by Joleen James
"Mom?"
They broke apart, yanking their shirts down.
"Mom, where are you?" John called from inside the apartment.
"I'm out here, honey," Clea said, finding her voice.
John poked his head out the door. "It's dark. The light's not on." A click followed, and they were flooded with yellow light. John's eyes narrowed on Nick, his stare accusing as if he'd guessed what they'd been up to.
"Hi, John," Nick said, and Clea could hear the huskiness born from passion in his voice.
"Nick stopped by to see how Grandma is," she said, hoping John would buy the story.
"Why are you outside?" John asked suspiciously. "It's cold. You don't have your coat on."
He pointed at Clea's sweater, and she prayed he couldn't tell her bra was unhooked. She hadn't noticed the cold; in fact, her skin blazed. "Nick just got here." She turned to Nick and with false brightness in her voice, she said, "Would you like to come in?"
"Maybe for a few minutes."
Nick's hair was mussed, his lips stained by her lip-gloss. Could John see that? For that matter, how did she look? She closed the door behind Nick. "Excuse me for a minute."
Clea escaped to the bathroom to look in the mirror. The first thing she did was re-hook her bra. Her hair stuck up all over. The skin of her jaw held a red tint from being rubbed by Nick's whiskers. Her lips were puffy. She looked well-kissed. Would John notice?
Bending down, she splashed cold water on her face, dried off, and then quickly ran a brush through her hair. She couldn't allow herself to think about the wanton way she'd thrown herself at Nick. What must he think of her? More importantly, what did she think of herself? How could she marry Robert when she'd kissed Nick like that? Maybe she should call off the wedding. Thoughts of her mother, in the hospital, brought her to her senses. Stress over the wedding had put Vivian in the hospital. Clea couldn't call things off. It was too late.
Clea closed her eyes, willing away the turmoil in her mind and body. Why did everything have to be so confusing?
She returned to the living room, no closer to finding the answers. Nick and John sat at opposite ends of the sofa. Nick talked, but John wasn't responding. He sat with his arms folded across his chest, a closed look on his face. Her stomach turned. The door had been open a crack. How much had he seen before he'd called out to her?
"What are you two talking about?" Clea took a seat on the sofa close to John. She leaned forward to better see John, but he didn't reply.
"I was asking John about your mother," Nick said. "But he didn't have a whole lot of information."
"He didn't?" Clea raised one brow. "Well, my mother is spending the night in the hospital so she can have some additional tests done, just as a precaution. Dr. Martin thinks she's suffering from anxiety. She's been working too hard on the wedding. We all need to do what we can to help out. Grandma looked good when we left the hospital, didn't she, John?"
"I guess," came his noncommittal reply.
Clea glanced over at Nick. He shrugged.
"I should get you back to bed," she said to John.
"Okay," Nick said, the word holding a hint of resignation. He stood. "I should be going anyway. I just wanted to check on the two of you and make sure you were all right."
Clea came to her feet, relieved Nick was leaving. "Thank you for coming by. I'll see you out." She glanced at John, but he wouldn't meet her eyes.
Nick stepped outside. "Do you think he saw us?"
"Maybe."
"I'm sorry."
"Not half as sorry as I am. Good night, Nick." She shut the door before he could reply. Heaven help her, she liked kissing Nick too much. So much she'd forgotten that her son could discover them at any moment. And as much as that thought upset her, it upset her even more to think she could be so wrapped up in Nick and what she felt for him that she didn't even think once about the man she was going to marry.
What kind of woman did that make her?
Chapter Eleven
Nick couldn't sleep. Thoughts of kissing Clea filled his head. She'd felt wonderful in his arms, all soft skin and warm lips. He would have taken her there, in the stairwell, given half a chance. He'd been consumed by her and what she made him feel.
He groaned as his body roared to life once again. He could still smell her perfume. Could still taste the sweetness of her mouth, still feel the burn of her body against his.
Damn.
Throwing the covers back, he got out of bed and walked to the window. He pulled the curtain aside. The lights were out at Clea's. Was she in bed? Was she thinking about him, too? Or was she upset at John's near discovery of the two of them together? Had the boy seen them? Nick hoped not. He already had no idea how to get through to John; he sure didn't need another strike against him.
A movement across the street caught Nick's eye, drawing his line of vision to a white shape in the darkness. It took him a moment to focus. John. His son ran across the street and straight over to Nick's car.
Like a little thief, he crept around to the sidewalk side and knelt by the tire.
Nick didn't wait to see any more. He grabbed his jeans from the chair and tugged them on. He reached the sidewalk in record time. John had moved from the front tire to the rear of the car. His back to Nick, he stabbed the tire. The little devil! He was slashing the tires.
Nick came up behind him. "So, you're the one vandalizing my car."
John sprang up. "Ouch!" The knife fell to the sidewalk with a clatter.
He turned to run, but Nick caught a handful of his pajamas. "Not so fast. You and I need to talk."
"Let me go." John wiggled.
"If I let you go I'm going to follow you back across the street and you and I will have a little talk with your mother." John stopped wiggling. "Or you and I can go upstairs to my place and we can talk about this man to man."
"I don't want to talk to you," John said, the voice holding a slight wobble. "Let me go."
"All right." Nick kept his hand on John and started across the street. "Let's see what your mom has to say."
"No, wait."
"Wait?" Nick halted mid-stride.
"I don't want to talk to Mom. She'll kill me."
"You got that right." He turned back toward his place. "Come on. It's time we laid our cards on the table."
Nick let go of John, unsure if the boy would follow him. He'd climbed a few stairs before he heard the sound of John's boots behind him. Inside, Nick sighed with relief. If his son hadn't followed him, he had no idea what he would have done.
Once in the apartment, Nick shut the door and turned to look at John. His dark hair seemed even darker next to his pale skin. Eyes a deep ocean blue focused on him, wide with fright. Sticky blood covered his fingers.
"You cut yourself," Nick said calmly, but his heart raced. He'd had no idea John had been injured, and felt totally unprepared for the rush of concern filling him now. "Let me see the damage."
"I'll be all right." John sniffed.
"Don't get it on your pajamas. You'll never be able to explain the blood to your mother."
John held his hand away from his body.
"Come on." Nick walked into the bathroom and pulled out the small medicine kit that had been there as long as he could remember. "Let's see."
John held out his left hand. "The knife slipped."
A clean cut ran from his knuckle to the base of his thumb. The cut wasn't deep, more of a scratch really, but it was bleeding. Nick turned on the tap. When the water warmed, he put John's thumb under the spray.
"Ow," John said, but he didn't jerk his hand away.
"Is the water too hot?"
"No. It stings."
Nick added some liquid soap to the water and bit back a smile when John said, "Ow," again.
"It's clean." Nick shut the water off. He passed John a dry towel. While the boy dried off, Nick removed a couple of bandages from the old kit. The cut looked worse than it was, and two bandages covered the slice. When he finished
he asked, "Does it hurt?"
John sniffed again, his eyes wary. "It's okay."
"What will you tell your mother when she asks about the cut?"
John cocked his head to the side. "What will you tell her?"
"I don't know. It depends." Nick watched John's face for a reaction.
"On what?" He touched the bandages, as if testing their strength.
"On what kind of agreement we reach."
John narrowed his eyes. "Agreement?"
"You'll need to find a way to pay for the damage you've done to my car. Aside from the tire, you've got the scratches to cover."
"I never said I scratched the car." John's lower lip jutted out in defiance.
For a split second Nick saw himself as a child, angry, scared, alone. God, he didn't want those agonizing emotions for his son. How could he break the cycle? Would being there for John be enough to keep the boy out of trouble? If his own father had been around would it have been enough for him to change the course of his life?
"You're in a lot of trouble, John," Nick told him. "This is how it starts, small crimes. Then, before you know it you're doing something even worse, maybe stealing, or lying to your mother. I'll be damned if I'll let you wind up like I did, wasting ten years of my life in prison. Because of my mistakes, I missed ten years of your life. You missed ten years of mine."
John hung his head. "What do I have to do?"
"You can work for me after school and on weekends."
"Work?" His head snapped up. "Doing what?"
"There's plenty to do around here, and I'll check with Mr. Mullin. If it's all right with him I'd like you to help repair The Boss."
"But I don't know how to do any of that." John's lips clamped together.
"I can teach you." Nick waited for his son's reaction, afraid to hope that John would agree.
"And you won't tell Mom about the stuff I've done?" John asked.
"I won't tell her," Nick promised, "but I think you should."
He shook his head. "No way. She'll kill me."
Nick grinned. "I don't think so. She loves you. This isn't the kind of secret you should keep from her. Think about it. Telling her is the right thing to do, and I'd like the confession to come from you, not me."
"I saw you kiss her," John blurted out, the combative tone back.
Nick sucked in his breath. No wonder John had acted out tonight. He wanted to tell John that everything would be all right, that nothing in his life would change, but in truth everything had changed already. Nick was back to stay, whether John liked it or not.
"I was comforting your mom." Nick chose his words carefully. "She had a bad day. Ask her about the kiss. Give her a chance to explain things to you."
"Yeah, right." John's eyes accused Nick of being a liar.
Nick wanted to pull his son into his arms and soothe the hurt away. John had seen something tonight he didn't understand, hell; Nick had been doing the kissing and he didn't understand how things were between Clea and himself. He hoped John wouldn't tell Robert, at least not until he had a chance to tell Clea that John had seen them together. "Let's get you back home before your mom notices you're gone."
John followed Nick to the door and together they left the apartment. He took his son across the street. When they reached the stairs, John motioned for Nick to follow him around back. Like a little monkey, John climbed up the fire escape to his bedroom window. At the window, he paused and looked at Nick hard before crawling inside. Was he wondering if Nick would keep his secret? Well, let him wonder. The boy deserved to squirm a little after what he'd done to The Boss.
Nick started back across the deserted street. When he reached his car, he stopped to pick up the knife John had dropped on the sidewalk.
He'd gotten his first taste of parenting tonight. He had no idea if he'd handled things the right way or not. Time would tell, but until then he'd found a way to spend time with his son. The trick would be explaining John's sudden desire to be with him to Clea. She was a smart lady and would likely see through any deception. He hoped John would tell her the truth, so he wouldn't have to.
* * *
Clea felt like she was sliding on ice.
Every aspect of her life ran out of control and she had no idea how to make things right without upsetting everyone she loved.
John was barely speaking to her again. Her behavior with Nick last night had left her confused. Did he want to be with his dad or not? Was John as torn between Robert and Nick as she was? She could understand his emotions. They echoed her own. She didn't know what she wanted anymore. Thankfully, she hadn't seen Nick today, and didn't expect to. The snow had started again, signaling a busy day for him. The one bright spot in the day had been her mother's release from the hospital. She'd brought Vivian home a couple of hours ago.
"Are you comfortable, Mom?" Clea asked.
It hadn't been easy to talk her mother into staying with her, and it had been even harder to convince Vivian to stay in Clea's room. Her mother didn't want to impose by making Clea sleep on the couch, but Clea had insisted. Vivian would have rather had Clea up to her place, but Clea had to work and John had school. Her replacement at The Coffee House started today, and Clea needed to train her. It was easier for all of them if Vivian stayed in town for a day or two. That way Clea could be close by at all times.
"I'm fine." Vivian held her appointment book on her lap. She looked small and frail in Clea's bed, a warm quilt covering her legs. "Did you take care of everything I had planned for today?"
"Yes." Hoping to take some of the stress away from her mother, Clea had taken over the wedding plans. She had confirmed with the caterer and the florist while fighting the rising panic and doubt inside her. "Everything's in order."
"And the cake?" Vivian glanced up at her.
"Will be there. I changed one thing. Instead of the flowers being made of frosting, we are using real ones, the petals dipped in sugar."
"I don't know, Clea." Vivian frowned.
"They are edible flowers, Mom. They will look beautiful. Trust me." Clea smiled, but her heart wasn't in the action.
"All right." Vivian did look better today. The gray pallor had left her face and her cheeks bloomed with rosy color. Her eyes held their usual sparkle, not the dull, lifeless look they'd had in the hospital. Dr. Martin had released Vivian with the order to keep her stress level down. Clea hoped that was possible.
"Don't worry," Clea said. "Just relax. Dr. Martin told you to forget about the wedding plans. I have everything under control."
"How can I help but worry?" Vivian jotted something down in her book. "Oh! Did you let Elizabeth know which tiara and gloves you chose?"
"Yes. I chose the ones you liked."
"Excellent," Vivian said, with a bob of her head.
A knock sounded at the door.
"That's Robert." Clea left her mother to let Robert in. She pulled the door open.
"Hello, darling." Robert kissed her on the mouth. "Umm, you taste great."
"Hi." Clea smiled, happy to see him. She needed him. Robert always managed to steady her, to boost her confidence.
"Did your mother make it home okay?"
"Yes, I did," Vivian called from the bedroom. "I'm in here if you'd care to say hello."
Robert exchanged a smile with Clea before heading to the bedroom. Clea followed.
"How're you feeling, Vivian?" Robert placed a kiss on her mother's cheek.
"Better, now that you're here." Vivian's mouth turned up at the corners. "Clea assures me that all of my plans for the wedding are being taken care of, but I'll feel so much better if you keep an eye on her."
"Of course I will." He winked at Clea.
The phone rang.
"Excuse me," Clea said. She went into the kitchen to grab the phone. "Hello."
"Is this Ms. Rose?" a voice asked.
"Yes, it is," Clea replied.
"This is Marilyn King. I'm the principal at Bradley Elementary."
Clea's grip tig
htened on the phone. "What's wrong? Is it John?"
"I'm afraid John's been in a fight. He's all right, but this is the second time this week he's been involved in an altercation with another student. We consider fighting a serious offense at Bradley Elementary. I'm afraid I'm recommending that John be suspended from school for one day. Are you available to meet with me this afternoon? There are some things I'd like to discuss with you."
"Of course." A million questions rioted in Clea's head. "I'm on my way."
"Fine. I'll see you soon."
"Yes." The line went dead.
"John's in trouble?" Robert asked. He'd come out of the bedroom mid-conversation.
"He's been in a fight," Clea said, her wits returning. "I have to go. Will you stay with my mother?"
"Of course I will, but I hate to say I told you so, Clea. Like father, like son. John hasn't been himself since Nick's come back to town. Maybe now you'll listen to me and take steps to keep Nick from John's life."
An anger unlike anything she'd felt before threatened to strangle Clea. She refused to dignify Robert's comments with a response. Going to the bedroom door, she said, "I'm going to pick up John, Mother. I'm sure Robert with fill you in."
Before Vivian could ask any questions, Clea grabbed her purse and headed out the door.
At that moment, she didn't care about anyone or anything other than her son - a little boy who didn't understand why his world had turned upside down.
* * *
Nick opened the door to The Coffee House and stepped inside. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee filled his senses. He walked over to the bar counter and sat down. Mitzi chatted with a customer at the far end. When she spied him, she called, "Hey, Nick. I'll be right there. Just let me finish up here."
"Take your time," Nick said. He'd come here, hoping to find Clea and John. When John hadn't shown at the garage that afternoon, he'd had no idea what to do, how to enforce the consequences he'd given the boy. He'd been so sure John would honor his part of their bargain. Nick felt like a fool for believing John would show. His parenting skills were worse than he thought. He needed an expert parent's advice. He needed Clea's advice. He hoped Mitzi would know where she was.