Chapter Sixteen

Nick eyed the hospital with dread. He’d spent the night heaving into his toilet until his eyes were going to pop out of his head and his ribs were in danger of cracking. All it would take was one more heave, he knew it.

He’d have done it all again not to be here now.

Not that she’d asked him. She knew better.

He hadn’t had a choice. It took a lot to rattle his mother, a lot to threaten the supreme calm she brought to any situation. This morning, she’d spilled her coffee, dropped her purse, and said “shit.” With Honor missing in action and Aunt Charity in bed with some urinary tract infection thing, he was her only backup. Calling Granddad and Mimi would only add to the drama—thanks to him sneaking out the night before.

No, he owed her, dammit. What he’d done last night was bad enough. But what he’d said to her… He was ashamed of himself. He’d put her through hell, and she’d given him nothing but love.

To make this morning suck more, he was beginning to think he’d nailed his head with the sledgehammer the night before. Every single sound was magnified. His stomach was making horror-movie noises. And his tongue was too big for his mouth.

Lesson learned. Next time he was on the verge of losing his shit, he’d call Owen. He’d rather have sore muscles from working out than a hangover that made death appealing.

His mother paused in the hallway, catching his hand with hers. “Thank you again for coming, Nick. He doesn’t like me—at all.” Her smile was forced. “The only woman he doesn’t mind is Grams.”

Great. He’d heard all about how the kid cried nonstop. Charity said he’d gotten so red a few times that she worried his head would explode. “She can have him.”

His mother laughed. “Nick.”

“It’s an option.” He was teasing. Partly.

But part of him, a pretty big part of him, still hoped someone from Amber’s family would turn up to take the kid away. Far, far away. Any minute now.

No matter what Honor said, Jack wasn’t family. He wasn’t supposed to be a permanent fixture in his life. Jack was Dad’s. The one time he’d seen the kid, asleep and tiny in the hospital bed, had been hard enough. There were baby pictures of him and Honor all over the house. This kid looked like them. He looked like the pictures of their dad when he was a baby. Seeing him made it hard to deny—somehow—that they were connected.

It had to get to his mom, too. It had to.

That’s why he was here. For her.

Not Jack. The kid was going to live with them because it was the right fucking thing to do. And a nightmare. No one wanted this. No one wanted him. It was sad but true. Nick rolled his head, doing his best not to panic when they climbed in the elevator, pressed the button, and waited.

“I’m going to have to take notes on how to care for his cast. It’s a beast.” His mother was chewing on her bottom lip. “Poor thing hates it.”

“So I’ve heard,” he mumbled.

She sighed. “We’re all going to have to be patient with him, Nick. It’s not going to be an easy transition. For any of us.”

“No? Really?” He closed his eyes—not thinking about the last time he was in this elevator. The last time he saw his father.

She shook her head.

“Sounds like he’s a happy-go-lucky kinda kid.” He rocked on his feet, anxious to get this over with. Not that it was going to be over. They were taking the kid home with them. Forever. His head pounded.

“Maybe he is. Right now, he’s scared and hurt and lonely. With limited vocabulary.” She shook her head. “His mother and his father disappeared, Nick. Can you imagine?”

He’d lived it. Older, maybe—but he was pretty sure knowing your father willingly deserted you was worse than what the kid was going through. “Sort of, yeah,” he reminded her.

“You do. Of course you do. I didn’t mean it like that.” She took his hand and squeezed. “Besides, you’re stuck with me.”

“He’s got you now, too.” He tried hard to sound like it didn’t bother him. But it did.

Her hand squeezed again.

The elevator doors opened, and Nick winced at the screams coming from somewhere on the floor. “Please tell me that’s not him.”

“That’s him.” With a deep breath, she set off down the hall, head held high, determination in each step. His mother was a woman on a mission. A real-life fricking superhero.

He was a suck-tastic sidekick, hanging back and useless. When they got to the door, his mother went right in. He stood outside, where he could see everything that was happening but no one inside could see him.

He didn’t give the old lady knitting a second look.

But the little boy—Jack—he couldn’t look away.

His chest hurt, instant pressure clamping down on his lungs and heart.

Jack wasn’t a kid.

He was a baby, pudgy and pathetic. Tears streamed down his red cheeks, making the pressure harder to bear. His white-blond curls shook with his hiccups. And he wiggled, trying to get away from the large blue cast swallowing him up at the waist. It covered his entire right leg, part of his left leg, and had some handle-looking bar running between his legs. A major pain in the ass. Jack turned away from his mother when she smiled at him, closing his eyes and sobbing into the blanket he gripped tight in both fists.

Maybe Nick was wrong. Maybe he was lucky.

He understood his father was gone and wasn’t coming back. Jack didn’t. He’d had a mom and a dad. Now they were…missing. He was too little to ask questions or understand what was happening.

Jack was…alone. Completely alone.

It hurt to breathe now, physically hurt.

Mrs. Baker left, smiling at him, then waddled down the hallway to the elevator. Nick watched, tempted to escort the older woman to her car just to get away. But that was running away, and he wasn’t a runner—not when his mother needed him.

“Hey, hey, Jack,” his mother crooned, doing her best to soothe the crying kid. “We’re getting out of here today. It’s going to be okay now.”

Jack wasn’t listening. He covered his face with the corner of his blanket and fought the cast to turn away.

Nick couldn’t take it. He walked into the hospital room and stood there, watching.

“Is he in pain?” he asked.

“What?” she asked, patting Jack’s hand.

“Is he in pain?” he asked, louder this time.

Jack stopped crying. He turned and stared, straight at Nick.

Nick swallowed, eaten up with all the horrible things he’d thought and said. None of this was Jack’s fault. He was a baby. Just a baby—with no one and nothing.

Jack tried to sit up, but the cast wouldn’t let him. With a grunt, he flopped back, still staring at Nick. “Da,” he said, reaching toward him with both hands. “Da,” he repeated, smiling at him like he was the best thing in the whole fucking world.

Nick swallowed hard, his eyes burning and his chest hurting. How could he explain that their dad was gone? He wasn’t coming back.

“Da.” Jack stretched, his little fingers wiggling.

He didn’t remember moving. Didn’t remember crossing the room or sitting on the bed or leaning over him. He did remember hugging him. He felt the cling of Jack’s little arms around his neck and the softest brush of Jack’s curls against his cheek.

“Da.” It was a sigh.

“I got you, little bro.” He forced the words around the knot crushing his windpipe. “You hear me?”

…

Honor rolled over and stared at the sliver of light creeping through the blinds. Daylight. Not a streetlight. She sat up, staring around the dim interior of Owen’s bedroom.

“You okay?” Owen lay on top of the blankets beside her.

Oh God. She’d spent the night here. And now… She ran a hand over her tangle of red curls. Bedhead, every morning. More like a rat’s nest. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” he asked, sitting up.

She caught sight of the clock. “No. Dammit.” She hopped up.

“What time were they going?” he asked, already knowing what she was worried about.

“An hour ago.” She tugged on her jeans. “My mother is probably freaking out.”

“Promise me you won’t get mad,” he interrupted.

She paused. “I’m not promising anything.”

“I texted Nick and got your mom’s cell number. I called her last night.” He stood, turning on the light. “I mean, with everything else…”

“She’s been through enough without me adding to it?” she asked, not in the least bit angry with him. He was right.

“Pissed?” he asked, his hands hovering by her shoulders, almost touching.

She shook her head and buried her face against his chest. “No.”

“Whew.” He chuckled, his hands running up and down her back. “Would kind of suck if you were. Since I love you and all.”

Honor laughed, but her heart kicked up to record-speed. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. “You’re so full of it.” Last night had started out with her raging, dumping everything on him—everything. From her father’s betrayal to her brother’s rebellion to being Jack’s legal guardian to her fear of leaving home. He’d held her close, asking questions but listening more than anything. When she was done and the tears started, he kept on holding her.

She was the one who attacked him.

And he was the one who shut her down—fast.

“Am I? Why do you say that?” he asked, tilting her head back.

“You know why.” She shrugged out of his hold. For the first time, she’d taken a risk, tried to shake off her inhibition. And he’d held her away from him. It was humiliating—and painful. She sat on the bed and slipped on her shoes, awash in embarrassment all over again.

“Because I wouldn’t sleep with you?” he asked, crouching in front of her as she tied her tennis shoes. “Hey.” His hand grabbed hers and held it still. “Honor?”

She tried to laugh it off. It came out like a croak. “I’m not good at this, okay? I’m pretty sure you’ve figured that out by now.” With a slight tug, she broke the contact. When he touched her, she short-circuited. “Let’s be honest. I don’t know how to do this. And last night, I didn’t come here thinking we’d… But then…” She stood, shoved her phone into her pocket, and reached for Amber’s keys.

“Stop a sec, okay?” He blocked her path. “You came here because you needed someone to listen to you. You picked me.” His hand rested along the curve of her cheek, drawing her gaze up to his gorgeous face. “I want to be that guy for you. Not some creep wanting to get into your pants. That’s not what I want for us, okay?” He kissed her, a slow, gentle kiss. “I do love you. Since the day you smiled at me in English class, I’ve loved you.”

It would be easier to laugh off if she didn’t want to believe what he said. And if he’d stop looking at her like that—like she mattered. Like maybe he did love her. “Are you serious?” Do I want to know? Because, no matter how hard she’d been fighting it since that day in the mall—no matter how many times she’d told herself she did not love him—she did. So much.

He nodded, the tenderness on his face kicking up her heart rate. “I’m serious.” His forehead rested against hers. “But… I do want to get into your pants.”

She laughed, breathless. “Next time, maybe.”

“Maybe?” He groaned.

She kissed him, sliding her arms around his neck and giving it all she had. In his arms, it was okay to let go. He’d seen her at her worst, sobbing and dripping and leaving wads of tissue all over his floor. Still, he loved her. And she loved him.

He broke away. “Want me to drive?”

She shook her head. “No.”

His smile faded.

“But if you want to show up in thirty minutes or so?”

“Twenty?” he asked, kissing her again. “Fifteen?”

She broke away. “Long enough for me to take a shower. Tame this.” She pointed at her red hair.

“Don’t tame it. I like it.” He opened his door and led her down the stairs. Owen’s dad was deployed, and his older brother was rarely home. For all intents and purposes, he lived on his own—and he kept the house immaculate. That had been a surprise. So had learning he took care of his elderly neighbor’s yard and her yappy little dog. Or that he’d learned how to work on cars because he didn’t have the money to pay someone to fix his. And, of course, his willingness to help her brother deal with everything he was dealing with. Then, last night. Not the cocky jock she’d pegged him for. But, until recently, she hadn’t given him the chance to prove otherwise. Why did she have to be so stubborn?

“You got this,” he said, so matter-of-factly she almost believed him.

With another kiss and wave, she climbed into Amber’s convertible and made the drive across town.

She parked in the garage and headed inside, hoping it wasn’t too bad. But there wasn’t a temper tantrum taking place. If anything, it was quiet. She found Aunt Charity sitting at the kitchen table flipping through a travel magazine with a massive blueberry muffin in front of her. “Morning.”

“Morning. Hungry? Your mom made some blueberry muffins.”

“Are they home?” She shook her head. “Is everything okay?”

“They’ve been home a while. I think they’re in the nursery.” Her brows rose. “Go see for yourself.”

Honor frowned. “Bad?”

“I’m not saying a thing.” She shooed her toward the door and turned back to the magazine she was reading.

Honor headed straight for the nursery, expecting to hear Jack any second. Finding Nick lying beside Jack, reading a book about a poky puppy, was the last thing she’d expected.

“Hi,” she said, leaning against the door.

“Hey,” Nick said. “Jack, say hi to Honor.”

“Hi,” Jack said, smiling.

Honor stared back and forth between the two of them, in shock. “What did you do?” she asked, dropping to the carpet beside the toddler. “How did you get this little guy to smile? And to stop crying?”

“I look like Dad.” His laugh was quick.

“Da,” Jack agreed, putting his hand on Nick’s arm.

Honor blinked, studying her brothers, her heart in her throat. Except for the eyes, Jack really was a younger version of Nick—and their father. Still, it couldn’t be easy for Nick, feeling the way he did about their dad. “You’re okay with that?”

“We’re good.” Nick nodded. “You’re interrupting the story.”

Jack patted the book, smiling at Nick with pure joy.

Honor stared at the two of them, a comfortable warmth flooding her chest. Maybe things would be okay. Weird, yes. No denying it. But maybe—eventually—okay. “Sorry.” She laughed. “I’m going to take a shower.” But they were already reading again.

“Amazing, right?” Her mother was waiting outside.

“Is he really okay?” she asked, watching the two of them.

“I can hear you,” Nick called out. “I’m fine. Go away. Make sure Aunt Charity doesn’t eat all the muffins.”

“I made two dozen,” her mother argued.

“Have you seen her eat?” Nick quipped.

“There you go.” Her mother shrugged, her gaze a little too penetrating. “What about you?”

“Can we talk in your room?” She led the way, not waiting for an answer. Once the door was closed, she jumped right in. “I’m not mad at you, Mom. I admit I was surprised, maybe even a little hurt that you didn’t tell me about the will… But I get it.” She hugged herself. “You’re my mom. You’ll always try to protect me. And Dad did what he thought was best, I guess.”

“I’m pretty sure he never thought it would happen, Honor.” Her mom reached for her.

Honor wanted to believe her. She wanted to go on thinking the best of her father—especially now that he was gone. “Jack has no idea how lucky he is to have us.”

Her mother nodded. “I think—I hope—it’s going to be okay.”

“It will.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “I’m going to take a shower before Owen comes over.” And this time she wouldn’t spend thirty minutes trying to smooth her curls into submission.

…

Felicity rocked, smoothing Jack’s curls from his forehead and humming “All the Pretty Horses.” It had taken five days for him to accept his new surroundings. Nick was the key. Every day, the two of them grew closer. When Nick walked in, Jack lit up. And when Jack called him “Ni,” Nick was all smiles.

Now his tantrums revolved around diaper changes, fatigue, and frustration over his damn cast. Felicity didn’t blame him in the least. But they had a couple of weeks before it was gone forever. Hopefully the bone had healed and that would be the end of it.

Jack’s thumb slipped from his mouth as he drifted off to sleep. She stared down at him, tracing the curve of his cheeks with her fingertips. Honor was leaving in a few weeks. Nick only had two years of high school left. Then she’d be a single mom—of a pre-schooler. “We’re going to be okay, Jack. You know that?”

His little mouth sucked in his sleep. She stood and carried him to his crib, taking extra-special care to ease the cast onto the mattress first.

She stood over him, smoothing the blanket up and turning on his nightlight as she left.

The house was quiet.

Charity was having dinner with Maudie to finalize the handoff of the travel agency. Nick had gone with friends to a party at the lake and was spending the night at her parents’. This time, he promised, he really was spending the night at her parents’. And Honor was on a date with Owen.

She was alone. And that meant there was nothing to distract her from missing Graham.

Which meant she needed to find something to do. Immediately.

She poured a glass of wine and carried it and the baby monitor into the living room. Charity had given her a book “guaranteed to distract her,” but so far it had failed to deliver. With a sigh, she skimmed four pages, then slammed the book down. She stared at her phone, took several sips of wine, and gave in.

The phone rang three times.

“Felicity?” Graham. Graham’s voice.

She could breathe. “Hi.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes. I wanted to hear your voice. “Everything is fine.”

“I’m glad. I was going to call but didn’t know when would be a good time. How is Jack settling in?” he asked.

“It’s been amazing, thanks to Nick.” She filled him in on the transformation of both boys. And it felt better, talking to him. “How’s Diana?”

“She went to the party at the lake tonight. I’m hoping there is a party at the lake.”

“There is. Nick went with some of his friends.” Hopefully he’d be nice to Di. They hadn’t talked about her or Graham since he’d blown up. And he’d said a lot of things that morning—some of which she was hoping were alcohol- and emotion-fueled, but she was too scared to find out.

The last few days had been relatively calm. As nice as it was, something had been missing. Not something—someone. Graham. And Diana.

“With any luck, she’ll have a good time and stay out of trouble.”

“Things better?” she asked, hoping so.

“I think so.” He chuckled. “But I don’t always know what’s going on in her head.”

It was easy to imagine his smile. But imagining Graham made it impossible to ignore how much she missed him. She opened her eyes, staring around the house. Honor was out with Owen. Jack was asleep. And she wanted him here, now. She wanted to have this conversation with his arms around her. She wanted to bury her nose against his chest—

“How’s Charity?” he asked.

She shook her head. How much time had she spent thinking about him over the last five days? Little things like making coffee—he liked it black. Or petting Pecan—she still needed to replace his phone. And lying on her bed—aching. The ache was always there. Like now.

“Felicity?”

I’m here. Mentally torturing myself. And aching. “What?”

“Is Charity feeling better? Dr. Luna said she was pretty shaken when she saw her in the ER.”

“Yes, she is. As scared as she was, I think the UTI made her realize she wanted this baby.” She shook her head, smiling. “She still believes she’s missing the parenting gene, but I’m hoping she’ll get over that as her pregnancy progresses.”

“And you?” He paused. “How are you?”

I miss you. “Fine. A little tired.” Partly because I’m lying in bed thinking about you instead of sleeping. But sharing any of that with him would only complicate things. “The whole toddler sleep schedule is taking some getting used to.”

“I don’t envy you.” He chuckled. Oh, how she adored the sound.

“And you? What are you up to? Home alone?” she asked.

“I’m good.”

“Then why are you home?” She paused, finishing off her wine. “I might be chained to a toddler, but you are not. You should go out. Turn off whatever sad documentary you’re watching and go have fun.”

“How do you know I’m watching a documentary?”

“I’m hanging up.” She laughed. “You’re going out.”

“Felicity… It was good to hear your voice.” His tone was deeper, gruffer, and her insides turned molten. And his words had her grinning like an idiot.

“You, too,” she whispered. Too good. Enough with phone calls or daydreaming. “Bye, Graham.” She hung up and headed straight into the kitchen to refill her glass. She wasn’t going to think about Graham going out and having a good time. It’s not that she didn’t want that for him—she did. At the same time, she didn’t. Widow Rainey might have mentioned something about Graham and pretty Miss Takahashi to Charity when she’d stopped by the travel agency. According to her sister, the old woman was convinced the two of them would click. And she and the widows were developing a plan to get them together.

Felicity had been careful to act like it wasn’t a big deal, especially since Charity had been watching her like a hawk. But it sort of was a big deal. Did she want Graham clicking with someone else?

What is wrong with me? I’m a terrible, selfish person.

A terrible, selfish person who was going to turn off all thoughts of her kids, Graham…everything. Wine, a bubble bath, some music—she could relax. It had been a while, but she was going to give it a try.

Right.

It took twenty minutes to locate her stress-relieving bath bomb and another ten minutes for her rarely used oversize claw-foot tub to fill. While the water was rising, she plugged in Jack’s baby monitor and put on a playlist with soothing natural sounds like waterfalls, birdcalls, and other ambient noise.

Relaxing. She twisted her hair up and clipped it on the top of her head, stripped, and slipped into the hot water and eucalyptus-scented bubbles with a sigh. Relaxing.

“I can do this.” She rested her head and took a sip of her wine.

Her mind wasn’t cooperating. “No worrying about Nick or Diana at the lake. Or thinking about what Honor and Owen might be up to. Or if Graham is calling Miss Takahashi. Just bubbles and waterfalls. Relaxing.” Saying the words out loud helped. For about five minutes. Then images of Nick drinking, Honor and Owen—not going there—and Graham dancing with Miss Takahashi popped up to derail her plans.

I’m relaxing.

She closed her eyes and focused on the calming sounds of the rain forest—then the doorbell rang. “Oh no.” She stood, grabbing a towel and running for the door—dripping water as she went. Please don’t ring it again. Please. Towel wrapped tightly around her, she ran down the stairs—nearly slipping—and across the foyer. She peeked through the peephole.

“Graham?” This is bad. Worse because she’d said his name loud enough for him to hear her.

“Felicity?” He spoke through the door. “I’m sorry for ringing the doorbell. I forgot about Jack.”

“It’s okay.” He had a bouquet of flowers. “This isn’t what I had in mind when I told you to go out and do something.”

He brought her flowers. She was in a towel. And she ached for him.

This is so bad.

“I did go out. But once I was in the car, I headed this way.” He paused. “I can’t come in?”

“Oh, sure.” Because having a conversation through a door was weird. “I wasn’t expecting company,” she said, unlocking the door and pulling it—slowly—open.

His head-to-toe inspection did nothing to soothe her nerves. The way his dark hair fell forward onto his forehead—hard not to reach out and smooth it into place. But touching him would be bad.

He smiled, the corners of his warm brown eyes creasing nicely. “I’m interrupting. Bubble bath?” he asked, his gaze lingering on her shoulder.

She wiped the bubbles from her skin. “I was trying to relax. Everyone is out and I’m not good at occupying myself, either.”

“I can recommend a couple of documentaries.”

She laughed, tugging her towel up and shaking her head. “Maybe for insomnia?” She cleared her throat, her gaze getting tangled up in his. Dripping water and towel aside, she was so happy he was here.

“Trouble sleeping?” He went from adorable Graham to Dr. Murphy in a matter of seconds. Which made him even more adorable.

She shook her head.

Eyebrow cocked, he studied her expression. “I’ll send you a list.” He smiled.

“Normally, I bake, but Charity asked me not to tempt her anymore.” She stepped back. “Coming in?”

He hesitated, his gaze returning to her bare shoulders. “No. I don’t think so.” He blew out a slow breath and held out the bouquet of daisies, sunflowers, and roses. “I may have made a stop along the way.”

“Graham…” She took the flowers. “You can come in. I mean, you came all this way.” And it made her happy. He made her happy.

“I missed you.” His gaze met hers.

Ridiculously happy. So happy that she really wanted to grab his arm and tug him inside. Or at the very least admit the truth, even if her voice wobbled. “I miss you.”

But admitting that didn’t change how her son felt.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nick.” She bit her lower lip, scrambling for a way to say what she needed to say.

“Everything okay?” He came inside and carefully shut the door. “What happened?”

Words clogged her throat. Some she wanted to say, some she didn’t.

“Felicity?” he asked. “Hey, you can talk to me.”

She could. He would listen—be there for her. She placed the flowers on the foyer table and wrapped her arms around him. An odd, muffled choke-groan caught in his throat before his hands landed on her shoulders. “Is this a good idea?” he murmured gruffly.

No. Not at all. “Hugging?” she asked, knowing good and well what he was asking.

“What’s wrong with Nick?” His arms slid around her, loose.

“He was really upset.” She swallowed.

“I know.” He sighed. “Did you talk to him?”

“I did.” Better to rip off the Band-Aid. Still, she tightened her arms around him. If she told him about Nick’s ultimatum, he’d leave. That was who Graham was. He’d never do anything to threaten her family—the relationship she cherished with her children.

Just as she cherished her relationship with Graham. She cared about him, deeply.

That’s why, right or wrong, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him what Nick said. “It didn’t go well.”

He bent his head, his breath warm against her shoulder. “What can I do?”

She shook her head, too distracted by the brush of his breath on her skin. It started out as hugging, but now that he was this close, she wanted more. Like turning into his chest, burrowing against him, and breathing in his scent. Much better.

Stay. It was selfish but true. She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted to stay right here in his arms.

His gaze traveled slowly over her face. Beneath her hand, his heart beat like crazy. Like hers. He cleared his throat. “I should go.”

He should. That would be the responsible thing to do. And they were both responsible adults. But, just once, she wanted to do what she wanted to do.

“Felicity?”

“I’m thinking.” Her gaze settled on his mouth.

“Thinking? About?”

Honesty is the best policy. At least, that’s what she’d been told her whole life. “How nice it would be…if you stayed.” She held her breath.

His nostrils flared, the tic in his jaw muscle a clue that he was fighting for control. “You’d regret it.”

She shook her head. “No. No, I wouldn’t.”

He pressed his eyes shut. “You’re standing in a towel, asking me to stay. And, believe me, I want to.” When he looked at her, those brown eyes were blazing. “But tomorrow—”

“If you leave, I’ll spend the rest of the night aching for you, like I have been every night for…too long. I try not to. I bake or take bubble baths or rearrange my kitchen cabinets—anything.” Stop. Stop talking. The words kept coming. “But then I remember your touch. How it feels to be in your arms.” She swallowed. “The taste of your mouth. And I know what I want. More than anything. You.”