by Annie O'Neil
There had been a ridiculously untethered moment in time when she’d thought Aidan might have been The One—but he had been very clear that family life was not for him. She watched as Richard gave Marianne a moon-eyed gaze, followed by a kiss... If his goal in bringing her here to meet his dad had been to illustrate just how messed up his father was, it wasn’t working.
“You’re not drinking to the toast?”
Aidan’s hand slipped onto her knee under the table. She wished he wouldn’t do that. It was all too easy to imagine him touching her elsewhere, and they weren’t doing that anymore. She jogged her knee away from his hand.
“I took a sip,” she lied. “Just trying to keep my wits about me for the match tomorrow. We’re lucky it’s a home game, aren’t we?”
Excellent topic-changer, Ali! You’re getting good at this.
“Good point, love.” Richard took a final swig of his wine whilst signaling to the waiter that they wanted the check. “We could do with slipping off to bed and letting you both get your rest.” He gave a wink to Aidan. “I don’t want to shoulder the blame for any poorly set noses tomorrow.”
“Dad.” Aidan sent his father a dry look. “I think I can handle a broken nose in my sleep, thank you very much.”
“I know, son.” He gave Aidan a pointed look. “There isn’t much you can’t do once you set your mind to something.”
* * *
“You really didn’t have to walk me to my car. I’m a big girl, you know.”
Ali fumbled amidst her handbag debris for her key. Was being discombobulated part of being pregnant? Or was being next to Aidan the reason her well-honed cool demeanor had deteriorated into a jumble of jitters?
“Of course I did. You were incredibly indulgent in accompanying me here. ‘Meeting the parents.’” He flicked his fingers in the quotes symbol then put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him.
The jangle factor of her nerve endings shot up another notch. He slid his hands along the collar of her coat and tucked it up close round her neck.
Oh...why do you always have to smell so nice? And be so nice. I don’t want to say goodbye.
The thought lay like lead in her heart. “Right. So, I’ll see you at the stadium tomorrow, bright and early?”
“Yeah, of course—the big game!” Aidan let his hands dawdle on her coat collar, his index fingers tracing along the stitched edging of the woolen fabric, thumbs circling in a slow swirl. He’d done it before. That swirl. Her skin remembered it well—her tummy, her breasts... It took all her power not to arch into him, press herself tight against his chest.
But she couldn’t do anything to give away what she was really feeling. Not now that she knew his heart would never belong to her.
They each stared at his fingers—lost, she presumed, in different lines of thought. His mind was on the game... Hers was on—what else?—the new life she carried.
Ali wondered if he could sense the changes she had already noticed. She wasn’t showing, but she felt more like a woman than she ever had. She was used to feeling lanky—all legs and arms and a long torso to stick it all together—but here, so close to Aidan, with their child in her belly, she felt about as soft and feminine as they came.
“Ali? It meant a lot to me.”
“What? Having dinner? You already said that, silly.” She looked up into his eyes. She’d miss exploring their deep brown depths, trying to figure out if they were espresso, mahogany, teak or any other deliciously brown color.
“No, I mean—” He broke off and shot a look in his father’s direction. He and his wife were standing beside his car. “You being here. All of it.” He ducked his head lower, trying his best to give her a meaningful look.
Ali shrugged herself out of his hold on the premise of needing to rub her hands together. She didn’t need this. Couldn’t bear it. Trite goodbyes for an affair that had enveloped her body and soul were too painful.
She forced herself to look up at him. He wasn’t the man he thought he was. Dispassionate. All business. He was kind. Caring. And so off-limits. It tore at her heart that his heart was tethered to the past. If only he could see the future for what it was—an amazing gift.
“Well, all good things must come to an end, right?” If they were going to go with trite she might as well embrace the truisms with a fresh smile.
“You’re right.” he acquiesced. “What’s the point in making rules if you don’t stick to them?”
Ali pressed her lips together and gave him what she hoped looked like a nod. She didn’t agree. Not now. This was definitely a time when rules were meant to be broken. Meant to be reformed, reshaped. Why not the whole shebang? This was a time when they needed an entirely new rulebook—one that bent and flowed with the wind. One that would allow them to be together. One that allowed them to have a baby.
“Son, we’re freezing to death out here. Mind if you toss us the keys?”
“I’m coming, Dad.”
Aidan turned to go, then swiftly turned back and bent his head to kiss her on the cheek. It was one of those instants she wished she could have frozen in time. His scent. His touch. His breath slipping along her cheek down to the bit of neck not snuggled in the depths of her woolly scarf. She’d never know those sensations again.
Choking back a sob, Ali nodded again and gave him a wave goodbye. She plunged back into her handbag and came up trumps on the first forage. Car keys. Thank God. She needed to get away. Clear her head. Write the script—the farewell script—and make sure the North Stars won their final match before she set about figuring out what she and her baby would do with the rest of their lives.
Nothing to it. Nothing at all.
* * *
“Are you going to tell me why you won’t admit to dating that young woman?”
Aidan’s father dunked an herbal teabag in and out of his mug as he waited for Aidan to answer. Since when did Mr. Meat and Potatoes drink herbal tea?
“Not sure what you’re talking about, Dad.”
“Ali. The young woman we just dined with.”
His father spoke slowly, as if Aidan had suddenly become hard of hearing.
“We work together. That’s all.”
“Yes, son, and I’m the Emperor of China.” His father laughed, squeezed the teabag on the side of the mug with a spoon and took it out. “You’re in love with that woman—it’s plain as the hand at the end of my arm.”
Aidan all but choked on his own tea. Traditional English tea, with milk in. He hadn’t changed. Unlike his father, who kept throwing new components of himself out into the universe to be seen by one and all. Wasn’t this the man who’d taught him that there was no sure thing in life? That love was as fleeting as the seasons? It comes and goes—it comes and goes—and you can never rely on it.
“Sorry, Dad.” Aidan gave him a rueful look. “Just colleagues.”
His father walked round the kitchen island and pulled out one of the stools. “Against company rules, is it?”
Aidan’s stomach clenched. “Something like that.” He nodded, hoping his father would let the subject drop, and took another sip of tea. Against Aidan’s rules was more like it, but he didn’t need to tell his father that.
“No. I don’t buy it, son. What happened? You two have a fight or something?”
Aidan looked at his father in surprise. What was this? An inquisition? “What would make you say something like that?”
“I don’t know. There definitely seemed to be something going on between the two of you—but Ali seemed...” He sought the perfect word just as Marianne came into the kitchen, made a beeline for her husband’s mug and took a sip. “Sugar, what was that thing you said about Aidan and Ali?”
Aidan’s eyebrows just about popped off his forehead. What? They’d been discussing him and Ali? They’d only been home
from supper for five minutes!
Marianne gave him a guilty smile. “Don’t worry, love. It’s one of the side effects of my trade. I just can’t help analyzing every couple I come across.”
“We’re not a couple! How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Well, if you’re not you should be,” Marianne rejoined. “I have seen thousands of couples come in and out of my offices. Most of them end up divorced. But the ones with a connection like you two have...? Those ones always end up leaving hand in hand.”
“Like you and me, eh?” Aidan’s father grabbed her round the waist and gave her a cuddle.
“Most of my suitors didn’t show up with their wives. Or wait twenty more years to propose, for that matter.”
“I wanted to be original!”
“You definitely are that, love. You definitely are that.” She gave Richard a peck on the cheek and stole his mug again for another sip.
“We’re not a couple,” Aidan muttered into his mug, acutely aware that no one was remotely listening to his side of the conversation.
He should just go to bed. Watching these two canoodle was getting him nowhere. The whole reason he’d put a halt to things between Ali and himself was because you couldn’t change the past. It was part of you—no matter what.
“Besides, son...” Aidan’s father re-engaged him, with Marianne’s shoulder safely tucked under his arm. “It’s like your mother said the other day—”
“Wait a minute.” Aidan could hardly believe his ears. “You still talk to Mum?”
“’Course I do, son. We may not have been a love match—and I can assure you we don’t talk much—but we’ve got an eternal bond.”
Aidan opened his hands in a what bond? gesture.
“You, son. We’ll always be proud of having done that together. If I hadn’t met your mother I wouldn’t have you, and there is not a chance in high heaven that I would’ve gone through my life without knowing the absolute pleasure of fatherhood.”
This was a bit of a blindsider.
They’d never really had a traditional father-son relationship. It wasn’t as though Aidan had ever felt unloved, he just hadn’t felt a part of his father’s life, except on an administrative level. Particularly since Mary had died, It was hardly as if his dad had been seeking Father of the Year points.
“That’s right, Aidan.” Marianne nodded. “In fact your father was quite reluctant about our tying the knot without you being there. He was really hoping you’d join us, but with the season running the way it does he thought you’d be wrapped up in work.”
Aidan’s face must’ve been screaming Seriously? because both of them burst out laughing.
“It’s true, son.” His father nodded earnestly. “I was hoping you would be our ring bearer. You would’ve looked a treat in that ‘Little Boy Blue’ getup they wear.”
Aidan had to join in their laughter. The picture of himself in a little pastel suit with a satin cushion, carrying the rings down the aisle for his father’s golden years wedding, was too funny a picture not to laugh at.
“Thanks, Dad. I would’ve liked to have been there.”
“You’re always welcome to join us, son. Now that I’ve found myself a proper wife, who seems intent on keeping me chipper, you are welcome. Anytime.”
And from the look on his father’s face Aidan could see he meant it. Maybe things really had changed for his father. He’d never really invited Aidan along to things before—and he’d always just presumed it was because he didn’t want him around.
“Well, son. We’re going to pop off to bed. I imagine you’ll be up and out of here early. Shall we meet you after the game?”
“That’d be great,” Aidan replied with a smile. He meant it, too. “You two have a good night. There will be tickets for you at the gate.”
Half an hour later Aidan could still hear them giggling through the walls of the guest bedroom. They really were the picture of a happy couple. Which was a lot more than he could say for Ali and himself. Not that they were a couple. They’d been fastidious in that respect—keeping the boundaries clear. Boundaries that had melted away in the bedroom.
Beyond that...? Aidan sank into his sofa, barely seeing the twinkling lights of the city beyond.
He and Ali worked well together. Played well together. They did just about everything well together. But was that because they’d made their time limit? Set the boundaries? Was that the only way he functioned? By being able to shut and lock the door on his feelings? It was the way he’d always worked after he’d lost his girlfriend, and it had worked perfectly well. Until now.
Aidan shook his head and pushed up from the sofa. He’d better get some sleep before the match. The last day he’d work with Ali. The last time they would be together. He would never hold her in his arms again.
He hastened to remind himself that it was all for one very pragmatic and practiced reason: he didn’t do affairs of the heart. There would be no honoring of what he’d had—or could have had—with Mary if he did. They would have been married now—maybe even had children...
The thought sent a sour taste down his throat. He’d always wanted a family. A big one to make up for his pretty lonely excuse of a childhood. He just had to face facts now. Once Ali was gone he could get back to structure, routine, to his well-practiced comfort zone.
He pulled the duvet up around his head as if it would help block out the truth. This time it had been different. He’d stepped outside the outline of their agreement. This time he’d fallen in love.
* * *
Ali felt as though she was having a flashback to the first day she’d met Aidan. Well...not that day. Their first day at work. She was kneeling on the ground next to Rory and could see Aidan’s size eleven shoes in her eyeline. Only this time he was letting her get on with things. At least they’d made progress in the professional respect department.
“How’s it feeling, Rory?”
“Just a turf burn, Doc. It’s that new artificial turf. Doesn’t suit my baby-soft skin.” He tried to wink away her concerns.
“Rory! You were writhing around clutching your shoulder.”
“It’s not my shoulder. Honest. Just giving the crowd a bit of bonus drama.” He popped up from the field with a grin, despite the expanse of raw skin on his arm. “C’mon!” he pleaded. “We’ve got to get this show on the road! We’re three up!”
Ali turned to consult Aidan—who, she could now see, was already jogging back to the benches. Terrific. So much for a conference with her colleague. She guessed it was going to be a day of his and hers injuries.
He had hardly said boo to her all day. “Exasperating” didn’t begin to explain how frustrating the situation was. Where had the “Chatty Kathy” from the night before gone? They were back to the days of Dr. Jekyll and Aidan Hyde. Hide ’n’ seek was more like it. The man had been avoiding her from the moment they’d arrived at the stadium.
Or maybe she was just being super-sensitive. They were all hopped up today. The boys were definitely running on high-caliber adrenaline.
The team as a whole had only clocked up a couple of minor injuries, and if they carried on as they had been they’d charge through the rest of the game like bulls. They were super-charged. Everyone was. This was the biggest match of the year, and it felt as if the whole of England had jammed itself into the stands. The roar of the crowd was deafening.
If only it could stifle all the thoughts lurching round her head like out-of-control billiard balls—clanking against each other before careening off in an entirely different direction.
Some focus might be in order.
After a quick examination to make sure his collarbone was still in one piece Ali nodded a reluctant assent. Play could recommence. She jogged off the pitch and headed toward a different bench than the one Aidan had chosen. The number
of times she’d almost blurted out her news in the past hour alone was running into double digits.
She glanced up at the game clock. Thirty-seven more minutes. That was it. Thirty-seven minutes and the game would be over, the trophy would—Lord willing—be in the hands of the North Stars, and she could let Aidan know she was pregnant then jump on the train and go back to her old life.
It was what she had decided in the witching hours of the previous night. She had enjoyed setting up En Pointe, and now that she had a baby on the way maybe being around people she knew wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Not that that wasn’t the case here.
She took a mental panoramic shot of the stadium in its full glory. Leaving the team behind—the work she’d begun with them, her apartment, the bicycle rides, all of it—was going to be much harder than she’d thought. And as for leaving Aidan...
Pure, unadulterated denial was the only way she was going to get through that goodbye.
Would she prefer to stay with him and watch their baby grow up together? There wasn’t a yes big enough to encapsulate how much she wanted that to be the case. But there was no getting away from the fact that it was absolutely not what Aidan wanted. And she couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t exactly been handed the smoothest ride in life. No doubt the pain of moving forward—moving on and away from what had never been... Well... He’d made it clear that was never going to happen.
She pressed her hands together between her knees and forced herself to focus on the game. The two sides were going into formation for a new play. What had originally been a massive huddle of muscles and numbered shirts now pinged into individual components for her. She saw repaired ligaments, strengthened ankle joints, improved flexibility, increased speed, heightened stamina. These were some of the fittest people on earth and she had played a role in keeping them that way. Making them more than what they’d thought they could be. It was truly satisfying work.
The huddle of men broke apart as play recommenced, with players running long to catch the rugby ball spinning toward them in a meters-high arc. Mack, unsurprisingly, was at the center of the action, arms reaching up high, cleats giving him the traction to push harder, further than the other players. But as he leapt into the air his arms suddenly snapped to his chest, his feet giving way to the bend of his knees as he crumpled to the ground.