HEATHER HAD KNOWN too many days that had lasted a lifetime over her years. The first time she watched Travis being taken away... The day she found out she was pregnant with Millie... The days after she left Millie, when every breath had found a new way to shred her heart.
And now this one.
She stayed at Xander’s with a struggling Cady and an oddly silent Millie until Darcy and Ian arrived, breathless and frightened. She passed on everything she knew and repeated Xander’s request for Carter, not leaving until she had heard Ian make the call to his brother and knew that legal intervention was at hand.
Once everyone was settled and Cady was happily in her mother’s care, Heather led Millie to the car. They made it one block before she had to pull over and hold her weeping, shaking child.
Every unintelligible question, every cry of fright and worry and disbelief, cut straight through Heather. She knew exactly what Millie was feeling. She knew every side of it, and worse, because she knew what would come next.
Right as rain.
She didn’t know what Xander might or might not have done. Everything she knew about him told her it had to be a mistake, a mix-up down at the station, but there was so terrifyingly much she still didn’t know. Even those things she did know came only from him.
Dear God in Heaven. She was having a baby with someone who had gone to jail, and she’d been so busy convincing herself that his past no longer mattered, so busy convincing herself to go with her gut, that she had never even done a Google search on him. What kind of idiot had she—
But no. She had spent too many years making herself believe that history wasn’t destiny to not give him that same privilege. She had been right to believe in him. To focus on the future.
Except that now, she knew what that future would hold. She’d read it in the bitter understanding she spotted in his eyes when she backed away. She’d seen it in the head down, shoulders hunched walk of shame as he walked to the cruiser. She’d heard it in the harsh resignation of his voice when he told her that everything was right as rain.
She knew every one of those. She had lived every one of those signs before, and she knew what they meant: that he hadn’t been truly surprised when the cop came to his door. That he had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. That even if he hadn’t done anything now, even if it truly was a mix-up, that it was only a matter of time.
Exactly the way it had always been with Travis.
* * *
WHEN XANDER TEXTED to say he was on his way home, Heather gave thanks. When he asked what time Millie would be going back to Hank’s, she answered, and told him to come to her house. Because yes, they needed to talk. Even though she already knew everything he had to say. And even though she knew exactly how this was going to end.
When Hank came to get Millie, she met him in the driveway and told him everything that had happened. No surprise, he’d already heard the basics via the Darcy-Brynn connection. She was able to assure him that Millie seemed to be over the worst of it.
“We watched a funny movie and ate popcorn,” she said. “There were questions, but not too many, and thanks to Travis I was able to handle most of them.”
That was probably the first time in her life that she had been grateful for Travis’s criminal history. Proof that there was a silver lining to everything?
No, she thought, closing her heart. Not this time.
“Carter won’t talk,” Hank said, “but he did tell me it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Xander will be at work tomorrow.”
Thank you, God.
“That project you were working on with him,” Hank said. “It’s done now. Right?”
“All done.” There was no way she was ready to tell Hank that her next venture with Xander—the one that would tie her to him for life—was just beginning.
As soon as Hank and Millie drove away, Heather headed inside. She had fifteen minutes before Xander would arrive, and she needed every one of them.
Going straight to the computer, she pulled up the sample schedule she had made for Hank. Quickly, without allowing herself time to think, she made a new one tailored for a baby. She followed it with a proposed timeline of increased visitation, one based on nursing and napping and maternity leave.
It was practical.
Efficient.
Heartbreaking.
She sent the documents to the printer just as she heard the slam of Xander’s car door. Unnecessary, she knew. She would email them to him anyway, and they would need to talk and negotiate. There would be lawyers involved. She had no illusions that this would be a final draft.
But she needed something to hold. Something to keep her hands occupied so they wouldn’t betray her and pull Xander close so she could check to make sure he was okay, then rest her head on his shoulder and cry out everything she had felt when the police showed up.
She couldn’t give in.
She wasn’t going to let her daughter—her children—grow up bracing for the worst every time a police car slowed down.
She opened the door before Xander could knock, gesturing for him to come inside. He did so silently, following her into the living room, where she perched on the edge of the rocking chair—the one piece of furniture where he couldn’t sit beside her. The papers were rolled up, taped and growing damp in her palms.
Xander glanced from her to the sofa. His lips tightened.
Hope flared in her at that tiny spark of grit. If he was angry, if he was fighting, if he was determined to prove to her and the world that he was a changed man...if she knew he believed it himself...
Then his head bowed, and he sank to the sofa with a weariness she had seen too many times, dragging her heart down with him.
“Are you okay?” She had to know that first. She was going to have to be cruel and hard for enough of the night. She could allow them both this bit of compassion.
“Depends why you’re asking.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of the jacket she hadn’t asked him to remove. “Or what you’re planning.”
No. It shouldn’t depend on anything or anyone else. It should be up to him, not up to whatever she or fate or life might throw at him.
She waited.
He sighed and hunched forward, elbows on knees, curled in on himself. Protecting himself. “It was—Well, not a misunderstanding. There was some trouble out at the Cline place. Seems someone decided to use it as a storage place for some illegal substances.” He put finger quotes around the words. “And idiot me left my notebook there that last night.”
Some of the fear seeped out of her.
“Lucky for me, I had never gone inside. There was nothing to link me to the stash, as Carter pointed out over and over. All they had was my notebook, and my own confession that I had gone out there to take pictures.” He paused. “And my record, of course.”
That said everything, didn’t it? Because she knew as well as he did that the red flags wouldn’t have flown so furiously if his past hadn’t involved bars.
“Did they charge you with anything?”
He glanced up at her, too fast for her to read his face before staring at his shoes. “Does it matter?”
It was the despair in his voice that broke her. The hopelessness. Like he couldn’t believe that the world wasn’t as ready to let go of his past as he was.
“I want you to be okay,” she whispered.
He shrugged.
“Xander?”
“They slapped me with a ticket. Trespassing. And a stern warning to keep my nose clean, because I am now officially on their radar.”
Which meant that this would undoubtedly happen again. Each time, she knew, would steal another piece of his resolve, another piece of his resistance.
For the first time since he arrived, he looked right at her. “This is the end, isn’t it?”
She hadn’t known how much she wanted it to be okay until that moment, him watching her every breath, braced as if waiting for the blow he knew she was about to deliver.
“Yes.” She made the word come out steady. This was what she had to do. For Millie, for herself, for the baby to be.
He continued to watch her. She met his gaze head-on, letting him see the hurt she knew was written in her face. He needed to know that this was killing her, too. She couldn’t do anything else for him, but she could give him that.
* * *
WHEN, AT LAST, he looked away, it was to stare at the floor again. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”
He wouldn’t be. Not after she had turned away from him in his yard.
“But see, there was this one little part, this one little voice inside me that kept saying, wait, Heather’s different. She gets it. Sure, she got caught by surprise and had a moment of doubt, but who could blame her for that?” His hands fluttered back and forth as if searching for something solid, something real to ground him.
She wished to God it could be her.
“I can’t do it again,” she whispered. “I won’t put Millie through that again.”
“You mean you won’t put yourself through it.”
“She’s just a little younger than I was when Travis started getting into trouble. Seeing that happen to someone you love—it does things to a kid. It makes you feel so damned powerless.” She ran her thumb over the edge of the tape on the papers. “I gave Millie up once to keep her safe. I’m not going to stay in something that’s almost guaranteed to mess up her life and make her feel the way I did.”
“And the fact that I didn’t do anything—that doesn’t make any difference, does it?”
“But you did do something.” She had to force the words out, one broken syllable at a time. “You did go out there. And you did trespass. And you did break into that computer, and because you did those things, every time something happens in this town, the police are going to suspect you. Every. Single. Time.”
“I’m not Travis.”
No, he wasn’t. He was stronger and smarter and more insightful. He was the man she loved.
She had spent the last hours trying to convince herself it wasn’t true, but that had proved impossible. She loved him. If she needed any proof, it had been handed to her on a silver platter as she fought to keep from breaking down when he climbed into that cruiser.
But none of that would matter. None of that would keep the police from watching him. None of that would prevent her children from being reminded, over and over, that he could wind up in the back of another cruiser at any time.
“I can’t...” Her voice faltered.
“Can’t what, Heather? Can’t believe the police would do that?” His voice took on an edge she had never heard from him. “Or can’t believe in me?”
The worst moment of Heather’s life had been when she placed her hands on her cold, wet child to see if she was dead or alive. This, though—this was a close second.
She wanted to tell Xander she believed in him. She wanted, desperately, to pull him close and whisper that she believed in him. That she loved him.
But love, she knew, was no guarantee of innocence.
She held the damp papers toward him. “I think the best thing would be for us to come to an agreement about the...about this baby...as soon as possible. So we both know where we stand.”
He looked at her hand. At the papers. She saw his confusion, his slow understanding, and then, God, then, she saw the utter emptiness that was left when a man had had his very reason for living ripped out of him.
I’m sorry, Xander. I am so, so—
He stood. Swayed. Walked forward to take the papers from her.
And kept walking until he was out the door.
* * *
WHEN XANDER GOT into the car, he was shaking so badly that he didn’t dare drive. Not right away. He had to wait until he could see something other than the utter blackness of his future, until he could hear something other than the flatness in Heather’s voice as she talked about...about...
The emptiness inside him turned inside out and upside down as it was replaced by a sudden, blinding fury.
She had given him a goddamned schedule.
He ripped the tape from the papers and unrolled them, smoothing out the creases that were proof of the tightness with which he’d crumpled them as he stalked out the door. There was enough light from the dash that he could get the idea of what she was proposing.
She’d been fair, he’d give her that. It was as close to a 50-50 split as was possible. He flipped to the second page and saw how she had broken things down, month by month, starting from birth through the first year.
The baby will need to stay close to me for the first few weeks while we get a nursing routine established...
Did she build in time to run away and leave this kid, too?
He regretted the thought as soon as it occurred to him. But seriously? Did she think he was going to storm into her hospital room and insist on equal time right from the start? He was tempted to go back inside, to wave her precious schedules under her nose and remind her he wasn’t some jerk who was going to yank the kid out of her arms just for spite.
But if he went back inside, he would do something he would regret. Like tell her they didn’t need this. Like promise he would never land in another police car.
Like tell her that the reason her disbelief had hurt the most was because he loved her.
I won’t put Millie through that again... She’s just a little younger than I was... I gave Millie up once to keep her safe...
If only the cop had shown up when Heather and Millie weren’t there...
Millie.
He checked the time. A little after eight. Too late for a school night?
There was only one way to find out.
Ten minutes later he pulled up in front of Hank’s place. The cottages were empty now, so the only lights shining were those from the house. Otherwise he was surrounded by shades of darkness—from the forest, the river in the distance, the occasional hint of silver that must be a stray moonbeam hitting a cabin window.
Kind of reminded him of his months in jail—a long stretch of lonely with the occasional glimpse of normal when someone came to visit.
Cold sweat beaded on his skin as he let himself—forced himself—to remember those months. The monotony punctured by flashes of laughter and spikes of anger. The fear that had almost paralyzed him when he first arrived, ebbing as he found the rhythm, only to spike up again when the guy two cells over was knifed in the yard.
The way his every activity, almost every breath, had been mapped out according to someone else’s convenience. Someone else’s needs. Someone else’s schedule.
For the first time since the cop had shown up on the door, he stopped to consider how the day could have turned out.
And offered up a fast word of thanks that tonight, he was sitting in his truck instead of in a cell.
Movement at the kitchen window reminded him that he needed to get it in gear. He hopped out of the car and headed for the door. Hank opened up before he could knock.
“Xander?”
It was hard to hear Hank over the wails of the baby in his arms.
“Hey, Hank. Sorry to barge in, but I didn’t have your number.”
Hank shifted the baby to his shoulder. The crying stopped.
“What can I do for you?” Hank jiggled the infant. “I’ll warn you up front, though, if it takes more than two, three seconds, you’re probably SOL.”
“Understood. I’d like to talk to Millie if I could.”
Hank’s eyes went carefully blank.
“She has to get to bed soon. School in the morning.”
“Five minutes. I think... I know she had a scare today. I thought maybe, if she saw me, she might have an easier time with it.”
Hank gave a slow nod. “Fair enough. Come on in.”
Xander followed Hank into a kitchen that looked like a tornado had dropped the entire baby section of a Toys“R”Us in the middle.
“Don’t mind the mess. We’re still catching up from Noah’s latest tooth. These days, we call it a win if everyone ends the day fed and bathed.”
“I can imagine.”
“Don’t. It’ll scare you off of ever having sex again. I’ll get Millie.”
He disappeared. Xander soaked up the sights around him—the bouncy seat on the floor, a pacifier on the table, a box of baby cereal and an impossibly tiny spoon on the counter. All the items he had spied when he let himself take a fast detour down the baby aisle on his last trip to Wal-Mart.
Except he had never really believed he would be picking out those supplies by himself.
Movement from the hallway caught his eye. Millie hovered in the doorway, clad in footie pajamas and a fuzzy pink robe, her hair in one damp braid down her back. She eyed him warily as she clutched Hank’s hand.
Xander’s heart twisted. He’d bet a week’s pay that Millie didn’t hold her daddy’s hand very much these days.
“Hi, Mr. Sorenson.”
He crossed the room to kneel in front of her. “Hi, Millie. I wanted to tell you that everything is okay. I know you must have been scared with everything that happened. But it was all a mistake. I’m fine. I wanted to be sure that you’re fine, too.”
She nodded but maintained her grip on Hank’s hand.
“The police found something of mine, a notebook, in a place where some people were hiding...uh...things they shouldn’t have. I wasn’t part of that, but because my book was there, the police officers had to check it out. Once your uncle Carter explained it all, they sent me home.”
“So you don’t hafta go to jail?”
“No, honey. I don’t.”
“I’m glad.”
“Me, too.”
“Daddy said you used to be in—”
“Mills.” Hank’s voice held that tone that anyone who had ever had a parent would recognize right away—the one that said I told you not to talk about that.
Xander didn’t look at Hank. “Yeah, Millie. I was an idiot a few years ago and I landed in jail. But I learned my lesson, and I’m not breaking any more laws. So you don’t need to worry, okay? The police were just doing their job. Everyone is okay.”
“Okay.” She said it in a whisper, but she managed a small smile. “Cady cried for a minute after you left. But Mommy found some cookies for her and that kept her happy until Aunt Darcy got there.”
“Good. I’m glad she had you and your mom to help her.”
“Me, too. Did you meet my brother? His name is Noah.” She peered around Hank to point toward Brynn, hovering in the doorway with a tentative smile on her face and a baby blanket draped over her shoulder.
Brynn waved. “Hi, Xander. The formal introductions will have to wait. Noah’s a little busy at the moment.”
As if on cue, a noise that resembled a baby pig’s snort sounded from beneath the blanket.
The baby will need to stay close to me for the first few weeks while we get a nursing routine established...
Xander smiled briefly at Brynn and then had to look to the floor, fast, before anyone could see the pain he knew must be showing on his face.
“Anyway, Millie,” he said when he was sure he could speak, “I know you have to get to bed so I won’t keep you. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, and say I’m sorry you got scared.”
“Okay. Thank you for talking to me, Mr. Sorenson.”
“Night, Millie.”
“Come on, Mills.” Brynn extended her free hand. “Let’s get those teeth brushed.”
“Thanks for letting me talk to her, Hank. I won’t keep you.”
“Not a problem. Actually, let me walk you to your car.”
“That’s o—”
“Yeah, I know it’s okay. Humor me.” Hank’s words were mild, but Xander got the message.
They walked in silence until they were halfway to the car, where Hank stopped and leaned up against the rock wall that separated the house from the cabins. Xander hoped to hell Hank didn’t have anything major on his mind. He wasn’t up for much more tonight.
“Good call on coming over,” Hank said. “I think she’s a lot more settled now.”
“That’s why I did it.”
Hank shifted from one foot to the other. “Look, Xander. I know you were helping Heather with a work project, but Brynn talks to Darcy, and the two of them have this idea that—”
“That there’s something going on between me and Heather?”
Hank nodded. “Not that it’s any of my business.” He paused before adding, “But Millie is.”
Damn it. How many times was he going to have to defend himself in one day?
“Hank,” he said, crossing his arms against the night wind, “I get that you don’t want Millie being scared by things like what happened today. I can’t blame you for that. My kid got scared, too, so believe me, I understand.”
Hank shifted. “It’s nothing against you, okay? It’s—I don’t know. Circumstances.”
“Come on, Hank. I’ve known you since that first year Ian and I were roommates. You were, what? Thirteen, fourteen? I think we’re past the point of bullshitting each other.”
It was too dark to be certain, but Xander was pretty sure Hank had gone a little red. “Xander, listen. I know you’re a decent guy. I don’t know what made you go offtrack, but whatever it was, I believe it’s behind you.”
“Thanks.”
“But that doesn’t mean I want my kid to keep coming home with stories about police cars and handcuffs.”
“There were no cuffs.”
Hank motioned with his hand. “Figure of speech? She never said anything like that.”
“Good.”
Silence fell between them. Xander wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.
“For the record,” he said, treading carefully, “there is nothing romantic between me and Heather.”
At least not anymore. Or ever again, as far as he could see.
Hank nodded. “Okay then.”
Xander was tempted to let it drop, until he remembered that this was the one person who could keep Heather from having joint custody of Millie.
Heather might have ripped his heart out today, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to lose out on time with her kid.
“But if there was...” He needed to find out how badly Hank might object. “If something were to develop between us, tell me, Hank. What would you do?”
“What does it matter?”
“Humor me.”
“I...” Hank’s voice trailed off. There was just enough light shining out of the house to make out the way he shifted uncomfortably.
“When you and Heather got married and had Millie, I thought you were making a mistake. I didn’t know you very well, didn’t know her at all, but I knew that you had a tough road ahead. Turns out it was tougher than anyone could have expected.”
Hank said nothing. Probably because he knew where this was going.
“Then you found Brynn. Did anyone expect it to fail because you made a mistake in the past? Did anyone tell you to put your divorce lawyer on speed dial because, you know, you failed once so it was bound to happen again?”
“That’s enough, Xander.”
Yeah. Yeah, it was.
“Look. I know there’s a big difference between getting married young and hacking yourself into jail. But the fact is, you are a different person than you were back then. People know that. They’re happy to give you the benefit of the doubt and wish you well and give you a hand, because they know that all of us screw up. Some of us do it more consciously than others, but still. Does that mean that the thirty-plus years I’ve been a law-abiding citizen are always going to be canceled out by the one year I wasn’t?”
“Not always. No.” Hank’s voice dropped, as if he regretted what he had to say next. “But the thing is, Xander, some years carry a hell of a lot more weight than others.”
There was no denying the truth of Hank’s words. Even though Hank had no idea that it was this year—not the one he’d spent in jail—that would weigh most on Xander for the rest of his life.