He laughed softly and shook his head. “What are the odds?”
“On my side, pretty good, actually. Fraternal twins is kind of a family thing.” Clare explained her odds to Deacon. “Identical twins are more of a fluke. Something like seven out of one hundred. Could happen to anyone.”
“Right.”
A moment passed, and she wondered if he was thinking about the girls’ mother. He said not in their lives, so was she dead? He would have said so if that were the case, wouldn’t he? Was it a bad breakup? Had she left him? Did he still love her?
She didn’t want to ask, wasn’t sure she wanted to know. But she needed to know. “What about their mother? You said she wasn’t in their life.”
“She’s not.” He didn’t say more, and the look on his face was pained.
“Did she die?”
“No. She never wanted them. She had them and she left.”
“What? I can’t understand that.”
“Neither can I.” His mouth was drawn in a firm line.
There wasn’t just anger. There was hatred as well. Then the look was gone, and his expression changed.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the girls.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know,” he began, not taking his eyes from the baby. “At first there was your right-here, right-now rule, and it seemed like a lot to get into. Then it didn’t feel…appropriate isn’t quite the word, but I don’t make a habit of talking about them with people I don’t…”
“People you don’t know?” she finished for him.
“Maybe. And maybe I wanted to be just a man for a few days and not Daddy. I know that sounds bad, and I don’t mean it that way. They’re my life. Then I did know you, and I started to tell you, so many times, but I was embarrassed to say that I was choosing to stay away from them those extra days to be with you. Afraid of what you’d think of me. I wish I’d told you. Really wish I’d gotten your number. Things could have been different. I would have been here for you. I hope you know that.”
“That would have been kind of hard,” she said, not that she didn’t believe his sentiment, just pointing out the facts. “Two states, your work. Your life.”
“Hard, yes, but I still would have done it. As much as I could. I know it couldn’t have been easy for you.”
“Because I went on my honeymoon with no groom and came back pregnant? Yeah. Not the best. It was…” She laughed, though there was nothing funny about it. “Not exactly the picture of innocence. And I’m sure enough people thought I was the reason the wedding had been called off.
“It’s okay,” she said, reading his concerned expression. “No one that mattered. I was in Chicago when I found out. I’d taken a new job there, teaching kindergarten. That was the plan—to move there after the wedding.”
“You’re a teacher? I didn’t know that.” He moved Patrick to his shoulder, rocking his little body up and down with a gentle, rhythmic patting on his bottom.
“Yeah. I’d taught fifth grade before that. Anyway, I was let go when they found out I was pregnant.”
“What? They can’t do that.”
She appreciated his outrage on her behalf. “They can, and they did. It was a private school with certain personal standards and a broadly worded bit about moral conduct in my contract. I understood it. I signed it. Never expected to break it.” She shrugged. “Anyway, neither the school nor the parents wanted to explain to their young, impressionable children why or how Ms. Franklin was having a baby when she wasn’t married. And that fact was well known since I walked into class on my first day to a ‘congratulations on your wedding’ party.”
He winced. “That’s awkward.”
“Yeah. It was.” She smiled, surprised she could. But then she’d always been able to smile with Deacon. “Your name’s on the birth certificate,” she blurted, suddenly wanting him to know.
His attention jerked from the baby to her. “Thank you. I mean it, Clare. Thank you.”
Parker started to fuss. “He’s probably hungry. My little piglet. I fed him right before you got here.”
“Then he’s not hungry. Why don’t you grab a bagel while I’m here to help?” He held out his arm to take Parker from her, his other hand never missing a beat.
“Go on, eat,” he said when she only stared. “I can hold them off a bit. I remember how rare it is to sit and eat at a table.”
She did, and Parker quieted until there was only the sound of her chewing and the soothing rhythm of Deacon’s patting hand.
When the time came for him to leave, Clare stood in the nursery doorway. She’d waited in the kitchen for several minutes, listening to him talk to the boys on the baby monitor. Soft and sweet, he told them about their sisters, telling them to be good and give their mama a break.
She wasn’t sure how to feel about him leaving. She could feel the pull at his heart in the way he looked at them. It was different than how her mom or Jess or Connor looked at them. She thought it must be the way she looked—inexplicable, immeasurable love. She couldn’t be sorry he was here. Would never be sorry her boys had that love. She would never deny them or Deacon that bond. But at the same time, she had to keep herself apart.
She watched as he picked up Patrick and cradled him to his chest, then kissed his little face. He repeated the process with Parker. Then he stood over them, tall and strong, a protector of his children as a father should be and struggling to leave them. He placed his hand on each of their chests, and she could imagine he was whispering a silent goodbye.
The damned hormones hit her again, and she sniffed, giving her presence away.
“It’s hard to leave them,” Deacon said, not looking up.
Since she couldn’t imagine ever leaving them, her heart ached for him. It ached even more when he started toward her then stopped to look back at them one last time.
“I wish I could stay longer,” he said as they moved through the kitchen to the front door. “But I have the girls, and work.”
“I understand.”
“Of course I hadn’t planned on this,” he added with a smile.
She couldn’t help wondering what he’d thought would happen with her in one night. He’d looked for her, he’d said, to explain why he’d left the way he did. But now what? Would the girls always come first? Would Deacon always have to juggle his time and feelings? She hated that things were this way. Hated that they had these beautiful babies who were such a gift and a miracle and that everything else couldn’t be as miraculous and magical.
She didn’t expect him to pick up and move and leave everything behind, nor would she be okay with leaving her family, her friend, her safety.
He was a father, and as a good father, he’d rushed off exactly as he should have. But she’d talked so much about herself, private details and hopes and dreams and her inner desires. And now she knew there’d been nothing he needed to lie about. He’d just chosen not to share his failed relationship and the children that were the center of his life.
She walked him to the door, and they stared at each other for a long moment. What would their goodbye in the Dominican have looked like if they’d had a goodbye?
“I’ll call you. We’ll talk.”
“Okay.” Her fingers worried the bottom of her shirt. It had all been so easy and natural between them before. Until it hadn’t been anything anymore. “You know, I don’t expect you to…”
“To what?”
“I don’t know. Anything,” she said, trying to keep her voice even, trying to sound light when she felt anything but. “I’m okay.”
He looked at her a long time. Was he angry?
“I’ll call you,” he repeated then leaned in, chastely kissed her cheek.
She barely had time to catch his scent before he was gone.
Chapter 21
“GIRLS!” DEACON CALLED UP the stairs. “If you don’t want to be late, we need to leave now.” He heard the pounding of feet, not in the direction of the stai
rs, and he sighed and started up.
He was running, as usual. Mondays were even worse with frantic pet owners who’d waited the weekend to see a doctor on top of scheduled surgeries. And he left the office at four, or tried to, to take his girls to dance class, which they were going to be late for if they didn’t leave now.
And added to that, his every other thought was some variation of Clare. I found her. I have two sons. Clare had our babies. I have two sets of twins. Or just Holy shit.
Deacon rounded the corner to the girls’ room and found the two of them on the floor, Margo doing her best to tie sheer fairy wings onto Maci’s back.
“Girls—”
“We’re not girls, Daddy. We’re fairies.”
“Yeah, Daddy. See?” Maci held out her arms.
“I do see. You’re a gorgeous fairy who’s going to get Daddy in trouble with Ms. Mormant if we’re late.” He picked her up, noting she at least had on shoes. “Let’s be off to your chariot.”
“Fawies don’t wide. They fwy,” Maci told him.
“Well, however we’re going, we need to get to it.”
He really didn’t want to be late. It was the principle of the matter, but also the look of disapproval from the sixty-something dance instructor. Madame Mormant took exception to parents who didn’t take her studio protocol seriously. They were three, for God’s sake. They weren’t looking to join a professional dance company.
He carried Maci down the stairs, calling for Margo to follow. When he reached the bottom, he started the countdown. “One.”
When he got to two, he heard her coming.
“Daddy,” she said, looking down at him from the top of the stairs. “You have got to get more patience.”
He stifled a smile looking back at her, hands on hips, wearing a tutu and fairy wings, a displeased scowl on her face. His heart threatened to burst. “I’ll get more patience when my fairies are in the car.”
It took five more minutes, because evidently fairies could not wear jackets that would smash their wings or sit in car seats for the same reason. He lost the jacket debate but won on the car seats, promising he could reattach the wings when they got out of the car.
He pulled in with one minute to spare, though it took him five to put the fairies back together. Madame Mormont could just get over it.
He carried the girls in, one on each arm. Ballerinas simply did not arrive in dirty ballet slippers. Once inside, they tugged away from him to join their classmates, watching the end of the older girls’ class.
“Hi! Dr. Montgomery!”
He turned toward the high-pitched voice to his right. Monica, he recalled. Monica who was divorced. She’d mentioned that twice.
“How are you?”
“I’m good.” He glanced at the exit, knowing he could never leave until his girls were safely inside the classroom, away from the lobby.
“Are you working today? I’d be happy to bring the girls home,” she said.
“No, that’s all right.” Not to mention her daughter’s class was already over.
“No, really. I love to watch the little ones, and Rebecca was planning to stay and help out anyway.”
“No, I wasn’t,” her daughter said, coming to stand next to her. “I have homework, and then you said I could go to the mall.”
“Oh, well.” The woman fluttered her hand. “Why don’t you go wait in the car?”
Her daughter rolled her eyes and walked outside, tapping on her cell as she went. He wondered how often Rebecca saw her mother making moves on men. A vision of Clare with another man had him grinding his back teeth together. He’d texted her earlier and was waiting for her to text him back. He was trying not to seem too eager. Trying to give her space that he didn’t want. Monica was still talking.
“You don’t live too far from me.”
“No, thanks.” And how the hell does she know where I live?
“Next time then,” she said, her smile too bright.
Ms. Mormont was calling the girls, clapping her hands together, and he caught them just before they slipped through the door. “Girls, I’m going to see Uncle Jax. You do not leave this room until you see me standing here. Promise me.”
They did, and Madame’s college-age assistant assured him no child would leave without their parent. Still, he watched them a moment, laughing as they half skipped, half galloped around the room. The dictator really did know what she was doing when it came to the kids.
Fifteen minutes later, Deacon sat on Jackson’s couch, his feet on the coffee table. If there was a cliché for a bachelor pad, Jax’s apartment was it. He had a pool table, a pinball machine, and the requisite flat-screen. Jax returned from the kitchen holding two longnecks. “Beer?”
“No thanks.”
“He held out a silver foil packet of Pop-Tarts. “Dinner?”
“Seriously? You’re worse off than I thought.”
“What? You want to make me eat my vegetables? It’s strawberry.” Jax tilted his head and waited.
“That’s a fruit, but fine. I’ll take a Pop-Tart.” Deacon peeled back the foil wrapper.
“So,” Jax said. “You found her.”
“I did.”
Jax knew he’d been to see her over the weekend. “Was it everything you thought it would be?”
“More.”
“How much more?”
Deacon pulled up a photo of the boys on his phone and handed it to Jax. “A lot more.”
Jax stared at the image on the screen. “What the—babies? She’s had babies since you saw her?”
“My babies.”
Jax stared at him, looking as shell-shocked as he’d felt. Still felt.
“What in the hell, dude? You knocked up two women. Both with twins. I mean, who in the hell does that happen to? How in the hell does that happen?”
“To me, apparently, and I looked it up.” He explained the odds to Jax, then he took the phone and swiped to a picture of Clare holding both babies.
“That’s four,” Jax said, staring at him. “Dude, you have four kids.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’d done the math.” He took his phone back.
“So what now?”
Deacon gazed down at the image. “I don’t know.” He rested his elbows on his knees, dropped his head into his hands. He wanted to be there for his sons. Wanted to throw the football, drive them to Little League or dance or origami or whatever the hell they wanted to do. He just wanted to be there. And he wanted to be there for Clare too.
Did she want that? Him? Any of it? Two three-year-olds were a lot. More than two newborns—not that he would say that to her now if he wanted to live. And all four of them?
He swiped a hand over his jaw and looked at his friend. “I think I’m in love with her.” He pretty much knew he was, and damn if that wasn’t a terrifying thought. He laughed softly and slowly shook his head. “I feel like I’ve lost my mind.”
“Have you?”
“No. I don’t think I have.”
“Well then. What are you going to do next?”
“I have no idea.”
Jax raised his beer in salute. “I have faith in you, bro.”
“Thanks.” But saying it all aloud made him realize just what lay ahead of him and how high the stakes truly were. “Maybe I will have that beer.”
LATER IN THE WEEK, Deacon stopped by his parents’ house on the way home from work. His mom had called around lunch to ask him to help move a piece of furniture then added if he timed it right, he’d probably get dinner out of it.
Halfway down the tree-lined street of his youth, Deacon spotted his sister’s car in the driveway. Shit. It was an ambush. He’d managed to avoid Alex’s interrogation for four days. That would end the second he stepped inside.
He parked in the driveway of the two-story red-brick house. Other than the recently painted beige siding on the upper floor, it looked exactly as it had when he’d grown up there. He glanced at his phone as he got out, hoping for a text from Clare. They’d b
een texting and talking at least once a day since he’d left, but it was awkward and stilted, their conversations overly polite and solely about the babies.
The girls bounded out of the car and up the front steps. He followed them through the door. The smell of roast and fresh bread hit him, along with the girls’ squeals as they tackled their preteen cousins. Maybe Alex’s family was also there to score a weeknight meal and it had nothing to do with his mixed-up life. A guy could hope.
“Hi, honey,” his mom said, pulling a large roasting pan from the oven. “We’ll let that sit for a few while you men earn your dinner.”
“Hey, Mom.” He could hear his father, niece, and nephew in the family room with the girls.
Even at thirty-one, he hated to feel his parents’ disapproval—or their disappointment. He’d been a Boy Scout, after all. His father had given him the safe-sex and responsibility talk at seventeen. And he’d been adamant about it except that one time with Natalie. With Clare, he’d thought he was being doubly safe. But he couldn’t be sorry. Wouldn’t wish his sons away or regret their existence. The only thing he regretted was not being on sound footing with Clare.
“Well, well, look who’s here,” Alex said, turning from the stove. “It’s my brother who’s forgotten how to use a cell phone.”
He ignored the jab to shake hands with his brother-in-law, Will. “Hey, man. How’s it going?”
“Good. You?” He could tell by Will’s face that he knew exactly how it was going for him and didn’t envy him.
“Good. Here for some furniture moving. And dinner.”
“Anything you’d like to tell your sister?” Alex asked, giving him her patented steely-eyed glare.
“Sorry.” His mom shrugged, not looking the slightest bit contrite. “She asked. I told.”
“Grandma, we’re starving!” His nephew, Sean, loped into the kitchen with Margo attached to his back like a leech.
His ten-year-old niece, Lauren, came in, struggling to walk with Maci on her hip.
“Almost ready. Why don’t you and Lauren get the girls’ hands washed while your dad and Uncle Deacon bring in the armoire.”
Love At Last Page 16