The S Before Ex

by Mira Lyn Kelly

  Searching.

  He didn’t realize she was awake.

  “There aren’t any,” she said, her whisper a roar against the quiet of night.

  Ryan turned to meet her eyes, steady, unapologetic, his palm flattening over her stomach.

  “Stretch marks. That’s what you’re looking for, right?”

  “I just wondered. I hadn’t noticed before, but…”

  But they weren’t generally the kind of thing a man looked for while in the throes of passion.

  She’d looked for them though. Over the years, searching for any trace of the silvery lines that served as the badges of motherhood, wondering if somehow she’d missed just one. “No.”

  “You never got very big.”

  “That and youth. Within a year, you couldn’t tell I’d ever been pregnant.”

  Ryan nodded, but the corners of his mouth had pulled into a frown. As if he knew she hadn’t considered the evidence of their lost child being erased from her body any kind of gift at all.

  Dropping a tender kiss to the sunken plane of her abdomen, Ryan closed his eyes and then moved up the bed. Their bodies realigned back to front, coming to rest together in that perfect fit of hard and soft, dips and curves, valleys and swells.

  She’d slept alone for so many years. It was hard to believe how quickly they’d fallen into the comfort of that old tangle of limbs. But within seconds of settling into his loose hold, she was drifting. Body disconnecting from mind. Reality blurring around the edges until—

  “Why don’t you have a family?”

  She might have mistaken the unexpected question as a by-product of her imagination, if not for the way the words rumbled against her back and burrowed through her hair.

  Eyes blinking open, she was instantly alert. Frozen in place by the fear of a conversation she wasn’t prepared to have. Not with Ryan. Not tonight. Not ever.

  Maybe if she simply didn’t respond, if she lay still, pretending she’d already passed into sleep, Ryan would do the same. Only, he must have felt her react to his words, because the arm that had draped across her torso pulled back, allowing him to caress her hip and thigh with a few soothing strokes.

  “I know what you told me about your…response to other men over the years. But kids…it’s different.”

  She knew what he was saying, of course. A woman didn’t have to feel passion to get pregnant. Hell, she didn’t even need a husband. But passion had only been part of the problem. And admitting that much to Ryan had been hard enough.

  “It’s late,” she murmured against the pillow in the hopes the down would filter the strained edge to her voice. “You’ve got an early flight out tomorrow.”

  “I’ll sleep on the plane. You sleep in here.” A moment passed, long enough that she could all but see the contemplation taking place in his mind. He’d caught on to her resistance. And now he was wondering why. The only question was how he’d come back at her.

  “You’re keeping something from me.”

  Directly, then.

  No question. No subtle prompting. Just a statement of fact. One she would deny.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered on a controlled sigh, going for dismissive fatigue.

  Ryan’s fingers curled over her hip, turning her to her back so he could see her face. So she didn’t have anywhere to hide.

  “Claire.” He said her name like a judgment. Like that single word gave him access to all the secrets of her soul. And resentment began a low simmer throughout her veins.

  “You aren’t my husband anymore. Just because we’re sharing a bed doesn’t mean you have a right to my every private thought.”

  His jaw clenched and those gently probing eyes went hard above her, boring into her then with unyielding determination. “I may not have been your husband for the last nine years, but I sure as hell am tonight.”

  Her body went rigid beneath him. The claim slicing through her like a blade.

  “You think you get to pick and choose, Ryan? Tonight you’re my husband but tomorrow you’re not? Is that how it works?”

  A muttered curse pushed through his teeth. “I don’t know how it works. I just know that tonight, we’re more than two people having an affair. And I know that for some reason, you’d rather pick a fight than be straight with me. Claire, after everything we’ve been through today, what is this?”

  “It’s me being tired and telling you to back off.”

  She didn’t like the contrast of their positions—she on her back, Ryan looming above her—but if she leveled the field and sat up, it would be conceding to a conversation she didn’t want to have. She’d rather he look down at her.

  “Back off?” he snapped, leaning in closer, anger hardening the cut of his features. “I’m leaving in six hours, how far is it you want me to go?”

  “I don’t know, how far is it going to take?”

  He stared at her a long moment and she wondered if he’d simply roll off the bed and leave. If she could stand to watch him go, simply so she could hold on to this last secret. But then his focus narrowed and an icy chill slid over her spine.

  “I asked you about a family because it’s clear how much you love kids.”

  Claire shrank back into the mattress, the kick of fight lost as quickly as it had come. Ryan wasn’t going to let her push him away, distract him with her temper, or manipulate her way out of this corner she’d found herself in.

  “And now you’re afraid to tell me what’s so wrong with what I asked.”

  That fast, he’d figured it out. Not just that she didn’t want to talk about it, but that she was afraid to talk to him about it. He wouldn’t give it up now. No way. She might as well tell him, maybe if she’d just told him from the beginning, instead of trying to keep the truth buried, the whole thing would have amounted to nothing. But she hadn’t and now Ryan wouldn’t let it go.

  “I suppose you could have looked into artificial insemination.”

  Her eyes widened at his first guess and he shrugged that suggestion off. “Okay, not that. Or maybe you could have—”

  “No, I couldn’t,” she cut in, unwilling to wait as Ryan systematically narrowed the possibilities until only one remained. “Whatever you’re about to say, Ryan, I couldn’t have. I can’t get pregnant.”

  Moments ago, the body braced above her had been immovable, if for no other reason than Ryan’s will. But now it seemed to have set in stone. Breath arrested, eyes unseeing, all signs of life frozen in that instant of understanding.

  Then, “But the doctors said we would be able to….”

  We. She hadn’t thought it possible, but somehow that single word made it all the worse.

  “It happened later. Another ruptured cyst…” She drew a steadying breath and shrugged in quiet acceptance of the hand she’d been dealt. “There were complications.”

  At complications, Ryan’s brow drew down. “How serious?”

  “I was in the hospital for a few days.” Then aiming for a little levity, she added, “But, obviously, you can see I recovered.”

  He didn’t crack a smile or so much as blink. But then there really wasn’t much to laugh about. “You could have called. I would have been there for you.”

  She knew. “I didn’t want you to worry. Or feel sorry for me.”

  “Did you have someone there? Sally?”

  Claire slid back against the headboard to sit, hiding her uneasy squirm beneath the purpose of action.

  “I wasn’t alone.” It was truth without full disclosure. She hadn’t met Sally for another year, but that time frame would be too telling, so she left her answer there.

  Only, the dodge wasn’t subtle enough.

  “But not with Sally.”

  Damn it. “No.”

  Turning eyes on her that were somehow both bleak and condemning all at once, he ground out his demand. “How long ago?”

  Desperately she looked away, grasping for any reprieve that would protect them both. But then he had
her shoulders in his grip. “How long? And don’t even think about lying to me, Claire. I’ll see it in your face and I’ll have the answer on my own in less than twenty-four hours. So tell me.”

  And he would.

  Her shoulders sagged in defeat and the hold that had trapped her only seconds ago now held her up.

  “Six years ago. New York.”

  His features contorted, twisting into an agonizing mask of pain. “Before.”

  No question of what he meant. Before she’d called to tell him she wasn’t coming back.

  She couldn’t bear to look at him. “Yes.”

  “What did you wait then?” he demanded, the bitter accusation of his words turning her stomach and burning her eyes. “A week, a month, before deciding the rest of our lives for us?”

  “That isn’t fair,” she gasped. “Our marriage was over already. You know it was.”

  And with that, the last tether on his control snapped. Face red, eyes blazing, he stabbed a damning finger at the air between them. “It wasn’t over until you made that call!”

  The force of his words hit like a blast to her heart. They hurt and stunned, but she wouldn’t back down because she knew what she’d done had been right. Ryan would never have given up on them, no matter how much he might have wanted or needed to. It wasn’t who he was. How he worked. And that’s why she hadn’t told him what happened. She couldn’t stand for his sense of obligation to keep him with her, when he deserved to have more.

  “I wanted you to have a life.”

  “Damn it, Claire.” He stared at her as if he couldn’t believe she’d missed the point. “I had one.”

  “No. Not with me.” Before they’d lost their baby, yes. But not after. Not the way she’d become.

  Swiping at her tears with the back of her wrist, she offered her only defense. “I wanted you to have more.”

  Raking a hand through his hair, Ryan’s focus dropped to her belly before returning to her eyes. “More than you could give me.”

  What else was there to say? “Yes.”

  Closing her eyes, she rested her face against her knees she’d tucked up against her and let the soft cotton sheet absorb the tears she couldn’t stop from falling.

  The mattress shifted, and then Ryan’s arms were there, pulling her into his chest as he laid them back, tucking her head beneath his chin.

  Moments passed as they lay together in the dark, awake but unspeaking.

  Then Ryan’s hand stroked over her shoulder as his mouth pressed into her hair.

  “Okay. So now I know.”

  Shouldering the strap of his carry-on, Ryan watched as Claire curled into herself beneath the blankets he’d pulled over her, a troubled furrow pinching her brow even as she slept. They’d lain awake most of the night, but somewhere around five she’d finally relaxed against him, her breathing falling into the steady rhythm of sleep. Little more than an hour later, he couldn’t bring himself to wake her as he gathered the few things he’d brought for the two-night stay.

  Now it was time to leave and he still couldn’t go to her. Wouldn’t risk a goodbye kiss and the chance of her sleep-hazed vulnerability pulling him into those bottomless blues as she asked the inevitable question.

  What next?

  Maybe it was cowardice. But he didn’t know what to say. Didn’t even know how to begin sorting through the mess they’d made of something that was supposed to have been so simple.

  He’d thought he knew what happened to their life, their marriage. Had come to terms with the loss and failures as he’d perceived them, that that final call had been the result of Claire learning she was happier without him. That the rift opened when they’d lost their baby had simply grown too wide to risk crossing.

  That she’d grown out of loving him.

  But that’s not how it had been.

  She could have been wondering if a future together was possible. If she’d found enough of herself to try to build something new. She could have been ready to board a plane and come home. But he’d never know now. Not for sure.

  The only thing he could be sure of was that Claire had wanted more for him than she’d believed she could offer. And whatever she’d been thinking prior to that hospital stay had ceased to matter by the time she left. Because by then she’d made her decision to do the right thing for him.

  Another damn sacrifice.

  It was almost laughable.

  How many times had he thought over the last couple of months how surprisingly attractive this tough, painfully independent version of Claire was. Wondered when all that strength had been forged.

  Well, now he knew.

  Six years ago. In the most selfish act of generosity he could imagine.

  The old rage burned through him. That same suffocating sense of helpless impotence that had driven him in every decision he’d made since he was eight years old and just beginning to understand the kinds of sacrifices his mother was making to provide the life she wanted him to have. No life of her own.

  He’d done everything he could to ease her burdens. Busted his ass to make grades, to earn scholarships. Hustling every opportunity he could find. In the end he realized they’d done it together. His success had been her dream, her reward. And at last he’d been able to ease her burdens.

  But that wasn’t the case with Claire. She hadn’t been protecting a helpless child.

  He was a man. He was her husband. And instead of letting him be there for her, she’d hidden the truth from him. Once again refusing to trust him with information he had a right to. Refusing to give him a say in the life they’d vowed to spend together.

  Ryan turned from the soft temptation of Claire’s bed and headed down the hall, the hardwood echoing its protest with his every step. At the front door, he heard his name. A groggy, muffled inquiry. Quietly, he closed the door, set to lock, behind him.

  She hadn’t given him a choice or even an honest explanation about what happened to their life.

  And now, he didn’t know if he could forgive her.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  IT was early dawn and surfers bobbed like black dots across the water’s surface, waiting to catch their wave. Ryan wanted to be out there with them. One with the ocean. Fluid in body and mind. At peace with the world around him.

  Not today though.

  Nothing gelled. Nothing fit or flowed or felt right and hadn’t since he’d left Claire the day before. He’d been banking on the demands of the job—conference calls and a backlog of work that was the result of all the time he’d been making for Claire—to keep his head clear. But it hadn’t worked and Claire had lingered at the edge of most every thought.

  He’d planned to call her today though. To make sure she was okay and come to some decisions about their future.

  That’s what he’d planned before the predawn call from his Boston-based assistant.

  Now it was barely five-thirty and already he’d spent half an hour on the phone. The news wasn’t good. And the timing couldn’t be worse.

  “Look, Denis, I haven’t talked to Dahlia in months.” And he was kicking himself, hard, for not having followed up with her after that last missed call. “What exactly do we know?”

  Papers shuffled from across the country, the noise somehow reassuring within the waiting silence currently surrounding Ryan. “Nothing more than I’ve already told you. It’s tabloid fodder. She declined wine with dinner and made a couple suggestive statements to the press. But this is Dahlia we’re talking about. She’s always stirring up something for publicity.”

  Ryan didn’t need to be reminded, having been a part of her publicity plan on and off for the better part of a year. Rubbing a hand across the tightening muscles of his neck, he closed his eyes. “You said she’s in L.A.?”

  “Yes, they’ve been shooting this week.”

  “Okay, I’ll get in touch with Dahlia myself. Clear my morning through…hell, make it three this afternoon.”

  Hanging up, Ryan let his head fall back against the
chair. A pregnancy. Of all the damn things in the world, it had to be that. It wasn’t likely true, and even less that the baby would be his…but there was the possibility. He needed answers and he needed them fast. Depending on what Dahlia said, any decision about a future with Claire might not be his to make. Claire had demonstrated that already.

  Ryan set his napkin aside. “You’re positive?”

  Laughter bubbled free of Dahlia Dawson’s full, internationally recognizable smile as amusement lit her eyes. “Of course I’m sure. Do you really think I wouldn’t know who’d gotten me pregnant?”

  He hadn’t known what to think, but relief washed over him that Dahlia was confident she did.

  Leaning into him, she caught his face in the cup of her palm. Outwardly the gesture was intimate tenderness, but inwardly it was like so much with Dahlia. Staged.

  He hadn’t minded the occasional lack of authenticity when they’d been dating. In fact, at times, it more than suited his needs. He’d had the soft press of a stunning woman at his side, the charming company and dazzling conversation, without any actual risk of a messy entanglement.

  Sure, there had been plenty of unscripted time too. Behind closed doors, she relaxed into who she really was. Gave up the pretense and posing. Mostly. But they’d never connected to the point where all boundaries could be dropped.

  There had been just enough between them to make a casual relationship go the distance. It was only when casual stopped working and Dahlia began to want something that went deeper than he’d been able to offer, they went their separate ways. He had hurt her. But not the way he would have if they’d continued.

  Dahlia was better for it. Beneath the show of calculated motions and measured laughter, she was lit with a glow from within. One that couldn’t be manufactured. “You’re happy now?”

  The smile that split her face in that moment was one he’d never seen before. It was genuine, carrying emotion too great to be contained. Her gaze dipped to the slight swell of her belly, pushing his thoughts to Claire and the ache that had settled deep in the middle of his chest.

  “I am.”