When she’d clarified Isaac wasn’t leaving until after dinner, he’d forced himself to cool his jets, going over to his sister’s for some quick Stan the Man time to keep himself preoccupied.
As he got out of the car, he started to reach back for his overnight bag when he heard the garage door go up. He glanced up and saw Isaac watching him.
“Hey, Coach,” the teen said warily.
“Isaac, hey.” Clay closed the car door—bag still out of sight—and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Heading to your dad’s soon?”
“Right now, actually.” He looked at Clay’s car. “You come over for something?”
“Oh, right, yeah.” Shit, shit, shit. What would Kristen want him to say?
“Coach Clay came over so I could discuss how travel and mileage reimbursement works for baseball. Plus we’re having cocktails because I’m kid-free this weekend.” Kristen walked up behind Isaac and gave him a playful shove on the shoulders. “Which would have happened already if you hadn’t misplaced that shirt in the abyss you call a room.”
“Mom,” Isaac groaned, and Clay had to roll his lips in to fight the smile. Such a typical teenage sound, the way he’d elongated the single syllable word into at least three or four syllables. “I’m going, I’m going. See ya, Coach.”
Clay nodded and gave him a short wave.
“Drive save, don’t you dare text anyone until you’re at your father’s, and call me when you get there.” Kristen watched as Isaac got in the car that looked about five or so years old and backed out of the garage. She waved, and Isaac waved back before taking off down the road.
“Sorry,” she said after a moment of silence, her eyes still trained down the road where Isaac’s car had already disappeared around the curve. “I texted you he was late taking off but you didn’t reply, so I figured you were already on your way over.”
“Is that going to be a problem?”
She blinked, then looked at him. “Problem?”
“That he saw me showing up.”
“Oh, no.” Kristen shrugged. “Isaac…he’s seventeen. I’ve never lied to him about who I was dating before, but I’ve never flaunted it either. I never introduced him to anyone unless I was serious about them, which meant, well, he’s never met anyone. Whoops, one.” She corrected herself with a chuckle and a shake of her head. “He met one man once, when we ran into him at the movies. But it was pretty painless. Isaac knows I date, or that I would if I had time. He doesn’t think I’m a nun. But I’ve also never had this type of…relationship.”
She said it as she placed a hand flat on the hood of his car, leaning in toward him.
“And what kind of relationship is that?” Clay asked.
“The kind that isn’t leading anywhere but to the bedroom.”
Clay leaned back a little at that, fighting to not let the hurt show on his face. Yes, they’d agreed it was about the sex, but they still enjoyed each other outside the bedroom. It felt cheap to phrase it in that way. He unlocked his car again to reach in and get his overnight bag.
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t right.”
He looked up and saw Kristen watching him carefully, with remorse. “I’m sorry, Clay. I care about you. More than is probably appropriate given the situation.”
“How about we ignore that?” he suggested, relocking the car and hooking his arm in hers to lead her to the garage. “We ignore what we think is appropriate or not for the situation and we just roll with the whole thing? Maybe at the end of this, someone’s going to start seeing the possibilities differently?”
Kristen sighed as she slapped a hand over the garage door opener on the wall. The wheels began to grind behind them, shutting them in darkness.
“It won’t be me,” she warned him, then opened the door to the house.
“I figured as much,” Clay murmured as he followed her in.
Later that night, Clay stretched out in Kristen’s queen-sized bed, arms underneath his head, surveying the room. For a woman who had lived alone for as long as she had, he’d expected the room to carry a distinctly feminine feel, heavy with lace and pale colors. Nothing girlish, like unicorns and kitten posters. She was too mature for that. But decidedly uncomfortable for a male presence. Delicate, like he could break something at any moment.
Instead, it was a pretty neutral room, with gray being the main color, accented with navy. Furniture in sturdy wood that didn’t threaten to crumble under his weight. The main décor theme seemed to be memories, as her walls and the dressers were full of framed photographs of Isaac in various stages of life. A clay handprint hung in one corner. Another had a photo her son had obviously painted in his under-ten days.
Kristen came out of the bathroom, rubbing her hands together. She’d covered up with a slinky nightgown, but her hair was still a bit wild from the tumble they’d had. She was a goddess.
“How long have you lived in this house?”
She hummed in thought as she slid back under the covers. He smelled peaches and assumed she’d put on lotion in the bathroom before coming back out. “About eight years, I think. Why?”
“You’re just very comfortable in here. I haven’t been anywhere long enough to hang up pictures, other than clip a few photos of my nephew to the fridge.”
“Oh, those were the first things to go up.” She looked around the room, smiling a little, as if warming herself with memories. “They make the place feel more like home, even if you’re still just in the beginning stages of moving in.”
“What’s the story with this one?” Clay pointed toward a large photo of Kristen and Isaac, both soaking wet, with Isaac looking about age five.
Kristen curled up beside him, her head on his chest, and sighed. “That one…that one’s a double-edged sword. That morning, David and I had told Isaac we were separating, getting a divorce. He’s four there. He was so upset—of course he was—but David and I were so naïve in thinking he would get over it faster. Because we weren’t at odds, we weren’t constantly fighting or causing problems. We had what was probably the world’s most calm divorce in the history of divorces. And somehow we’d convinced ourselves that our calm and sensible take on this whole thing would translate to Isaac.”
“But it didn’t,” Clay guessed.
“Of course not. He was four and still thought Spiderman was real and that as long as Mommy and Daddy were around, nothing bad could ever happen. The idea we weren’t together anymore ripped a hole in his tender, fresh view of the world as he knew it.”
“Poor kid.” And poor you. Clay kissed her forehead and smoothed a hand down her arm and back. She talked a good game, about how easy the divorce had been, how harmonious it was…but it was still the end of something important. He had a feeling it wasn’t just Isaac’s view of the world that had been bruised.
“He did the normal kid thing and cried a lot during our talk. Eventually David left for a while. I asked what Isaac wanted to do…I’d have done anything,” she added with a sad laugh. “Anything to take that look off his face. If he’d asked for a pony, I probably would have figured out how to afford one and make a stable fit in our backyard. But he asked to go to the local splash pad.”
“What, he didn’t want a million dollars?”
“Believe me, I’d have robbed a bank to give it to him if he’d asked. But no. So I put him in his Spiderman swim trunks and off we went. And I watched while he halfheartedly walked around, barely noticing the water, the other kids laughing, the fun. It was like his entire world had lost its color.”
Clay scratched lightly at her back.
“And so I set down my bag and just ran in there with him. No swimsuit, no second thoughts. My makeup was ruined, my hair ended up plastered to me, my clothes were hanging off in the most unflattering way…I was horrific to look at. But that spontaneous burst gave him enough lift, I guess. Seeing Mom looking like a mess…that’s something every little boy thrives on a bit.”
“Boys love chaos.”
“That they do. Anothe
r mom caught the photo and it was too beautiful to ignore. So…it was just this perfect moment inside the storm, where you could see that the world wouldn’t be cloudy forever and that the sun…it was coming back.”
“You’re an amazing mom.” He kissed her, gently, because he didn’t want the moment to turn into something more than what it was. A sweet connection of understanding. “You’re an amazing woman.”
Kristen snuggled against him, feeling more contented than she had in… There was no telling the last time she’d felt this right. Not as a mother but as a woman.
“You’ve loved being a mom, haven’t you?”
Clay’s quiet question dragged her out of her momentary pondering. “Hmm…yes, I have. It’s never easy, but it’s a joy.”
In the night, there was nothing but the hum of the air conditioner and the sound of a few bugs outside the window.
“Some people can be fine without it.”
She sat up suddenly, feeling the need to face him for the conversation. “Some people, sure,” she said slowly. “But it’s not an experience I think someone should take—or give up—lightly.”
“All I’m saying is that some people were born to be parents, and maybe some weren’t. And some…they choose a different path along the way.” He smoothed a hand down her hair, smiling up at her. “Come back down here. We’re not done yet.”
Kristen rested her head back on his chest, trying to take stock of his physical signs. But Clay’s breathing was even, and his hand never faltered as it made slow circles over her back. Nothing in him read deception or stress.
He was talking about himself, no doubt about that. Seriously considering giving up the idea of becoming a father for her.
The romantic, idealistic part of her that wanted puppies and rainbows forever nearly swooned at the thought.
But the realistic sector squashed it. That would be a disaster. Terrible. Unfair.
Tempting.
No, not right. Stop that.
As his fingers played gently with her hair, she realized the longer they let things go as they were, the more her idealistic, puppies-and-rainbows side would take over until she was unable to see the way out.
Because she was falling in love with him. And she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself be opened up to that sort of pain. Not if there was a way to stop it.
Chapter 11
Clay studied the homemade breakfast sitting on the counter in front of him and wondered where this sort of luxury had been all his life.
“So you’re telling me your son eats like this all the time for breakfast.”
Kristen laughed as she carried her own plate. “Oh…no. Absolutely not. What you’re looking at there?” She pointed at his plate of scrambled eggs, bacon—the real stuff, no turkey—toasted English muffin and sliced orange, and shook her head. “That is a rare Sunday treat right there. On school days, or if I’ve got to be at work, Isaac knows how to operate a cereal bowl.
The real treat for him had been watching her move around the kitchen. She claimed to not be a decent cook but merely a competent one. Nothing fancy, only essentials, but she could do essentials well. And unlike him, she’d dressed before coming downstairs. He’d simply pulled on the shirt from last night and wore his boxers still. She’d fully dressed, as if she were leaving for errands any second. It was just part of her nature, he understood, to be presentable whenever possible.
And somehow it just tickled him that her house didn’t receive the same treatment. It kept her from being a shade too perfect.
Clay grinned as she sat down beside him, laying her napkin in her lap. Taking the first bite of egg, he sighed in pleasure. “I don’t even get this on Sundays. If I want eggs, I’ve got to make them myself…and I suck at it. I always seem to get shell in there.”
“Wet your fingers first.”
“Huh?” He took a sip of juice, noticing how she’d skipped the bacon and muffin but had added half a grapefruit to her plate.
“If you wet your fingers first, it’s easier to get the bits of shell out of the bowl.” Kristen mimed dipping her thumb and forefinger in a bowl to pinch the imaginary shell out. “Everyone gets shell in there sometimes.”
He couldn’t help himself…he leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. Kristen flushed but didn’t look up as she picked at her grapefruit.
“So what’s on the plan for today?” He demolished the bacon, then went back to the eggs while she picked and chewed and thought.
“Actually…” She sighed, set her spoon down, and angled herself to face him more directly.
Uh oh.
“Yeah?”
“Yesterday was amazing.”
He could hear a but coming from a mile away.
“And we still have all of today, and tonight, before Isaac comes back in the morning.” She was looking somewhere over his shoulder, not at him. “But I’m thinking it might be better to get a head start on, you know, life.”
“Get a head start on life,” he said slowly, the breakfast he’d been thrilled to eat only minutes before settling like a lead paperweight in his stomach. “Kristen, what’s going on?”
“It’s just…fine. Okay.” She scrubbed a hand over her face and made a moaning sound that normally would have been sending signals to his groin but were instead making him nervous. “Fine. You’re right. Adults. We’re adults.”
“I hope so.” He reached for the hand she was about to rub over her face again, holding it firmly in his, letting his thumb drift over the back of the soft skin, hopefully soothing her. “Talk, please.”
“The season is ramping up soon,” she said, and he knew she referred to football preseason training and meetings. Planning for camps and more would soon consume them all. “And it’s Isaac’s last official year at home. It just seems like so much to cram in, that I…”
“Kristen.” When she reluctantly met his gaze, he cupped her face. “What’s going on?”
“I’m afraid you’re going to use me as an excuse,” she whispered. “To not do the thing you said you wanted from the start.”
“Which is?” he asked, though he knew where she was going.
“Kids. Being a dad. It’s important enough to you that you brought it up from the start. I saw your eyes, the look in them when you pictured a future with children. I’d be a bitch to deliberately take that away from you.”
“Don’t call yourself that.” His voice was harsher than he intended, but the protective instinct that reared its head when someone—even herself—referred to Kristen as a bitch was intense and unyielding. “That’s not what this is.”
“Isn’t it?” Her voice was sad, regretful, and she slid her hand from his. She stood and took her plate—still mostly full—and scraped it into the trash can. “This isn’t as simple as ‘You want to live on the west side of town, I want to live on the east. We’ll meet somewhere in the middle.’ This is massive. I should know.” Placing her hand over her heart, she looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I look back on the past seventeen years, and I cannot imagine my life without Isaac in it. It hurts—physically hurts—to try to erase him from my mental image of my life and picture not having experienced motherhood. I cannot—no, I won’t—do that to you.”
“Who said you’re doing anything to me?” Anger started to bubble now, along with the faint edges of panic. “I’m not seven. I’m capable of deciding what I do and don’t want in my life. I want you in it.”
“I know you do.” She started toward him, one tear sliding down her cheek, before she stopped just outside of arm’s reach. “I know. I want you in my life too. But I just need things to cool down first. I need to know you’re making the choice with all the parts that make up you. And what we’re doing here…it clouds things.”
“We’re more than sex,” he growled, fists clenching pointlessly by his sides. Had he ever felt so useless? So unable to change the course of something this important?
“Yes, we are. But sex changes things, just enough that we nee
d to be sure. I’m not kicking you out,” she added, stepping to him, wrapping her arms around him. As her cheek pressed to his chest, he felt the knot in his stomach loosen just a bit. He pulled her in even closer and rubbed her back. When she sighed, the knot unraveled entirely.
“So you’re not kicking me out, but we’re not having sex?” he asked.
“Let’s just say, after this weekend, we might pull back a bit. Not forever,” she clarified when he stiffened, muscles tensing for another round. “Enough to satisfy me that you’re making this decision with more than just your, well…” She blushed and looked down, but he chuckled at her meaning anyway. She punched him lightly in the stomach. “Stop.”
“How long are we talking here?”
“I’m not putting a time frame on it. But I don’t know. A few weeks. Work is going to ramp up for us,” she reminded him. “I’ll be traveling with Isaac for baseball on the weekends, going back and forth to training camp, we’d be seeing less of each other anyway. It’s a natural time to try to cool off.”
“Honey, there’s no cooling off for me. You’re inside me. That’s not something I can put on ice.”
Her face relaxed, and she even smiled, her eyes included. “That’s good to hear. I just need you to know though, if you think about it, and you decide being a dad is what you want, I won’t be upset with you. Maybe a little sad but never upset. I could never be upset about that. I know that desire, and it’s too important to hold a grudge over.”
“You’re something else.” He kissed her lightly. “Can we pack this away for the rest of the time we have left this weekend?”
“Sure.” She stepped away to reach for his plate.
“I’ll get it. You cooked,” he reminded her.
“Yes, but you’re going to have to sit and listen to a thirty-minute presentation on travel arrangements for baseball so I didn’t completely lie to Isaac.” She gave him a wink and a grin. “Clearing your plate is the least I can do.”
Changing Her Plans (Santa Fe Bobcats) Page 10