Her Secret, His Child

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  Her mouth was still swollen from the kisses that got better each time he took her in his arms. A man's kisses, she thought, remembering the boys she'd dated in high school. Nice guys, sure. Especially Greg Hardesty. But Greg had never made her go breathless with a look the way Ian did. Or make her heart race just by touching her. It had been easy to keep Greg at a safe distance. A firm "no" whenever he'd pressured her to go all the way had been all it had taken.

  It was becoming harder and harder to say "no" to Ian, especially when she wanted so desperately to say "yes." Still, she knew she wasn't ready to let him or anyone else make love to her.

  "Tracy? Is that you, sweetie?"

  Her mother's voice drew her to the back of the house. Trowel in hand, her mother was planting marigolds, still dressed in a linen business suit and low-heeled pumps.

  "Hi, Mom."

  Carly patted planting mix around the bright little flower before glancing up at her daughter's face. "I drove by the stadium to pick you up, but you were with Ian."

  "We were just talking," Tracy hedged reluctantly. Her mother hadn't said anything when she'd admitted to dating Ian every weekend since classes had begun, but Tracy knew that she wasn't pleased.

  Seeing Tracy's gaze slide away from hers, Carly put down her trowel and got to her feet. "Let's sit for a minute," she invited, indicating the granite garden bench by the birdbath.

  "Uh-oh," Tracy said, sighing deeply as she moved toward the bench. "This sounds heavy."

  Carly brushed the dust from the hard granite, then sat down and folded her hands in her lap. "I know you think I'm being overprotective, and maybe I am. It's just that you remind me so much of myself at your age."

  "Is that bad?" Tracy asked as she sat next to her mother. The hard stone was cold against her bare thighs, and she shivered.

  "I'm not sure it's good or bad, Trace. I just know I was inexperienced and far too trusting, and when I met a man I thought I loved, I ignored everything I'd been taught to believe in. It could have ruined my life."

  "You mean because you got pregnant?"

  Carly nodded. "Yes. I won't lie to you and say it was easy being eighteen and pregnant. But I was lucky, because I had a family who didn't turn me out, even though they were ashamed of what I'd done."

  Tracy blinked. "Grandmother and Grandfather were ashamed of you?"

  "Yes. I wasn't perfect, and that was difficult for them to swallow. I don't blame them, but losing their trust and respect hurt for a long time."

  Tracy furrowed her brow, her golden eyes more thoughtful than Carly had ever seen them. "Mom, I'm not going to get pregnant," she said after a moment's reflection. "If I decide to have sex, I'll go on the pill first, just the way I always promised you I would."

  Carly drew a long breath. "Sometimes, it's not always that easy, sweetie. Even on the pill, you have to protect yourself from AIDS and—"

  "I know all about that, Mom. I'm not stupid."

  Carly's smile was bittersweet. "Darling, Ian is a very charismatic young man. He's bright and sophisticated and enormously attractive, but he's not looking to settle down any time soon. More importantly, he doesn't strike me as all that responsible."

  Tracy stiffened. "Are you forbidding me to date him, even though I'm in college now?"

  Yes! Carly wanted to shout. But she knew that would be the worst possible thing she could say. "No, Tracy, but I'm asking you to go slowly. Give yourself time to settle into college life. Date other guys, too. Have a good time."

  "And don't have sex until I'm thirty-five, right?"

  Carly saw the twinkle in her daughter's eyes and knew she'd made her point. Anything more would be counterproductive. "Hmm," she murmured, pretending to think it over. "Maybe twenty-five—if he's the right man for you."

  The light touch worked to perfection, and the stony look in Tracy's eyes melted away. "It's a deal."

  Carly gave her daughter a one-armed hug. "Now go say hello to Grandmother and Tilly. They've been looking forward to this evening all week."

  "Okay. See you at dinner."

  After Tracy left, Carly sat perfectly still, trying to rid herself of the sick panic churning her stomach. It was so hard to know how far to push her almost-grown daughter, what words to use.

  When she'd seen Ian and Tracy kissing in the parking lot behind the stadium, it had been all she could do to drive on past when every maternal instinct she possessed had been urging her to snatch her daughter out of harm's way.

  And then what? she asked herself. Have her hate me for the rest of our lives? The very thought made her shudder. "Oh, Mitch," she whispered in a choked voice, lifting an anguished gaze to the overcast sky, "I wish I were in your arms right now, listening to you tell me that everything was going to be all right with our daughter."

  Silence flavored with birdsong and regret answered her.

  * * *

  The game with the Jacks had been over for a couple of hours, and Mitch was tired. He'd left the party J.C. had thrown at Gallagher's after one glass of wine.

  Even though the Wolves had played better than he'd expected, he didn't feel much like celebrating. Everyone else had been having a great time. Marca and Coach and his two assistant coaches. And Carly. Each time she looked at someone else with a smile in those bright eyes of hers, he wanted to smash something—or someone—only there was no one to blame but himself. A few years back he might have been tempted to drink himself into a stupor, or put the Jag into racing gear and red-line the engine until it exploded, anything to be free of the guilt that never quite went away, no matter how tired he made himself. Not even the increasingly frequent bouts of excruciating spasms had driven the shame from him for more than a few hours of oblivion. Tonight, each time she'd thrown her head back to laugh at one of Todd Winonski's lousy jokes, the knife had sliced a little deeper into his heart.

  He'd given the team permission to stay out a couple of hours after curfew. They deserved it, after the yeomen's effort they'd turned in. He was proud of them. He wondered if he would ever be proud of himself again.

  It was a little past midnight, and he was lying in bed reading when he heard brakes squealing outside, followed a few seconds later by a pounding on his front door.

  "Give me a second!" he shouted, grabbing his sweat pants off his wheelchair and struggling into them, cursing steadily. The pounding abated only briefly before resuming. He transferred himself from the bed to his chair, then wheeled himself through the small house to the front door.

  "Yeah, yeah," he said, flipping on the porch light before turning the bolt. Moving the chair to one side, he leaned forward and opened the door.

  "What the hell … Tracy? Good God, honey, what's wrong?"

  Still dressed in her cheerleading uniform, she stared at him with glassy eyes, her mouth swollen and her breath coming in visible jerks. "C-can I come in?"

  "Yeah, sure." He took her hand and pulled her inside, then stuck his head outside, looking for Carly. He saw the MG angled halfway onto the curb, the lights still burning. His heart thudded violently and he tasted fear as he shifted his gaze to his daughter.

  "What's wrong?" he said, still holding her hand. Her skin was so cold it scared him. "Talk to me, Tracy. Is it your mom?"

  Tracy shook her head. Her face was paper white, with a sickly tinge of green around her mouth. She started to speak, then choked and pressed her hand against her lips, her eyes darting around desperately.

  "The john's down the hall to the left," Mitch said, pointing.

  She bolted from the room. He shoved the front door closed before turning his chair to follow her. The door to the bathroom was closed, but he heard the sound of violent retching from within. He waited impatiently until the terrible sounds stopped, then rapped hard on the door. "Tracy? Can I come in?"

  When she didn't answer, he pushed open the door and wheeled inside. She was still crouching in front of the toilet, her head hanging and her arms folded over her stomach. Tears streamed down her face.

  "Poor baby,"
he murmured, grabbing a washcloth from the rod. "Did you have too much to drink?"

  He kept a close watch on her as he wet the rag in warm water. Leaving the water running slowly, he leaned forward to wipe her face. She flinched away from his hand, and he froze.

  "Tracy?" He put just enough authority into his voice to startle her into looking at him again. "Honey, I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

  She blinked, her eyes still glazed. "Ian," she whispered through bloodless lips. "He wanted to make love. I told him 'no,' but he wouldn't stop. I tried to scream—" She choked, and then she was crumpling forward. He caught her before she hit the floor and somehow managed to pull her onto his lap. She was all arms and legs, and because his chair was a modified racing design, it had no arms to support her. At first she held herself stiffly, but gradually she relaxed against him, drawing her legs into a fetal position and holding on to his neck tightly.

  Sobs shook her, and tears wet his neck. "It's okay, baby," he murmured, trying to gentle his voice. He'd never felt so helpless. At the same time he was filled with a killing rage, and he was suddenly glad Cummings wasn't within range. Because he didn't know what else to do, he simply held her and let her cry until she was lying limp and drained against him.

  "Hang on tight," he ordered in a low tone. "I'm going to take you for a little ride into the bedroom, okay?"

  She didn't stir, but her hands tightened around his neck. He had to let her go in order to propel the chair, and she whimpered. "Hang on, baby. Just hang on."

  Reaching the bedroom, he wheeled to the side of the bed, then brought his arms around her slowly. When she didn't stiffen, he held her close, feeling her heart beating as fast as a trapped bird's.

  "Oh, Mitch, I was s-so scared," she cried, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "I'm still s-scared. I couldn't let Mom s-see me, and Aunt Marca wasn't home when I got there. I didn't know where else to go."

  He started to ask how she knew where he lived, then remembered that she'd been with Ian and some of the other guys when they'd helped him move in. "I won't let anything hurt you anymore, I promise."

  Tears stung his eyes, and he had to bite his lip to keep from saying all the wrong things. So he just pretended that she was three years old and needed a lot of hugging from her daddy. When he felt a deep shuddering sigh go through her, he nudged her chin up and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his fingers. "Better now?"

  She tried to smile, and it broke his heart. "Don't tell Mom," she whispered brokenly. "She warned me. She s-said Ian was too old for me." Her voice broke, and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. "She'll hate me, I know she will."

  "Tracy, listen to me. Your mother will never hate you, no matter what you do."

  "She will, I know she will. She warned me and warned me. She told me I had to take responsibility for myself and my body. Sh-she told me a guy would take whatever he could, whenever he could." She shuddered, and her arms tightened. "But I trusted Ian. He said he'd take care of me. He didn't want me to come to his room because he wanted my first time to be special, so I borrowed Mom's car so we could go to a motel. He said he'd stop if it hurt too much, but he d-didn't."

  She started sobbing, and he muttered a silent, helpless curse. There had to be more he should be doing for her, but he didn't have one decent idea of where to begin. He waited until the sobs had turned to jerky little sniffs, and then he eased her head up again. The anguish in her eyes scored his heart, but he managed to dredge up a reassuring smile that took some of the tension from her face.

  "I'll tell you what. You lie down on my bed until you feel strong enough to decide what you want to do next, and I'll go make you some hot chocolate. Okay?"

  She nodded like a docile five-year-old, but she was shaking so hard he had to half lift, half boost her onto the big bed. Silently cursing the arrogant little snot who had done this to her, he managed to get her covered up before her eyes closed.

  He sat watching her for a moment, then scrubbed his cheeks with his hands before wheeling himself into the kitchen. He had to think a minute before he could recall Carly's private number. With each number he punched out, his heart thudded harder. He was still trying to find the guts to break the news to her when she answered.

  * * *

  Carly parked her mother's Buick next to the MG, collected the keys from the roadster and turned off the lights. Heart pounding, she hurried up the ramp built into the front porch of the small frame bungalow.

  Mitch had been terse on the phone, telling her only that Tracy was at his place and needed her. "Don't bother to knock," he'd instructed after giving her directions. Her hand was shaking violently as she pushed open the front door and called his name. Glancing around as she hurriedly closed the door, she saw a sparsely furnished room and a stack of packing boxes in one corner. She closed the door and turned to find him sitting in a wheelchair at the opposite end of the small living room.

  "You made good time."

  "Where is she? What's wrong?" she demanded, her voice shaking almost as violently as her icy hands.

  "She's asleep," he said, wheeling toward her.

  "I want to see her." Before she could get past him, he grabbed her arm and held on.

  "In a minute. We need to talk first."

  She tried to jerk free, but a quick, painful tightening of his fingers told her not to waste her energy. "Please," he said, when she glared at him. "For Tracy's sake."

  She bit her lip, then nodded. Relieved, he let her go. The last thing he wanted to do was use force on her. It had already cost him to touch her, knowing how she must hate to have his hands on her.

  "Why is she here, Mitch?"

  "She needed a friend. That's the short answer."

  "And the long one?"

  He drew a deep breath and asked her to sit down. He saw the hesitation in her eyes, but she did as he asked, perching tensely on the edge of the sofa cushion. "Okay, I'm sitting. And I'm giving you two seconds to explain before I leave this room to find my daughter."

  He took a deep breath. "I don't know all the details, but apparently she had a date with Ian Cummings tonight." He saw the horror dawning in her eyes and knew that he wouldn't have to say the word he hated. But he made himself say it anyway. "Apparently he raped her."

  She shook her head. "No, not that," she whispered hoarsely. "Anything but that."

  He wanted to be somewhere else almost as much as he wanted to hold her. No, he wanted to be someone else. Not even the all-but-unbearable pain of retraining his traumatized muscles had hurt as much as the wounded look in her eyes. "She's okay—"

  "No," she said carefully. "She's not."

  He plowed his hand through his hair. "I meant physically."

  She looked at him as though he'd just crawled out from a slime pit. "You think so? Well, I don't. Ian's a big man and very strong, like all athletes. In an hour or so she'll have bruises where his hands held her down. But that's not the worst of it. The worst is feeling as though you've been ripped apart inside." She took a quick breath. "Oh, there's not much blood, and torn tissue heals. In a few weeks only a doctor will be able to detect the physical evidence, but don't ever tell me he didn't hurt her."

  Mitch was gripping the seat of his chair so tightly that his knuckles felt bruised from the inside, and he himself felt flayed, as though each word had stripped away his skin, leaving him bleeding and defenseless.

  "Tell me what you want me to do," he said as calmly as he could manage. He needed to do something, anything, to keep his mind from splintering into madness.

  "Call Dr. Robert Braddus. His number is in the book. Ask him to meet Tracy and me at the emergency room of County General. And then just stay away from me and from my daughter. Just looking at you makes me sick to my stomach."

  Carly saw his shoulders jerk and broke off, appalled at herself. "I didn't mean that," she said in a voice ravaged by the tears she needed to shed and couldn't.

  "Yes, you did," he said, his face bleached white. "Tracy's in the bedroo
m, through there. He jerked his head toward the door.

  "Mitch—"

  "Take care of your daughter, Carly," he said in a low, harsh tone that somehow ripped through her own anguish. "You know what she needs. I'll call the doctor."

  He turned his chair and wheeled toward the desk, his big shoulders stiff. Only the knowledge that Tracy needed her kept her from going to him to beg him to believe her when she said she hadn't meant the words she'd flung at him.

  They would talk later, she promised herself, as she hurried in to her child.

  * * *

  "You wanted to see me, Coach?" Ian looked puzzled. He didn't look particularly worried. Mitch almost felt sorry for the boy.

  "Close the door, son."

  Ian shut the door behind him and took a few steps into Mitch's living room, glancing around curiously. "Looks like you've still got some unpacking to do."

  Mitch leaned on his crutches and wished he had the next few minutes behind him. "I understand you had a date with Tracy Alderson tonight."

  Ian grinned, but he was beginning to feel pretty uptight. He'd seen Coach Scanlon angry before. He'd seen him disgusted and kick-ass sarcastic. He'd never seen his eyes so cold and his face so hard.

  "Don't worry, Coach," he said quickly. "I was in before curfew, honest. I was asleep when you called."

  Coach's expression didn't change. "Did you have a good time?"

  "Good enough, yeah. Why?" Nervous now, the boy shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweat pants and rocked back on his heels.

  "First time I saw you, kid, I figured you and me were a lot alike."

  "Yeah? That's good, huh?"

  "I know someone who wouldn't think so." Coach took a couple of steps toward him. It still amazed Ian that Scanlon could get around as fast as he did sometimes, considering the crutches and braces and all.

  "Uh, Coach, did I do something to tick you off?"

  "That's one way of putting it." Scanlon's mouth slanted. Instead of relieving Ian's mind, the stiff half smile only made his heart race.