When You Knew (The Cabots Book 3)

by Jamie Beck

  “How like you to ask for miracles.” He squeezed her as he smiled.

  Her entire body responded. “Every time you relax enough to joke, it feels like a home run. Better than that—a grand slam.”

  “Thank you for bringing out a side of me that no one else ever has. I feel free here with you.” His voice fell to something of a whisper.

  “I love that.”

  He brushed a fallen piece of her hair behind her ear. “Me too.”

  Gentry had never said the words “I love you” to anyone outside of her family, and even within that group, she didn’t say them often. As far as she’d been concerned, falling in love ranked up there with swimming in a tank of sharks, and making that exclamation would be like tossing chum in the water. Chances of survival: almost nil. No man had inspired her to take that risk until now, but even so, she’d never say it first.

  She’d heard about “lightning strike” love stories, like with Hunter and Sara. Was this how they’d felt, or were they more certain? She wished someone would invent a love meter, like a mood ring that turned a certain color when two people felt the same way about each other. A clear sign that it wasn’t one-sided, or wouldn’t fall apart.

  Gentry believed herself to be in love. Worse, she wanted to shout it loud and clear because she sensed he needed to hear it almost as much as she wanted to say it. But for all of her bold moves in the past, she didn’t dare utter those three words now, because if he didn’t say them back, she’d be crushed.

  The piercing sound of her son’s rousing cry emanated from the baby monitor in the living room.

  “I’ll go,” Ian said, easing out of bed. “You relax.”

  “Thanks.” Gentry rested her head on her fist and watched his gloriously nude body in motion. Long-limbed perfection.

  “You’re welcome.” He pulled his boxers on and left her alone. “Be back in a few.”

  She rolled onto her stomach and stretched her limbs across the mattress, inhaling the scent of the pillow where Ian’s head had lain. She decided then not to wash his sheets after he left. That way, when she missed him, she could come up here, lie on the bed, and remember.

  Looking again at the stars, she knew that her wish would be the same every night. Keep Ian safe, and bring him home to me.

  When Ian lifted Colt out of the bassinet, Colt gripped his finger and bounced his head off Ian’s shoulder. The baby’s face pinched as he whimpered. “You’re too big for this little cradle, buddy.” He grabbed Quackers and tucked it under his arm like Colby said Gentry used to do. “Let’s get you something to fill your tummy.”

  Ian padded along the hallway to the kitchen and managed to use his teeth and one hand to fill a bottle and slide it into the warmer while keeping Colt safely nestled against his chest. While they waited for the formula to heat, Ian caught himself stroking Colt’s hair.

  He loved this child, who now trusted him completely. Who recognized him and his voice. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Smith had been smitten. Nor should he resent the man for being protective of his son, or wanting a shot at Gentry. But resent him he did.

  “If you really care about her happiness, you won’t ask her to wait around . . .” Shaking off the memory of Smith’s interrogation, Ian removed the bottle from the warmer and fed Colt while strolling through the living room.

  That first day, when Ian had arrived with his duffel and ass-backward assumptions about Gentry and her family, he couldn’t have predicted how quickly and completely his life would change. Incredibly, this palace felt like home.

  Everything about it had Gentry’s eclectic stamp on it, from the elegant sleekness to the quirky artwork—like that abstract bronze flutist—to the feminine floral throw pillows in the otherwise starkly modern space.

  Original, like the woman herself. He smiled at Colt, thinking him lucky to have a mom like that. Ian wondered what life might have been like with a bit of a rebel influence guiding his outlook and choices. Who might he be now if he hadn’t been brought up the Crawford way?

  Colt’s saucer-wide eyes stared up at Ian even as he sucked at the bottle’s nipple with all his might.

  It seemed as if the kid had grown six inches in mere weeks. In a few months Colt would be crawling, maybe even pulling himself up onto two feet. “Who will you become, little man? Will you take after your Uncle Hunter and become a businessman? Will you have more of a free spirit, like your mom? Will you be a charmer, like your dad? Will you remember me?” As soon as he voiced those words, he stopped himself. Or, more honestly, the rest of his questions lodged in his throat and made it impossible for him to speak.

  It hurt to think—to know—that the likelihood of being in the picture a year or two from now was slim. Not because he wouldn’t want to be, but because he’d been around enough to know that wishing for something wasn’t enough.

  Choices mattered. Commitments counted. And now, Ian was confronted with a bunch of important choices, some of which seemed decidedly against him, and some of which would define his character.

  Before he’d met Gentry, he’d made a promise to Archer and to his dad’s memory. What kind of man would he be if he walked away after others had committed time and money to their venture? After he’d pitched Marcus Fairfax and gotten that man’s son involved?

  He’d already failed to live up to the commitment he’d made to Farrah. Did he want his legacy to become a string of broken promises? His heart might yearn to stay here, but he’d never made any promise to Gentry. If he failed to finish what he’d started in Haiti, he’d lose his self-respect.

  Colt finished the bottle in record time, so Ian burped him and changed his diaper before bringing him upstairs to sleep in his crib for the first time. He laid him on the larger mattress surrounded by padded railings, then tucked Quackers in the corner below Colt’s feet.

  Ian accidentally bumped the plush mobile overhead, which caused Colt to pump his tiny arms and legs.

  Ian wound the mobile, which then rotated while playing the lullaby song. He stared at Colt, who deserved more than the threadbare mascot of love Gentry had clung to as a child. He’d need focused love and attention to thrive. He’d need a reliable, familiar, steady support system.

  What Colt didn’t need was a man who’d be even less present than Ian’s own father had been. Who’d miss out on more of his young life than he’d ever see. Who’d leave all the hard work of parenting to Gentry instead of being there with her, regularly sharing the burden and the joy.

  Smith had been right. Ian shouldn’t stand in the way of a relationship that Gentry might have with any man who could give her the kind of family life she deserved. The kind he knew, deep down, she and Colt needed. All evening, he’d been thinking about only himself and what he stood to lose . . . not what Gentry might be passing up.

  For all her feigned nonchalance, what Gentry needed most was the security of abiding love. Colt would flourish more if his mother’s needs were met. If Ian loved them both, he needed to be strong enough to step out of the picture and let Smith, or someone else, step in.

  “You look morose. Do you hate Brahms?” Gentry surprised him from behind, then bent over the crib and touched her son, whispering, “He looks so tiny in this crib.”

  “He’s too big for the bassinet now.” Ian’s throat ached. “Time to move him.”

  “I’m not ready.” Gentry laid one hand on Ian’s shoulder, but her gaze remained lovingly on her son.

  “We have to do what’s right when it counts, not when it suits us.”

  “It’s hard to let go. I like having him close.” She smiled at Ian in a way that acknowledged an “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” clarity.

  The pain of his own clarity struck with surprising force. It would be tough to follow his own advice, but he had to if he wanted to be a better man than his father. “Gentry, I’m leaving for Haiti in a few days.”

  Her lips parted slightly. “You have enough money already?”

  “Farrah’s ring will give me enough to ret
urn and get set up. Archer’s been on me about losing momentum with the alliances we’d been building. Fairfax’s son is ready to fly out. It’s time for me to go.”

  “Do you already have your ticket?” Her eyes glistened.

  He shook his head.

  She twisted her arms around her waist like she might feel sick. “What happened in the last ten minutes to make this so urgent?”

  He glanced down at Colt, whose eyelids had begun to droop as he drifted to sleep. Ian had spent his life helping to repair broken families all around the globe. Yet somehow, for a little while, he’d fooled himself into thinking he could stand in the way of one that could become whole. “Let’s go talk in my room.”

  Gentry kissed her finger and pressed it to Colt’s forehead before walking out of the nursery ahead of Ian. She plopped onto the edge of the mattress, arms crossed, expression hot. “What’s going on?”

  “This has nothing to do with my feelings for you.”

  “Oh, brother. That’s a line of bull if I ever heard it, Ian.” Her mouth fell into a grim line, and that chin began its slow, proud rise.

  “It’s not.” He sat beside her. “Not long ago you suggested we were both sort of footnotes in our parents’ lives. I didn’t agree before, but now I see some truth to it.”

  “What’s that got to do with you leaving?”

  “Every day we pretend this can work—that we’re some kind of a family—it only makes it harder to accept the facts.”

  “What facts?”

  He clasped her hand, turning it over in his. “We’ve told some pretty lies to ourselves to justify taking what we wanted. The truth is that I’m not Colt’s dad. Smith is. I’m not going to be in this country, let alone this time zone, for most of the next year or longer. Smith is. I’m not the guy with whom you should be trying to build Colt’s family. Smith is. I can’t ask you to wait for me. It’s not fair to you or your son.”

  “Did I just land on the ‘Go Directly to Jail’ square in Monopoly? How are we right back to where things started before we got together?”

  “We’re not where we started.” He squeezed her hand. “I wish I could go back there and have had enough self-control to avoid getting here, where we both hurt. I did this . . . to you and to myself. If I were the only one who’d have to pay the price down the road for rolling the dice, that might be okay. But I’m not. The last thing I want is to hurt you. But it’s better to hurt a little now, when there’s time for you to start things off with Smith on a strong foot, than for me to hang on and mess things up, and still end up like I did with Farrah.”

  “I’m not Farrah. Why can’t you see that?”

  “I know you’re not Farrah, but she also didn’t have a son.” He looked through the door toward the nursery. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you want an absentee father figure for Colt.”

  Her gaze dropped to her feet for a moment, and so did her tone. “So now I’m supposed to swap you for Smith? It doesn’t work that way, you know.”

  “I know. But with me clearly out of the picture, it’ll smooth the way for a better relationship with Smith. He’s got to be feeling territorial about his son.”

  Gentry’s eyes narrowed. “Did he say something to you?”

  “If I were any kind of man, he shouldn’t have to. And if you’re being completely honest, you’ll admit that you want more than I can offer.”

  At least she didn’t lie. This would be a real goodbye, and that ache settled in his chest like banked embers, turning his lungs to ash.

  He kissed her temple. “The jealous part of me wishes Smith were a bad guy, but he isn’t. It’s wonderful for Colt that his dad is coming into his life, and that Smith’s family will embrace you both. If there’s even a slight chance that you three could be a real family, that’s as good of a reason as any for me to step aside.”

  She yanked her hand free. “I hate that everyone else always thinks they know what’s best for me.”

  “I’m not telling you anything you haven’t basically told me yourself since we first met. This is Colt’s shot at the kind of family neither of us ever had.”

  “We could give him one if you stay here.” She reached for him, but he kept his hands tucked beneath his armpits. “Colt can have two fathers.”

  He shook his head. “You’re putting too much faith in me, Gentry. The other night I was listening to Farrah cry about broken plans and missing me, but the whole time I was thinking of you. What does my moving on so easily say about me?”

  “It says Farrah wasn’t the right woman.”

  “Or maybe the reason I globe-trot is because, like it or not, I’m like my dad, and my life will be a series of ins and outs, here-and-gones. That’s all I know, and I’m not so sure I’d be good at staying put, even if it appeals to me right now.”

  Gentry shot off the mattress. “Fine, then. Sell the ring, buy your ticket, and go save the world.”

  “Gentry—”

  “Don’t! Let me deal with this”—she motioned her hands in circles in front of him—“my way. Sorry if I’m not contained like you. This is how I process. I let it out, and usually not in the healthiest way. So, since you’re here and all at peace, I’m going out for a bit while you watch Colt. Okay?”

  He stared at her, red hair flowing, eyes lit with frustration, body fidgeting and eager to run. “Where will you go?”

  She glared at him, eyes burning bright. “In a couple of days, you won’t know what I’m doing or who I’m doing it with, so get used to it.”

  She stormed out of his room like a charging bull.

  When she left, all the energy and light in the room went with her.

  He made his choice; now he’d need to keep his word.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Conflagration

  According to Merriam-Webster: a large disastrous fire

  According to me: Ian’s decision

  Gentry raced her car along the lakeside road, hugging the centerline throughout the roadway’s twists and turns. She imagined her car looking like a cartoon sketch, with swirls of leaves and smoke funneling in its wake.

  Colby would still be at the restaurant, and Gentry’s mom would be the last person to encourage her to change Ian’s mind, or to offer comfort. Sara might be her best hope—she liked Ian. She’d also understand Gentry’s feelings. After all, Sara had followed her heart from a young age to be with Hunter.

  Gentry practically dive-bombed Hunter’s driveway, only then thinking to call and warn them of her arrival. It was Saturday night. Given Hunter’s and Sara’s tendencies toward tradition and schedules, an unannounced nine thirty drop-in might be quite ill-timed.

  “Sis, what’s up?” Hunter’s voice sounded relaxed, not strained. A relief. Perhaps she’d caught them before they’d disrobed.

  “I’m in your driveway.” She sucked the blood from her torn thumbnail. “Can I come in?”

  “Everything okay?”

  She scowled at the media screen of her dashboard as if he could see her, and snapped, “Would I be here if it were?”

  If she guessed right, he’d probably yanked the phone away from his head and frowned at it. “Come on in.”

  She slung her purse over her shoulder and exited the car. By the time she hit the porch, Hunter had opened the front door.

  “Did something happen with Smith after we left?” He might’ve just tried to hug her, but she was too intent on storming the entry to be sure.

  “No. I need to talk to Sara.” And then, upon seeing his perturbed expression, she added, “And you, too, if you want. Warning—it’s girl stuff. About Ian.”

  “So not Smith?” Hunter crossed his arms, his brows rising above the rims of his glasses.

  In a way, she supposed it was about Smith, too. Gah! She still had to see him tomorrow before he left, too. “Not directly.”

  Hunter slung his arm over her shoulder and began walking her toward the family room. Hunter reserved most of his affection for Sara and Ty, and sometimes Colby. Gentr
y had rarely been on the receiving end of his demonstrative side, although since she’d started working with him, he’d been better.

  Still, his affection was like an ice-cream cone in winter . . . a treat but somehow “off.”

  Sara set aside A Parent’s Guide to Developmental Delays when Gentry entered the room. She tucked her feet under her butt and patted the sofa cushion beside her. “What’s happened?”

  Gentry flopped herself onto the sofa, which triggered memories of the short time she’d lived here during the earliest weeks of her pregnancy. She’d been self-centered then, and as much as she liked to think that she’d matured, right now she had her doubts. She could’ve given Colt all the stability he’d ever need if she’d simply handed him over to Hunter and Sara like she’d promised. Instead, she’d kept him. Now she was still looking to have it all—her son, his father, and her lover. “Ian’s going to Haiti.”

  Sara and Hunter exchanged one of those secret-message looks that long-married couples share. Once they finished their telepathy, Sara turned her gentle blue eyes back on Gentry. She reached across the cushions and touched Gentry’s calf, looking at her the way she’d seen Sara look at Ty when trying to teach him something. “Wasn’t that always his plan?”

  Gentry sat up as if singed and then hugged a throw pillow. “Yes, but . . .”

  “You thought you could change his mind with the right . . . motivation?” Sara ventured, at which point Hunter covered his ears, his face pinched in a way that silently shouted “TMI.”

  He opened his eyes, still shaking his head to clear out the image. “I’ll need some wine.” He scurried to the kitchen to avoid hearing whatever Sara and Gentry might say next.

  “I’m not stupid,” Gentry insisted, despite the fact of her being there with this complaint proving quite the contrary. “I didn’t think I’d keep him from leaving. I just didn’t think it’d be so sudden, or so final.”