Love You, Baby

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  She’d bet his pride had a little something to do with not broadcasting that news, and she certainly couldn’t blame him on that. In fact, she’d been shocked at how tough his father had been on him in front of the whole family. Did he really disrespect his son that much?

  “I don’t care about the money. I felt bad for Merit, though.” No one had really seemed to stick up for him—other than his mother who tried to end the discussion twice.

  “His dad’s been on him to get a job for a while now. It’s good to hear he’s done that.”

  “He really hasn’t had a job before now?” she asked with disbelief. She had a brief flashback to Ian’s father, but then shoved it aside. Merit wasn’t even close to Patrick.

  “I don’t think so,” Honor said. “Is he still pissed off?”

  “I would imagine so, but that would only be a guess. He didn’t speak on the ride, and when we got here, he pretty much dropped me off and left.”

  “What? Just like that?”

  “Yeah. He said he had stuff to get done.”

  “Ouch.”

  She threw up her hand, then let her arm flop down to slap against her leg. “You know, I don’t get him. He kept coming after me, pushed me into letting him in, and then I make one little mistake with his parents and he won’t even talk to me.”

  “Wait, he’s mad at you? He said that?”

  “Not exactly. He said he doesn’t blame me for pretty much blurting out we’re pregnant, but if that’s true, then why just leave—especially after last night.”

  “Oh. Last night happened?”

  That’s right, they hadn’t had a chance to talk before the disaster that was brunch.

  “Yeah. It happened.” She dropped down onto the couch and leaned her head back, eyes closed. “And it was good, you know? Not just the sex, but we watched a movie, and talked, and then this morning, we decided we’d give it a try. Being an us, I mean. Because it makes sense because of the baby.”

  She recalled Merit whispering, “Love you, baby,” to her belly. Where had that guy gone?

  “And the great sex,” Honor teased.

  “And that.” She squinched her eyes tight. “Wait—are you still at his parents’ house?”

  “Yes, but I took a walk down by the stables while Asher’s helping with cleanup.”

  “Okay.” She breathed a sigh of relief. Last thing she needed was someone in his family hearing Honor comment about the great sex she and Merit had had.

  “What are you going to do?”

  She was asking about Merit. Mae opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll see what happens. My doctor appointment is on Tuesday morning, and I sent him the info yesterday, so I’ll give him a couple days and see how he is when I see him then.”

  “Is this your first appointment?”

  “Yeah. Did you and Asher go yet?”

  “Ours is next week. Speaking of which, I’ve been meaning to ask if you got any tips for morning sickness? Roxanna’s oils help some, but I’m still starting to hate saltines.”

  “There’s this Pink Stork tea that helps some. I can bring some by the bakery Tuesday after my appointment if you want to try it?”

  “Pretty please and thank you.”

  She smiled at the relief in her friend’s voice. They chatted a bit more before Honor had to go, and then Mae kept herself busy with household chores until Ian burst through the door about four in the afternoon. Cory’s parents assured her he’d been no trouble at all, and after they left, she faced him and raised her eyebrows.

  “So, you had fun? Your swimming lessons come in handy?” He’d only had a few sessions, but it had gotten him far enough to swim across the pool without a life jacket.

  “Yep! It was awesome, Mom.”

  He hopped up on to one of the dining table chairs and went on and on about the tall, whirly slides, the inner-tube river, and a humongous bucket that dumped water everywhere each time a bell rang.

  While he talked, she got dinner going by slipping a garlic and herb marinated pork tenderloin into the oven. The day that had started with so much promise only to be dragged down into gloom was brought back up by the excitement in her son’s voice. It made her heart happy to hear his joy.

  “And you know what else? Elliott isn’t so bad.”

  She paused mid-reach into the freezer for a bag of sweet corn, her pulse skipping at the mention of Cory’s baby brother. “He’s not?”

  “No. He’s kinda cute and makes really funny faces sometimes. And Cory told me he likes him better now, too.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that.” She kept her response vague, letting him steer the conversation.

  He slid off the chair and came over by the counter. “Do you know if I’m going to have a brother or a sister?”

  “Not yet, Scoob. I didn’t find out if you were a boy or a girl until the day you were born. It was like Christmas for me.”

  His nose scrunched up in confusion. “But I was born in July.”

  “I know, but what I mean is the surprise was fun. Like a Christmas present and a birthday present all in one.”

  He got an awed look on his face, as if imagining how great that could be.

  She poured the frozen corn into a small pot to heat on the stove, then set it aside as she grabbed a box of long grain wild rice to pair with the tenderloin. Casting him a sideways glance, she asked, “Do you want to find out if it’s a boy or a girl before it’s born?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. When will the baby be born?”

  “My due date is January twenty-third.”

  “That’s not far after Christmas,” he said thoughtfully.

  “You’re right. But how about we talk about it when it gets closer to the time the doctor can find out? We’ll decide together.”

  His eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” She reached out to ruffle his hair. “But for right now, how about we set the table together.”

  He rolled his eyes, but went over to get silverware and napkins while she grabbed two plates and two cups. She looked at the table once everything was set. Just the two of them for now. Soon, she’d have to fit a highchair in there, which as she remembered, was a tight fit in the corner.

  It would be even tighter if Merit were here with us, but we could make it work.

  She turned away from the table, unwilling to let her thoughts go down that dangerous path right now. If today was any indication, it might very well just be her, Ian, and the baby. Her chest tightened, giving her a little jolt of panic when she realized how quickly she’d succumbed to longing for the four of them to become a family.

  “Mom?”

  She slid her gaze to Ian to find him watching her. “Yeah?”

  “Will the baby have a daddy? Or will it be like me without a daddy?”

  In that moment, her heart broke. Until a week ago, he hadn’t asked questions about his dad, and she certainly hadn’t volunteered the information to him. She knew he’d ask eventually, but even knowing that, she still had no clue how in the hell to explain to the boy who was everything to her that his father hadn’t even bothered to look at him once before signing away his rights and walking away forever.

  She’d never tell him that—at least not at this age—so, what could she say that would help him understand, and yet not make him feel unwanted?

  She held out her hand. “Come sit with me.” He slipped his little hand into hers, and she walked him over to sit them both on the couch, facing each other. His innocent blue eyes were solemn and a little apprehensive.

  “Some daddies aren’t made to be good daddies,” she began. “They don’t know how to take care of someone as special as babies are.”

  “Couldn’t my daddy learn? Like I learned to write my letters at school?”

  Oh, how she wished it were that simple. And her little Scooby was wise beyond his years.

  “Some daddies can’t.” Or more accurately, won’t. “Your daddy’s life did
n’t allow for him to take care of you like you needed to be taken care of.”

  “Why not?”

  She thought for a moment. “You know how Grandma and Grandpa’s puppies didn’t have a dad because the dog daddy just wasn’t there? Some human daddies are like that.”

  He squinted, and she could practically see the wheels in his head turning. “And some are like penguin daddies? Like Cory’s daddy?”

  She blinked. “Penguin daddies?

  “In school, Mrs. Cole told us all about how the daddy penguin carries the egg on his feet, and then helps take care of the baby penguin after it hatches.”

  Ah, now she got it. “Well, then yes, some are like penguin daddies.”

  He looked thoughtful for a moment. She hated that he might be wishing he had a penguin daddy.

  “Merit said babies need lots of extra care.”

  The lump forming in her throat swelled. “They do. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop taking care of you.”

  “I know. Merit said that, too.”

  Not exactly, but close enough that Ian had gotten the gist.

  He tilted his head. “Can I help?”

  She smiled. That’s my sweet boy. “Of course you can. One easy way for you to help is to keep doing the chores I ask you to do now, and as you get older, a few others.”

  “Like cutting the grass?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Can Merit teach me?”

  Mae bit her lip as she deliberated how to answer that. When she’d first sat him down, she’d intended to answer his very first question, if the baby would have a daddy, but now she wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. She didn’t want to get his hopes up in case things didn’t work out with Merit.

  “Maybe,” she replied in reference to the grass. “Did you know he builds tree houses?”

  Ian’s eyes went wide. “Really? That’s cool!”

  “We’ll have to ask him to show us one sometime,” she said before really considering the words coming out of her mouth.

  “That would be awesome!” He flopped back on the couch. “I wish I could have a tree house.”

  She was saved from replying by the beep of the oven timer. Leaning over, she grasped his precious little face with both hands and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Let’s eat, Pete. You grab the milk from the fridge, and I’ll get everything else.”

  All through dinner, she mulled over his last comment while sneaking peeks out into the backyard. Was there a tree out there that could support a tree house? The one in the corner was a possibility, but she’d have to look closer to be sure. Or, she could ask Merit for his professional opinion.

  If he ever came back, that is.

  Chapter 19

  Monday evening, Merit stood in his art studio, glowering at the stark-white canvas before him. After dropping Mae off on Sunday afternoon, he’d gone for a run. He’d worked out. He’d swam fifty laps in his indoor pool, then a hundred, then two hundred.

  This morning, first thing he’d thought about when he woke up was how the morning before he’d woken up in her bed. And the night before that, he’d lost himself in her heat enough times to realize he’d never get enough of her.

  He’d lain there and missed her. The curve of her lips when she smiled. The narrowing of her eyes when she was annoyed or considering something he’d said, the sound of his name on her lips when he made her come.

  Yeah, it was insane how much he wanted to be at her side again, yet just the thought of facing her after everything that had happened at brunch made his stomach knot up. So he’d gone back down to his gym, and put on his running shoes, then come home to dive in the pool. None of it helped, and in the end, he’d sought solace in the one place that was his refuge, only to be mocked by a blank canvas for the past however many hours.

  A glance at his phone told him it had been four. A second glance told him he’d gotten a text from Asher, a call from Loyal, and a Snapchat from Shelby. He’d messaged them all yesterday that he was fine, but it didn’t seem they were buying it.

  Twirling his dry brush in his fingers, neither was he.

  What the fuck was this anyway? Wasn’t anger and frustration and wanting to punch something supposed to fuel an artist? Tortured angst and all that bullshit? Because it sure as fuck wasn’t working for him.

  Prior to Mae, he’d scoffed at the term ‘creative block,’ or ‘painter’s block.’ Put a brush in his hand, paint on his palette, and he was good to go, able to lose himself in the seductive, therapeutic swipes of his brushstrokes for hours on end. Lord knew he’d needed it the past couple of years.

  But after meeting Mae, especially after discovering Ian was her son, not her lover, he’d gone through a thoroughly frustrating phase where his muse refused to let him create anything but her. The arch of her brow and lush curve of her bottom lip. The sexy wave of her blond hair against the elegant line of her throat. The delicate fan of her lashes against her pale cheek. The myriad of blues that could turn her eyes from laughing to stormy, from shy to needy, all in one heart-stopping blink.

  He’d spent hours at his easel, each image so vivid in his mind he could almost reach out and touch her. But doing those beguiling images justice with his brush had proved impossible. The closest he’d come to personal satisfaction had been the day after Asher’s wedding. After the most incredible night of his life, he’d woken up to find her gone. Before reality set in, before she’d ghosted him, he’d driven straight to his studio to transmit the perfection of her curves from his mind to the canvas.

  That one almost perfect painting sat in his back room, covered with the rest of them. After Saturday night, he should’ve been able to do another…if not for the lovely-ass brunch that had come after.

  He abruptly turned away from the blank abyss before him and moved to the paintings he’d finished over the past five years. They were stacked along the walls, some four and five deep in places. Some were abstract, others were mountain vistas, sunsets, and others still were faces and places that had stirred his muse, begging to be immortalized.

  Hah. Right. He could see how he’d grown along the way in his craft and technique, and yet he wouldn’t dare to consider himself a true artist. All he had to do was look at the past two months when he’d tried to paint something—anything—other than Mae. Because in the face of her continued silence, his fixation on her had begun to feel a little creepy, and unhealthy.

  Those works had turned out dark, and brooding, and some unexpectedly sinister. More than a few he’d shredded with his palate knife before tossing into the garbage bin behind the studio.

  Now, he was just…murky. Replays of brunch shadowed everything. Flipping through a stack of street views, and then sunsets, he considered his father’s reaction when he’d told him his job—fake job—was building luxury tree houses. There hadn’t been one ounce of respect.

  Yes, he’d been lying, but his dad didn’t know that. He could just imagine if he ever found out Merit painted actual paintings. His dad hadn’t put much stock in Asher’s photographs back in high school, not until he started making money with them, anyway, but it was back then that he had decided not to reveal his own passion.

  No one knew he painted, not even Bells or his mom. His dad would tell him outright it was a waste of time. It was a toss-up if he’d tell him out loud he was no good, or just infer it with a curl of his lip as he looked down his nose. Which was quite a feat considering he stood as tall as his dad since he turned eighteen. His mom, on the other hand, or his sweet baby sister…well, he could dab some avocado green on a canvas, tell them it was an avocado, and they’d tell him it was amazing. His other siblings were less predictable, but still, he didn’t need criticism, or meaningless pats on the head or God knows what else.

  Then there was the whole son of the governor turned senator shit to deal with, along with the weight of the Diamond name. There had been the occasional bouts of feeling like maybe someday he’d be good enough to have his own show. Maybe, he had enough talent to actu
ally do something with his art, but inevitably doubt would creep in. The moment anyone found out who he was, everything would be tainted. The thought of people patronizing him because he was Senator Mark Diamond’s son made him want to puke.

  He heaved a sigh as he pushed the rest of the stack of canvases back against the wall. This was nothing but a waste of time. He wasn’t even getting any stress-relief from being here today. At home, he could at least look for more places to send his resume to. Finding a job had reached a new level of critical.

  Now that was one place he wouldn’t have minded the Diamond name opening a few doors, but as fate would have it, no such luck. Apparently, people hiring for his specific degree preferred experience. But how the fuck was a person supposed to get experience if no one would hire him?

  Back at his house, he grabbed a beer and his laptop and shoved aside a stack of mail to sit at the kitchen island. He hadn’t looked through the mail yet, though he didn’t need to. Each day brought more bills. Bills for everything from his phone, to the water utilities, to his credit card with last month’s balance. Most of which he’d never seen before because for one, new house, and two, everything used to be taken care of by his trust fund.

  There was absolutely no way he could pay any of them right now. Not until he got a damn job.

  He twisted the top off his beer as he shifted his gaze toward the living room. As he tipped his bottle to his lips and swallowed half the contents, he lowered his arm, his gaze sweeping from one side of the massive room to the other in a strange realization.

  Mae’s entire house could fit in just his living room. Including her garage. Her bedroom was smaller than his pantry, and he could fit three of her kitchens in his master bathroom with room to spare.

  But for all that, her house was a home. Sure, it was cluttered and lived in and a little...worn, but it was clean and welcoming. Inviting even. She took pride in her home, defended it when she thought he’d inferred it was less than enough.

  What did he have here? A house. An eight thousand, five hundred and fifty square foot showcase on one wooded acre that for all its beauty was nothing more than a cold, empty shell. Although he’d moved in months ago, other than his clothes in the bedroom and his Jag in the four-stall garage, there wasn’t a single thing a person could point to and say, “Yeah, Merit Diamond lives here.”