by Mimi Barbour
The woman blocked his view of Crysta—had she hurt herself somehow? Why had she moved like that? Had she gained weight? The feeling that something was wrong, that she needed him, heightened to a tangible warning of chills along his spine.
Lara curtsied and said into the mic, “We will be back after a short break. Thanks Crysta.”
Crysta turned sideways, still laughing and shaking her head. She put her hand to her back. “Anytime.” Her throaty tone was the same.
His gaze dropped as the path to Crysta at last cleared.
Stunned, he stopped so fast that Davey rammed into him, dropping his beer to the pavement.
He heard the smack of wet plastic, heard Davey suck in a loud swoop of air. Dots swam before his eyes and he fisted his hands, cutting the nails into his palms in disbelief. That pain didn’t equal what waited for him as the first wave ebbed.
Crysta was pregnant.
A tumble of emotions came at him. He stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “Crysta? What the hell?”
Crysta, wide-eyed, protectively splayed her fingers over her belly. “Dillon!”
He lowered his curled hand. Lara rushed down the metal steps of the stage to reach Crysta’s side.
Hurt, love, pain, disappointment and regret stole his words as he stared at Crysta in confusion.
“Who?” Dillon looked around, ready to punch the dude and stake his own claim.
She lifted her chin, her teal gaze steady. “You.”
“What?” No kids, no kids, no kids. How could she?
“There is nobody else, Dillon.”
“I can’t believe you.” The bitter taste of betrayal coated his throat. “How could you?”
Crysta held out her hand for him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “This is why I didn’t tell you. I told you to stay away.”
I told you.
Chapter Thirteen
Crysta’s first reaction at seeing Dillon was joy. He looked the same, dark brown hair, green eyes, slightly crooked nose and a mouth that knew how to kiss. She’d missed him so much! Thought of him every day, all the time. The reality set in and she became anxious—what would he do? After so much time, what would he say?
Dressed casually in a crimson shirt and jeans, he still had the bearing of a military man. His strength had always held an attraction. The hardest emotion she felt was sorrow. His tan face had paled, but not just that—he’d been rocked to his core, anguish in the set of his mouth. His shoulders stiff, his eyes cold against her.
He was reacting exactly as she’d predicted. How she wished she’d been wrong.
Lara flanked her on one side, and Davey came on the other. Dillon did not want to join them, she could tell. Hurt by his intense pain, she reached out and touched his pinky and he jerked away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, knowing it was nowhere near enough.
Color returned to his cheeks but his emerald eyes sparked with anger.
“It all makes sense,” he growled. The four of them stood, emotions palpating, the crowd of tourists and holiday revelers standing around them.
Her heart raced—would he listen to her, if she tried to explain?
He stared into her eyes, refusing to look down.
Davey curved his hand on Dillon’s shoulder—in warning? Or support? “I am so, so sorry,” she said again. Louder. Firmer.
“Why didn’t you let me know?” He leaned forward.
She stepped back, her palms up, undone by his honest question. She’d imagined his reaction so many times. “Because you would be thrilled?”
Lara placed a soft hand on her wrist. “Why don’t you two go for a walk or something? You have a lot to talk about. Without an audience.”
Davey patted Dillon on the back with encouragement and peered at her with a look of anger.
She nodded with acceptance, owning that she had caused his friend pain. “Will you walk with me, Dillon?”
He said nothing but gave a curt nod, his hands tightly folded behind his back.
She didn’t offer her hand, but led the way out of the curious throng of people, toward the beach. A block north of downtown, the music at last settled into the background.
Crysta pointed to a turquoise bench. “Is this okay?” A tall palm tree shaded them from moonlight, and the crash of the ocean against the surf calmed her. Sea grape clusters provided a hedge from the beach and they had the space to themselves.
Silent, unstoppable tears, kept leaking from her eyes. She sat to the right, he took the left, keeping two feet between them on a four foot bench. She got it—he didn’t want to even accidentally touch her.
He radiated anger—righteous anger—that he was entitled to.
“I’m the father?”
Ouch. “Yes.”
“I used protection.”
She nodded.
“Then, what the hell?”
“It happened. It was an accident.”
He leaned forward and buried his head in his hands. His shoulders were so tight they strained his Henley even in the near dark. She didn’t dare offer comfort.
“When did you find out?”
“I didn’t really know…until I was sick at work. The day I got fired.”
He didn’t say anything.
Crysta waited, then continued, “I knew how you felt about kids.”
“You felt the same,” he replied accusingly.
“I did.”
“So? I would have gone with you to handle it.”
She trembled, shivering. “I thought that I could do that—even without you—but in the end, I didn’t. Something in me,” she patted her chest, “had changed.”
“You grew up in foster care. Said that you would never have a kid and risk them being abused.”
Swiping her cheek with the palm of her hand, Crysta nodded. “If anything happens to me, Lara will raise the child.” She’d had paperwork drawn up—it just needed to be filed, after her baby was born.
He lifted his handsome face and her heart thrummed. His jaw was set, his eyes questing. Angry. Hurt.
“I didn’t want to hurt you, Dillon.”
“What a joke.” His fists clenched over his knees.
She waited for him to sort through things—God, what an awful way to discover that you were a parent—she wished that he hadn’t come. Wished that he hadn’t found out. How to make him see that it wasn’t personal to him? That she couldn’t make any other choice?
Crysta inhaled shakily. “I was so attracted to you, that night. But we were both busy with our lives, too. I sort of thought that we’d get together again. You were going for a promotion, and I had my plans for the Hair Expo.”
She looked down at her belly bump.
He said nothing, his body tight.
“I found out I was pregnant, and I texted you. Lara and I drove down so that I could get a feel for where you were at. A baby is life-changing.”
“A baby is a huge responsibility. For the next eighteen years, it will hold you down.”
She imagined that his mom had said that to him, often. Crysta couldn’t stop herself from reaching for him, but then she pulled her hand back to her lap. “I know. And just because I decided to keep the baby, didn’t mean that you had changed your mind.”
“How could I change my mind about something I never even knew about?”
A rush of air from the beach cooled her flushed body. She stared down at her hands.
“So that is why you showed up? I knew there was something more than you wanting to see if we still had the same chemistry.”
“You kept talking about retirement and traveling. How great your career is. You asked me to go on a helicopter ride!” Her words choked in her throat. “I had to get out of there before I totally broke down. All I do is cry these days.”
He rubbed his temple and stared out into the night. The hedge of sea grapes rustled before them. Salt scented the air, along with night jasmine.
“I didn’t know. I took you out to dinner for your birthday,
and I didn’t know.”
“And I was glad of that, because you have a plan for your life that doesn’t include…” She gestured to her rounded belly.
“Don’t try to make me feel guilty about this.”
“That is not my intent, Dillon. I’ve been trying to allow you to keep your freedom, while I follow my heart. Raising this baby is my choice. There is no reason for you to feel guilty. I made my choice. But I had to give you up.”
***
Dillon’s body shook from the inside as he fought to find a way out of this situation—something he’d taken great pride in avoiding had come to pass, despite his best efforts.
“I did not want kids.”
“I know. I thought I didn’t either.”
He waited to feel some change, other than shock, come over his body—to soothe his angry mind—but nothing did.
He was hurt by her betrayal.
It wasn’t his fault. He’d used condoms. It wasn’t her fault either.
But, it was her fault that she hadn’t told him. That she hadn’t given him the respect of letting him know.
He stole a glance at the curve of her stomach, her red knit dress with a loose, white sweater. Her hair flowed around her face, fuller. Softer.
Dillon groaned his frustration. Of course he thought ahead twenty years. What would change for him? Mailing a child support check every month?
Would the kid even like him?
The realization that he and Crysta shared an unbreakable bond made him lift his shoulders and sit straight.
He tried to see into the future and his brain went haywire. Could he have Crysta? And a baby?
Resentment rose from his gut like bile. The years of his mother’s apathy, her blaming him for not having a career. An education. Her lousy life had been his fault. “You lost your job for being pregnant?”
“Well, for throwing up in my client’s purse, really. But stylists looking to make their mark in NYC do not get fat, or have babies, or think about anything other than fashion. It’s not a law of course, but an unspoken rule.”
She ran her hand gently over the swell of stomach, a loving smile on her face. “I didn’t realize how much negativity comes with being cutthroat. I’ve felt so much better since deciding to start my own salon.”
He nodded, uncertain. “What about money?”
“It’s a risk, but I took small business loan out. Used my condo as collateral. It’s scary, yes, but it is worth a shot. That was my dream, you know, after NY…I’m just skipping ahead is all.”
It sounded like she didn’t need him.
How did that feel? Confusion crashed down and he was glad to be sitting. He was used to running the show, leading the charge. But this was out of his control.
He hadn’t wanted a kid. Seemed he was having one anyway. “Now what?” he asked aloud.
Crysta looked down at her hands, folded across her lap, then up at him—truth and empathy in her teal blue eyes. “You can walk away. No judgement, no expectation.”
“What kind of man do you think I am?”
She took his hand, tears shining down her cheek. “You are a good man, Dillon. That’s why I didn’t want to burden you with this.”
“Burden.” His mother had always used that word—he’d never witnessed the love he saw now in Crysta’s eyes. He’d been attracted to her uniqueness, her strength to be herself, from the beginning.
She brought a strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand. “Your career in the military is so important to you. I know that.”
“I am a decent man,” Dillon said in a slow voice. “I would never shirk a responsibility.”
“I know.” Crysta’s words held a tone of sadness.
His shoulders bristled in defense of what he considered a decent trait in a guy. “What?”
“I knew that you wouldn’t walk away. That’s why I felt like I had to push you away.” She sniffed and brought her hand to her lap. “Take tonight and think about all of this. Then, only if you want to be a part of our lives, we can figure out the next steps together.”
Chapter Fourteen
Dillon didn’t need to wait until the morning.
He closed the two-foot gap of bench between them and captured her pink mouth in a kiss. A gentle, questioning kiss that answered every question his heart had—and he told his heart to shut up his head.
Crysta at first tightened her mouth, but then, with a slight groan, let her lips relax and put her hands around his shoulders, digging her fingers into the clipped hair at his nape.
She kissed him, showing him the depth of her emotion. They’d had a connection from the first instant they’d shared eye contact, so it should come as no surprise that they had created something special together.
“Dillon,” she whispered, resting her forehead to his.
He tightened his embrace, pulling her close. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “I knew that you wouldn’t, if you found out. Do you understand that I wanted to protect you?” Crysta lifted up to stare him in the eye. “Never to hurt you. I didn’t want you to feel obligated. Especially after what you told me about your mother—feeling like she had no choice.”
“You didn’t offer me a choice at all.”
“Because once you knew, you would step up—right? It was an awful dilemma. And I was never sure if it was the right decision—but I was trying my best to do the right thing, for both of us.”
He tried to accept that—but knew it would all need time to sink in properly. He believed that Crysta hadn’t wanted to hurt him. He would get past it…he had to. In time.
Dillon tugged at a loose wave over her collar bone. “I like this. The color, and style.”
“Thank you. It was easier to go natural for a while.”
She shifted on the bench.
“Are you cold?”
“No, no. The baby just kicked.”
That sounded awful.
Crysta took his hand and placed it on her stomach. He felt her tight belly and something thump against his palm. A smile spread across his face, and then Crysta’s, as she watched him.
“Creepy, huh?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t move though. “Is it a boy, or a girl?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ve had some tests done, and healthy is what I know. Which is good enough—I guess I was just letting myself get used to the idea slowly.”
“You know the best way is just to jump right in?”
“Oh, really?” She smoothed her fingers along his cheek, keeping close to him. “There’s something to be said for dipping a toe in.”
“I didn’t think you were that kind of girl. You went bungie jumping!” Even he thought that was dangerous.
“I was terrified of it, so I had to do it,” she admitted. “Growing up the way that I did, I learned to laugh at my fears or else they would get the best of me.”
He never wanted Crysta to be afraid again. Or… “What do you call the baby?”
“Baby.” She giggled and tossed her head, resting against his chest. “Not very imaginative.”
Dillon hugged her close not wanting to let go, careful not to bump her stomach. It was all surreal.
“I’m so glad that you don’t hate me. I wouldn’t have blamed you, but—”
“I couldn’t hate you.” He stared up at the stars. “Even when I thought you were a crazy alcoholic.” How had his world tilted so dramatically? Crysta Jones, that’s how.
“What?” She shifted to see his face.
“I was trying to figure out why you had changed, and a drinking problem fit everything…”
“Wow. Um, no. This is a temporary thing.” She sat forward on the bench. “Would you like to come back to my condo? I’ll make us some hot chocolate.” She grinned at him. “I can add schnapps to yours.”
He wanted very much to see her condo. To drink cocoa with her. But then his gaze dropped to her stomach. Dillon wasn’t sure how to act.
&nbs
p; “We’ve done this backward, haven’t we?” Her breath was warm against his cheek as she looked up at him. “I’ve always done things a little differently.”
So long as she wasn’t telling him to go—they would figure it out. Her rejection had hurt worse than anything else in his life, even if he’d told himself he’d gotten over it.
“I like that about you. You said it was a studio?”
“It’s pretty big—and I’ve partitioned off areas with room screens. Come on, I’ll show you. We can walk back on the beach—nothing is better than having your toes in the sand. Well, I think so.”
She slipped off her sandals, but then looked down at his sneakers.
“I’ll roll my jeans up,” he said. “I’ve spent a lot of time on the beach.”
Crysta stood on her tip-toes and kissed him, quickly. Firmly. “I am so glad that you are here.”
He bowed his head and buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply to ground himself in the reality. This was no dream. This could be his best life—if he was willing to let go of his past and embrace the future.
***
Crysta sensed Dillon’s hesitancy. She didn’t blame him one darn bit. The fact that he hadn’t run screaming back to his hotel room offered her some encouragement that things might be okay.
Entwining their fingers, she brought him from the park bench, through the sea grape to the sand, which was cool this late at night.
The moonlight streaked silver along the dark navy blue of the ocean, which added an element of mystery that it didn’t have during the day.
His stride matched hers. “How far away do you live?”
“Not far. About ten minutes down the beach.”
“You can see the ocean?”
“Yep. I have a small balcony just big enough for a futon and a table. I love it out there.” She smiled, genuinely happy to bring Dillon to her space. “Not that you can see too much at night, but the stars are beautiful.”
He squeezed her hand and walked at her side. They were content in silence until they reached her condo. She gestured to the building, fifteen floors and a garage beneath. “I’m on ten.”