by Dani Collins
When Marvin arrived, he took over behind the bar while a simple meal of lasagna, salad, and garlic bread showed up in the dining room.
By then, Rolf’s group of heli-skiers had arrived. They were deep-pocket investors from Montana and the surrounding states, Vivien informed Ilke. Rolf was courting them to appease the Wikinger Board of Directors. He had already had to push back their arrival until tonight because of the funeral. Vivien disappeared to help check them in.
Ilke picked at her food, fighting yawns and watching for Nate while cliques of people moved like fish in an aquarium, all the similar species gathering in schools as they settled into their territories at this table or that.
She had never found ‘her’ people. Ski clubs were tightly knit and some of her fellow athletes would kill or die for each other, but her competitive nature had been a hurdle as a child and later experiences left her so defensive, she no longer allowed anyone to get close to her. People might act like they cared about her, but what did they really want? Her own mother had used her at different times, so really, who could she trust?
The slopes were her safe space. Pistes, runs, trails… It didn’t matter what a particular resort called that snaking line of compacted snow, she wanted to be on it. That’s where she felt in control and good about herself. It was the place where she could be utterly alone, yet connected to time, space, earth, and air.
How would she weather the months of her pregnancy without that? This abstinence from skiing would be a peek at her future beyond racing, the years after she retired that she always avoided contemplating because it was too much of a whiteout.
She wouldn’t think of it tonight, she decided, and waved her good-night to Vivien on her way up the stairs to her room. There was no elevator and the lodge used the European numbering convention, so the lobby level was the ground floor and she had to climb four half-flights to get to her second-floor room.
The other two times she had stayed here, she’d been given a finished room on the first floor. Those had card readers on the knobs, not the old-fashioned keys. Vivien had one of the big corner rooms on that level; Trigg had another. Ilke imagined the rest of the rooms had been assigned to Rolf’s guests and contractors.
Glory and Rolf were on the third floor. The top and the best, unsurprisingly. Ilke had taken a peek up there after she arrived and almost all the doors were off along the length of the gutted hallway. The rooms were stripped and each had new plumbing and other supplies awaiting installation. The scent of epoxy and paint had lingered so she hadn’t stuck around.
Nate’s room was on her floor, two over from the one she occupied. Half the rooms on this floor were also missing doors. Her room was functional, but still a work in progress. The carpet had been pulled out, the subfloor repaired, but her carpet was an area rug in blue and gold geometric patterns. The walls were primed white, the plumbing new, the sink cabinet still smelling faintly of sawdust. Her bed was a rollaway cot, her only other furniture a bench for her luggage and a night table that had been freshly painted, but was obviously from the lodge’s earliest days.
She changed into pajamas: body-hugging leggings in dusty blue and a long-sleeved top printed with polar bears dancing between penguins playing orchestra instruments. She had a weakness for the absurd, which was a good thing, since her life seemed to be taking a hard turn in that direction right now.
She was exhausted and had been for two months. It was yet another delightful symptom of pregnancy, she’d been told, but it was too early to go to bed. She turned off her lights and opened her curtains to watch the snow. Gentle, beautiful snow. The lazy fall of white flakes against the black sky mesmerized her.
Each room had an exterior door onto the wraparound balcony, allowing guests to come and go without tracking snow through the lodge. The balcony was covered by the one on the floor above, but snow collected on her rail.
She had her forearms braced on the windowsill, breath fogging the glass, vaguely comparing the growing accumulation there to the duplication of cells, the expansion subtle yet relentless, when suddenly, a man was crossing right in front of her.
She gasped and straightened from leaning on the sill, bumping her wrist into the glass, causing him to halt in surprise.
They stared at one another through the glass. He cursed.
With all her instincts screaming at her to retreat, she reached to click the lock on the knob, then opened her door. The blast of cold wasn’t all first of March subzero bitterness. Nate’s glower held plenty of frostbite.
He looked in the direction of his own room, profile pulled into a grimace. Steam was coming off him, like he’d been working out. Or he was that furious.
This isn’t my fault.
But the flat look he wore made her pull her elbows in defensively. She closed the door a bit, starting to shiver in the chill.
“I’m not going to be able to sleep until—”
What? There was no magic resolution to this. There was nothing he could say that would change the fact she was having his baby and facing months of waiting. But she hated not knowing what was going to happen. That’s why she typically booked up her schedule as if each minute was a brick that couldn’t be left unassigned or her whole world would crumble.
Right now, the next several months were a giant open space of terrifying unknown.
“I need to know what you’re thinking,” she insisted.
“You really don’t.” His breath puffed a cloud in the air, then he let out a longer hiss through his teeth. “I need a shower. Gimme fifteen.”
She locked up, then closed her curtains and pulled on a cardigan over her pajamas. Fourteen minutes later, she stepped into ballet slippers and went to him since she didn’t have anywhere to sit in her room that wasn’t the bed.
At her knock, he called a growly, “Just a minute,” then opened the door while still pulling his shirt over his head. His jeans hung low across his stacked abs and well-defined obliques.
She saw hot men all the time, but that glimpse of his hard stomach with its arrow of hair from his navel caught her attention and warmed her blood. Stupid hormones. Even his bare feet seemed too sexy for words as he moved briskly around the room picking up a few pieces of strewn clothes and stuffed toys, jeans shifting while hugging his butt and thighs.
Maybe there was something about being pregnant that made a woman measure up a man as a provider and protector. Although, she hadn’t looked at anyone else this way since January. Never, really. She was a stranger to herself every time she was near this man. It was incredibly disconcerting and she had to fight to keep her usual veneer of unaffected self-assurance in place.
“I was going to come to you,” he said.
He didn’t like having his space invaded, which was why she had come to him. She’d been invaded enough, thanks.
There wasn’t anywhere to sit in here, either. The chair had his work vest hanging off the back, a hardhat with insulated gloves on the seat. The only other option was a child’s chair at a miniature table that held a few cans of children’s sculpting dough.
It was a nice-sized room, though. The corner ones, like Vivien’s, were the premium suites. This was a middle one, which were still bigger than her standard one and were probably intended to hold two queen beds.
The room was in the same state as hers: half-refurbished with fresh paint, but a bare floor. His area rug had a city and roads printed on it. A bucket of cars sat on the floor by the nightstand. He had a real bed, not a rollaway, and it was a king. There was a desk where a closed laptop sat and a toddler bed tucked against the wall where the second queen was probably supposed to be. His lamp was a round cartoon character and a bin of bigger toys sat next to the dresser.
“Your son is with his mom?”
Saying it made her realize someone might someday ask him that of their child, and she would be that child’s mother. She didn’t know how to be a mother! Her role model was terrible. She had never felt any sort of affinity toward children. They kind of
repelled her with their unruly antics and messy hands and whiny voices.
Why the hell was she here?
Especially when he was staring at her like she didn’t have the right to mention his son.
Whatever dim, fall-into-place vision she’d had of how this would go faded another few degrees. Fairy tales definitely weren’t real. And reality sucked raw eggs.
“It was an accident.” That was the most important thing she needed to convey, in a voice she struggled to project evenly. “I was taking medication that counteracted my birth control. I didn’t know until last week.”
“I wore a condom. Every time.” He threw the clothing he’d gathered into a laundry bag near the door. “Are you sure it’s mine?”
She felt her weight go back onto her heels, then the raw sting hit her front, raking from her throat to her breastbone to create a sick knot that settled in her gut. Why were women always virgins or sluts and nothing in between?
She hated him in that moment for being exactly like all the rest. Why then, did she feel his baby was worth keeping?
“Since you’re the only man I’ve had sex with in the last…” she looked to the ceiling, trying to recall “…two years, yes.”
“Two years,” he repeated with deep skepticism.
Another wave of defensive affront went through her. What did he think?
As their gaze met, however, she could see what he thought. Or rather, what he remembered. She had lost track of the times she’d gone back for seconds. The memory made her tender breasts feel that much heavier. The pulse at the base of her throat throbbed a little harder.
Clearly a woman with her appetite was a sex fiend who gave it up to any man who wanted to throw her a bone.
She held his gaze even though it was like holding something hot enough to leave third-degree burns. Even though it melted away whatever invisible shield she managed to hold against him and left her naked and splayed and not something he wanted a second helping of. Not now. Not ever.
A pang of profound hurt went through her. She hadn’t expected this much cynicism and aversion, but why not? How well did she really know him? They’d chatted very casually last July, then spent more time dancing and screwing than talking on December thirty-first. In her head, she had painted him to be…not soft. Definitely not that, but capable of softness. Not hard. Not this bitter and hard.
Any rationale that had brought her here was based solely on that damned romantic streak that needed another serious beatdown. Somehow, seeing him interact with his son on two occasions had convinced her he would exhibit a more welcoming reaction to another baby. Maybe a shred of empathy or remorse.
Somehow, she still had a shred of girl in her who had thought maybe he was—
No.
Disappointment only happened if you had expectations. She had none. She swallowed back the lump in her throat and steeled the crumbling walls around her heart.
He was acting like this was a personal attack and striking back with every weapon at his disposal. Dig deep, she told herself. He might think he was above her on the leader board, but all she needed was one clean, fast line.
“When was the last time you had sex?” She didn’t really want to know. She was only trying to tie them up. Slap back. But the way he averted his face and tightened his mouth made her throat burn even hotter, like she’d swallowed acid. Why? What did she care if he had slept with a dozen different women every night in the eight weeks since they’d been together?
She tried really hard not to care, looking toward the window and willing her hot eyes to stay dry while her chest felt as though it filled with acrid smoke. Leave, she thought. But where else would she go? That was the question that had been torturing her since the little blue positive sign had appeared on the stick.
“Is this for real? You’re really pregnant? It’s really mine?”
Each question was a missile. A nuclear warhead that landed and left a burning wake across her skin.
She threw up helpless hands. If she had any other response, she would voice it.
He pushed his hands into his pockets. “You’re having it?”
That was a whole other detonation of agony that she had to fold her arms to contain.
“Would you rather I didn’t?” She braced herself while everything in her went still and cold. Don’t say yes. Don’t say yes.
His gaze drifted to the toddler bed. His profile hardened and his jaw pulsed.
“No,” he conceded with a wince.
“So you want it.” She needed to hear him say it.
“That’s an overstatement.”
His words left a jagged tear across her heart.
He ran a hand down his face, then revealed an expression of shame and struggle. Impatience. “Of course, I want my kid. I’m surprised you do, though.”
He didn’t know her. He knew nothing about her. That’s what she wanted to say, but she didn’t want him to know her. The way he narrowed his gaze to give her a hard study made her squirm inside and struggle not to show it. To keep him on the edges where he couldn’t hurt her more than he already had.
“You’re ready to give up skiing?” he asked with harsh disbelief. “Where are you planning to live—”
“I’m not.”
“What?”
“I’m not giving up racing.” She couldn’t. It was her…everything. That’s why he had to take the baby. She was able to breathe now that she knew he wanted it, but it was still hard to say, “I’ll have the baby and leave it with you when I have to travel.”
His hand dropped to his side. His mouth hung open.
“Are you high? How am I supposed to take care of a newborn and hold down a full-time job?”
At least he knew how to look after a baby. That was more than she could say.
She made herself shrug. “That’s exactly the position I’m in. I have to put off competing until the baby is born, but then—”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He didn’t raise his voice, but the power in his quiet words nearly knocked her out of her shoes. “Why are you having it, if you’re not going to be around to raise it?”
“I’ll be around.” Sort of. She hadn’t figured that part out yet. Babies needed their mothers, but not if they were terrible at it. Her heart battered inside her chest like a trapped bird. She didn’t know what kind of relationship she wanted with her child, but she knew she wanted one. Otherwise she would be talking to an adoption agency, or a clinic that offered other options. “I have to train and race, though. Male athletes do it.”
That was how she tried to approach the big decisions in her life. Men didn’t worry about hurting feelings or how they were perceived. They did whatever advanced their own interests. Doing the same shouldn’t make her a criminal, just because she had a uterus.
“Which tells me how much you’ll actually be here. Trigg is gone all the time.” He rubbed his face again, curses flowing in a tone of astonished disbelief. “No, Ilke. You don’t get to show up and dump a baby on me and expect me to look after it.”
Dump? She didn’t like that word at all, but was compelled to point out, “That’s what you’ve done to me.”
“What the fuck? No. I have to work. How am I supposed to explain this to Rolf?”
First Vivien, now him? God in heaven, why were Rolf’s tender feelings so paramount?
“It was one time.” She clapped her hands onto the outsides of her thighs. “Years ago. He isn’t going to care that you and I hooked up.”
Nate’s face blanked. “I meant, how am I supposed to work the hours he expects? Are you saying you and he—?”
“I thought that’s what you—” She closed her mouth and closed her eyes against the clouds gathering in his expression. The blistering silence thickened with even more acrimony. “It was years ago,” she said through her teeth. “Once.”
He swore under his breath, a muted F-sharp with a string of blue behind it. “That’s just great, isn’t it?”
“He’s engaged
to Glory. There’s nothing—Forget it. That has nothing to do with us.”
“There is no ‘us.’ Let’s get that clear if nothing else.” He pointed a finger at her, but it was more like he was throwing laser pulses that were meant to cut and sever and eviscerate. “Maybe you’re pregnant with my kid, but whatever else you’re thinking? No.” He incinerated any fragile connection that had formed between them on their one seemingly magical night.
Men didn’t hurt her. She didn’t allow it. Not physically, not emotionally, and not even on an ego level.
His rejection stung all the same. It stabbed deep and twisted hard. So hard she couldn’t stand there and pretend he had no effect on her.
“We are going to be parents,” she managed to state coldly. “We have until the end of September to figure out how we are going to raise this child. I’ll be here until we come to an agreement.”
She stalked out, heart hammering, cheeks fiery and eyes stinging.
Chapter Four
Nate hadn’t slept so poorly since Aiden had been teething. Even when Wanda had walked out, he hadn’t tossed and turned like this. At least with Wanda, he had known that whatever she did or planned to do with her own life, she ultimately loved their son and would continue to be the best mother she could be.
Ilke? She sounded like the biggest narcissist ever sewn together from spare parts, heart sold separately.
I’ll have the baby and leave it with you when I have to travel.
Did it escape him that he’d been away for weeks at a time when Aiden had been learning to walk? No. Which made him a hypocrite, but it was also how he knew what a raw deal it was on all sides. Did she plan to nurse it? Because he had no problem growing a pair and stepping up for his kid, but if she wasn’t going to commit just as wholly to their child, she could leave and not come back.
He threw his arm across his eyes. Finding workable solutions was supposed to be his strength. Plan, execute, settle up. But all he could do was swear and roll over again, giving his pillow a frustrated punch.