Escalation Clause (Stewart Realty Series)

by Crowe, Liz

  “Uh, yeah,” she choked out. She stood, staring at herself in the mirror, counting backward to that one moment, the night of the broken condom. Jesus. A tear slipped down her face. What now? She gripped the edge of the sink. When the phone rang, she assumed it would be Brandis. She’d warned him this might be the case. They’d spent the last three years meeting when they could, sometimes in the middle, each making the halfway trip between Michigan and Colorado. And her love for him had only strengthened. But now…this little wrinkle had her doubting everything.

  “Hey, Mo,” her roommate banged on the door. “It’s for you. Your brother.”

  She shuddered. How the hell did he know already? Calm down, she argued with herself, you don’t know he does. Probably something else. But the nausea rose again, making her gulp. “Mo!” the girl eased the door open and peeked in, holding the wireless handset in one hand.

  She took the phone, put her palm over the mouthpiece. “Sorry,” she mumbled to her friend.

  “It’s okay,” the girl leaned in the doorway. “I love talking to that man, you know.”

  Mo rolled her eyes, shooed the girl out and took a deep breath. “Hi,” she ventured, hoping she didn’t sound as flattened as she felt.

  “Hey honey, um, not sure how to say this but…it’s Dad.”

  Her scalp tingled. She had not said more than five words a year to the man since she’d moved out that summer she and Brandis had found each other. He paid her tuition on time, and put some money in her bank account to cushion what she made at her on-campus job. That was the extent of their communication. She put a hand over her eyes. “What about him?”

  “He’s dead.”

  She sputtered, nearly choked on her spit. “Oh, wow. What happened?”

  “Heart attack. Dead before he hit the floor, the old bastard.”

  “I’m pregnant,” she blurted out, unable to stop herself, then burst into tears.

  Mo sat, numb and trying like hell not to throw up all the way through the meeting with the funeral home people. Jack handled everything, but she wanted to be there for him. Not that he was speaking to her of course. She pressed a tissue to her lips as the scary looking guy behind the desk rattled off the various costs and whatever else you needed to know to do with dead people. By the time they were back in his car she was more than a little pissed off at how effectively he had ignored her.

  “Don’t,” he ground out when she put her hand on his arm before they left the funeral home parking lot.

  “Fine.” She crossed her arms and let him stew in his silence all the way home. He drove up to the modest home they grew up in, but kept the engine running, his hands holding the steering wheel in a death grip. She started to get out.

  “Hang on,” he said, teeth still grinding together. “He’s on his way here, so you know. I called him. I told him…everything.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, whatever,” she resumed the door opening process, too tired and sick to be mad at him.

  He kept talking. “You guys are good together. I know that now. And what you decide to do about this latest turn of events is, as you will no doubt tell me, none of my business, but….”

  She turned and stared at her brother. He’d grown more in the last few years. His shoulders were broader, and he looked like a million bucks in his suit, like an actual man. But she still saw the gangly boy who’d been her best friend for so many years as they shielded each other from the semi-neglect of an alcoholic mother and workaholic father. She could hear his voice, cajoling her to come out and climb trees, ride bikes, anything to get her out of the house. Then later, when he’d read her books before she’d drift to sleep, his was the last voice she heard most every night. She put her hand back on his arm and he didn’t growl or flinch away. “Be smart,” he said. “I’ll support whatever you need me to.” He turned to her, his blue eyes bright. “I hated that fucker, more than you did, believe it or not. But now…,” he gulped. She wrapped her arms around him, held him close, grateful she could be a comfort to him for a change.

  “I know,” she soothed. “It’s gonna be a lot of shit to get through. But if anybody can handle it, it’s you.” She kissed his rough cheek and sat back, suddenly dizzy and needing air. “Sorry I dumped all my stupidity on you now. Damn,” She gripped her knees. “I’m such a cliché. Pregnant at twenty-one. Shit.” She sniffled. Her chest ached but she climbed out of the car and stumbled into the house to the bathroom before hearing Jack’s answer.

  The dry heaves brought on another bout of tears, leaving her in a heap on the floor of her childhood bathroom. Jack came in, picked her up and put her in her bed. “Shh…” he soothed, just like he used to. “It’s okay. It will all be fine. Sleep some. Brandis will be here after midnight.” She nodded, let him pull the quilt up over her shoulders, and did just that.

  When she woke it was full dark. Confused, not remembering where she was, she sat too fast and dizziness made her groan. It all crashed in on her then—her father’s death, Brandis far away, and her, knocked up. She decided to get up, do some research and take care of at least that last part quickly. She swung her feet to the floor slowly, sick of throwing up and unwilling to bring that on again.

  “Mo?” Brandis’ soft voice brought tears to her eyes. His touch, when he pulled her up and into his arms made her sob with relief. “Baby,” he kissed her cheek, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her face into the itchy wool of his uniform jacket. “Shh…,” he whispered. “It’s okay. I’m here now.”

  She let him hold her up. “I…I…I can’t.”

  “I won’t let you.” He said tilting her chin up so he could meet her lips with his.

  “But,” she protested, “how do you know what I’m talking about?”

  He sighed, and tightened his grip on her. “I just know.” He dropped to his knees, holding both her hands. “Marry me.”

  She nodded and he slipped a small diamond ring onto her finger. “My grandmother’s,” he said, standing and cradling her close. “I was going to do this anyway, after I graduated next month. But, listen,” he sat and pulled her onto his lap. She snuggled into him, finally relaxing for the first time in months. He stroked her hair. “I got stationed in Germany.”

  She looked up at him. The moonlight lit the dark smooth brown of his skin. She kissed him. “I go where you go, especially now.” He nodded, put his hand on her flat stomach.

  “You’ll finish school though. You can do that on base, I checked. Okay?”

  She nodded, no longer even caring, just as long as he never let her go again.

  Later, the three of them sat on the back patio, the men sipping beer and her, ice water. She had made dinner but had been unable to choke any of it down. She’d told Brandis not to say anything to Jack about his proposal and her acceptance yet and had tucked the ring into her purse for the time being. They didn’t need to add to his stress level. She sat with her feet in Brandis’ lap and dozed, suddenly lethargic, listening to the men talk about what happened next now that both her parents were dead.

  Her half-waking dreams were a jumble of her, Brandis, a baby—no, two babies—Jack, his eyes sad, and a strange keening sound of unhappiness she somehow knew was her own. Not over her father—over something else. She shuddered in her sleep then forced herself awake and away from the nightmare. The one where she stood, holding the hands of a little boy and little girl, but without him, her soul mate. She smiled at Brandis as he resumed rubbing her feet shoving away the fear and sorrow she’d started to feel while asleep. All would be well now, just like he said. They would be together forever.

  Chapter Eight

  Present Day

  Sara gasped, sat straight up, blinking in the pitch-black bedroom. In tune, as only the mother of an infant can be, to every small noise in the house, she assumed the baby had cried out. She waited and heard nothing. Then she put her hand down to touch Jack’s sleeping form, and found empty sheets. Again.

  She put her feet on the cool hardwood floor and let t
he reality of the day wash over her, nearly suffocating from sadness once she figured out why she’d woken up so suddenly. Blake had been in her dream again, his dancing green eyes and impish grin as real to her as if he stood in the room. If only he could. The past four weeks had been something well beyond her worst nightmare. The memories pummeled her, of the agony displayed by them all, but most especially Rob. And of course, there was the new-baby-in-the-house thing and the low-grade buzz of complete exhaustion that came with it.

  “Jack?” She called out. She gritted her teeth, determined not to need him as badly as she did, recalling their fight the night before over his slow detachment from her. Or, as he put it, “her perception” of his distance,.

  “God dammit, Sara, this is not about you, okay? I’m…busy. I’m preoccupied. I’m sorry you don’t get the full force of my attention.”

  She had zero understanding of him anymore. In the midst of her personal hell on earth, she did need him. There was no denying it. And he’d been edging away from her, from them all, emotionally. All of the preparation for the loss of one of his closest friends, Blake’s lover, Rob, annihilated by the sadistic hand fate had dealt them—it had seemingly affected Jack in a way she couldn’t comprehend. And that was making him withdraw from their family—because he was holding her at arm’s length, denying he was doing it, all the while his blue eyes snapping with an unfamiliar combination of anger and regret. She bit her lip, determined to keep the tears in check as she walked down the long hall to the kitchen.

  Her own mental state was fragile at best, but she had held it together. People needed her—her baby, her daughter, her parents, her friends. She’d rallied into something she would swear Blake would’ve been proud of, only to look up about a week after the accident to find Jack staring at her, his gaze flat. “Are you ever going to really mourn Sara?”

  She’d risen from the couch with a finally sleeping Brandis and left the room. How could he possibly not realize that the only thing holding the edges of her sanity together was the forward motion, organization and non-thinking? They hadn’t really talked since that day, when she’d walked away from his unanswered question.

  Granted, he maintained a good front for their friends and family and was ever the devoted daddy to Katie. He was even a bit of a baby whisperer with Brandis, taking him at night, giving her the blessed relief of more than three hours of uninterrupted sleep, just enough to keep her from flying apart at the seams. Just barely enough.

  She stopped in the door of his study, watching him pore over his latest project. Obtaining, of all things, an expansion major league soccer team for Detroit and building a state of the art facility for them downtown. It had become an obsession. One she didn’t care for at all. He ran his long fingers through his hair, making it stand on end as he turned pages of the latest book on stadium facilities. The computer had the official professional soccer league website pulled up and sat blinking in the otherwise dark room.

  His broad shoulders, so loved and familiar, were clad in a soft white tee shirt. Sara bit her lip, held back tears of frustration as his eyes flickered from the computer screen to the book to the legal pad he kept scribbling on. That stupid god damned soccer team project. He’d grabbed hold of the concept when it was suggested to him at a party they’d attended with a bunch of wealthy investors, Michigan State Alumni and Detroit based entrepreneurs. Sara wished she had never heard the words “expansion” or “stadium” or “project” in the same sentence.

  Fighting her urge to leave him, let him wallow in the stupid thing until he looked up one day and she no longer cared, she gulped at all the memories of their drama. Their stupid dancing around each other for years had alienated their friends and family and nearly ruined them both. They loved each other. This was simply ridiculous. Her hands itched to touch, to caress, to hold.

  She walked to him, put a hand on his shoulder, hoping to do something to reconnect. More than the physical, she needed him to grasp how she was dealing with this, to see that she was handling it in her own way. Mostly, though, she just needed him to talk to her, really truly talk—like they used to.

  He startled, looked up, then grabbed her hand. His deep blue eyes were wild. The touch of his lips to her skin made her tingle, and gasp with anticipation. He turned his chair around, took her other hand and yanked her down to his lap, slanting his mouth over hers, thrusting his tongue between her lips. Her body acted of its own accord, using well-worn scripts to find release.

  She stood and slipped out of the shorts she’d been sleeping in, as tears crowded the space behind her eyes. She bit them back, leaned in to unzip his jeans. They stared at each other as he stood, let her shove them down to the floor. There were so many words between them, so many things left unsaid. But the physical urge that crackled in the room would not be denied. He sat back down and she straddled him, taking him inside her immediately, her body already wet and eager.

  “Sara,” He exhaled into her hair his voice taking an edge of need she had forgotten, then threaded his fingers in it, yanked hard bringing a familiar sweet edge of pain to her pleasure. He shoved her T-shirt up to get at her breasts. She rose and fell back onto his shaft, taking what she needed as he sucked her nipple, biting down and making her groan and her entire being contract and pulse around him. She’d stopped breastfeeding as everything in that department had seemingly shut down after the tragedy, her body betraying her by no longer producing milk—one more thing that made her feel inadequate. But, she was never more grateful that she could have this moment with her husband. She cradled his head, fisted his thick hair, wanting to feel him all over her.

  “Harder, Jack. Please. I need this.”

  He picked her up, still kissing her, never breaking their connection, grunting as they dropped onto the couch. The glorious sensation of his thickness filling and spreading her walls, the perfect way they fit together finally released the tears that had been lurking. She gripped his shoulders, wrapped her legs around him as he pounded into her.

  “Sara,” He whispered again, just as her own orgasm flashed through her, making her cry out and hold him tight. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her so hard she frowned.

  “What? Jack…. Please talk to me.”

  He gave her one of the longest, slowest, most intimate kisses she could remember, his lips and tongue moving and possessing her, owning her just as she liked. His hips moved in time with the thrusts of his tongue, dragging her from one orgasm straight into the next.

  “Yes,” she hissed against his lips, digging her fingers into his ass, finally feeling reconnected to the man she loved.

  All the shit that had gone down—the abject horror of a memorial service, the mind-numbing exhaustion of the baby, Katie’s near constant tears over Blake, her scary anger at Rob—everything disappeared as Jack stroked in and out of her. His whispered commands to come sent her right over the edge.

  “God,” He groaned deep in his throat, lowering his face to her neck as he tensed in the way she knew well. She put her hand alongside his rough face.

  “I love you, Jack, so much, please…oh, yes.” He kissed her then, connecting with her as he came in a now time-worn way she loved. He broke from her lips, slowed, stopped, and slipped out of her. Then he sat, breathing heavy, one hand on her leg. “Thanks.” His voice had dropped back into that noncommittal tone she’d come to dread. Her heart stuttered when she realized he was still tucked into a place not even she could reach. She turned his face to hers and kissed him. Hoping like hell she could bring him back. They’d been through so damned much to get to where they were. Having Jack fade on her was beyond alarming. It was terrifying. He turned his head away, avoiding her lips. “Sorry, I’m the fifteen-second man it seems.”

  He stood before she could say anything and walked out of the room just as Brandis, named for Jack’s oldest friend and brother-in-law, started wailing in earnest. Sara let the tears fall. She honestly wondered how she could get through the next twenty-four hour cycle, and
then the next one, and the one after that. Her over-tired brain ached. Images, tasks and all the shit they were behind on at work shot through her consciousness. She wandered over to his desk, flicked through the book, slid it aside to look at his meticulously even, architectural handwriting on the yellow paper. A small bit of white stuck out from one side of the notebook. Frowning she pulled it out and stared at it until it registered that it was a phone number with an Oakland County area code, with a familiar name next to it—Heather.

  Her face flamed. She shoved the paper back into the notebook when she heard him come back in the room with the squalling infant. The look on his face was blank, as if he were holding someone else’s child. He handed Brandis to her. The automatic, knee-jerk, natural thought that she couldn’t wait to call Blake, to get his take on Jack’s sudden recalcitrance made her gulp. Her tears dropped onto the baby’s face as she tried to get him to take the bottle Jack had handed over before dropping back into his chair, his face a mask of exhaustion.

  But she was not going to start this shit again. No way. She took a vow to be with him the rest of her life, and she was not going to be the sort of wife her mother had been once. “Heather?” She nodded towards the stack on his desk. “Really?”

  The baby felt so heavy in her arms. Her heart pounded up into her throat. He frowned, and then nodded. “Yeah, uh, that’s the woman who’s assistant to Zeller. You know, the pizza company, Tiger’s baseball guy. I met her um….shit I don’t even remember.” He sat, staring at the computer screen again.

  Sara cleared her throat, embarrassed, relieved, letting the awkward silence encompass them.

  “I’m not that guy anymore Sara. I thought you realized that.” His voice was flat, but she heard the anger in it. She kept her eyes on their son, smiling when his little fist flailed up and bopped her on the nose. His eyes were giant pools of wicked blue, exactly like his father’s. A shocking amount of hair graced his tiny head, every strand silky coal black. “You can’t suspect every God damn woman I talk to, every phone number that’s handed to me.”