It was smaller than Logan’s but made of the same white granite. There was an angel, a cherub, carved into the center, the depiction of a chubby-cheeked, bright-eyed and laughing child with wings and a harp. Beneath the cherub were the words:
For my angel,
May you now fly.
Beneath that were three words and a single date, Alexander Lucas Collier, August 30, 2002.
The same day that Logan had died.
10
OH, GOD. SHE KNEW THIS wasn’t good. She could tell by the expression on his face that Luke had begun to draw his own conclusions.
She’d known, in her heart she’d known, that she was going to have to tell him. But she wasn’t ready, not today.
“Whose headstone is this?”
He stalked toward her, his eyes changing from bleak to angry.
He reached for her, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her up onto the tips of her toes. She thought he might shake her. She could see the roiling emotions clouding his eyes, watched as his teeth gritted against the words when he asked her again. “Whose headstone is that?”
But he didn’t shake her. His grip on her arms, though tight enough she couldn’t break it, didn’t actually hurt. She almost wished that it did.
She wanted to drop her eyes; she wanted to disconnect from him as she told him the truth, but she couldn’t. Something in his expression wouldn’t let her take the coward’s way out.
“My son’s.”
“Your…” His voice trailed off. He eased his grip enough that her heels touched down. She knew he hadn’t realized he was pulling her up to him. His head whipped around, his eyes flashed as he reread the few meager lines on the stone.
And then he looked at her again.
Now, tempering the anger was an edge of concern…concern for her. Part of her would have liked to accept that compassion but she knew she couldn’t. Not until he knew the full truth. Until then it wasn’t real.
“What happened?”
She took a deep breath, her mind racing. “You know I was injured in the accident. I went into premature labor. They couldn’t save me and the baby, and Alex was too young to survive.” This time she did lower her gaze to his chest, too overwhelmed with the emotions she’d experienced in those days and weeks immediately following the accident. “So young. A few more weeks and they might have saved him.” The agony of that had haunted her for years. She’d never quite been able to forgive herself for her inability to protect her child, even when he was supposed to be safe inside her body.
His grip on her tightened again.
“How young?”
She was bewildered by his question for a moment. It wasn’t what she’d expected and she’d been lost in a past she could never change.
And then she realized exactly what he was asking her.
She opened her mouth to tell him that he had been Alex’s father. But the words refused to leave her mouth. Instead she answered his question. “Twenty-four weeks.”
“Twenty-four…” He trailed off and again she tried to tell him but the words seemed stuck somewhere between her throat and her heart.
“Lucas. Did Logan ask you to name him after me?”
Shaking her head she said, “No.” She finally met his eyes again.
They were a storm, so conflicted. She could feel her throat tighten, knowing that this was about to change everything.
Just when she’d finally gotten him back.
Although, she hadn’t really, had she? He had no intention of staying here. Of making her a part of his life. No more than he’d had those eight years ago. She’d run out of time. The piper was here and he demanded his price. The problem was, that price was going to be higher than she’d expected. But then, that’s usually how the story ended.
“I chose the name because Alex was yours.”
HIS.
The word registered in his brain but it didn’t sink in right away.
His son.
Luke whirled around and stared at the small white stone again. It was the same, and yet, now it looked completely different.
His son.
How had this happened? How had he not known? Hell, how had he not even known she was pregnant?
He hadn’t realized he’d voiced the questions aloud until Ainsley answered them. Or maybe he hadn’t said anything and she was simply filling in the voids.
“I didn’t know until after you’d left.” Her words penetrated the fog that seemed to wrap his body and brain. It was insulating. Somehow comforting. He knew that it was protecting him from the emotions he should be feeling…anger, betrayal, grief. More grief. Just what he needed today.
As if in slow motion, he turned back to her, wanted to see her face as she explained how he’d had a son he’d never even known existed. Had existed.
The pain started then, knifing through the fog. He’d gained and lost a child in the space of a few minutes. How could it hurt so much?
Ainsley reached for him, almost touching his arm before he shifted away. With a pinched expression, she dropped her hand.
“I had no idea where you were. How to contact you. For weeks. Months.”
“So you turned to my brother? For what? Help? Solace? A warm body at night?”
Her eyes flickered for a moment, anger glistening in their depths before the emotion disappeared, replaced by pain. He didn’t want to see her pain. He didn’t want to think about this from her perspective. Not now.
“For help. My father threw me out. It was a tough pregnancy. I was ordered to get bed rest if I didn’t want to risk losing the baby. I had nowhere to turn. I came to the orchard one day hoping Logan could tell me where you were….”
“And stayed. We were twins, after all. One of us was just as good as the other, I suppose.” He heard the waspish tone of his own voice, the sting behind his words. Even as he said them he realized they weren’t true, but he didn’t take them back.
Ainsley flinched, before quickly regaining her composure. She stood before him, shoulders squared, spine straight, head held high.
“You know it wasn’t like that. He offered me a place to stay, a family, safety and medical care for me and Alex. I was desperate and in no position to refuse. I had a child to think of. It wasn’t what I wanted. It was what the baby and I both needed.”
The calm way she relayed the reasons behind her decision—noble and maternal reasons—made his jaw ache with tension.
He could see her, alone, scared, afraid of losing her child, making the logical decision for them both. So Ainsley. Practical down to her pale pink toes.
At the moment he hated that practicality though part of him could understand and appreciated her protective instincts toward their son.
He certainly hadn’t been available to help. But he would have been. If he’d known.
“Why didn’t you tell me? When I called home? When I came for the funeral?”
She closed her eyes and raised her head to the heavens. The corners of her eyes wrinkled as she squeezed them tight, as if in pain, as if in thought. When she finally answered, she continued to stare up into the bright sky instead of looking at him.
“We fought. Logan and I, that day. About telling you. He wanted me to call you. But…I wasn’t ready. I was still angry. I knew I needed to work through that before I called. That once I told you, you’d be part of my life forever. I was going to… I just wanted a little more time. I had months before the baby was born. I thought.”
Her voice clogged, growing thick with emotion. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to hold back tears. It would make no difference. They wouldn’t sway him. Not now.
“Then it didn’t matter. Logan was dead. Alex was gone. I was in so much pain and so heartsick. And you didn’t come.” She finally dropped her eyes, but instead of looking him in the face, she studied the ground at his feet.
“It seemed cruel at that point to tell you. It couldn’t change anything. It would only cause you the same grief I was fighting. You had a life. Away from me. Away from
here.”
He wanted to grab her and shake her. He wanted to pull her into his arms and soothe the pain he could see stamped across every feature of her face. She’d lost so much. And borne the brunt of immeasurable pain…on her own. When it should have been theirs to share.
He was angry. Angry she hadn’t told him, then and now. But she’d been dealing with so much. All alone.
Fragile, competent, practical Ainsley.
He opened his mouth to absolve her, but his jaw snapped shut instead. He couldn’t do that. Not yet. He would. He wanted to. But not yet.
He had one more question to ask first.
He stepped forward, grasping her by the arms again and forcing her to stop avoiding his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me during the time we just spent together?”
She finally looked at him.
Her eyes swam with unshed tears that seemed to magnify the swirling emotions roiling inside her. The despair, the guilt, the fear, the anger, the betrayal…the hope. He could read them all as they seemed to slam into the center of his chest, a tight ball of fury that almost made him take a step back.
And then she answered.
“Because I…I didn’t know how.” Her words were barely a whisper. He leaned closer. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to take someone else from your life.”
AINSLEY STARED AT THE ceiling, her head lay against the curved back of the rocking chair in the corner of the living room. It was dark. Gran had gone to bed an hour or two ago, after they’d shared a quiet, simple dinner. Alone.
Neither of them had said much. They’d both been preoccupied with the events of the day.
Ainsley hadn’t seen Luke since he’d walked away from her, leaving her standing between Logan’s and Alexander’s graves. Feeling deeper despair than she’d experienced in a very long time.
He’d been back in her life for less than a week and despite everything she’d known—the past, his inflexibility, the life he had waiting for him and the secret that was a gaping chasm between them—she’d let him back in. Into her heart, into her life and into her body.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He probably hated her now. And she couldn’t completely blame him. In his situation, she’d probably hate her, too. Sure, she had reasons…but in the dark they seemed inconsequential.
As day had faded to night, she hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights. There was little moonlight outside to dispel the gloom that seemed to settle around her. That was how he found her, sitting in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, her feet pushing rhythmically against the floor as she rocked.
Ainsley knew he was there the minute he stepped into the house. Even if the creaking floorboards and the metallic clang of the screen door hadn’t alerted her to his arrival, she seemed to have a sixth sense where he was concerned. The muscles in her body tensed as his footsteps brought him closer. She didn’t have to see him to know that Luke was home.
She expected him to pass her by. Aside from the soft snick of the wooden runners against the floor, there was no indication that anyone was even in the room. Besides, she figured she was the last person he’d want to see right now.
She was wrong.
He found her with the unerring accuracy of someone with his own built-in radar.
He watched her for several seconds, standing just inside the doorway to the room. He could turn around and walk away. Or he could come inside. The choice was his. She’d said everything she could possibly say this afternoon. It was his turn now.
Whatever happened, he deserved the right to his response. She wouldn’t take that away from him. She’d already taken more than she’d had any right to.
“I need to send the financial paperwork to the broker tomorrow. I know you’ve been preoccupied for the past couple days but do you have it done?”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened them again. The ceiling hadn’t changed colors. There weren’t suddenly spots or stripes or plaid there. And yet, she still felt as if her world had shifted somehow with his simple question.
If he wanted to pretend nothing had happened, then she supposed she’d honor his wishes.
“I’ll have it for you in the morning.”
Her voice sounded rusty and uneven to her own ears. She hoped he couldn’t hear the emotions the jagged words covered.
The silence stretched. After several uncomfortable seconds, he took a single step farther into the room. A single step closer to her.
Her body tensed and her feet touched down to the floor and refused to push back off again. The rocker swayed against the loss of steady motion. She didn’t look at him, wasn’t sure that she wanted to.
“Ainsley.”
The word spilled into the space between them.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
11
“YOU HAVE NOTHING TO BE sorry for.”
“I do. I left you alone when you needed me most. Not once but twice.”
He turned away from her, so she couldn’t see directly into his eyes. What she could see was the profile of his face—sharp angles and planes shadowed by the night that seemed to blanket them, to cocoon them together rather than keep them apart.
“You know the worst part? Logan was here for you. He did what I should have done. I should be grateful. Instead, I’m so angry and jealous. He got to experience those moments with you, hearing the baby’s heartbeat, feeling him kick for the first time. He’s dead and I’m still jealous.”
They were the most stark and honest words she thought she’d ever heard him say. Luke had always been boisterous and charming. What he hadn’t been was open and free with his emotions…even with her. Even with Logan.
He’d always held a piece of himself back, protected, safe.
She’d understood what motivated that need and had hoped that in time he’d learn to trust her. Learn that she wasn’t going to disappear the way his parents had.
But, instead, he’d turned his back on everything they’d had together. Perhaps if she’d pushed…
No, it didn’t help to rehash a past she couldn’t change. At this moment, she was grateful for the small glimpse of himself that he’d finally shown her.
She stood up and reached for him, laying her hand along the curve of his arm simply to show him that she was here, beside him.
“You can yell at me if it helps. You can get it out and work through it. Logan is gone. You can’t shout at him. You don’t have that chance for catharsis. But you have to know that everything he did was for you, Luke. He did it because he knew you would have if you were here. He was your stand-in.”
“As always.” He turned his head and looked down at her. His eyes were dark, shaded by both the swirling emotions and the gloom around them. “Don’t fool yourself. He did it for you. Logan always loved you. I just didn’t realize how much.”
She couldn’t argue with him about that. Where Luke had kept pieces of himself hidden, Logan had been as transparent as glass with her.
And yet, she still hadn’t been able to love him back. He’d been the opposite of everything Luke was, every thing she should have wanted after he’d broken her heart. But in the end, Luke was what she’d wanted. Luke was still what she needed.
She recognized that instinct, deep inside him, that told him to protect himself. She’d felt the same way all her life. She’d tried to build a hard core that was inviolate, safe from her father’s harsh criticisms and demands. A place where she hid her deepest wishes and fears, because if her father ever found them, he’d exploit them to inflict the most pain.
To her father, Jesus had suffered, and therefore, she should, too. Strength was forged in pain, in sacrifice, in ruthless demands on the body and mind.
She’d found her strength in spite of his abuse.
Just as Luke had found his in action and a business world she didn’t understand and couldn’t be a part of.
There was a piece of her that wanted to protect him, to soothe the man she loved.<
br />
And there was the center of her own problem.
She loved Luke and she always had. Despite every thing that had happened, she always would.
And she’d give him everything she could, anything he needed from her. No matter her personal cost.
She wasn’t entirely certain if that made her a fool or a martyr. Either way, it wouldn’t change her actions.
She reached for him again, laying her palm against the harsh planes of his face. The rough rasp of stubble against her hand sent a shiver down her spine. Such a simple connection of her skin to his and still she responded. Immediately. It was as if he was a catalyst. She was perfectly controlled Ainsley until he entered her life, then energy and heat poured into her body.
He stared down at her, darkness hiding the feelings behind his eyes. Maybe he didn’t want this from her now. But she’d offer it to him anyway. He needed the connection to another human being even if he didn’t realize it. She could show him how much he meant to her—even if she could never voice the words.
Taking a step closer, Ainsley pressed the length of her body against him. The offer was obvious. But it was his decision to make.
He paused, not declining but not accepting that offer. She fought disappointment when she realized he was going to refuse. She pulled an unsteady breath through parted lips and took a half step away.
In that moment he erupted around her. With a growl, he reached for her. Pulling her up on tiptoe, he took more than she’d even offered. Not that she minded. Not when she could feel the heat and solid weight of muscle against her.
His mouth found hers, hard, punishing, dominating. Tongue thrusting inside, taking what he wanted, dueling with her even as she melted into him.
His hands moving up and down her back were far from gentle. They were demanding. Insistent. While his touch would hardly leave bruises, there was an edge of pain underlying the pleasure. As if he couldn’t let either of them enjoy these moments until he’d fully vented the emotions that had haunted him for hours.
What Might Have Been Page 10