“I can’t make it. Sorry. I have a bunch of arrangements to do for the Cook funeral,” I said. “The flowers won’t be in till afternoon so I’ll have to stay late and work on it.”
“Oh. Okay,” he said. “Is everything okay with you?”
“Yeah, why?” I asked, my voice edgy even though I tried to be casual.
“Ever since you got back from Savannah, things have been off between us. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it.”
I hadn’t expected direct confrontation from him, not about relationship stuff. But easygoing Damon had checked out, and this one was suspicious.
“I’m just working more than you’re used to, which is good. I can pay you back faster, get out of your hair. You can have your house back.”
“You’re not in my hair,” he said, frustrated. “How’s it going with your tenant over the shop?”
“Not too bad. She works nights so she’s mostly quiet. She’s a little flaky though. I had to go unplug her flatiron for her one day because she left it on and called me in a panic. I think she doesn’t get enough sleep, honestly.”
“That’s a total mom thing to say,” he said.
“What?” I think my panic showed.
“It sounds like something my mom would say. Or your mom. Like, are you eating your vegetables? You should go to bed earlier. That kind of thing.”
“Oh. Okay. Maybe I’ll go get some sleep now. I’m pretty tired.”
“You sure you feel okay? You’ve been sleeping a lot,” he said.
This more observant Damon needed to back off. I felt like the bad guy in a Scooby Doo episode, trying to hide my antics from the gang. I stammered something about going to work early tomorrow and scampered off to my room to feel like an idiot. It was either that or blurt out that I was with child, which didn’t seem like the best option.
24
Damon
Things had been going so well before she went to Savannah. Maybe her sister had said something to her that made her withdraw from me. Maybe she was having second thoughts about playing house with me. Whatever it was, things had gone to crap since she came back. She avoided me. If I was home and came into a room, it wouldn’t be five minutes till she had to go to bed or call her mom or some other excuse to get away from me. It was upsetting, and when I asked her about it, she brushed it off. I knew something was wrong, and I wanted her to tell me what it was so I could fix it. So I could have her back.
Living with her like this was worse than being alone, I decided. Because it was so damn frustrating. I wanted to talk to her, really talk, watch a movie, laugh, take her to bed. But all I got were mumbles about work and being tired. She was stonewalling me, shutting me down anytime I tried to so much as give her a hug or make plans to hang out with her. Brody was more available than she was, and he had a pregnant wife he was worried about. I literally saw him more than I saw her because we grabbed lunch together one day. I didn’t bother him about my marriage drama, because he had enough on his plate.
“Laura’s great, man. She’s a warrior. There’s no keeping her down. Her test results are all good, and she’s back at work, bitching that I put her on desk duty. She said if I bring her one more Gatorade, she’s gonna throw it at me. Keeping hydrated is really important during pregnancy. And I don’t mean iced coffee,” he said with an eye roll that was practically affectionate. He doted on my loud-mouthed sister just the way she deserved.
“I’m glad you guys are over the scare and baby Damonette is doing well,” I said.
“We are not naming our kid after you. Have your own kid if you wanna give it a dumb name,” he said.
“We’re not doing that.”
“Last I checked y’all were doin’ a lot of ‘that’.”
“I mean we’re not starting a family. It’s not a real marriage,” I said flatly.
“You were gonna go all in, tell her how you felt. Did it not go well?”
I shook my head. “I was planning on telling her. Then she went to see her sister, and she’s been so busy since she got back. There’s not been time. We haven’t even had a meal together, much less a conversation.”
“You gotta make time, buddy.”
“I would if she didn’t run out the goddamn room every time she sees me,” I blurted out.
“How’d you piss her off so bad?”
“I didn’t. I think she’s just—done with me. Like maybe I wanted more than a fling for the first time in my life, and she didn’t. I was just—convenient but she had enough.”
“That’s crap. She’s not done with you. She’s upset about something. Quit making it about you. Find out what’s wrong and fix it.”
“I want to,” I said.
“Then quit feeling sorry for yourself and don’t give up.”
I still hadn’t found a minute to talk to her. I was wondering if I should just call her. It was easier for her to blow me off on the phone than in person, but I was about to crawl out of my skin waiting to talk to her. As soon as my shift was over, I’d go by the flower shop and corner her, tell her to give me ten minutes, kiss her into submission if I had to. It was time to hash this out, no matter how terrifying it seemed.
I only had two more hours on my shift when the call came in from dispatch about a gas leak downtown. I immediately recognized the address as Trixie’s shop. I was on that truck as soon as the address was given. We sped to the street, and I was off the side before the truck was stopped. She was standing outside the shop, arms crossed, face too pale. I went to her and started checking her over.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, assessing her for injury. I took off my heavy uniform coat and draped it around her, “Are you hurt?” I demanded. She shook her head mutely.
The other guys went in to check things out and turn off the gas. I was too busy looking at her weary face and the shadows under her eyes.
She didn’t say a word to me. I folded her into my arms, held her against me. She finally leaned into me, rested her head on my chest. I stroked her hair, then shrugged her away and tipped her face up. I cupped her cheek in my palm and kissed her. I kissed her so long I was breathless and didn’t care. I was sliding my tongue in and out between her lips, making her rise on tiptoe, making her clutch my arms. I could feel her start to melt for me, and I kept going, kept kissing her like my life depended on the slow, sexy slide of our tongues against each other, and the crackle of that wildfire chemistry kindling to life after way too long.
She was plastered against me as close as I could have her, and our mouths were fused together. I didn’t care that we were on the sidewalk, that a crowd had gathered when the fire truck veered onto the street. I cared that she was safe and whole and in my arms. I could tell her something with my kiss that I couldn’t put into words. This was what Brody had described when Laura was kidnapped. This ferocious need to protect, to possess. It thrummed in my blood. I drew back from that devouring kiss and looked at her, those big eyes dark with need, but the weariness, something like fear in her face.
“Are you hurt?” I asked again.
“Gas is off,” one of the guys said. “The tenant upstairs left her stove on. I guess the pilot light went out, but the gas infiltrated downstairs. It’ll be clear in a few minutes to go back inside.”
“No,” I said. “I’m going to flip the closed sign and lock up. I’m taking her to the hospital to be checked out.”
“I’m fine. I just got lightheaded, and I noticed the smell, and I called 911 and came outside. It’s no big deal,” she said. She was swaying on her feet, stubborn but weaker than she’d admit. I shook my head.
“Go get her purse and flip the sign,” I ordered one of the other guys, not even looking away from her long enough to see which one followed my instructions. I took her purse when it was handed to me and I found her car keys. “I’m gonna text the chief, tell him I’m taking off now and I won’t be in tomorrow. Thank you guys. I owe you a case of beer later on.”
I slid my arm around her and tucked her in against my
side, walking slowly, matching my stride to hers until we reached where her car was parked. I opened the passenger door and eased her into the seat.
“This is like when you plugged in my phone and tucked me in,” she said, her voice watery.
I dropped to my knees on the pavement beside the car and knelt beside her, took her hand, searched her face.
“I could’ve lost you. Jesus Christ, Trix. I’m gonna throw your tenant out as soon as I rip the gas line out of the wall. Next one can use a fuckin’ hot plate for all I care. I won’t have you in danger.”
“It was an accident. It could’ve happened to anyone, really. Don’t blame her. And I need the rental income to pay you back.”
“Enough of that. You’re not paying me for anything. Stop. You’re working yourself to death. You’ve lost weight, you’re pale. You barely talk to me. Talk to me, please,” I practically begged, my voice hollow, my hand sliding up her arm to her shoulder and her hair.
She looked at me, eyes welling with tears and shook her head mutely. Tears slid down her face. I leaned my forehead against her shoulder for a moment, then gathered her against me, kissed her hair.
“What have I done? Tell me, dammit,” I said, but my voice was broken, sorrow showing through. “Everything was perfect. We were happy. I know we were. I don’t know what happened. You have to tell me so I can fix it. Please,” I choked out. She clung to me, sobbing, shaking her head, refusing again and again to speak.
She pulled away from me and turned her face where she wasn’t even looking at me. I reached across her and fastened her seatbelt, shut the door. I sat in the driver’s seat, adjusted it so my knees weren’t up around my ears because she had to sit up so close to the wheel. We would’ve laughed about that two weeks ago. Hell, I would’ve had her in my lap, riding me, that exquisite look of wonder on her face as I made pleasure blaze through her body. It hurt me physically to think of it.
All I could do was give her the space she wanted, and make sure she wasn’t sick from the gas leak. I took her to the ER, the same entrance where I’d dropped Brody off a week ago to check on my sister. This time, I parked in the fire lane and rounded the car, helped her out and charged in demanding a wheelchair.
“You can’t park there,” she said faintly.
“I’m a fireman,” I said, “let them fucking say something.”
A security guard came out to wave me off. I rounded on him and said, “My wife was in a gas leak. She needs to be examined now.”
“Sir, they’ll tow your car.”
“I don’t care,” I said. “I’m not leaving her. Here’s the keys. If they want it moved, they can move it.”
I badgered the registration clerk and shoved my insurance card at her and insisted on following when they took Trixie back to the cubicle to be examined.
“Sir, you can’t go in during the exam,” a nurse told me.
“That’s my wife,” I argued.
“Rules are rules,” she said wryly, “we get plenty of domestic disputes in here and women get examined without their partners. No exceptions. Wanna complain? We got security.” She crossed her arms. I stepped back and went to sit in the waiting room.
“Tell her I’m waiting,” I said.
I sat in the plastic chair and stared at the floor tiles. I wasn’t capable of making a call or sending a message. I was vibrating with fear, with tension. After half an hour, the same nurse came out.
“Are you here with Trixie Owens?”
“Vance. Her name is Trixie Vance,” I said. “Yes.”
“You can go back now. She’s in the first exam cube.”
I slid the curtain back and saw her lying on a narrow gurney, a cotton blanket over her. She was on her side, curled up, and she’d been crying.
“I can go home,” she said. “I’m going to be fine.”
I went and sat on the edge of the gurney and took her hand and kissed it, “I’ll do anything,” I said. “You were going to leave me, weren’t you? I knew when you didn’t answer my call you were done. But I want to try again, just tell me what we need to work on. Is it my work schedule? Is it—do you need more help at the shop or do we need to get counseling or something?”
Trixie buried her face in her hands and turned away from me. A doctor came in and looked at me like I was doing something wrong. I climbed off the gurney and sat in a chair, aggravated and worried.
“Good news is I can give you the all-clear today. No ill effects from the gas exposure and your blood count numbers are good. The bad news is, your math is wrong. Your estimate of four or five weeks… looks more like eight or nine weeks to me,” he said. “Do you have an OB appointment yet?”
She sat bolt upright, shook her head, eyes wide.
“OB appointment?” I asked, my eyes flicking from the doctor to my wife.
“I have one for Friday morning,” Trixie said weakly.
“The nurse will be in to give you discharge instructions. Keep taking your vitamins and get plenty of rest,” he said. Then he left.
I was back on the bed in an instant.
“OB appointment?”
“I’m so sorry, Damon,” she said, and started crying again.
“Trix?”
“I’m pregnant. I found out in Savannah. It’s why I didn’t call you. I couldn’t tell you on the phone. I didn’t want you to find out this way. You’re mad, I get it. But I didn’t mean for it to happen, I swear I’ve been on the pill this whole time. I didn’t—do this on purpose. To trap you. I know how it looks.”
“How it looks? It looks like you’re pregnant and you were afraid to tell me.”
I swept her into my arms, her palm on my shoulder blade, holding on tight. I kissed her and kissed her.
“God help me, I thought you were leaving me. Were you leaving me?”
She shook her head, “I don’t understand. Aren’t you done with me?”
“I thought you were done with me,” I said. “That all you wanted was a fling and you were over it.”
“I’m not over it. Not by a long shot.”
“Good, because neither am I. I’m taking you home,” I said.
25
Trixie
He held my hand all the way home. He took me into the house and locked the door. Then he was pressing me up against it, kissing me. All I could do was hold on and suck his tongue deeper in my mouth and admit to myself how much I’d missed him, how much I’d missed this connection with him.
“I should’ve told you,” I gasped. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you still dizzy?”
“No, why?”
“Because I’m about to put my mouth between your legs and I don’t want you to fall.”
My whole body clenched at his words, at the naughty promise in them. I felt liquid and trembling at once.
“Then you better take me to bed. It’s safer,” I said archly.
We were in his bed in no time, Damon peeling off his uniform and stopping every few seconds to kiss me again.
“How could you ever think I wouldn’t want our baby? That I would blame you or be mad?” he asked. “What did I do to make you think that?”
There was anguish on his face. “What you said about Brody, about never wanting to be in his shoes. You never want to be a father, never want to be in that position. I was going to tell you in the car from the airport and you said that. I’m not blaming you; I’m saying that made me see clearly that—”
“That I’d rather die than lose a child, than lose you. I didn’t say it right, or you would’ve known that what tore me up, besides worrying about Laura, was the fact I kept seeing you, your face drawn with pain and fear, sick and in danger of losing our baby. It was the worst nightmare I could imagine to face that. Because what I want more than anything is you, a family and a life as your husband. I’ve loved you for so long, Trix. I should’ve told you months ago.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Every time I came close, I thought of what I had to lose. Because even being your
fake husband, watching movies with you, making dinner together, I didn’t want to give that up or ruin it if you didn’t feel the same way. Once you waited up for me that night and I’d had you—I would’ve done anything to keep you. If it meant pretending it was just a fling, just for fun, I could do that if it meant I had you in my life and in my bed. I was a coward, Trix. Forgive me.”
“So was I. I was an idiot. Even my sister told me you wouldn’t be mad that I’m pregnant, but I wouldn’t listen because I was so—chicken,” I blurted out.
“You’re my chicken,” he said, and kissed my forehead. I laughed.
Then I stopped laughing abruptly because he was stripping off my leggings and sliding warm hands up my shirt, big palms and long fingers along my rib cage and up, up, fondling my breasts, making me catch my breath. He pushed up my shirt and kissed my belly, looked up at me with wonder in his eyes.
“I am the luckiest man. I should send your shitty former landlord a fruit basket to thank him. I never would’ve gotten you if it weren’t for the bad plumbing in that building.”
“You’re right—you are an idiot. You could’ve had me anytime you wanted me.”
“Anytime?”
“Anytime. That day you came in to get flowers for your sister… the night in the bar when you touched my neck. I swear, I panicked. I think if you’d so much as kissed me I would’ve come right then.”
“Let me see,” he said mischievously. His fingers skated up the side of my throat, curved behind my ear and then back down until he sucked my neck. I shivered.
“Why’d you tell them your name was Owens at the hospital?”
“Because I thought once you found out I was pregnant it’d only be Vance for about another forty-eight hours. You’d leave me. I’m sorry I thought that. I was wrong. I just panicked. I wasn’t thinking straight. I know you’ve never been anything but kind and accepting to me. You’ve shown me love at every turn. I should’ve trusted you more,” I said.
“You should always trust me. And I won’t give you any reason to stop. Deal?”
My Fake Husband Page 15