by Kyle Autumn
I lean back in my seat. “Oh god, Jane. What did you do?”
“I said don’t be mad,” she repeats, scooting up to the front of her chair.
Folding my arms over my chest, I say, “I don’t think, in the history of humans saying that, anyone has ever not gotten mad when that has been said.”
“I know! I just wanted to warn you that—”
“Just spit it out, woman,” I tell her, giggling.
Because, honestly, I don’t even care about much enough these days to get mad about stuff. And that’s not in a bad way, either. It’s more like I’ve whittled my priorities down now that I’ve gone through so much. I don’t let things bring me down. I have fun. I can enjoy life again. I’m still careful though. I have plenty of reason to do that, but not having to constantly look over my shoulder for my father has me ecstatic these days.
“Okay.” She lets out a deep breath. “Well, it’s been five months since everything happened, and because I feel partly responsible for fucking that up, I—”
I hold a finger up. “Stop right there. None of this was your fault.”
“If I hadn’t called the police and those two cops hadn’t overheard the phone call,” she stresses, putting her arms out to her sides, “they wouldn’t have known it was you, Ali.”
“And if you hadn’t called the police, my father wouldn’t be dead and Melinda wouldn’t be in jail.” I cover her hands with mine. “We’ve been over this a million times, Jane. So stop stressing about it.”
She sucks a breath in through her teeth and leans back, separating our connection. “Yeah, but…”
“But what?” I ask, shaking my head a little in question.
“But you wouldn’t have met you-know-who.” She raises her eyebrows. “And we both know how that’s affected your life.”
I bite my lip and look away from her. Here comes the mad part. I’ve refused to talk about him with her—and even with my therapist, who I see twice a week for good reason—because it’s too painful.
I made a huge fucking mistake when I got out of that car and never tried to contact him again.
Once I had time to breathe and work through a lot of what happened, I realized he was right. We probably wouldn’t have found each other if he hadn’t done what he’d done. That some people are supposed to meet, even if it’s in fucked-up ways. And our situations made us perfect for each other.
But we’re not in those situations anymore, so who knows if we’d even be compatible anymore. It’s been far too long for me to tuck my tail between my legs, go back to him, and admit that I was wrong. That I shouldn’t have walked away and I shouldn’t have said what I said to him. He put his heart out there and I sucker-punched it.
“And we both know that it’s over and done with and I’m moving on,” I inform her for no less than the thirty-seventh time.
She purses her lips, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah, but how can you move on when—”
“Nope,” I say, putting a hand up between us. “We’re not going there. He’s the one who moved away and left. End of story.”
She starts to protest, but the waiter shows up with our food. I waste no time before digging into mine so Jane knows I’m not interested in going any further with this conversation.
“Fine,” she says before taking a bite of her sandwich. She chews as she sets it down. “You may not want to hear it from me, but you should probably listen to what he has to say.”
With a fry poised over my ketchup, I freeze. “What did you do?” I said these words earlier, but now, I’m more serious. There’s no way she went behind my back and did something like this.
My friend—if I can call her that much longer—points a finger at me. “I told you not to be mad,” she reminds me, a stern, seriously expression on her face.
Instead of dunking my french fry into my ketchup, I toss it at Jane. “Just tell me what you did!” I screech, but the bell over the door of the restaurant rings and steals my attention.
And then the man who walks in steals my breath.
Gone is the long beard. Day-old stubble is in its place, and he runs a hand over it as he scans the small restaurant. It doesn’t take long for his green gaze to find me. And when it does, we both go very still.
No, he may not have that long beard anymore, but I’d recognize the smile I’ve only seen in photographs and dreams anywhere.
Keaton is here. And every part of me is drawn to him and wants to rush to him, even though I’m mad as hell at my friend for having set this up. She didn’t need to ambush me.
Okay, maybe she did.
So, without thinking, I rise from my chair, prepared to face him for the first time since I egregiously left him in the woods.
And his eyes go wide with shock when his gaze lands on my rounded belly.
28
Keaton
Five months can change a lot of things.
In five months, you can learn a new skill. You can get settled into a new job. You can travel to lots of places around the world. You can finish a semester in school. You can read a ton of books. You could even write a book. Maybe two if you’re quick.
But you can also start growing a baby.
Clearly, Jane left something insanely important out when she begged me to betray Ali’s wants and meet them here.
I knew that Ali didn’t want to see me after what’d happened with us, and I couldn’t blame her. It was an unfortunate way for our paths to cross. What I used to do for a living caused her a lot of pain, drama, and chaos. Now, we’ve both been able to live our lives without constantly looking over our shoulders, but we haven’t been doing that together. Not even close.
Every day since, I’ve missed her something fierce. All I’ve wanted to do is apologize a thousand times and show her with everything I have that we can move on from this—together. I even respected her wishes above and beyond what most people might have done in my shoes. She had every right to be mad and upset.
But if that baby is mine, she had no right to keep that from me.
Her food and her friend forgotten, Ali nearly knocks her chair over when she bolts my way. Once she reaches me, she grabs my arm and pulls me out of the restaurant. On the sidewalk, she lets me go but starts pacing near the street. I let her get some energy out this way for a few seconds, but then I can’t take it anymore. I have a whole load of questions that need answers right about now.
One of them makes it past my throat as I capture her arm. “Have you gotten my letters?”
She stares me in the eyes, unblinking, as she says, “Yep.” Then she tugs her arm away from my grasp.
I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t, so I urge her to go on by gesturing with my hand and saying, “But…”
“But I never read them.” Now, she blinks purposefully, raising one challenging eyebrow at me as she purses her lips.
I swallow hard and cross my arms over my chest. “Can I ask why?”
“Nope,” she says, popping the P at the end, a protective hand on her stomach.
My gaze sticks on that hand, on how round her belly has become in the last five months. I don’t know much about having babies. It was never on my radar. But she looks like she could be five months along, which is when I saw her last. When I was with her last.
I’ll remember everything about that night for the rest of my life. The one thing that stands out right now, though, is the fact that I didn’t finish inside her when we didn’t use a condom. That doesn’t guarantee that this baby isn’t mine, but it gives it a pretty high chance that another man did this to her. I won’t know for sure if I don’t ask though. However, she doesn’t seem keen on answering any of my questions.
“What can you tell me, then?” I ask, flicking my gaze to her belly.
She glances at it too and then looks back up at me. “I can tell you that Jane shouldn’t have done this. I don’t want to see you.”
I grind my jaw. This is the first time I’ve seen her in months, so I want to have p
atience with her, but she’s pushing my buttons. The last thing I want to do is freak her out. Maybe she’s mentally unable to process seeing me. I don’t want her flying off the deep end. But why else would Jane have made it sound like it were life or death to get me here if that baby isn’t mine? Because the actual father ditched her and she knows I would never do that to her?
Throwing my arms out to my sides, I say, “Can we at least address the elephant in the room?” a little more gruffly than I intended. And with a pointed look at her belly one last time.
Immediately, she covers it with her hands. And all she does is shake her head.
I’m at a total loss for what to do now. She won’t talk, and I can’t make her. The thought of kidnapping her again and holding her captive until she does speak to me crosses my mind, but that’s ridiculous. It didn’t work the first time, seeing as she fell off the face of the Earth the last time I did that, so I don’t think it’ll work the second.
A small part of my mind says, You’ll never know if you don’t try, but the bigger part tells the small part to fuck off. If we have any hope at all of working this out and being together, I need to gain her trust, not completely obliterate it. Kidnapping her again would kill any chance I have—slim though it may be—of being with her.
“I’ve given you time, Ali,” I say after several tense moments of silence. “I’ve moved away so you don’t have to see me every day. I don’t have your number, so I can’t call you to see if you’re ready to talk to me.” Then I point to her belly. “And I can see why you haven’t reached out to see me.”
I pause, hoping she’ll say something, but hope is futile here. She’s Fort Knox, locked up tight and impenetrable. Her face remains impassive, so I decide to wrap this up. No need to waste my time, even though being within two feet of her is practically a dream come true.
So I make it even sweeter and cut the distance in half. Then in half again.
She doesn’t move. Though she stares me down, she keeps her feet planted and her stance the same: her hands on her belly, her shoulders squared. However, she can’t hide the goose bumps running down her arms. Or the tiny shiver that snakes down her spine. No, I saw those things. And I know what they mean. It’s not from the cold weather.
Nope. She’s as affected as I am. And that’s all I need to know right now.
Whether that baby is mine doesn’t even matter. Because getting her back—even though I barely had her in the first place—will happen whether I’m the father or not.
I knew from the moment I laid eyes on her that I wanted her. I didn’t think I could ever live a life that included relationships like the one I crave with her now. Especially one with a child in the picture. But with all of that drama and danger behind me, I can now. And I want to.
With her.
And even with a baby.
29
Ali
I almost think he’s going to kiss me. He’s close enough that he could if he wanted. And maybe it makes me a horrible person but I definitely want him to. Baby hormones have me all kinds of sexually charged, but I have no one to relieve those feelings with.
I may not be facing epic danger every moment of my life anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m all about serious relationships and settling down now. No, not with a baby on the way. I have to buckle down. Focus on work so I can save every single penny to spoil this baby. Or, probably in my case, have enough to buy the basics. Single-motherhood on my freelance salary doesn’t afford luxury.
Unsurprisingly, no sane single man wants to have a one-night stand with a pregnant woman. Go figure. It’s only the oddball creeps with off-the-wall fetishes who want to get it on with an expectant mother, and I’m not really about that. I’ll stay celibate and single if it means keeping the stalkerish weirdos away.
Does that mean Keaton’s a stalkerish weirdo oddball creep if he seems like he wants to kiss me right now? Is fucking a pregnant woman one of his deepest, darkest fantasies?
If it were, I’d say yes in a heartbeat.
If my brain-to-mouth pathway would fucking work.
I want to give him the answers to his questions. I really fucking do. But for some reason, they’re staying inside my head. Maybe I don’t want to get my hopes up. Maybe I don’t want to feel the same kind of hurt and disappointment I felt when I found out he used to work for my criminal father. That’s all over and done with—I know that—and I get that he couldn’t just tell a complete stranger that he used to live a life of crime.
But it figures that he was the one person I shouldn’t have fallen for.
No, he wasn’t setting me up, and no, he wasn’t going to kill me. It was all a big misunderstanding and an unfortunate link to previous lives. But I’m still hurting. And I’m too proud to admit that I was wrong.
Though I can’t stop the chills I get when he tucks some of my hair behind my ear and his skin brushes mine. And no, it has nothing to do with the winter chill in the air. Nonetheless, I tug my sleeves down my arms to pretend like that’s what it’s from.
With his hand on my face, I close my eyes and imagine for a moment what life would be like if I could swallow my pride and tell him how I really feel. If I could tell him what’s going on in my life right now, things could be different. But he might not want me anymore, and I can’t run the risk of setting myself up for a world of pain and suffering from getting my heart smashed. Not when I have so much else to worry about.
So I open my eyes and try to end this. Backing away from him, I say, “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, Keaton.”
“You don’t mean that,” he responds, bringing his other hand to my face.
His warmth is familiar, something I want to bury myself in and never escape from. But I’m not in familiar territory right now. Everything about my life is up in the air, and I can’t have him throwing wrenches in it.
I take a step back, leaving his hands to hold nothing. “I do mean that.”
He shakes his head. “I know you don’t. I can tell just by looking at you.”
“Oh really?” I sass back. “And what makes you think you know me that well?”
The low, gruff rumble of a chuckle in his throat combined with his hands on me is nearly too much. My knees start to tremble, so I take a deep breath and lock that shit down. I won’t show him weakness of any kind.
That doesn’t last long, unfortunately. Or fortunately, depending on how I want to look at it.
His lips come to hover in front of mine. He’s a whispered breath away from pressing them on me, which makes me swallow hard, my throat working overtime so I don’t choke. I fight with everything in me to keep eye contact and not back down. But it’s a losing battle when he speaks in a deep, grumbling tone that vibrates against my mouth and sends his warm breath cascading over on skin.
“Oh, I know you, Ali. Mark my words. I know you.”
I swallow again and then raise a challenging eyebrow. “What has you so cocky?” I ask, careful not to touch him with my lips.
His lopsided smirk makes me want to smack it off him—right before I hop into his arms for the hottest kiss of my life. I do neither, tamping the stupid, messy, irresponsible thoughts in my head down. Yet Keaton takes the stupid, messy, irresponsible path by dragging his lips across my cheek and stopping near my ear, his stubble erotically scratchy against my skin.
He whispers, “I know how loudly you shout my name when you’re fucking me. I know what it feels like when you come on my fingers. And I know how much you enjoy it all.” Then he leans back to look me in the eyes. “That’s what has me so cocky.”
I suck in a breath, and one of my hands flies up to my mouth. My god, he’s changed. He’s way more confident, open, and expressive. The look, the attitude—it all suits him. Too well, judging by the heat pooling between my legs.
To try my worthless best to hide my reaction to him, I clear my throat and smooth my hands down my pants. “Jane made a huge mistake by asking you to come here, and there’s no reason why we need
to see each other again.” I try to keep my voice steady and firm, but the waver in it gives away how much I don’t mean any of this. I hope he can’t tell as I say, “Goodbye, and don’t write to me again.”
Then I head back into the restaurant, walking away from him for the second time. This time leaving my heart on the sidewalk with him.
30
Keaton
I’m not the man I was before. I’m still figuring out who I can be now that a huge chapter of my life is over. But every fiber of my being wants to figure that out with Ali by my side. I want us to do that together, especially with a huge chapter of her life about to start.
A baby. Holy shit.
A part of me can’t believe it. Ali’s going to be a mom. And she’s going to be a great one. Which sounds cliché and maybe a little ridiculous, considering she’s right—I don’t really know her that well. Given everything she’s been through, it’ll be a huge adjustment for her. But I can see it being amazing for her. A positive purpose in life in a time after so much fear and tragedy.
Maybe that’s why I’m so attracted to the idea of getting her back. I could use a positive purpose in my life too. A baby would certainly give me some direction.
But that’s not necessarily true. I’ve been trying to get her back for the last five months, since she left me in the back of my car, hopeless and broken. Those letters, with all of my truth laid bare, should have helped my case. I’ve said everything I feel I need to say to her through those pieces of paper. But if she won’t read them, she won’t know my heart.
All I want to do is make Ali happy.
Perhaps these months didn’t give her enough time to heal. If she needs more time, I’ll give it to her. She just has to tell me that. Because I’m not buying the whole “there’s no reason we need to see each other” bullshit. I may not know everything there is to know about that woman, but I can tell when she’s lying through her teeth. And that’s exactly what she did when she said that to me.