by Maggie Wells
As he loaded some notes, a DVD, and his tablet into his gym bag, he marveled at the turn his day had taken. That morning, he’d been ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain he was not the father of Mari’s baby. Over the past week, he’d latched on to the low probability and ignored the looming specter of possibility. The last thing he wanted was to be forever tied to his ex-wife. And a child…talk about your unbreakable bonds.
Ty shuddered as he recalled Mari’s behavior at the lab facility where the test took place. He didn’t blame her for being nervous or scared, but she’d acted affronted when they requested pre- and postnatal DNA testing. Like she hadn’t done anything to make him question her word. Yes, she’d been scared. He had been too. And the part of him that had loved her enough to marry her still cared enough to hate hurting her, but he needed things between them to be as clear as possible.
She was hurting him. Again. And he wouldn’t roll over and take it this time. Now, he had more to fight for. More to look forward to. He loved Millie, and Millie loved him, whether she’d admit it or not. The back-and-forth they’d been engaged in didn’t even bother him. She was wary; so was he. He had faith they could work things out.
He and Millie built each other up. Or rather, she built him up. He hadn’t done much for her other than some sex and a little takeout. If only he could get her to stop fighting against him, against them. He might not be able to train for marathons with her, but he meant to prove he was in for the long haul.
But this morning, possibility and probability came together to open up a can of whoop ass on him. He still hadn’t completely recovered, but he didn’t have the luxury of waiting to tell Millie. He’d spilled the beans to Danny McMillan, and no matter how sneaky the former quarterback thought he was, Ty knew it was only a matter of time before Kate put the full-court press on the poor man and forced him to spill his guts.
Hefting his duffel bag, he shut off the lights and wound his way through the warren of cubicles between his office and the trophy-lined corridors. The majority of them commemorated achievement in women’s basketball, but if Ty was reading his team correctly, this could be the year the men started their climb.
He’d set their sights on making the NCAA tournament the following March, but truthfully, he’d settle for a bid to the National Invitational Tournament. Some form of postseason appearance was becoming an imperative. He had only two years left on his contract, and he needed some wins in the professional arena to counterbalance the mess his personal life had become. If he couldn’t spark a winning tradition, the more conservative factions around these parts would start gunning for his job. Division I coaching salaries were too high for the results to be anything less than satisfactory. Sure, he’d turned out a top draft pick, but he couldn’t convince the kid to stay and play out his eligibility. The prospect of losing talent to the draft was a double-edged sword all coaches had to swallow, but few could say they’d lost their marriage to it as well.
The drive to Millie’s house was short. Too short. He sat parked at the curb, the engine off and his gaze glued to her front door before he’d even started to work out what he’d say.
Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he tried to think of a way to spin this latest whammy, but he couldn’t. He was no Millie Jensen. It was getting damn hard to find slivers of hope in the muck his life had become. And it was only going to get worse. His gut was in knots.
His attorney assured him support, custody, and visitation would be simple enough to work out, but the man didn’t see the trapped animal look in Mari’s eyes. She was scared, and her fear terrified Ty.
Even as an undergrad, Mari had been too sure of herself. Calculating. At the time, he’d mistaken her ambition for confidence. Now, the blinders were off. His ex-wife was a woman accustomed to getting her way, but now her plans were being thwarted, and it was his fault. He didn’t need his psych degree to know exactly how this game had played out.
She’d tried to convince Dante the child was his, but the kid had been an academic all-American. Dante’s math skills were sharp. Terrified of being saddled with a kid at twenty, he nipped his relationship with Mari in the bud. Then, he sicced his team of fancy new lawyers on her to discourage any further pursuit.
That left Mari with two options: going home to her family in disgrace or reconciliation with him.
Ty laughed out loud when she broached the subject in the lab waiting room. He had to admit, Mari was at the top of her game. Pregnancy seemed to suit her. She was all dewy skin and wide eyes. Her hair was glossy and sleek, a waterfall of spun gold cascading over her shoulders and flowing over her breasts. She wore the diamond he’d given her. Her nails were polished in pale, innocent pink. The tip of one fingernail was adorned with tiny rhinestones. As if a two-carat center stone surrounded by baguettes wasn’t quite enough bling for her.
I want us to be a family.
The words rang every bit as false in his head as they had the first time he’d heard them. She didn’t want a family; she needed a fallback. And she was so sure he’d fall into line. That rankled. She’d never asked how he was, what might be going on in his life, or even if he was seeing anyone. Like the spoiled woman she was, she assumed her once-favorite toy would be waiting for her whenever she felt like playing with him.
He’d told her no in the gentlest terms he could manage, though she didn’t really deserve the consideration. Lord knew she hadn’t thought twice about his feelings when she’d run off with Dante. But he wanted to be the bigger man. A better man. He didn’t want to hang on to grudges or let what happened between them taint any relationship he might have with the child she carried. So he’d been firm but as kind as he could manage, promising to be supportive of the pregnancy and the baby if the child was indeed his, but nothing more. When she pressed him, began asking questions she no longer had any right to ask, he shut down.
When the technician—who would explain the test results, the margin for error, and provide them each with a copy of the findings to give to their respective lawyers—called them into his office, Ty saw the flash of fear in Mari’s eyes. But by the time they took their seats, Mari’s shields were back in place, her eyes narrowed and focused on the file folder on the man’s desk.
Ty would never forget that folder. Plain manila. Crisp, not yet dog-eared from use. The name printed on the label. Mari Ransom. Divorced or not, she still had the legal right to that part of him.
“The tests show a high probability that you are indeed the father of Ms. Ransom’s child,” the man began in a voice totally devoid of emotion.
It hardly mattered if the guy had any feeling on the subject or not, because in that moment, Ty was experiencing every possible reaction a human could manage. Gut-sinking disappointment. Heart-pounding excitement. Fear, elation, anxiety, and more than a little resentment. But…a baby. His baby. A son or a daughter. The prospect of holding his child, his father’s grandchild, brought a rush of tears to his eyes.
The lab tech rambled on about percentages and likelihoods, but Ty couldn’t tear his gaze from the small smile that curved Mari’s lips. And his blood ran cold. He didn’t know exactly what Mari would do when he failed to pony up whatever it was she expected from him, but he was fairly sure he’d never know peace as long as he was shackled to her. And neither would anyone else in his life.
He bit his lip and leaned on the steering wheel as he refocused his attention on the neat, little cottage where Millie lived. The lawn was barely bigger than a postage stamp. The oversized flowerpots boasted a few hearty stragglers but served mainly as repositories for clumps of fallen leaves. She’d painted the shutters a bright cranberry color. He smiled when he realized they were almost the exact same red as her hair.
Knowing he’d delayed long enough, he opened the car door and stepped out. His gaze was drawn to those jarringly red shutters like a pyro to fire. He was halfway up the brick walk before he realized the front door had opened
.
First he saw her only in silhouette. Tousled hair. Slender arms outstretched, one braced on the door, the other hand on the opposite frame. A shadow made womanly only by the subtle curve of her hip and dip of her waist. Her endless legs were covered in loose pants, but she wore something snug on the top. She shifted her weight to one foot and blocked enough of the light for him to make out red and pink lipstick kisses covering her pajama pants. He vaulted the shallow steps and drew to a breathless halt, summoning the last shreds of his inner strength to keep from staring at the way her taut nipples pressed against the ribbed fabric of her tank top.
Instead of feeling winded, a mantle of calm settled over him when he stepped into the stream of light spilling from her home. “Hey.”
She didn’t lower her arms and beckon him in, but her smile was warm and affectionate. “Hi, Ty.”
Greetings exchanged, he found himself without the slightest clue how to proceed.
Thankfully, Millie was feeling merciful. “Would you like to come in?”
He nodded. “Thank you. Yes.” Following her into the tiny entry, he had to duck to miss hitting a lower branch of the funky, sixties-style chandelier. “Oh. Uh, hey.” He chuckled as he sidestepped a frosted glass square suspended by filament wire. “That’s cool.”
She smiled as she swung the door shut behind him. “I swiped it from my stepmom’s house. She and my dad had one of those mid-century modern ranch houses that made you think Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack might be dropping by for a stiff one at five o’clock.”
Ty grinned, taken by the image her description evoked. “So it really is cool, then.”
“The coolest, man.” Her bare feet whispered over varnished oak hardwoods. She walked backward as she led him toward the kitchen. “You look like you could use a drink. Hard day at the office?”
“You could say.”
“I can offer you premixed margarita, some wine that has been open a little too long, or some rum.” She paused. “If you’re lucky, I might have a Diet Coke to go with the rum.”
“I’m okay, thanks.”
A big, fat lie, but as much as he could have used a drink, he needed to be stone-cold sober to say what he needed to say. Bracing himself, he stepped into the kitchen and came to an abrupt stop.
The room was so perfectly Millie it made his chest hurt. The appliances were newer models made of sleek stainless steel. The countertops had been replaced with some kind of speckled solid-surface material. The walls were stucco plaster and painted rich, buttery yellow. But the cabinets looked to be original, the glass panes wavy on a couple, one sporting a clamshell chip out of the corner. Other people would have painted them a glossy white, but Millie wasn’t other people. No, she’d gone with an aqua so vivid it reminded him of a tiny inlet on an even tinier Greek island.
The place where he thought he’d found peace.
Now, he knew his peace resided in the woman across from him. A woman so vivid he had a hard time tearing his gaze from her.
But he did.
There were things to be said, and he needed to get on with it.
Ty drew a steadying breath and continued his inspection of her place. After all, who knew if he’d ever be invited into her inner sanctum again?
In addition to the bold color choices, she’d finished the room off with the kind of homey touches he’d never think to make. A shallow glass bowl held fresh fruit. A Snoopy cookie jar. The fridge was peppered with whimsical magnets from a variety of destinations and printouts of Wolcott Warrior team schedules. The lacrosse team had a match the following day. She had a number of the games on the football schedule highlighted in neon green. A photo of Kate Snyder in a bikini had been printed on plain copier paper. Someone wrote the words money shot across the top with a magic marker. The photo held a place of pride in the center of the melee.
Swallowing the dull ache in his throat, he tore himself away from his study of her natural habitat and forced himself to face the inevitable. “The baby is mine.” He spoke the words bluntly but found himself unable to meet her eyes. “At least, that’s what the prenatal test shows.”
He pressed his lips together tightly, hell-bent on having this all out in the open now. Quickly. No point in prolonging the torture for either of them. Better to rip the bandage off this farce of a life he thought he could live and let the damn thing bleed out. “They tell me the odds are pretty much certain the testing they’ll do on the umbilical cord will confirm paternity, so there you go.” He jerked his head up, his gaze homing on her like a laser-guided missile. “I’m going to be a father.”
The pause that followed was beyond pregnant. Her pulse throbbed, the delicate skin of her throat no match for the impact his announcement had on her. Part of him was elated to see the evidence of her jangled nerves. She loved him. He knew she did, even if she never said so.
“Congratulations.”
Her soft-spoken response deserved an equally polite reply. “Thank you.”
“And Mari is doing well? Healthy?”
“She’s fine.” A laugh escaped him. “A pain in my ass, but physically fine.”
“And her plan?” she prompted, suddenly intent on retrieving a bottle of water from the fridge. She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Is she going to stay here?”
He jerked, stunned to realize he’d never thought to ask the question himself. “I have no idea.”
She nodded as she let the refrigerator door swing shut, uncapping her bottle as if they weren’t discussing the demise of everything they’d been to each other. “Well, it would be nice to have the baby nearby. Are her folks from around here?”
“They’re near DC.”
She pursed her lips. “Not too far.” He stared transfixed as she wrapped her lips around the mouth of the bottle and took a deep drink. “Maybe she’ll end up living near them.”
“So you know she and Dante broke up?”
Millie’s grimace confirmed as much. “Yeah, well, I saw some stuff online.”
“You know, there are days when I hate the internet. Actually, most days.”
The grimace softened into a smile. “Every day, I thank God I made it through school in the predigital era. Some things were caught on film, but by now, no one knows where the negatives are, and only a handful are savvy enough to work a scanner.”
Silence stretched between them, but this time, the familiar tension was missing. This quiet was weak. Resigned. After months of flirting, feinting, and some downright incredible fucking, they were over. Before he’d even convinced her to get started. No matter how much he loved her and wanted her, she didn’t want what he had coming into his life. And he had to accept her life choices.
“So, yeah.” He ran his hand over his hair, then drew back. “My life is going to be kind of…”
“Chaotic?” she supplied.
“To say the least.”
He nearly seized when she set the bottle aside and started toward him. He didn’t know what he’d do if she touched him. Shatter? Implode? Break down and blubber like a little boy? God, a part of him wanted to. He wanted to howl and yowl and throw a hissy fit the likes of which the world hadn’t seen since Bob Knight left collegiate basketball.
He held his breath when she came to a stop in front of him. Her body swayed. Ty wouldn’t have been surprised if his had too. The first time he’d kissed her, he knew he’d found an essential element. A pick that would let him roll. She was the alley, and he was the oop. One incomplete without the other. Did she know? Would she feel the loss too?
So gently he barely felt the heat of her touch, she laid her palm over his heart. “I’m happy for you, Ty.”
“Are you?”
“Always.”
The single-word response sounded a lot like a goodbye. If he didn’t want to do the breaking and blubbering, he had to man up, try to tip the conversation to his side, and
send this relationship to the showers as soon as possible. “Okay, well…thank you.” He gave a nod and then shrugged. “I’m gonna need a little time to…figure things out.”
Her eyes were warm but sad. “Of course. I meant what I said before. I’m here if you need me.”
If he needed her? He needed her all the time. Didn’t she know?
Christ, he wanted to swoop her up. Kiss her. Beg her. Ask her to take him on anyway, complications and all, but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair. A woman like Millie would never live a life dictated by someone else’s choices. She knew her own mind too well, and he knew enough about the tender heart she kept hidden under her sharp exterior to try to box her into a corner.
Swallowing the last of a long list of wants, Ty forced a tight smile. “I appreciate your…friendship.”
“And you’ll always have it.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “Let me know if I can do anything to help.”
Love me. That was all he wanted to say. Love me anyway. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
“Goodbye, Millie.”
She inclined her head like a queen allowing her manservant to take his leave. “Bye, Ty.”
He swallowed a bitter laugh as he walked out. As far as he could see, the roles weren’t too far off. From the beginning, she’d been the one calling the plays. And for the first time in a long time, he’d been someone’s go-to guy. The playmaker. He opened her front door and paused to take a breath of the crisp autumn air.
Then, without giving himself a chance to overthink what he was doing, he stepped out into the night and closed her door behind him.