide-open space, my eyes danced with bright white spots and my mouth watered with the tell-tale burn of nausea.
“Abbi—”
I stopped Elijah, and his concerned rush, with an upturned hand. I couldn’t deal with his third degree and the queasiness at the same time. A panicked wave of heat flashed over my skin, knowing I wouldn’t make the distance from the kitchen to the nearest bathroom.
“Ohhh shit,” I moaned. “Shit…” I covered my mouth and looked frantically from side to side for something to vomit into. In the nick of time, one of the staff women was there with a trash bin.
A few minutes later, the episode was done. A short one this time—thank God—since I had an audience witnessing it all, though Elijah left the room about halfway through. Thank God for small favors, I guessed. The man and his watchful eyes unnerved me more than anything else, especially because he reported everything directly back to Sebastian. My man had more things to worry about than my ongoing sour stomach. I had to learn how to handle this stress better.
Goals for another day.
Right now, it just felt nice to accept a damp dish towel from the woman who’d helped me through the episode. After smiling in gratitude, I blotted my parched lips and flushed cheeks before pressing the cloth to my forehead.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“Of course,” she gently returned.
“You’ve been so kind. I’ll take care of the trash. Where do you keep the larger can outside?”
“Don’t be silly, Miss Gibson. It’s already been taken care of. Why don’t you rest?” The woman nudged me toward the great room and the inviting sectional sofa.
“Mmmm, that sounds like a good idea.” From firsthand experience, I knew that like every other piece in the home, the couch was magnificently comfortable. “Maybe for a few minutes, at least.”
I slipped my shoes off before putting my legs up and stretching out across the cushions—but before I could close my eyes, Elijah emerged from the office.
“Feeling any better?” he asked quietly. It struck me that this might be the kindest I’d ever heard his tone.
“Yes, thank you.” I gave back as good as he’d offered, even managing a small smile. “Hey…uhhh…do you know that woman’s name?” I asked then. “The one who just helped me?”
Elijah chuckled while walking over and then hitching a thigh up on the arm of an oversize chair. “Well, you’ve come to the wrong guy. I’m terrible with names, to be honest.” With a self-deprecating smile, he admitted, “I’ve tried every trick in the book to be better at retaining names when I meet people, but none seem to work for me.”
“Same here.” I phased my smile into a soft wince. “And I always feel bad. I think it makes me seem self-centered.”
“Abbigail Gibson, you are the furthest thing from self-centered.”
I batted a hand to the bottom of my neck as a gasp of mock surprise burst from it. “Elijah Banks, did you just compliment me?”
He started to scowl but stopped himself. With slick ease, he slid all the way into the chair. “You know I genuinely care about you, Abbi.” He securely held my gaze with his steady hazel one. “Right?”
“Right.” I pulled the quilt up to my chin, using the blanket to physically gird my emotional vulnerability. “Of course I do.”
Only then did I notice the brown shopping bag he’d brought in and discreetly stashed at his feet.
“So, hey. What’s in the bag? Is it yours?” I was more than ready for a subject change.
“Yes, well…it’s for you, actually.”
I gave in to a double-take. “Huh?”
“I set it down earlier when you came out from your room looking as green as the Grinch,” he explained.
I sat up taller and eyed the discreet package with new interest. “Really? It’s for me? You got me a gift?” I deliberately stressed the pronouns, wondering if I should even be circling the day on my calendar in red. God only knew when this would ever happen again.
“Mmmm…” Elijah tilted his head, succumbing to a weird version of a wince. “I…wouldn’t call it a gift, per se.”
I scowled. Not necessarily in anger. More like puzzlement. And a little irritation. Maybe more than a little. I should’ve known the guy had stipulations. Even for something so minor it could be contained in a small, innocuous brown bag. I drummed the fingers of one hand against the back of the other, waiting for him to either explain or just hand over the parcel.
“First, I want to tell you a story.”
“That so?” But I regretted my snip as soon as I took in the glance he gave me—from beneath worried brows.
Wait a second. Well, holy shit. Is Jailer Man Banks…uncertain about something?
“Let me amend that, actually. First, I want you to eat something. Oatmeal? Yogurt? Please, Abbigail.”
My good mood quickly soured to match my stomach. “Not this again.”
“Abbig—”
“Damn it, Elijah. I have a stomach bug, okay? Don’t be so dramatic. I’m drinking fluids and resting more than any person should need to. This thing’s just taking a while to run its course because I’m under a lot of stress.” I shrugged for good measure. “It’s really not a big deal.”
Silence settled between us for several minutes until his phone signaled an incoming message. He tapped out a reply and stuffed it back in his pocket without comment to me. I fought the urge—with every cell of my body—to ask if it was Sebastian.
Instead, I prompted, “So…the bag? Or, should I say, my gift? Come on, give it over, Banks.”
“Not until you eat something.”
I flopped back against the overstuffed couch pillows. “Oh, my God. Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously. Just a few bites.”
“No.”
“Do you normally take vitamins?”
“No!” I spat it this time. “I don’t usually take vitamins. They bother my stomach.” I chuckled at the comment—and meant it. I couldn’t imagine what a multivitamin would do to my stomach in its current condition. “I normally eat a very balanced diet. I’m a chef, remember? I cook exceptional healthy food, and I always ensure the meals I prepare are nutritionally balanced.”
We were quiet again for a few minutes before a woman from the kitchen entered the room. She was younger than the saint who’d just helped me get rid of everything but my stomach lining but her face possessed the same open warmth, her smile the same friendly dimples. She carried a tray with a steaming bowl in the center of it.
“Martha prepared this for you, Ms. Gibson,” she said while lowering the tray to the coffee table. “She said it might help to settle your stomach.”
“Thank you.” I nodded and smiled in return. “And please, just call me Abbi.”
“All right.” She had a charming blush. “Abbi.”
“Would you mind telling me your name?”
“I’m Dori. It’s short for Dorinda. But that’s a silly family name that’s awful!” She laughed, and I found myself joining in with a weak giggle. “There is vegetable broth and toast. I put the butter on the side in case your stomach isn’t ready for that. There’s some mild cheese there too. Maybe some calcium would be good for you right now?”
I looked up to catch the happy twinkle in her gaze. Her kindness and generosity, with the food as well as her spirit, made tears threaten the backs of my eyes.
“Thank you, Dori. This is very thoughtful.”
“Well, we’ve all been worried about you, Ms. Gib— Abbi. Please, try to eat a little bit before you rest. I’ll take the tray when you’re done, okay?”
“Okay.”
Elijah and I watched
her disappear back into the kitchen before he turned back to me. “Sit up a bit,” he directed. “I’ll hand you the bowl.”
“Actually, the toast sounds better at the moment.”
“All right. Do you want butter on it?”
“No. I better just stick to plain for now. I’m not sure the fat is a good idea.”
“Agreed. Here you go.” He handed me the small plate with the four triangles of toasted wheat. Never had two measly pieces of bread looked so daunting. “Just do what you can,” he urged. “I’d rather see you keep down one-half than return all four.”
My keeper sat back in his cushy chair after getting me situated. I glared at him and huffed. “Sheez, Elijah. You don’t have to sit and stare at me to make sure I eat. I’m not playing some game here.”
“I know that,” he countered. “But I also told you that I wanted to talk before giving you this.” He nudged the elephant in the room, masquerading as that damn brown bag, with his toe.
“Does this story have something to do with the…interesting…shift in your mood here?” I asked it carefully, lest my spotlight on the difference make him change his mind about giving it to me.
“Maybe.” He sighed and pushed his hands through his sandy brown hair. “Okay, yes. Probably.”
“Which means what?”
Elijah leaned forward. Did that digging-through-his-hair thing again. Shoved back. Leaned forward. I almost said something about his fidgeting endangering my tentative sense of balance, but he finally settled for bracing his elbows on his knees—just before asking, “Has Sebastian…ever mentioned a woman named Hensley to you?”
So much for my restored equilibrium.
My stomach lurched. Holy shit. There was a woman in Bas’s life I didn’t know about? One Elijah was so concerned about, he had to sit down and tell me a story with her as the main character? And then offer up a consolation gift afterward?
“No.” I dropped the toast onto the plate and shoved the dish away.
“Stop,” he ordered, using that same take-no-prisoners tone Bas used with me.
I flared my nostrils. “Don’t you dare tell me to—”
“Don’t get all worked up! She wasn’t his woman.” He held my gaze for a few beats before declaring, “She was mine.”
I exhaled audibly. As much as I didn’t want to be so petty, his confession flooded me with gratitude. On top of everything else, my heart couldn’t handle yet another tale about one of Sebastian’s past conquests.
“You loved her,” I said knowingly. The pained look on Elijah’s face already spoke a thousand words of its own.
“I did. More than I knew I was capable of,” he agreed quietly.
“What happened?”
He shrugged. “Things…didn’t work out.”
I narrowed my eyes. Tilted my head a little. Waited.
Elijah was the one to sigh then, scrubbing his hand down his face. He looked like he was reconsidering his insistence on this story hour after all.
At last, he went on. “You and Bas…remind me a lot of us. Hensley and me,” he clarified. “Sometimes…it’s hard to watch the two of you. Brings up a lot of shit I didn’t realize I had buried. I’m sorry; I’m just trying to be honest…”
“It’s okay.” I was so sincere about it, my voice shook. “Really.”
He rubbed subconsciously at a phantom pain in the center of his chest. “Hensley was…beautiful. And sexy. And smart as hell. Fuck, probably smarter than me.”
“Imagine that,” I deadpanned with a smirk.
“She was everything I could’ve ever wanted in a woman. Every damn thing. I wanted to give her the world, you know? And I tried to. She had a restless spirit, though. I always felt like I just wasn’t enough. Like maybe one day it would all fizzle out for her. She always said I was crazy, that I was acting so insecure…”
“Now there’s something I really can’t picture.”
He grinned slyly, but I saw a new hollowness to the guy’s once-cocky swagger.
“Well, as luck would have it—or so I thought—she got pregnant.”
I grabbed a smaller pillow and clutched it close—to hide the tension that broadsided me. “Oh.” It was all I could eke out, past my suddenly deafening heartbeat.
“It just…happened,” he continued. “I mean, we were careful. Seriously careful. She always got some shot or something…at her doctor’s office. I never went with her when she got it, but she always assured me everything was fine.”
I tilted my head. “Nothing’s a hundred percent effective.”
“No shit.” He grunted out a laugh. “Regardless, I was fucking over the moon about it. I’ve always wanted a family. With the shitty childhood I had, I wanted to give a kid the life I never knew. Hensley recognized that too. We used to talk about it.”
I softened my grip on the pillow, realizing I was mesmerized by his anecdote now. The rapt emotion on his face had become a glow down his entire body. “So, what happened?” I asked gently. “She didn’t want the baby?”
“No, she did,” he insisted. “But she was so sick in the beginning. Throwing up all the time…” He shot me a pointed stare. “Of course, that’s not abnormal, and the doctors assured us things would mellow out. We went to all the appointments and did all the right things. I even proposed. I mean, sure, it accelerated all our plans, but it wasn’t like I didn’t plan to already. And shit, a baby! Right? It was time to get serious. Lock it down, and all that.” He waved his hand through the air, encompassing all the usual rituals for a couple when a baby is on the way.
“So, what happened?” I prodded again.
His glow dimmed. “Hensley was about five months along, maybe six…starting to really show…so she could no longer hide it from her friends and family. She’d been putting off telling people, no matter how many times I asked. She kept saying she ‘didn’t want to jinx it.’” He twisted his lips. “Bullshit like that.”
Oh, yeah. His light was officially out now. It even fled his face as he sat deeper into the chair and dropped his head back onto the cushion. Finally, when he spoke again, he didn’t even meet my eyes. He just kept staring up at the ceiling fan, whirling obliviously above us.
Then he dropped the bomb I could never have planned for.
“She told me the baby wasn’t mine.” His voice cracked on the last word. “And then she left.”
Silence. Deafening silence. I wished I could give him more, but I couldn’t. Sheer shock had taken over my thoughts…my heart. There was no sound in the air beyond the fan’s persistent wwhhaa wwhhaa wwhhaa. The blades sliced, heartless as daggers, through the pea-soup-thick air hanging between us. Emotions so asphyxiating, neither one of us was capable of inhaling or exhaling for a few long beats.
My human instinct told me to go to him. Hug him. Comfort him. But the relationship we shared wasn’t like that. I was paralyzed with indecision.
“Elijah.” I sat up and scooted to the end of the sofa, nearest to where he was still so eerily frozen. “I— I can’t imagine… I have no words—”
He cut me off when he raised his head. I lurched back, unable to hide my astonishment. The agony and bitterness of a hundred broken hearts were etched on his handsome face. I’d never seen him like this before. I wanted to tell him I was sorry, but suddenly that seemed wildly inappropriate.
“Don’t,” he nearly barked before a grimace contorted his features. “Just don’t,” he said in a softer tone. “Sorry. Honestly. It’s raw. It’s been three fucking years, and it’s still so raw. I keep thinking it will get easier, and it doesn’t. But that’s not your fault. So I apologize.” He took an intentionally long breath. Then again. He closed his eyes, clearly working to calm himself. I watched him, frozen in my spot on the sofa.
“Thank you for sharing a part of your past with me,” I finally said. “I can only imagine how difficult that was.”
He gave me a forced half-smile. “Well, there is a reason for doing so, Abbigail. And it wasn’t just to exorcise my demons o
r forge some bond between us or whatever.”
“Gee, thanks for clearing that up,” I muttered tersely. That at least had him shifting back into his usual asshole demeanor, navigating us into familiar waters. Floating on those currents was my abject curiosity. “Why flay yourself open like that, then? What’s this all about? If you’re going to go right back to this?” I waved my hand up and down his seated frame.
Elijah let half a beat go by before reaching down and finally grabbing the small shopping bag at his feet. He extended it my way. “I picked this up for you the other day when Joel and I were running errands. You and Sebastian seem to be the only two people on the planet who haven’t figured it out yet.” He shook his head and nudged the bag toward me again.
“Figured out wha—”
My vocal cords surrendered to a choke as I opened the bag and pulled out the box inside. The words pregnancy test all but throbbed in purple lettering on the long container in my trembling grip. I stared at them. Hard. Then looked at him. Back again to the box. One more time at the determined man in the chair—this time not disguising my disbelief.
“You and I both know how that’s going to turn out.” Elijah nodded at the box. “Don’t we?”
I opened my mouth. Shut it. Shoved the box back into his cute little brown bag. “You think this is clever, Mr. Banks?”
He arched his brows. “I think this is smart, Ms. Gibson. The faster we find out, the quicker we can get you some proper care—”
“I have a stomach bug, damn it! I’m not even late. Not that it’s your business.” I hurled the pillow across the room. “Any of it!”
He shot to his feet. Threw his hands in the air while bumping his voice up to match my shout. “For Christ’s sake, woman. Be serious right now. I mean, I get the whole virgin thing and all—but shit!”
I surged up to mirror his stance. “You know what? Fuck you. I know you have some shit you haven’t dealt with from your past. And honestly, you may want to talk to a professional about all that, as long as we’re being assholes to each other. But don’t put your shit on Sebastian and me. We have more than our share of drama at the moment, in case you haven’t noticed.”
