by Megan Kelly
For that, she’d always hold a piece of him near to her heart.
Once naked, the tempo picked up. Thoughts flew as sensations rose. It was more than sex, more than being touched and pleasured, even though she enjoyed each caress. When he parted her legs and applied his fingers and tongue to her pleasure, eagerness built inside her.
The intensity stemmed from being with Scott. Tender, ardent, adorable Scott. A valiant man raising his children alone. A man who would stand up for her at the committee meeting but step aside in order not to jeopardize her job. A man she wanted to admire her, to love her; a man she didn’t want to disappoint. She sought to bring him pleasure in return for the richness he’d brought to her life.
For this might well be their last time together.
When he entered her, Ginger had to fight back tears. She didn’t want to lose him. She didn’t want this to be the end. Her pleasure came more from the way he touched her heart than the way he touched her body. Although he did that, superbly, building sensation, backing off, building again. The climb and climax overpowered her and she flew to pieces, held safely, holding him tightly as he followed.
Afterward, they lay together, both struggling for breath. Her head lay on the pillow near his as she curled into his side. She wouldn’t ruin the moment with talk, not even of something so dear to her heart and so vital that he know about her.
It was too soon to bring up forever and family. They’d had sex twice but zero dates. She smiled wryly in the darkness. Neither had said the magic words; she wasn’t sure happily ever after existed. She’d married with that ideal in her head, and look where that had gotten her.
“What are you thinking about?” he murmured.
What would he do if she said, My ex? She chuckled to herself. “Nothing. Everything. After sex like that, I can’t gather my wits to focus on any one thing.”
He hugged her closer. “Good answer.”
Better than the truth, anyway.
GINGER EVADED SCOTT’S phone calls the next week as January turned into February. What could she say? I can’t be with you because being a mother is more important than a relationship with you? No. I can’t be with you because your daughters will never accept me as their stepmother? No. I can’t be with you because I don’t want to face rejection when you find out about my infertility? No.
But as she feared would happen when she continued to let his calls go to voice mail, Scott showed up in her doorway. Instead of her classroom, however, he came to her house. His smile weakened her resolve.
“Are you going to let me in?”
She’d have to get it over with sooner or later. She owed him an explanation. Maybe he’d be eager to adopt and build a family with her. Stepping back, she opened the door wider. “Did you see your shadow? Are we having six more weeks of winter?”
“I’m not a groundhog, honey, despite the day. I might be likened to a terrier, though, since I’m tenacious when I go after something. Or, as it turns out, that also describes a Newfie.”
She smiled as he put his navy peacoat on a chair. A black cable-knit sweater stretched over his shoulders, topping an orange button-down shirt. The tigerlike colors matched his demeanor as he stalked her across the living room.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Yes.” She retreated to the couch, not surprised when he sat beside her. The armchair would have been a wiser choice.
“I thought you’d deny it.” His hand rested on her arm. “What’s going on, Ginger? Did I do or say something wrong?”
She shook her head.
Scott grimaced. “Please don’t say ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’”
“It sounds lame, I know. I’m sorry.”
The hand on her arm tightened, gripping as though reluctant to let her go but not hurting her. It was reflex. “What is it?”
“Why don’t you ever talk about your wife?”
He drew back. “What?”
Ginger swallowed and forced herself to keep speaking. “Is it too painful?”
“Definitely.”
Her stomach felt leaden. “Because you still love her.”
“No. Well, yes. But not the way you mean. Sweet hell.” His hand fisted on his leg. “She’s the mother of my daughters. I married her. She was my life.”
“I’m sorry.”
He stood and paced away. “What do you want me to say? That I never loved her? That I don’t miss her?”
The pain in his eyes as he turned back to her broke her heart.
“Of course not. I wouldn’t…care for you the way I do if you were that kind of man.” I wouldn’t be in danger of falling in love with you. I wouldn’t be halfway there.
“So you’re fine with me still getting over my wife? Because I can’t give you a timeline. It’ll take as long as it takes.”
How to tell him about her infertility? “I can’t live up to her. I’m not perfect.”
“Honey.” Scott slid back onto the cushion next to hers. He put his hands on her shoulders, turned her to him. “You have nothing to worry about. Sam was far from perfect.”
“I get it, no one is perfect. I just meant…I’m flawed.”
His hand cupped her cheek. “What’s really going on here?”
“Can you tell me something about her?” Coward. Dodging the subject wouldn’t get her any answers.
Scott pulled back, slumping against the couch. “What do you want to know?”
Although his guard came up, he didn’t refuse outright. She took that as a good sign.
“I can’t live up to this image I have. According to Shelby, your wife was as magical as Houdini, cooked like Paula Deen and decorated like Martha Stewart.”
Scott grinned.
“Oh, and she danced like a fairy princess.”
“Look, Shelby’s going to idealize her mother.”
“I know. Scott, I know. I took enough psych courses and I’ve dealt with enough kids at school to understand this on an intellectual level.” She couldn’t meet his eyes as she bared her soul. “It’s hard to be the person who comes after.”
“Oh, honey.” His fingers tipped her chin, bringing her gaze back to his. “You don’t have to worry about that. What I felt and, yeah, still feel for Sam is only one part of me. It’s my past, and, sure, I’ll carry it around forever. But I’d like to think I get to have a future, too.”
His lips met hers. “Do I only get one chance at happiness?”
“No. That wouldn’t be fair.”
He sat back again, giving her space, but also studying her. “But?”
How to start? I can’t give you children was a little too bald, considering they hadn’t discussed the future. His “wanting a chance at happiness” fell a little too short of the kind of declaration she needed if she was going to be brave enough to tell him about her barrenness. If they didn’t have a future, it wouldn’t matter. If they did, she could chance telling him then. Chance him walking away like Kyle had.
But letting him care for her, possibly, hopefully, fall in love with her and then telling him didn’t seem fair, either. Not telling him protected only her.
Why wasn’t there a book on this? The Right Time to Tell Your Lover Some Hard Truths. Or maybe When to Tell, What to Tell, What to Keep Secret.
“Ginger? Talk to me, sweetheart.”
She inhaled a deep breath. “I can’t be second-best.”
Damn. Only part of the truth came out.
“What makes you think you’re second-best? You’re not. I’m sorry if I’ve done anything—”
“No, you haven’t. It isn’t you.”
He smirked. “It’s you?”
Ginger rolled her eyes. “Sorry, but yeah. I can’t get past the fact you’ve been married, that your girls love their mother, and I’ll be a substitute if we get serious.”
“Whoa.”
“I know, I’m rushing things, worrying about stuff that hasn’t happened yet, that may not.”
He placed his fingers on her lips. Then his mo
uth covered hers. When he drew away, he only retreated far enough to meet her eyes. “What makes you think we’re not already getting serious?”
Her heart tripped.
“What do you think the other night at my house was all about? And at the Christmas party?”
“Christmas was—” She shrugged. “Loneliness. Christmas spirit. I don’t know.”
“No, you obviously don’t. I’m not in the habit of one-night stands.”
Stung, she retorted, “I’m not, either.” But she had to be honest. “I mean, not anymore.”
His eyes widened. “What’s that mean? No, don’t look away. Stay with me on this.”
She wanted to look away. She wanted to run away. But she met his gaze. If he couldn’t accept this, what was the point of the rest? “After my divorce, I hid out for a while and licked my wounds. Then I thought, to hell with him. I’m single. I’ll go have some fun.”
Scott’s face was blank. “Fun with men?”
She winced, then nodded slowly. “A few.”
“I see.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know I’d meet you. I didn’t know it would matter.” She rose and paced as he had earlier. It helped to remove herself from his scrutiny, to gather her thoughts. To not have to deal with whatever she might read in his eyes. “Why am I apologizing? This happened before I met you.” She pivoted back, near to panic. “Oh, Scott, you have to know that. I haven’t been with anyone else since you. Since Christmas, the night we spent together.”
“Okay.” His eyes searched her face, then the stiffness in his shoulders loosened. “I believe you.”
“Thank you. I don’t want you to think being with you meant nothing. It did. It changed me.”
She eased down beside him again, wary, not of him physically, but of what he might say to hurt her. “I didn’t like sneaking out after we were together. I saw myself—what I’d been doing—differently.”
His lips twitched. “Having sex with me cured you of having sex? I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“It made me want to have sex only with you. You or nobody.”
“That’s all right, then.” His hand cupped her face. “I can’t say I like hearing this, but it’s because you were in pain. I admit it, it bothers me you were with other guys. I’m jealous.”
She frowned in confusion. “But I didn’t know you yet.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Well, we’ve both been married. You loved someone enough to propose. That’s hard for me to deal with.”
“Then let me tell you some things about my life to ease your mind. What do you want to hear?”
That your ex was actually an old crone in disguise, paid a cook and housekeeper then passed their work off as her own, rubbed peanut butter in the fur of fuzzy bunnies, and when you found out, you divorced her. And she couldn’t dance any better than I can.
“Whatever you feel you can share. Maybe something about the girls? Would that be less painful?”
He thought for a moment. “Okay. Sam wasn’t perfect, but it would be hard for outsiders to tell. She cooked, as you know, kept an immaculate house, ran our lives with efficient clockwork.”
Ginger grimaced. “And this makes me feel better how?”
“It may not make you feel better,” he warned. “You’re the one who wanted to know about Sam.”
She nodded. Knowing he’d been devoted to his wife, that he was the kind of man who could be, added to the reasons she was falling for him. It mattered that he had loved deeply, but it also hurt. The one who comes after. If only she believed he would love her with the same passion.
“You’ve probably noticed our names all start with the same letter. That’s luck on my part, that I fit in. But she wanted the girls to have the same initials as hers.”
Creepy maybe but not imperfect. “And?”
“She took the girls to classes, filling their lives with fun activities. She baked their cookies and helped with Shelby’s homework and made costumes and volunteered at Shelby’s school.”
Kill me now. “She sounds perfect.”
Ginger hated that she came off sounding petulant. But jeez, the guy seriously needed to work on what constituted perfection. Everything he’d mentioned reinforced her impression of his wife.
“What did that leave me?” he asked.
“I don’t understand.”
“I was like a guest, Ginger. I went to work to bring home a paycheck. The girls were almost in bed by the time I finished dinner.” He blew out a breath. “Her mama raised her not to let the young’uns bother the menfolk.”
The humor his comment might have produced evaporated as she realized what he was saying.
“She fed them before I got home. They had baths and were in pajamas by six o’clock every night. I barely saw them on weekends, she had them so busy in tumbling and dancing and soccer classes.” He exhaled. “Don’t get me wrong. I loved them, all three of them, and we were a happy family, I guess. But she was unintentionally pushing me out of their lives.”
Ginger digested this. Had the women’s liberation movement never made it to Samantha’s mother’s door? Not all Southern women could be so backward in their thinking. “Wow.”
“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. So when I say she wasn’t perfect, I mean it. It sounds harsh, to speak of her this way. It’s not fair, when she’s not here to defend herself.”
His tormented gaze met hers. “She was nice. She was great, in so many ways. But if you’re thinking you have to live up to Sam, don’t. Believe me when I say I don’t want a marriage like that again.”
“Is that why you divorced her?”
His mouth dropped open.
“Oh, my God.” She clamped a hand over her mouth—too late. “I can’t believe I asked that. I’m sorry. That was so rude. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Stop.” Scott’s hands gripped hers. “Just stop.”
She shook her head, appalled.
“Ginger,” he said, his voice soft. “I’m not divorced. My wife is dead.”
Chapter Nine
Ginger’s stomach dropped. Thankfully she sat on her couch, otherwise her legs might have given out. His wife was dead? “Oh, Scott. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
The information changed everything she knew about him and the girls. No other woman lurked in the shadows, pulling at him. Except in his memories. In his heart.
As for the girls, they couldn’t run to their mother, couldn’t be taken away to Atlanta or even visit their mom. They depended on their dad for total emotional support.
“I thought it would say somewhere in Shelby’s school file that her mom died.”
“It just says you’re her sole guardian.” She laid a tentative hand on his arm. He’d be thinking of his wife now, the woman he loved, the woman he’d still be with if he had the choice. “There are probably notes about your wife’s passing in her file, but I didn’t read them. I didn’t want to invade her privacy or yours unless I had cause. Because of us, our relationship. I’m sorry.”
Her mind swirled with possibilities. Car accident? Cancer? Home invasion? She didn’t know anything about his life in the South. Heck, she knew little enough about his life in Howard. Since he’d introduced the subject, he’d given her permission to ask. At least, she hoped he viewed it that way. “What happened? Can you talk about it? I don’t want to intrude.”
“My wife had ovarian cancer. It had spread to other organs by the time we became aware of it.”
Ginger covered her mouth to trap a cry of pain. How well she knew the anger and agony a woman experienced when her body betrayed her.
“We weren’t thinking of having more kids, so her cycle being wonky didn’t concern her. By the time she made time to go to the doctor after two missed appointments, it had progressed so rapidly there was little hope.”
His glower spoke of his self-blame. Ginger could almost read the thoughts in his head: What if he’d pushed harder? What if he’d gone to a doctor appointment with
her for support? What if he’d noticed some sign her “wonky cycle” had serious causes?
Nor had Ginger missed the sentiment about not having more kids. Did he mean at that time or ever? Did he blame himself for that? The idea being if Sam was planning to get pregnant, she’d have gone to the doctor. It wasn’t as if his wife’s reproductive ability or choice not to have children at that time meant she could ignore her general health. He should know that.
“When we found out, Samantha decided against chemo. She didn’t want surgery or any drugs to make her sicker and weaker.” His jaw flexed. “She didn’t fight it at all.”
“Was it that hopeless?”
He grimaced. “Pretty much.”
He didn’t like admitting it—it was written all over his face. His tense shoulders and tight mouth conveyed his resentment. And pain. And myriad other struggles and emotions she could only imagine.
“The drugs would have bought her time.” His pent-up anguish heated to anger. “Time with Shelby and Serena. Time to say goodbye.”
Time to be with you. The unspoken thought broke her heart. Choosing to bypass treatments and medications had cost her family, had robbed them all of time to adjust.
But Ginger empathized with Samantha, too. Quality of life meant a great deal. Not having her daughters watch her suffer would have been important. Not having her husband suffer through every hope, every setback, every treatment would have been important. Not losing her identity as the medical community turned her into “a patient” would have been important.
Ginger wanted to help Scott work through his grief and come out whole. Or at least less raggedly scarred. He’d invited her into his life only so far and their relationship was so new. What could she say, what did she have the right to say, that would help him?
She put herself in Samantha’s shoes. What would more time have meant for her other than the suffering? Being with the girls—there were two sides to it. Scott only mentioned the side he saw, colored by loss.