The Baby (The Boss #5)

by Abigail Barnette

  “Of course you do, Sophie. I’m sorry, I never meant to imply—”

  “Fuck your ‘sorry’!” I shouted. “You’ve said that so much the word doesn’t even mean anything to me, anymore. I know I’m supposed to forgive everything because you’re sick and you’re grieving. But I’m tired of it!”

  He rose and came toward me, like he would embrace me. “You don’t have to forgive everything. What I did to you… I was sick, but I do have to take responsibility for my actions. I learned that in therapy—”

  I pushed away from him. “I don’t care what you learned from this experience! I don’t give a shit about your personal growth, so don’t even talk to me about it!”

  His brow crumpled in confusion and concern, and I hated him for both. “Sophie, we can talk about this, but you’re having a drop. Let me—”

  “No!” I stomped my bare foot on the marble floor. A shock of pain vibrated up my leg. My body had already endured so much tonight, what were a few more endorphins wrung from my brain? “You want to put this all behind us? Why? Because you’re ready to not feel bad about it, anymore? Because you made the choice to come home to us? No! You don’t get to do that! It’s easy for you to put it behind us because you’re the one who fucking walked away!”

  He didn’t move, frozen by shock, I assumed, at my sudden outburst. I saw Neil now as I rarely saw him, unsure of himself and out of his depth.

  “Why did you want to leave us?” I shouted at him. “Why did you want to leave me?”

  “I didn’t want to leave—”

  “Yes, you did!” My whole body trembled with anger I’d held back. Because I loved him, because I hadn’t wanted to hurt him, I’d stuffed all of it down. Because I’d thought he deserved my forgiveness.

  I jabbed at the air with my finger, when what I really wanted to do was punch him, slap him, hurt him and never stop. “You planned it all! You tried to trick me into believing you were getting better! You had that dinner with us, knowing it was going to be your last. You made love to me, you were going to let me wake up beside your dead body! Admit it!”

  He looked down.

  “You were going to do that to me! And to Olivia!” I felt sick just thinking of it, after trying to forget for so long. “It was Emma’s birthday, and you were going to take that one day, that one day that I was going to try to make into something happy for Olivia, you were going to take that with you and leave us with nothing!”

  No matter what he might have put in his will, no matter how many billions of dollars we would have had to sustain us, we would have had nothing without him.

  The one comfort was that Neil looked more ashamed than I’d ever seen him.

  Good.

  “I am…” His voice quavered.

  “You’re what?” I demanded. “Sorry?”

  “Yes.” The word was a pained whisper.

  “I don’t care!” His “sorry” would never undo the pain he’d put me through, or the pain he’d intended to cause me. Maybe if he’d succeeded in his attempt, I wouldn’t have been so angry. Maybe I could have looked at his actions with more compassion. “I don’t care how sorry you are. You tried to leave!”

  “And I won’t, Sophie. Never again.”

  “You’re a liar!”

  The word rang out between us and hung there, suspended by truth. Neil had deliberately deceived me in the cruelest way I could imagine.

  “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve imagined that next morning? What it would have been like if I hadn’t found your stupid letter? I see myself, over and over, waking up and not noticing that anything’s wrong, at first. Feeling good about the day, the way I’d felt when we were standing on the beach, like something had changed or we’d let some of our pain go. And then, reaching for you. And you’re cold and…”

  My throat flexed convulsively, stopping words and vomit from escaping.

  He seized the opportunity in the silence. “I know you don’t care, but I do understand what I did. It would have been—it was—unspeakably cruel. I wasn’t in my right mind. But that doesn’t mean you can’t hate me for it.”

  “I don’t need your permission to hate you! I hate you!”

  There was never a time that I could have imagined saying those words to him. They didn’t feel good, but they felt accurate. I hated him for what he’d done to us, what he’d almost done. But I still loved him, with a fierce protectiveness that roared inside me, despite my words.

  “You should,” he agreed. “You should hate me. I certainly hate myself. But I’m not going to do this to us again. Not to you, not to Olivia. Right now, there’s nothing I can do to make you believe that—”

  “Get on your knees.”

  When I’d opened my mouth, I’d intended to tell him to shut up. Instead, that had come out, those four words that he used so often with me. They proved my total obedience to him. Would they work in reverse?

  “What?” he asked, as though he couldn’t have possibly heard me correctly.

  “Get on your knees!” I screamed the last word so loud and so long my chest ached from stomach to collarbones. We stared at each other in near-total silence.

  He approached me slowly, as though I stood on a ledge and he didn’t want me to jump. I thought he might say something. Instead, he slowly got down on knee, then the other. He slumped forward, his hands on his open in front of him.

  “Stop fucking dancing around it! Say what you were going to do!”

  Shame bowed his back. “I was going to kill myself. I was going to end my life and leave you and Olivia alone. I was going to…” A sob choked off his words. “I was going to let you wake up to find me dead.”

  I shivered all over, from rage and exhaustion and the pain still running through my body. Seeing him supplicated in front of me, while I stood naked and vulnerable in this place where he held so much control over me, was enough to break me down. I covered my face, weeping.

  He put his arms around me, still kneeling, and leaned his face against my stomach. “I’m so sorry, Sophie. I’m so sorry.”

  I slumped to the floor, and he pulled me into his lap, though I knew it must have been killing his knees to do so. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, again and again, his lips against the top of my head.

  “You were sick,” I mumbled through my tears, because even though I’d craved his guilt, his true remorse, I still understood that he hadn’t been in control of his mind when he’d done what he’d done.

  “I was,” he agreed, rocking me gently. “But I still hurt you. I can regret that, and feel responsible for it, without forgetting I was ill. I should have allowed you to do the same.”

  I looked up at him, at the man I loved and trusted more than anyone in the world, and still felt that nagging doubt that he could ever possibly feel that way about me.

  And I knew why.

  “Why does every man who’s supposed to love me, leave me?”

  If Neil’s expression was a reflection of my own pain, I must have looked like shit.

  “I didn’t leave you. And I never will. I’ll never try to, again,” he promised, his arms tightening around me. “I don’t know why he didn’t want you in his life. But I’m not him, Sophie. I’m furious that he had the opportunity to have his daughter in his life, and he threw it away. Now, more than ever, I’m angry about that. But I’m not him, and I’m not going to hurt you, again.”

  We sat that way for a long time, Neil shifting to sit cross-legged on the hard floor while he held me in total silence.

  “This is, by far, the worst sub drop I’ve ever had,” I whispered.

  “Do you want me to get you something?” he asked, kissing the top of my head.

  I nodded. “Kleenex and ibuprofen and some pajamas.”

  “Okay.” He eased me to my feet, and I gave him a hand up. His legs were probably dead asleep. “Get in bed. I’ll be right back.”

  It didn’t take him long to return with everything I’d asked for, as well as some cranberry juice and a prote
in bar. “Here. Just in case.”

  He helped me into the pajamas, my favorite pair of lavender flannel. Heavy for July, but they would protect me from the air conditioning. I took the pills and drank the juice, and blew my nose for what seemed like a thousand times. My head hurt from crying and constantly sniffing back tears and snot.

  “I love you,” he said, sitting beside me as I very unsexily emptied my head of mucus.

  I laughed. “Well, if you can say that right now, I guess I have to believe you, because…”

  The gorgeous half-smile I loved appeared. “Thank you for still being here. After all of this.”

  I tossed what was probably the last tissue in the box aside. “Thank you for staying here after all of this.”

  This was us. No guilt, no anger, no lingering shame for our past actions. In that moment, we were whole again. And not a single doubt could enter my mind.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Blow out the candle!”

  We’d practiced this with Olivia, prepping her for her confrontation with her very first birthday candle. Valerie had decided against candles at the small birthday celebration for Olivia in London, since Emma had burned her hand on her first birthday. Year number two was on our turf, and Neil had overruled safety concerns.

  The colorful wax numeral two had started melting fast after we’d lit it during the song. Now, as we all waited expectantly, Olivia looked doubtful.

  Then, she started to cry.

  “Oh, poor baby!” Valerie swooped in and lifted Olivia from my arms. “Did that scare you?”

  My right eye twitched. I looked across the table at Neil, who gave me a supportive, but warning, closed-mouth smile.

  I got along with Valerie way better than I had in the past, but we still had our moments.

  Especially leading up to this birthday party. The sun shone overhead, and the light breeze made the spring day perfect for long sleeves or cardigans, but Valerie had complained that the outdoor setting—on the beautiful terrace overlooking the freaking ocean—would be too cold or uncomfortable. She’d also arrived just in time to complain about how unsafe our swimming pool was.

  My mom stepped up behind me and put her hand on my rock-hard tense shoulder. “How about we cut the cake?”

  “Good idea,” I agreed. Mom’s gaze canted toward Valerie fussing over Olivia, then back to me, her eyes narrowing.

  It was always good to have someone on my side.

  “Babies should have a label on them or something,” Rudy said, lazily sipping his glass of lemonade. “Keep away from open flame.”

  “You should have a label on you, but what it would say isn’t fit for print.” Neil stood and moved out of Mom’s way as she approached with the knife.

  “This is a child’s birthday party,” I reminded them both.

  Rudy fixed me with a withering glare. “Yes, mother.”

  Though I was sure he didn’t mean to touch a nerve, he sure did. Christmases and birthdays would always be difficult, I suspected. I was keenly aware that I wasn’t Olivia’s mother, but never so much as when a milestone passed that Emma and Michael should be there for.

  If anyone noticed my discomfort, they didn’t say it. In fact, everyone was remarkably well-adjusted today.

  “I can’t believe she’s already two,” Neil said, coming to stand beside me.

  I crossed my arms and leaned back on him. “One year down, sixteen more to go.”

  “And college. And probably the space between college and getting married, if she’s like her mother,” Neil reminded me.

  “I’m not eager to get rid of her,” I said, hugging myself a little tighter.

  “Nor am I.”

  “Okay, who’s ready for presents?” Laurence called, coming out to the patio with a gift bag in each hand.

  “You spoil her,” Valerie scolded, but whenever she spoke to him, her face lit up like the sun.

  “It’s what grandfathers are supposed to do,” Neil said. “But she has cake to eat, first.”

  “Wait, wait,” Mom said, licking frosting off her thumb as she set down a plate. “I want to get a picture. Tony, can you?”

  He nodded and pulled his phone from his pocket. “Okay. Who wants in?”

  “Everybody should be in,” I said, and frowned. “Which means extreme selfie time.”

  “It’s a good thing Tony has long arms,” Mom said, setting the knife aside.

  Rudy pushed back his chair and stood. “Yes, he does.”

  I wagged my finger at him.

  The doors opened and Holli and Deja spilled out, bickering.

  “No, I told you it was at two!” Deja scolded Holli, who teetered behind her on tall-heeled, knee-high purple suede boots.

  “Olli!” Olivia squealed, opening and closing her little hands.

  “Come try to get in on this,” I said, waving my hand to indicate they should join us as we all squeezed around Valerie and Olivia. I leaned down, Neil took a knee, Holli hurried over and seated herself on the grass in front of the chair, Rudy leaned one elbow on Neil’s shoulder, and Mom, Tony, Laurence and Deja made up the other side. Tony held the phone way out—he really did have impressively long arms—and somehow got us all in the frame, more or less.

  “Smile!” Valerie told Olivia, pointing up at the phone. Olivia looked up and gave her biggest, brightest grin, baring all of her tiny, unevenly spaced teeth.

  Tony tapped the button, and all of us froze on the screen for a blink. He took another couple of frames, just to be safe.

  In the center of the photo was one of the luckiest little girls in the world. Not because she would be spoiled all to hell with material things by her grandparents—though she definitely would—or because she would have the very best opportunities in life. But because everyone around her loved her.

  Tony and my Mom, who considered Olivia as much a part of their lives as they would have a child of mine.

  Rudy, who took his role as Emma’s godfather beyond the call of duty and endlessly criticized the outfits I dressed his goddaughter-by-proxy in.

  Holli and Deja, who were always there for me, no matter what was happening in my life, so I could be there for Olivia.

  Laurence, who loved Valerie, and Valerie, who’d endured unimaginable pain with him at her side. Sure, she drove me crazy a lot of the time, but there was no denying we both had Olivia’s best interests at heart, and I loved her for that.

  And Neil. As free from his demons as he’d ever been, he had the chance to do right by Emma and the man she’d loved, by raising his granddaughter with the same love he’d had for his daughter. It was there, unmistakable in every laugh, every kiss he dropped on her little blonde head, every time he fell asleep trying to get her to do the same.

  And me. Sure, I’d never planned on having a kid. But life doesn’t care about your plans. We’re all at the whim of fate, who could take anyone, anything, away from us at any time. Rather than resist it, I was going to embrace it. I was going to love every second I had with everyone in my life.

  “Sophie?”

  I startled at Neil’s voice. “Sorry, I was a million miles away.”

  “I could see that.” He stood with a groan and put his arm around my waist. “Somewhere more exciting than a two-year-old’s birthday party, I imagine.”

  I looked up into those green eyes I’d lost myself in time and again. “No. There’s nowhere else I would rather be.”

  Because I already had everything I wanted, right where I was.

  Abigail Barnette is the pseudonym of Jenny Trout, an author, blogger, and funny person. Jenny made the USA Today bestseller list with her debut novel, Blood Ties Book One: The Turning. Her American Vampire was named one of the top ten horror novels of 2011 by Booklist Magazine Online. As Abigail Barnette, Jenny writes award-winning erotic romance, including the internationally bestselling The Boss series.

  As a blogger, Jenny’s work has appeared on The Huffington Post, and has been featured on television and radio, including HuffPost Liv
e, Good Morning America, The Steve Harvey Show, and National Public Radio’s Here & Now. Her work has earned mentions in The New York Times and Entertainment Weekly.

  She is a proud Michigander, mother of two, and wife to the only person alive capable of spending extended periods of time with her without wanting to kill her.

  Also by Abigail Barnette

  THE SOPHIE SCAIFE SERIES

  The Boss

  The Girlfriend

  The Bride

  The Ex

  THE BY-THE-NUMBERS SERIES

  First Time (Penny’s Story)

  First Time (Ian's Story)

  Bad Boy, Good Man

  By Jenny Trout

  Choosing You