by Jane Anthony
Concern crosses his features. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I press my fingers into my side. “The baby kicked. Usually, it’s just little flutters, but that one was hard.”
His eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I take his hand and rest it on my stomach. The warmth from his palm leaches through the thick polyester fabric of my uniform. For a few brief moments, we stand and wait before a cluster of bumps like tiny fireworks pop within me. “You feel it?”
“Yeah.” He nods with excited fervor. “That’s wild.” The flurry of excitement pings between us. He adds a second hand, waiting for another movement that comes shortly after. “He’s saying hello,” he whispers.
“Or she,” I correct with a hopeful grin.
He lifts one hand to my face, letting his fingers slide into my hair. “I changed my mind,” he starts, still clutching my belly with the opposite hand. “This is the perfect gift, Bird.”
Heat burns in his pool-blue gaze. A fiery mix of love, lust, and a protective animal spirit that fills me with warmth.
When we reach the bathroom, he stretches behind the ivory curtain and twists the knob. It billows against the sudden rush of water hammering against the basin. My heart matches the violent rhythm as he tugs off his shirt and lets it fall to the light gray mat near his feet.
Tan skin stretches over lean muscle. I drink him in like I’m dying of thirst, every bit of him angular and hard from his broad shoulders to his slim waist. He spends zero time in a gym, yet his body’s defined and chiseled as a result of his hard work and sweat.
But the front door buzzes as I work the buttons on my uniform. My head whips toward the sound then back to Jesse. “Someone’s at the gate.”
“You expecting company?”
“No.”
“Then ignore it,” he growls, pulling me against him.
“It’s Christmas. What if it’s your sister or something?”
“Then definitely don’t answer,” he jokes with a grin.
I smack his arm and pull back just enough to fix the buttons on my blouse. “You start. I’ll see who’s here and make them go.” Pushing to my toes, I press my lips to the tip of his nose.
“Hurry.”
A small sigh rattles my chest as he drops his pants. I slip from the bathroom to the front door and push the button on the speaker box. “Hey, Keith. What’s up?”
Static replies followed by the deep baritone of the gate guard. “Deliveryman has a package for you.”
“Can you accept it and I’ll grab it later?”
“Needs your signature.”
Frustration tickles my spine. “Okay. Send him over.”
Deliveryman? My heart pounds with hopeful beats. It’s a gift from my dad. He and I haven’t spoken since the blowout on Thanksgiving, and I didn’t get an invite to Christmas dinner. Perhaps this is the peace offering I wish he’d grant.
Headlights beam through my small kitchen window a few moments later. I open the door and wait as a man emerges from an unmarked vehicle and jogs up my walk. “I have a package for Wren Irwin?”
“I’m Wren Irwin.”
He pulls the clipboard from under his arm and holds it out while I scribble my name on the line. The cold wind blusters. I huddle in my open doorway as he reaches into his pocket and extracts a package. White moonlight glimmers on the tiny teal box, the Christmas lights Jesse hung around the door adding a festive array of added colors.
“Merry Christmas,” he says, then turns to head back to his car.
I hold the box in my hand, watching the taillights disappear in the distance. Something about it turns my stomach. Gifts from my father have always been useful in nature. Jewelry is not part of that agenda.
I look down at the perfect white bow as if it’s a bomb threatening to destroy everything I love. A small envelope sits under the satin ribbon. I pull it out and slide my finger under the tab before reading the crisp white card.
Two lines of small, neat cursive are all that’s inside. Merry Christmas. Love, Asher.
My insides turn and flip like the contents of a lava lamp. The last time I saw him was two months ago when he showed up here with that insane ring. I assumed he’d moved on and found someone new.
As usual, I assumed wrong.
Asher Elliot doesn’t frequently hear the word no. I was an idiot to think he’d go away just like that. No. He was giving me space. Giving me time. Letting me see what it’s like living without him, then BAM, he shows up out of the blue. I should have known.
Men like Asher do not like to lose.
With a small tug, the bow untethers to a single length. Flipping open the box, I draw a strong breath inside my lungs and hold it firm until I feel as though they’re about to burst and it falls out on its own accord.
Fractals gleam in every direction, exploding across the diamond-crusted heart. It glitters in the darkness, a faceted ruby shining in the center. An exquisite pendant held on by little more than a delicate gold chain.
My hand subconsciously moves to my burgeoning belly. Asher’s baby shifts inside me as I listen to the water echoing through the walls. Two different men each own a piece of me, and no matter what I do, one of them is bound to get hurt. I love Jesse, but at some point, this baby comes first, and I need to do what’s best for it.
Being an Elliot opens doors. My child will have every opportunity right at his fingertips—the best schools and the best chance at life—so it should be an easy decision. But my heart will always lie in Jesse’s paint-smeared hands. He colored it with life and shaded it with love. A priceless commodity I can’t give up, no matter how much my head screams at me to do the right thing.
With a heavy sigh, I secure the lid on the box and stuff it in a kitchen drawer. I don’t want to think about it right now. All I want to do is hide in Jesse’s warm embrace and pretend our world isn’t about to implode.
Right now, I just want to be with him.
CHAPTER 28
Jesse
THE SMOKY SCENT of bacon wafts around me as I stir in bed, causing my stomach to gurgle at the delicious aroma. Blinded by the brilliant morning sun, I throw my legs over the side and trek to the dresser for a fresh pair of underwear before seeking out Wren.
Rubbing my eyes, I trudge down the hallway, suddenly wide-awake when I see her standing at the stove. My T-shirt hangs off her shoulder and down to her thighs, the small bump of her belly shortening the front hem. My dick gets hard just looking at her.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” Her smile shines brighter than the tree beaming in the corner. How is it she’s even sexier now than she was when we first got together? There’s a glow around her. A forcefield. It pulled me in and holds me tighter the longer I stay. She’s a Christmas miracle. The only gift I ever asked for and received.
“What time is it?”
“Almost ten,” she says, plating a man-sized portion of bacon and eggs and setting it down on the corner of the island.
I could eat, but I’m not hungry for food.
With one fell swoop, I grab the plate in one hand and hook my opposite arm around her middle. “Let’s share this in bed,” I mumble into her neck. “But first, I’ll eat you.”
She giggles, playfully slapping me away. “Believe me, I’d love to. But we have stuff to do today.”
I scowl. “What stuff? I thought your dad wasn’t talkin’ to you.”
Hurt flashes in her olive eyes. The topic of her dad is a sore subject these days. “He’s not. Erika texted me this morning. You haven’t been back to see your mom in over a month.”
My morning wood deflates. I roll my eyes and fall onto the barstool at the edge of the counter. “So?”
“So it’s Christmas. I told her we would come by.”
There goes my appetite. I push my plate away and lean my forearm on the smooth Formica. “I don’t want to go over there.”
“I know your relationship with your mom is complicated—”
The last conversation I had wit
h my mom festers in my brain like poison. That’s what she is. A drop of poison that kills you slowly instead of all at once. Everything in my life right now is aces. I don’t need her screwing things up with her lies.
“You don’t know shit, Wren!” I jump off the barstool, knocking it backward.
She cowers against the opposite counter, her lips parting with a sharp gasp. “What’s the matter?”
The sound of her whisper soothes the violent steam of anger zipping through me. I inhale sharply through my nose and let it out through my mouth, reaching down to set the stool back its metal feet.
“My dad’s alive.” The words burn my tongue, the secret melting in my throat like acid. “She’s been lying to me since I was five years old. She let that asshole Dave . . .” I press my trembling lips together, closing my eyes to pain searing my heart as I face everything I’ve been running away from. “Her sickness is not my problem, and I have no need for that kind of heartache in my life anymore.”
She eyes me warily as she rounds the counter with slow, tentative steps. “What do you mean, he’s alive?”
“There was no accident. She made the whole thing up so I’d stop asking about him. He left her—left us. He walked out the door and never looked back.”
“Oh . . . Jesse . . .”
The pink hue shading the whites of her eyes escalates my resentment. That look. That fucking beautiful face staring at me as if I’m some sort of sad, abandoned child she has to feel sorry for. This is why I didn’t tell her. I can’t stand it. I can’t bear to see it soak up the heat in her emerald gaze.
I gnash my teeth and step back. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” she asks bewildered.
“I don’t need your pity!” I roar, swiping the plate off the counter. It crashes on the laminate floor, the cheap glass plate cracking in half.
A scared whimper flits from her chest. She shakes her head, her mouth falling as she stares through me as if I’m a stranger. I feel like one.
I’m nobody.
I’m nothing.
I’m no good for her.
Fear knocks on my chest loud and clear. I stare down at the mess I’ve made, tugging back the rage still steeping within. Yellow streaks of yolk smear the dark planks between us. Mumbling an apology, I step past it and wrench open the drawer to grab a dish towel, but a small blue box tumbles from its depths and falls at my foot.
The fury inside begins to bubble a second time. I snatch the box and the little white card that came with it. “What the fuck is this?”
Wren moves closer, then falls back a single step. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” I step forward, my hands trembling, my adrenaline firing like a shotgun. “When the hell did you get this?”
She brings her hands to her face with a heavy sigh, then slips them down her cheeks to settle in the hair caressing her shoulder. “He sent it last night.”
“And what? You tried to hide it?”
“Of course not. It caught me off guard. I didn’t expect it.”
I blow a heavy breath through my nostrils, keeping my eyes glued to the lavish gift. The gemstones shine in the morning light, red and white against a backdrop of polished white gold. He gives her diamonds. I gave her a notebook.
A fucking notebook.
This necklace probably cost six months of my salary.
“I have to go,” I grumble, speeding past her.
She turns to watch, her feet still planted on the floor. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll be back later. Enjoy your breakfast.”
Back in our bedroom, I throw on the first clothes I see and stop at the sight of my own reflection. Blond hair just shy of wavy falls around my forehead and curls under my ears, my unshaven jaw full of stubble. It’s the same face I’ve seen every day for the last twenty-two years, but suddenly, all I see staring back at me is him.
I can’t help it. It’s all so frighteningly similar. The hairpin bow of his lips, and that cocky gleam glittering his eyes. His laughter, his drawl, the crinkles across his nose when he smiles. I’ve inherited it all, down to the lowly pit of bitterness stewing in my gut.
My own face, hideous and horrid. The face of a man who didn’t even care enough to say goodbye.
“Jesse, don’t go,” Wren whimpers as I walk back through the kitchen to find the front door.
“Merry Christmas, Bird,” is all I have to say as I wrench it open and step into the frigid December morning. She stands at the door, watching me stalk to my truck and peel away. The sight of her grows smaller in my rearview until she’s gone completely.
Blind rage seeps through every pore. I’m so fucking irate I don’t even know what I’m doing. I walked out on her without a plan. I just needed time to cool off. I drive around with no destination, thoughts of my life tumbling over one after the next. It isn’t long before I find myself in front of Asher’s house.
Christmas lights stretch over every peak and ledge. Even in broad daylight, they twinkle with a silver glimmer that makes my stomach churn. “Asher!” I yell, banging on the door with my fist.
It only takes a few seconds for the door to open. The woman in the foyer clutches her pearls as she stumbles over the words asking who I am.
“I’m here for Asher,” I blurt, forcing past her into the house. “Where is he?”
The asshole materializes from the room beside us. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to return your bullshit gift!” I whip the box in his direction. It smacks him in the chest and falls to the floor with a thud.
“Mom. A second.” Asher calmly picks up the box and replaces the lid before dropping it in the old woman’s hand.
“Do I need to call the police?” she asks.
“No. I can handle this. Go back to the den.” Her high heels clack as she walks away. Once out of earshot, Asher’s gaze narrows hard. “You have no business being here.”
“And you have no business with Wren.”
“What’s between Wren and me is not your concern.”
“Listen to me.” I move closer until we’re toe to toe. “If I ever see you near her again. If you send her gifts. Call her. Think about her as you’re tugging on that tiny dick of yours, I’m gonna cut your fucking balls off.”
His expression shows no sign of fear, his poker face on point. “Are you threatening me?” He stabs me in the chest with his finger. “Get out of my house, or I’ll sue you for unlawful entry.”
The powder keg of emotion I’ve been holding back explodes. I ball my hand into a fist. One punch. That’s all it takes for Asher to stumble off his high horse.
A sickening crack echoes off the gleaming marble as my knuckles slam against his cheek. His head snaps back, bloody spittle pouring from his mouth. He lunges forward, wrapping his arms around my middle, and slams me into the table of flowers in the center of the foyer.
The crystal shatters on the ground. Water and flowers ricochet across the floor. I roll on top of him and ram my fist into his stomach with all my might. Vomit erupts from his mouth.
A bloodcurdling scream tears from the terrified woman standing at the other end of the room. “Kevin! Call the police!”
I scramble to my feet and run outside, sliding over the hood of my truck like Bo Duke before jumping in the driver’s side. Gravel flies from screeching tires. I point the truck toward home as I speed away. Pain radiates through all my fingers and up my forearm; the tinny scent of Asher’s blood filling my nose. I fucked up.
Big time.
The fucker had it coming. It was only a matter of time before I crushed his smug face with my fist. It felt incredible, but my shining moment of retribution is short lived.
Sirens wail in the nearby distance. The police are coming to take my ass to jail. That’s how Asher plays the game. Men like me? We fight with fists. We brawl our anger until it’s bled out and walk away with new perspective.
Men like Asher fight with connections. He’ll bury me under so m
uch legal action I’ll never see my way out. I have to make it right with Wren before that happens.
I speed back to her as fast as I can. She jumps off the couch as I blow through the door.
“What the f— . . . What ha— . . . Oh my God, is that blood?” Her mouth opens and closes like a mackerel. “What did you do? Where did you go?” Wren’s irate voice goes up an octave with each exasperated question.
The sirens grow louder.
“Asher won’t be bothering you anymore.”
“What?” she shrieks, grabbing my forearm. “You went to his house and beat him up? What the hell is wrong with you?”
Blue and red lights beam through the kitchen windows. I chuck her a pointed glare. “A lot, apparently.”
A bang on the door makes her jump back. Her hands spring to her hair, tugging as if she’s trying to pull it out.
A deep voice thunders through. “Creek Falls Police!”
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “Jesse . . .” Her eyes wide and full of fear, she watches me stalk to the door and throw it open.
A familiar face waits on the other side. “Officer Bob,” I quip, my lips curling in a lopsided grin.
Bob was a member of my dad’s crew back in high school. Stories of his hijinks were legendary, and like most derelicts with a power trip, he grew up and became the guy arresting kids for doing the same shit he used to do.
Except me.
Whenever I got in trouble, Bob was always kind enough to let me go. Something tells me I won’t be so lucky this time.
His weary face pinches to a pucker as I stand there, icing my wounded hand. “We got a call about a disturbance.”
“Yeah. I figured.”
“I gotta take you in.”
There’s no reason to fight. I’m guilty as shit and deserve the arrest. Holding out my bloody hands, Bob clicks the cuffs in place. After a drawn-out sigh, he starts the spiel. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law . . .”
My stomach lurches as he speeds through my Miranda rights. Beside me, Wren’s nervous energy spins through the space, making me dizzy, but I can’t take my eyes off the gleaming metal around my wrists.