by Shari Copell
He’s as big a scar on your soul as he is on mine, isn’t he, my love? Chelsea reached up and ran her fingers through Tage’s soft blond hair. “I don’t know why we always do this. I don’t want her to get pregnant either. I’ll mention it to her at breakfast tomorrow.”
Tage leaned forward and pressed her into the bed. “I love you, Chelsea. And right now I want to explore every square inch of your body with my tongue.”
She chuckled as his lips brushed over her throat. “How can I say no when you put it like that, big guy?”
Tage was awake long after Chelsea’s breathing slowed and evened out. She curled up away from him, her dark silken hair spilling over the white pillow. He thought about reaching out and touching it, letting it sift through his fingers, but he didn’t want to wake her.
God, I love this woman. It nearly brought tears to his eyes. He hated that she thought of herself as a “soiled dove.” It wasn’t the first time she’d said as much.
It wasn’t how he felt about her at all. He’d simply gotten Nicks as a bonus along with the woman he adored. That she was another man’s child meant nothing to him. He loved Nicks as much as he loved the other four kids. In truth, maybe a little more.
He’d learned how to be a father by practicing on the poor thing. Nicks truly could say, I taught him everything he knows. Somehow, she’d managed to survive him. Resilient and headstrong, she might’ve been his. She certainly had his temperament.
She’d been a pretty thing, looking like her mother for the first couple of years. It was only when Nicks hit twelve years of age that he noticed Asher Pratt’s eyes staring out at him from her face. It gave him the willies sometimes.
Tage knew the resemblance between the girl and her biological father was striking. And every single time he wondered about his wife’s thoughts on that resemblance, his male ego kicked into overdrive and threatened to drive him nuts.
Was Asher a good lover, a better lover? Had Chelsea loved him more? If Asher would’ve lived, would she have gone back to him?
He sighed and felt his stomach tighten. There was no point in thinking like that. Chelsea never made him feel as though he were second best to Asher. Not once in the nineteen years they’d been married. Still, those questions haunted him. What did Chelsea see and think when she looked at Nicks?
He was unsettled tonight, disturbed, as though an unseen enemy lurked in the shadows. Maybe it was that thing with Nicks’s principal, Marius. He’d gotten a weird vibe when they’d told him about the situation. Well, he’d take care of that piss ant.
He wanted to protect them all from dickheads like Marius. It was what a man did for his family. Rolling onto his side, he wrapped an arm around Chelsea’s waist and pulled her into the hollow of his pelvis. She whimpered, entwined her arm with his, and snuggled back against him.
He inhaled the scent of her hair, buried his nose in it. He loved them all so much. He just never seemed to have the right words to tell them so.
CHAPTER TEN
“Morning, Mom. Morning, monsters.” Nicks winked at T.J. and took a seat at the breakfast table beside him. All of her siblings mumbled a greeting.
“Hey, Nicks. Guess what?” T.J. blurted. “Nathan Smith peed his pants in school yesterday. He was standing in the lunch line and just let go. There was a yellow puddle all over his shoes and around his feet. It was gross.”
Lindsay rolled her eyes. “We didn’t need to know that at the breakfast table.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” T.J. snarled. “Nicks thinks those kinds of things are funny.”
The look her mother gave her from the stove was a warning to tread lightly. Better things are expected of you.
“No, I don’t think those kinds of things are funny, T.J. You make me laugh with your stories, but this one makes me sad.” Nicks took several pieces of buttered toast from the plate in the center of the table. “Poor Nathan will get picked on now. You won’t tease him, will you?”
T.J. turned and gave her a look that asked, Who are you and what have you done with my sister? A thoughtful expression came over his face. “No. I like Nathan. It was an accident.”
Nicks leaned over and kissed him on the temple. “You’re awesome, dude.” She smiled at the sigh of relief from her mother.
Chelsea turned from the stove. “Finish up, you four. Daddy is taking you to school today.”
There was a flurry of groans as her siblings got up from the table and headed for the stairs.
“Daddy going in late?” Nicks asked.
“He’s seeing the lawyer about restraining orders for Mr. Marius this afternoon. Do you want a Belgian waffle or scrambled eggs?”
Nicks’s stomach went blech at the mention of Marius. A pile of eggs was out of the question this morning. “Waffle. I hope to God this doesn’t make things worse for me at school. I’ll be joining you in your daily nervous breakdowns if it does.”
“No way. Nervous breakdowns are best accomplished alone.” A moment later, Chelsea put a plate bearing a thick brown waffle on the table. Her mother took a seat across from her, a green mug of tea cradled between her hands.
“I hate to hit you with this first thing in the morning, but your father was disturbed that you were alone in your room behind closed doors with Stone last night. You know how he is.”
Nicks nodded as she cut into the waffle with a fork. “I know. I thought of that when we were up there. I’d be shocked if he wasn’t disturbed. Stone was excited to play my guitars. We were just trying to cut down on the noise.”
“I managed to talk him off the ledge, but if the two of you go up there again, please leave the door open. I know you were just talking guitars.”
The memory of the orgasm she’d had on the floor of her bedroom crashed through her thoughts like a tsunami. Talking guitars, my ass. The man damn near launched me into orbit.
Unfortunately, her mother heard her small gasp. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just hoping I know the material for the English quiz today.”
Talking about guitars reminded her of Stone’s questions. “Hey, by the way, Stone found something engraved on the white Les Paul last night, on the jack plate at the bottom edge of the guitar.” She cut another slice of waffle and held it poised in front of her mouth. “They were really small. I’d never noticed them before because I don’t play it very often, but he wanted me to ask—”
“What were they?” There was an urgent tone to her mother’s voice.
“Initials. AP, I think he said. Stone wondered who owned those guitars before they were mine. They were left to me in some guy’s will, right? I didn’t know his name, and I promised I’d ask. So who was he?”
With a strangled cry, her mother pushed to her feet and practically sprinted to the sink. Nicks watched her as she slumped forward, each exhale sounding like the wind when it hit the shutters on the outside of her bedroom.
“You do know the guy’s name, right? Daddy was the executor of his will, wasn’t he?”
This seemed to push Chelsea right over the edge for some reason. Nicks was truly alarmed when her mother fumbled the ceramic mug she’d been holding into the sink, even more so when it broke. The white handle flew out of the stainless steel basin like a homerun baseball and landed right in the middle of the kitchen island.
“Mom? Did I say something to upset you?”
Chelsea had her fist pressed against her mouth and still couldn’t stop the sobs that erupted around her fingers.
“What the hell is going on down here?” Tage appeared in the doorway, buttoning up a dress shirt as he glanced between them. “What has your mother so upset?”
“I asked her who owned my guitars before I did. I just wondered. I know you were the executor...”
Tage’s face went red with the speed and ferocity of a forest fire. “That’s none of your business, young lady.”
Wide-eyed with confusion, Nicks opened and closed her mouth. She couldn’t imagine why such a simple question was so upsetting. “I�
�m sorry. I didn’t mean anything...”
“Drop it.” Tage glared at her. “Not one more word.”
“O... Okay.”
“Are you done eating? If so, finish getting ready for school.” With one last glance at his wife, Tage turned and stalked from the kitchen.
Nicks stared at the soggy, half-eaten waffle on her plate. She wasn’t hungry anymore. What the hell had happened here?
She stood, uncertain of her next move. “I’m sorry, Mom. I love you.”
Her mother didn’t even acknowledge that she’d spoken.
As soon as Nicks left to go upstairs, Chelsea made a beeline for the powder room off the kitchen. She locked the door and sank to her knees in front of the toilet.
This is it. She’s going to start asking questions. She’s going to find out we’ve been lying to her. She’s going to hate us forever.
Footsteps sounded through the kitchen and out the door into the garage. Nicks was leaving for school. She wished to God she’d been able to hold it together in front of the girl. Her behavior was sure to raise red flags. It was the last thing she wanted to do. Nicks could be relentlessly nosy if she thought something was forbidden. This would only heighten her curiosity.
Chelsea remembered the time T.J. came home from kindergarten and asked her what a blow job was. She’d nearly passed out from shock, but had fended him off by telling him the explanation involved big words and they’d discuss it when he was older. Had raising five children taught her nothing? The best reaction to questions like that from this tribe was no reaction at all.
Shit!
A soft rap on the door made her jump. “Who is it?”
“Tage John Sorenson, Senior.”
Chelsea reached up to unlock the door. He stepped in and peered down at her as he straightened his tie. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“Ash...he...evidently had his initials engraved on the jack plate of the white Les Paul. The place where they plug in the patch cord. I’ve never really looked at the guitars before. I guess Stone saw it and asked about it. He wondered who had owned them before.” She blew out a breath. “It was the last thing I expected her to ask this morning. It’s not her fault I didn’t handle it very well.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing. Thank goodness you came into the kitchen, and I didn’t have to answer. You shouldn’t have been so short with her, Tage. I didn’t see her face, but she sounded confused and hurt. It breaks my heart that she thinks we’re mad at her.”
Tage sighed and knelt down beside her. “I’ll apologize to her tonight then. I didn’t mean to snap. I just saw you were upset.”
Chelsea buried her face in the crook of her elbow. “It’s all going to unravel now. We should’ve told her he was her father. She’s going to find out, and she’s going to hate us for keeping it from her. She deserved to know. We didn’t have the right to withhold that information.”
“Chelsea...”
Something snapped inside her. “If you tell me not to worry about it, I’m going to smack you. Do you think Nicks can’t see she’s different from her brothers and sisters? She’s honey and tea and shadows, and they all look like little blue-eyed white rabbits! I see Marybeth staring at her sometimes, and I know she knows! Marybeth knew Asher. Marybeth, Willow...they know Nicks is his!” Chelsea struggled to keep her voice down. “We are the worst kind of liars. How can we expect the truth from our children when we’ve been living the biggest lie of all?”
Tage leaned in close to her and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “Listen to me. She isn’t...”
“Is Mom sick?” she heard Aimee ask from the doorway. Both she and Tage gasped. Four blond children stared in at them with wide eyes.
“Mom ate a bad....waffle. That’s all. She’s going to be fine,” Tage explained.
“Mom didn’t have any waffles. She had toast,” said Reese.
“That’s how bad they were. She got sick just making them. Go get in the truck. I’ll be right out,” Tage said.
“You said she ate one and got sick. She didn’t eat one,” argued Lindsay.
“I had a waffle,” T.J. said. “I’m feeling sick too. Can I stay home from school?”
“Go get in the truck,” Tage repeated. “Now.”
Mumbling, the four of them filed out the door into the garage. Tage turned his attention back to Chelsea.
“I was about to say there is no real harm if she knows his name. All she needs to know is that he was a friend of ours who died young, and I acted as executor of his will. She’d never guess in a million years her biological father left those guitars to her. Only the three of us knew the truth for sure, and Asher isn’t talking.”
“She looks exactly like him!”
“So what? You don’t have any pictures of him lying around the house for Nicks to find, do you?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Marybeth and Willow...”
“... may have suspicions but not one shred of proof. It’s been nearly nineteen years, Chels. If they haven’t mentioned it yet, the chances are good they won’t.” He stroked her hair lightly in that reassuring way she’d come to love. “I know them both—they’re classy women. Neither one of them would be tactless enough to come right out and ask you.”
She inhaled. “I over-reacted, didn’t I?”
“I think you’re just one giant nerve where Nicks is concerned. She does look different from the other four, but your hair is nearly the same color as hers. It’s not that big of a stretch.”
“It’s her eyes and the shape of her face...”
“I know that and you know that. And Marybeth and Willow may have their suspicions, but that’s all they have. If we could just stop calling attention to it, things would be fine.”
Chelsea stared into his eyes and wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t shake the feeling the whole family was speeding toward a brick wall with no way to slow down or stop. There was no point in arguing with him though. He had himself convinced. Or fooled. At this point, she wanted to be alone so she could have that coveted nervous breakdown with tea and rum at the kitchen island.
“I can’t leave knowing you’re upset. Are you going to be okay?” Tage brushed the hair away from her face.
“Yeah. You’re right. I didn’t expect to have a conversation like that this morning. I’ll think of something to tell her when she comes home. I hope I didn’t cause more questions with my reaction.”
“That’s my girl.” He helped her to her feet and kissed her. “I love you. I’ll see you later.”
The morning had been a major suckfest, but the afternoon sped by fairly fast. The drive to school had been the worst part of the day so far. Nicks had alternated between angry tears and wounded bewilderment in the fifteen minutes it took to get there.
Her mother got angry occasionally, but it was unusual for her father to bite her head off like that. She’d shut her iPod off halfway to school to mull it over in silence. By the time she got to the parking lot, she had a handle on some perspective.
She wouldn’t make the mistake of asking her parents for information about the guitars again. There was something going on there, at least on her mother’s part. Why the hell had such a harmless question caused such an intense reaction? Though Nicks had never been terribly curious about the origin of the guitars, she was now beginning to wonder. Was there a story there?
And she had Stone Jensen as an ally. He’d surely help her if she wanted to know more.
Though her father had told her no more detentions, she was going to the library as soon as the bell rang. Today was Stone’s day to work with the autistic kids. She couldn’t wait to tell him what had happened that morning.
The library had gone partially lights-out by the time Nicks got to the school basement. The door was unlocked though; she cautiously opened and entered.
&n
bsp; “Willow? Are you here?” She peered down the first row of bookshelves and saw nothing. The only thing she could hear was the sound of the few fluorescent lights that were on buzzing overhead. Feeling a little creeped out, she spun and headed for the door.
She exhaled sharply when Willow stepped from behind the first row of shelves, her arms loaded with books. “Nicks. I didn’t expect to see you tonight. Didn’t your father say you weren’t to serve anymore detentions until he got things straightened out with Marius?”
“He did, but I miss helping you. I was also hoping Stone would show up here tonight.”
Stone appeared in the doorway, guitar in hand, just as she finished her sentence. “At your service, beautiful.”
Her heart soared. The sight of him standing larger-than-life in the doorway fixed everything that had gone wrong that day. Yes, she was looking forward to seeing him, thought of him constantly when they weren’t together. It was a whispered shift of attitude on her part, so subtle she wasn’t even sure when it had happened.
She gripped him by the upper arm. “I couldn’t wait to see you. I have so much to tell you.”
“As much as I appreciate you guys helping me down here, I don’t want your father to be pissed at me. He said no more detentions and that was as much an order for me as it was for you. Maybe you should head to McDonald’s to talk?” Willow suggested.
“There are so many carts of books here though. Are you sure?” Nicks turned to the librarian.
“I’ll manage. Get out of here, you two. Go eat a chicken wrap for me.”
Nicks brushed a kiss across Willow’s cheek. “Thank you. I love you, Willow.”
“Love you too, you little shit.”
Fifteen minutes later, Stone and Nicks were sitting across from each other in a booth at the local McDonald’s.
“It all went down kind of weird this morning,” she said as she unwrapped her cheeseburger. “When I asked the name of the guy who owned the guitars before me, all hell broke loose.”