Then There Was You: A Single Parent Collection

by Gianna Gabriela

  “Jude…” I cry out when I feel the sharp sting of his teeth on the swell of my breast. He soothes the bite with his tongue, before drawing my nipple deep into the heat of his mouth.

  Glorious.

  The way he heats me inside and out, I feel like I’ve been sparked to life. Every hair on my skin stands on end, charged by his touch as his rough palms slide over my body with an urgent reverence. His own muscles ripple when I restlessly stroke his shoulders and back, memorizing every ridge and valley, as I grind myself down on his length.

  Time doesn’t exist as our bodies take what they need from each other: skin sliding over skin, slick with the heat we generate.

  “Are you hungry?”

  I chuckle at the question. So like a guy.

  I was almost asleep, snuggled with my cheek to his chest, and leg thrown over his, as his fingers draw circles on my hip.

  “I guess I could eat something. Let me make us a sandwich,” I offer, getting ready to roll out of bed.

  “I’ll go,” he says firmly.

  Five minutes later, he’s back with a couple of waters from the fridge and a stack of sandwiches on a plate.

  “You don’t have any beer,” he mumbles through his first bite, settling back against the headboard.

  “I don’t drink much anymore. I did too much of that for a while.” I take a quick sip of my water and glance at him from under my lashes.

  “Oh?” He tries hard not to be nosy, but it’s something I’ve decided to be open about anyway.

  “Drinking got me into trouble,” I confess. “Actually, drinking and sedatives got me into trouble.” He swallows hard before he puts his sandwich down and takes a sip of water himself, steeling himself for what I’m sure he knows is coming. “I was looking for a way to feel numb. Both worked, but together they worked a little too well.” I look down at my hands. “If I’m perfectly honest, I don’t even know if it was a mistake. Sam found me unresponsive, called an ambulance. I was in an inpatient treatment facility for a while. At my own request,” I add. “When I saw how I’d traumatized my best friend, I owed it to her…heck, I owed it to Jamie not to give up.”

  “You don’t have to tell me this,” he says softly, stroking the back of his fingers down my cheek, and I close my eyes at the comfort of such a simple touch.

  “I do,” I disagree. “The way our lives are connected, I want…no, I need for you to know everything there is to know. I can’t afford to risk losing you, what we have, because it’s almost inevitable some of it will bubble to the surface eventually, especially when the press gets involved.”

  I feel more than see the tension in him, and I realize I hadn’t even considered the possibility he might have second thoughts.

  “The press?” The angry growl is clearly not at me, but because of me. There’s a vast difference.

  “They were still hovering. It made for juicy fodder for a day or two on the pages of the Boston Telegraph. They’re hardly worth the title of newspaper.”

  I try to brush it off, but Jude is having none of it. He sets the plate aside and leans over, cupping my face in his hands. “Fuck, baby. I’m so sorry. Christ, I hate to tell you this, but it doesn’t look like they’re done yet.”

  I’m confused. “What do you mean?”

  “The Telegraph. Some guy by the name of John Meister shoved a recorder in my face just as we were leaving the hospital.”

  The implications rush at me all at once, making my stomach turn.

  20

  JUDE

  “Cassie okay?”

  I watch Mika walking hand in hand with my daughter, down the beach to the water’s edge, as I stop to take Mark’s call.

  It’s a cloudy Monday morning and Nauset Beach has been virtually deserted since we got here. I’ve been mostly following those two around, listening with half an ear to their exchanges. All photography slang, I’m surprised to find my daughter already has a working understanding of. Mika has taught her a thing or two already. I’m clearly not needed here, but Kelty insisted I come.

  She’s been pretty much over the moon with Mika’s changed status in our lives and seems determined to force us together. Not that it’s necessary; aside from working, we’ve also been spending most of our time off in each other’s company this past weekend. Including our nights in the cottage.

  I’ve set my alarm every morning, so I could be back at the house before Kelty woke up, but this morning I was a little distracted after it went off and Kelty was already sitting on the steps with her camera. I’d given the green light for her to resume her morning adventures with Mika, and clearly my daughter was eager. That’s when she cornered me into coming.

  Before the weekend, I’d already warned both Cassie and Mark about the reporter, in case he showed up in the maternity ward, and we talked about the risk of Kelty finding out about the origin of her heart. We agreed we should jointly tell her. It was Mika who had some valid concerns around Kelty perhaps feeling guilty. Something like survivor’s guilt. It makes sense, as I told her, but it doesn’t negate the fact it’s safer she finds out from us. Any resulting guilt we can deal with. All of us.

  “Cassie’s fine,” Mark says. “I know you don’t bother much with TV or the internet, but you may want to check out today’s Boston Telegraph. I happened to see a copy lying in the hospital cafeteria this morning. I started flipping through, and let me just tell you, I didn’t need to see even the blurred out version of your ass before having my coffee.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a picture of you, and Mika from what I can see, on page three of the Telegraph. Short little story, but pretty suggestive.”

  “You have got to be shitting me.”

  “Nope. I wish I were, I’m scarred for life.”

  “Fuck!”

  Apparently I’m a little too loud when Mika swings around and looks at me with concern. I quickly give her a thumbs-up before I turn away.

  “Are you still coming in tomorrow after Kelty’s appointment?”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely. Especially after this.”

  My clumsy thumbs keep messing up as I try to look up the Telegraph’s website on my phone after he hangs up.

  “Son of a bitch…” I mutter when page three of the gossip rag appears on my screen.

  The picture is taken through the bedroom window at the cottage. It shows me mostly from the back, my ass covered by a blurry circle, but what kills me is it shows Mika face on. She’s clearly on her knees in front of me, her face lifted up, and even with the mattress covering her from the shoulders down at this angle, the intent is clear.

  “Everything okay?” I hear Mika right behind me. I didn’t even notice her walking up. My eyes find Kelty a little down the beach, aiming her camera at something in the distance.

  I press the screen of my phone to my chest as I turn around.

  “No.”

  Shock registers on her face at my blunt answer, but no pretty packaging is going to make this any easier. Ripping off the Band-Aid is the only way to go.

  “The Telegraph has pictures of us in today’s edition. Mark happened to flip through a copy in the hospital and called right away.”

  “Pictures?”

  “Yeah, baby. Brace, because it ain’t pretty.”

  I hand her my phone and watch as her teeth dig into her bottom lip and a deep red blush crawls up her neck.

  I’m not sure what I expected—tears maybe—but certainly not the steel determination in those blue eyes when she lifts them to me.

  “Right. Go get Kelty, Jude,” she orders me with an edge that tells me not to poke the bear. “I have a newspaper to sue and you have an asshole to fire.”

  “What asshole are you talking about?”

  “Who do you think?” she snaps and I see she’s barely hanging on. “That fucking little pervert, Nick.”

  “Kelty!” I immediately belt out. “We’ve gotta go.”

  My daughter is still pouting in the back seat when we get home, even with the p
romise of a sundae for lunch.

  “Hang on so I can drop her off with Dad,” I tell Mika, who’s already half out the door.

  “Let me do this, please?” she pleads, her eyes echoing her words. “For once I’d like to stand up for myself.”

  It goes against the grain to let her do the dirty work, but I nod anyway. I’ll do anything for her; even swallow my need to jump to her protection. “I won’t be far behind you, though,” I call out as she’s already marching over to the restaurant.

  MIKA

  Oh, I’m fuming.

  Mortified, but fuming.

  Aside from feeling violated with the publication of photos of what was such a profound and intimate moment, I am beyond livid that they dare drag a good decent man and father through the mud with me.

  I may not have had it in me to fight when it was just my reputation getting trashed, but I will not stand by when they go after Jude, or God forbid, Kelty.

  “You!” I yell, as I slam through the doors.

  Nick is standing beside Mandy, who looks at me like I’ve grown horns. I probably have. “What on earth, Mika?”

  “Not you. Him.” I reach out, grab Nick by the wrist and pull him down the hallway to Jude’s office. He doesn’t resist.

  “Look, it’s just business,” he has the gall to say when I drop his arm and shut the door on a curious Mandy.

  “You call it just business?” I hiss, walking over to the filing cabinet and pointing at the close-up of Kelty I hung there for Jude. Behind a blank-looking Nick the door opens and Jude slips in, but he stays leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s about this little girl’s life, you miserable scum-sucking piece of shit! I’m fair game, but this beautiful little girl, who’s been through hell and back this past year, does not deserve what you’ve set in motion.” I hate the tears that are burning tracks down my cheeks and I wipe at them impatiently. “This is business to you? Let’s call law enforcement right now and see what they think of your kind of business. Misrepresenting yourself, spying on people, taking their picture and publishing them with some sensationalized version of the truth. What is wrong with you?”

  The mention of the cops seems to be the only thing that elicits any kind of reaction from him. “Look, I had nothing to do with that article, I just do what I’m told, and I was told to take some pictures.”

  I look over at Jude, who’s walked over to the desk and is talking on the phone. To the cops, I hope. I turn back to Nick. “Those were not just some pictures and you know it. Still, you got them, so what the hell are you still doing here?” My eyes narrow on him when he tries to look away, clearly uncomfortable now. “Nick—is that even your name? Nick?” His lips press together and he doesn’t say anything more, but starts slowly backing up. “You have more pictures, don’t you?”

  I move to close the distance but he’s faster and darts out the door, only to be shoved right back inside by a looming Daniel, who apparently was right outside. The much bigger man keeps pushing him until the backs of his knees hit a chair and he plops down.

  “Hey, you can’t manhandle me. I’ll file charges.”

  Daniel plants his hands on the chair railings, down to where he’s almost nose to nose with Nick, and his voice is a deep rumble. “Try.”

  “Vern’ll be here in a few,” Jude says, walking up and throwing an arm around my shoulders.

  “He’s gotta have more pictures,” I tell him, feeling like a large fist is squeezing my lungs.

  “Vern will take care of it.”

  I shake my head, trying to ward off the panic. What if he took pictures of Kelty? “But I know how these guys work. He…he…”

  The words get stuck in my throat and suddenly Jude is right there in my face, holding it between his hands. “Mika, baby…breathe.”

  “He took our picture. He was watching us. My face…it’s all over Boston…Oh my God.”

  I find myself pressed to his chest, one of his hands firmly holding me there as I proceed to lose it on him.

  I keep my face pressed in his shirt, trying to calm my breathing when I register someone else coming in.

  “Boss, Vern’s here,” I hear Mandy announce.

  “Send him in.” Then I hear his voice next to my ear. “I’m gonna let you go, okay?”

  I nod my head against his chest before lifting it away. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, peeking up at him.

  He grins down at me. “Don’t apologize. That was the best tongue lashing I’ve ever been witness to, and well worth the wet shirt.”

  Ten minutes later, Nicholas Castleton—the name Jude’s cop friend found on the driver’s license in his wallet—is escorted out of the restaurant in handcuffs by an officer.

  “What’s going to happen to those pictures?” I ask Vern, a portly man in his fifties and a sergeant with the Orleans PD, pointing at Nick’s iPhone in his hand.

  “You tell me, do you want to press charges?” he counters with his own question, glancing at Jude who waits for me to answer.

  “Yes.”

  I’m done, and I want this over with.

  “Then these will have to be presented to the prosecutor’s office as part of the evidence. There are a few charges we can slap on him, but it’s up to the prosecutor to decide.”

  The thought of other people looking at those pictures on his phone gives me the shivers, even though at least one of them has already been published for all to see.

  “I suggest you talk to a lawyer, get some advice on how to best proceed from here, because you and I both know taking this man into custody does not solve your problem.”

  “I know.”

  When Vern says his goodbyes, and Jude and I are the only ones left in his office, he turns to me.

  “I’m closing the restaurant tomorrow.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I have a feeling, before long, others may show up here and we need to do some damage control first.”

  “How do you propose to do that?”

  “Well…” he rounds the desk, sits on the edge, and pulls me between his legs. “First thing tomorrow we find us a lawyer, then we drive in to Boston for Kelty’s appointment, and finally we sit down with Cassie and Mark—maybe we can get Dr. Cosgrove to join—and talk to Kelty. After that I propose we pick a paper or a news station that you think would have the most impact, and offer them an exclusive on our story.”

  I stiffen in his hold. “What?”

  “Listen, Cassie and Mark need to be in agreement, but the only way to stop this is to spoil the mystery. You pick one of the channels or papers, use your connections, and see who’s interested in an exclusive.”

  I clap my hands on his cheeks and press my lips to his. “That might just work.”

  He grins at that. “Added benefit is that you finally get a chance to stick it your asshole ex.”

  “You just might be brilliant,” I tell him with a smile.

  “Might be?”

  21

  JUDE

  “What are you doing?”

  Walking into the bedroom, I find Mika on her knees beside the bed, pulling something from underneath.

  I ended up sleeping in my own bed last night. It had been late after we’d closed the restaurant down, and I didn’t want to oversleep and have Kelty waking up to me gone again. Actually, it had been Mika who had to kick me out, when a goodnight kiss—after I walked her to the cottage—led to a pretty heated make out session just inside her door.

  Kelty is eating her breakfast at home, and I wanted to give Mika a heads-up we’ll be leaving soon. Okay, fine, and maybe grab the small window of opportunity to kiss her properly, which is not necessarily appropriate in front of my daughter.

  Her coffee cup was sitting on the porch railing, and her front door was open, so I walked in.

  “Oh, you startled me,” she says, rubbing a spot on her head where she banged it on the bed frame.

  “Need some help?” I motion to the stack of large frames on the floor at
her knees.

  “Yes. No, these were supposed to be a surprise your father is helping with.”

  “Dad?”

  He’d been eager to find out why the hell there’d been two patrol cars pulling in the parking lot, but had the presence of mind to keep Kelty distracted. While Mika explained the lay of the land to the full-time staff, I took the opportunity to pop over and check on my daughter. I took Dad aside and filled him in. He offered to stay behind today to keep an eye on the place. Just in case of unwanted visitors.

  “Yes.” She blows a stray lock of hair from her face, as she grabs onto the edge of the mattress and pulls herself to her feet. “He was going to hang these for me. Have it all done by the time we get back.”

  One by one she picks up the frames, propping them up side by side against the wall underneath the window. I recognize some of the photos, but others are new. Eight altogether, not counting the one still upside down by her feet.

  “Those are amazing,” I tell her truthfully.

  They are. Predominantly black and white, with one single-colored focus. The tail of a whale, with the only color the lighthouse in the background. A piece of red sea glass peeking out from underneath seaweed. The green blistering paint on the stern of the old fishing boat down by the water, just visible in the frame featuring the white heron. All of them portraying slices of life on the Cape. Every one of them stunning.

  “You’re father was going to hang those in the restaurant. A little presumptuous on my part, I guess—and we could’ve easily taken them down again—but I hoped maybe you’d like them.”

  I close the distance and tag her around the neck, pulling her into a bruising kiss.

  “Love them.” Her smile is small, but it lights up her face. “What about that one?” I point at the one frame left upside down on the floor.

  “Your dad says that should go in your bedroom.”

  My imagination momentarily spins out of control with the possibilities, but then I realize since Dad’s seen it, it’s unlikely to be a sexy boudoir shot or nude selfie of Mika.