Heart's Paradise

by Olivia Starke

  Outside of the colorful flowers and stuffed animal she was alone. She needed a phone to call Sarah. She vaguely recalled a brief conversation with her after landing in the US. Her daughter had started crying, but she’d assured her she’d be home as soon as possible. More than anything Phoebe wanted her there. Nothing would make her feel better than to hold Sarah in her arms again, and hear her non-stop happy chatter.

  Her head throbbed, the side effect of coming off her medication, but her leg felt even worse. Sharp stabs of pain shooting through her thigh competed with the irritation of the cast. It itched. Fuck, does it itch! Phoebe clawed at the cast, her eyes watering, wishing she could scratch at least fifty different places under it.

  “Mommy!”

  Startled, Phoebe’s gaze jumped to the doorway. Her daughter charged toward her, smiling broadly, arms out. Phoebe held her breath, but luckily Sarah didn’t jump onto the bed. “Sweetie? What… How?”

  Behind her, Barb waved. “We just flew in,” her friend said.

  “Mom, we got to fly in a private jet!” Sarah bounced up and down on her toes. Her eyes found the teddy bear, and Phoebe grinned.

  “You can have the bear,” she told her daughter, despite not knowing the donor, though she had a pretty good idea. Cybil always bought her teddy bears when she was sick as a kid, and she’d passed the collection to Sarah. She gave her daughter a curious look. “A private jet? From Grandma?”

  Barb looked uncomfortable. “Your island partner sent it to us to fly out here. I didn’t want to turn him down. Your mom offered a first class flight but we already had the jet, and Sarah didn’t want to wait another few days to use your mother’s tickets.”

  A private jet cost an arm and a leg, and another arm on top of that. How would she ever pay Jonathon back for something like that? It wasn’t her nature to accept expensive gifts, and though her mother could certainly fly them all over the world on first class Phoebe chose to fly coach when needed. Looking into her daughter’s eyes made it hard to begrudge Jonathon for his generosity, and Sarah’s infectious energy washed through her, giving her more strength than she’d felt in weeks. With Barb’s help, she managed to get the bed up into a seated position.

  Sarah gushed over the jet. “They even made me a banana split, Mom!”

  She’s grown again, Phoebe realized. Or maybe Phoebe was finally accepting the hints of adulthood she saw in Sarah’s face. Her chubby cheeks were thinning down, her cheekbones higher, her child’s expression taking on a more serious look. God, she’ll be stunning. How will I ever keep the boys away?

  Barb’s expression reflected Phoebe’s discomfort over the private jet, though she kept a serene face so she wouldn’t hurt Sarah’s feelings.

  “Was it only the two of you on the plane?” Phoebe asked, when her daughter paused for a breath.

  “Yes,” Barb said. “Just us.”

  “I hope you don’t mind they came out.”

  The baritone voice snapped Phoebe’s gaze to the door. A pair of smiling gray eyes looked over the scene. When Sarah turned toward their visitor, and Jonathon’s gaze settled on her face, she saw his sharp intake of breath, and his easy smile slipped from his lips. His mouth dropped open.

  Exactly what Phoebe hadn’t wanted, not like this. The two worlds she hadn’t been prepared to see collide did exactly that, and she couldn’t do a thing about it. Barb’s eyes widened as she stared between Sarah and Jonathon. She shot Phoebe a curious gaze, but said nothing over the uncanny resemblance.

  “Hi,” Sarah said to Jonathon, having never known a stranger. She looked back to Phoebe, sensing the tension. Two pairs of uncertain eyes, the same shade of silvery gray, waited.

  She won’t see it—the resemblance. I can let this go… But one look at Jonathon’s face told her he’d expect answers, and all Phoebe could think of were lies. Lies she could tell to protect her daughter, and selfishly, herself. She glanced at Barb, her longtime friend’s wide eyes concealed nothing. She knew Sarah’s father as a dead-end college fling.

  If only Sarah could’ve favored Phoebe. If only she hadn’t agreed to do Paradise. If only, if only, if only…

  “Uh, Sarah, why don’t we go to the cafeteria? I want to get some coffee, and we’ll get you some hot chocolate,” Barb said, taking Sarah’s hand.

  “I don’t want hot chocolate,” Sarah replied. She studied Jonathon as much as he studied her. Phoebe felt her heart in her throat. Sarah was a clever and curious child, how could she not see her own eyes gazing back at her?

  “Then you can have some cookies,” Phoebe said, wanting her daughter out of the room. “Anything you want, sweetheart.”

  Barb shot Phoebe a surprisingly stern expression that said she’d expect answers later. She half-dragged Sarah toward the door, when Cybil appeared.

  God had no mercy for Phoebe at the moment. Her mother swept by Jonathon, before turning and extending her hand. “Cybil Heart, and you are?”

  Jonathon’s easy grin returned, and he took her hand. “Jonathon Breck. I was on the island with your daughter.”

  Phoebe watched Cybil’s profile. Her wide white smile suddenly dipped down at the corners as she looked over Jonathon’s face. No, no, no, no…

  Her mother whirled, looked at her granddaughter, back to Jonathon, back to Sarah, then she spun toward the hospital bed. “Phoebe?”

  Phoebe closed her eyes, her thumb wavering over the button for the pain meds. Wanting to dope up enough to escape the hundred questions hanging in the room seemed reasonable.

  “Let’s leave Phoebe alone for a bit. She looks like she’s had enough company for now.” Barb corralled Sarah and Cybil and ushered them out of the room, shooting one last glance at Phoebe. Jonathon stepped aside, allowing them to pass.

  Once her shield was gone, Phoebe had no choice but to face the inevitable, and the inevitable strode toward her bed with a dark look on his face.

  “Phoebe?” Her name held the weight of the world when it passed his lips. A million questions suspended within the two syllables.

  She dropped her gaze to her trembling hands, suddenly feeling meek and weak. She licked her lips and made a real effort to form an answer, yet the only thing that came out was a frustrated sigh.

  He leaned over the bed, bracing a hand on each side of her shoulders. He stared hard into her eyes. “Damn it, Phoebe. When I look at your kid, I see every one of my sisters staring back at me. I see me staring back at me.” His raised voice echoed in the room and out into the hallway, where a passing nurse paused.

  She stepped into the room. “Are you okay, Miss Heart?”

  Jonathon shoved away from her and strode to the window.

  Phoebe nodded. “I’m fine, it’s all right,” she said.

  The nurse looked between her and Jonathon, but finally left them alone once more. Phoebe turned her attention to Jonathon’s broad back. He’d dressed in a navy blue t-shirt and blue jeans which hugged his nice backside and solid thighs. Casual attire that still showcased his masculine build to perfection. It left her throat dry, and she picked up a Styrofoam water cup and sipped the tepid liquid inside.

  “I’m sorry for that. It’s been a rough few days, and I haven’t slept well. There were times when I sat in this room that I didn’t think you’d ever wake up,” he said, keeping his gaze out the window. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I remember a girl from college, a one-night thing. I was drunk, and she was blonde…” He let the words trail off.

  He did stay with me. Knowledge of that gave her courage. “She was blonde because her mother dyed her hair dark to try to look more like a sister to her child than her mother.” The words passed her lips, and she felt as if someone else were saying them. “That girl was twenty-one, and naïve. She slept with a guy she didn’t know, and the condom broke. A one-time thing which has had a lifelong consequence. A beautiful consequence I’ve never regretted since first seeing the ultrasound.”

  He stood like a statue, ramrod straight, and it seemed he didn’t even breathe
. The man with easy words and a swagger even when he stood, suddenly evolved into stone. And she held her breath, waiting…for what? Rejection, revulsion, remorse? Anything at all would be better than the silent tension straining the room, tightening around her like a noose, making it hard for her to fill her lungs with air. Voices carried from the hallway, the air-conditioning kicked on, the low hum of a passenger jet sounded from outside.

  Then he spun on his heel, and she saw his profile. His jaw set, his gaze cast to the floor, and he left the room and disappeared down the hall.

  Phoebe waited. Barb brought Sarah back, and Jonathon still didn’t return.

  The week passed, Barb booked them a flight home, and still he hadn’t returned.

  Nothing at all, she thought. He cared nothing at all…

  Chapter 19

  Jonathon couldn’t get settled. He’d left his apartment in Dallas, retreating to the Gulf, but even the Texas shoreline wouldn’t put his mind at ease.

  She’s mine. I have a daughter I’ve never known. Like a sinking stone it weighed him down, and regardless of where he went, he sank with it. When he’d first set eyes on the photo of Sarah while in the sinkhole, he’d imagined he wanted to try to be a father to her. Yet meeting the girl in the hospital had made it real. So real he couldn’t cope, and his insecurities had driven him away. What would Phoebe think of him now?

  He’d tried to surround himself with his old friends in the weeks since. Had even tried a few dates, only to leave the women within a couple of hours. Not a one of them could hold a candle to Phoebe. And his friends were suddenly too loud and shallow for him to tolerate. He missed the damned island, the days before everything had gone to hell. He missed hearing Phoebe’s voice. He missed the way she walked, the curves of her body, the way she’d felt wrapped around his cock.

  He maneuvered his car through Houston’s rush-hour traffic, having spent the last several days driving city to city. Trying to find some sort of solace, or at least a way to get his mind around fatherhood. Did he even want to be a father? He thought of his family. Sure, they had their ups and downs, but he couldn’t have imagined life without his own dad. They butted heads but when needed his old man would drop everything and be there for him. He seemed a saint dealing with four daughters, and probably needed a medal of valor after his only son.

  Jonathon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, tapping his brake as vehicles slowed to a crawl. The air conditioning blasted on high, yet sweat still trickled down the back of his neck. South Texas was in a heat wave, and the merciless sun burned even through his window tint. Humidity could find its way into anything.

  He blew out a huge breath. Car horns honked, and the snarled traffic hinted at an accident ahead. He turned the radio on, and sure enough, a reported pile up delayed travel.

  “Damn it.” He banged his fist down on the steering wheel. The stench of exhaust fumes welled through the air-conditioning vents. He leaned back in his seat, his head throbbing, and waited.

  He received a text from his sister Maggie. He pulled it up on his phone, finding a photo attached. His mouth fell open. Someone, perhaps one of the nurses, had gotten a good shot of Sarah with a cellphone. A tabloid had put her side by side with a photo of Jonathon, claiming he had a secret love child. He read his sister’s text.

  Jon, this is on television right now What’s New in Gossip

  “Fuck.” If she’d seen it on TV, then one of his other sisters might run across it. Or his mom. And as if on cue, his cellphone chimed with a call from his mother. He considered ignoring the call, but if he did, she’d get his other sisters involved. They’d gang up on him and there was no ignoring the estrogen in his family.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said in greeting.

  “Jonathon Daniel Breck, I just saw the most disturbing gossip on television.”

  Jonathon cringed beneath his mother’s aggravation.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I got a text about it.” He licked his lips. What else could he say? The truth stuck in his throat.

  He received another text from one of his other sisters about the show. God, this was steamrolling fast.

  “Well, are you going to deny this gossip?” his mother asked. He envisioned her crossed arms, imagined her heel tapping on his parents’ hardwood floor.

  “I’m driving,” he fibbed. “Can we talk about this later?” Like never, maybe? Or until I figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

  “My God, it’s an uncanny resemblance. I thought they’d gotten a picture of Maggie when she was a child. But the face shape isn’t right.”

  It’s because she inherited Phoebe’s beautiful heart-shaped face. Jonathon kept quiet, hoping his mother would move on to a different subject.

  “You know if this child is yours, Jonathon, it’s okay to tell us,” she said in a low voice. “You’ll need to take responsibility for her.”

  There it was. Family was important to the Brecks, they’d never turn away a child. They might even try to force his hand, when he didn’t know what he wanted to do. He couldn’t bully his way into Sarah’s life without knowing what kind of father he’d be to her. Plus, he still wasn’t sure if Phoebe wanted him to take the role.

  “Mom…” He blew out a breath. “I have to go, okay? Love you.”

  “This woman you stayed on the island with, is she really the mother of this child? Phoebe Heart, Cybil Heart’s daughter?” she asked, ignoring his not-so-subtle hint to end the conversation.

  Jonathon ground his teeth. “Yeah, she’s her daughter. The girl’s name is Sarah.”

  “She has the Breck eyes, and those eyes don’t lie, son.”

  He squeezed his fingers around the steering wheel and rubbed his temple with his free hand. All the Breck progeny had the unique silvery eye color. It stamped children in the bloodline like a shared fingerprint. God, what am I going to do?

  “We can’t have this conversation while I’m in my car,” he finally said.

  His mother remained silent a long moment. “Oh, Jonathon. Son. You need to come home so we can talk about this.”

  He’d assumed he’d hear anger or disappointment in his mother’s voice if she ever learned the truth. Instead, he only heard gentleness.

  “I’ll be home in a week or so, okay?”

  “I won’t tell your father. I’ll let you do that.”

  Their call ended. It took nearly an hour before traffic started to creep forward in the outer lanes. When he finally passed the scene of the accident, he noted the twisted wreckage of minivan and next to it, a child’s empty car seat on its side on the highway. He sucked in a sharp breath, hoping beyond hope the family inside had made it out okay. The car seat sat in his mind’s eye, a haunting image as he drove northwest again. He drove and drove through the evening and well into the night, until his eyesight blurred with exhaustion, and he finally stopped at a shabby motel and took a room.

  He tossed and turned, trying to find sleep, yet the empty car seat danced behind his closed eyelids, reminding him that maybe tragedy had struck the family. Perhaps somewhere a father mourned for an injured or lost child. Perhaps a father pleaded with God for another chance to have one more day with their son or daughter, and there he was doing his best to run away from his own child.

  No, he’d never asked for Sarah, he’d never planned for her, had never anticipated a broken condom the night he’d slept with the blonde at the frat party. And Jonathon had definitely never dreamed twelve years later he’d be confronted by the repercussions of the way he’d lived his life for so long.

  He rose at dawn, pulled up flight schedules, and bought a plane ticket before he climbed into his car and started driving again. For home. For Dallas, determined to see through his plan. The only choice he had, he’d fly to California and meet with Phoebe. She wouldn’t deny him the right to see his daughter. Surely she wouldn’t, because he wanted to know at least a bit about her.

  He didn’t want a legal battle by any means, because it wouldn’t be fair to Sarah. He didn’t
intend on trying to force himself into their lives, but he hoped to maybe stay on the outskirts. A need to see to her welfare and make sure she never lacked for anything drove him on. He knew Phoebe came from wealth, and she resisted the money, but surely she wouldn’t resist his help. After all, he should’ve been sharing equal responsibility for Sarah’s upbringing.

  Anger simmered. He should’ve been told. Maybe he wouldn’t have been the greatest dad in the beginning, but she could’ve approached him with her pregnancy. He wouldn’t have turned her out. At least he didn’t think his old self would have. Hell, maybe he would’ve been an ass, but in the end he would’ve manned up.

  * * * *

  The flight had been delayed, and the layover exhausting, but once Jonathon landed at LAX he felt both relief and mounting anxiety as he rented a car to take him north. He had dug up Phoebe’s address, and he could only hope she took to his unexpected intrusion amiably. He knew she’d still be mostly bedridden with her broken leg, and if she’d let him, he’d be more than willing to stay until she healed enough to get back on her feet. He could cook, clean, and do what needed to be done.

  He didn’t even know how she was doing since he hadn’t tried to get in touch with her. He still regretted leaving her in the hospital room without a backward glance. He hated himself for doing it, but he couldn’t change that day. What he could do was prove he was a better person.

  He followed a coastal road north, the serenity of the landscape soothing a bit of his anxiety. He turned east, driving into the mountainous regions, leaving behind towns until he found the side road leading to her home, nestled deep in the redwoods. Jonathon double-checked the search map he’d printed off.

  The side road didn’t look to be much more than a jeep trail. But the directions looked correct, and he turned down it, his car jostling over rocks and ruts. Recent rains had washed out a few spots and he had to slow around them. Then he hit a muddy spot and his tires spun out. He was stuck. He growled, cutting the wheel this way and that, gearing down then back up, only to mire himself deeper in the muck.