Soul to Soul (RUSH, Inc. Book 2)

by Carol Caiton

He lifted his phone again and phoned someone else.

  Numbly, Jill tried to grasp the enormity of what he suggested.

  "Sorry to call so late," he said into the phone. "I'm standing outside a nightclub called Seven Over with Jill Oslund. —Yes. Her tires have been slashed and I'm calling so you can tell her it's safe to let me drive her home. —They're on the way. —No, not unless she wants you to. —I won't. Here, I'll put her on." He held out the phone. "It's Mason."

  She almost dropped it when she took it. But she caught it before it fell and raised it to her ear. "Mason?"

  "Jill, are you okay?"

  "I . . . . Yes, I'm okay. Just a little shaken."

  "I told Dalton not to leave you alone. Do you want me to come down there?"

  "No. No, it's okay. Um, Dalton called the police. They'll probably be here soon."

  "What about a tow truck?"

  Reaction was starting to set in and she shivered. "It's covered under my insurance."

  "Good. Have your paperwork ready for the police and let Dalton drive you home when they're finished. You'll be fine."

  She looked over at the instructor. "All right, I will. Mason, thank you. I'm sorry if we woke you."

  "No problem. Call me at work tomorrow, will you?"

  She squeezed the phone. There were things she needed to tell him. Things she needed to tell his mother. But not here. Not tonight.

  "I will. I'll call tomorrow. Goodnight, Mason."

  "Goodnight, Jill. Put Dalton back on."

  She handed the phone back and wrapped her arms around herself to lessen the chill. It was going to be a long night. Why hadn't she taken the time to grab a jacket?

  Because she wasn't thinking clearly, that's why. She'd been pushing herself to the point of bone weariness so she'd be too tired to think, to remember. If she wasn't careful, she'd start missing important details at work.

  She was going to have to come to terms with losing Luke. She knew that, even as she pushed thoughts of him away. But she was afraid to mourn. She had mourned once, as a little girl when she'd lost Rachel and the bond they'd shared as children had been forever changed. She was afraid to feel that loss again, to experience that horrible black nothingness. She didn't want to go back to that vacant place in her mind. Rachel called it her soft world, but Jill remembered it being a solitary emptiness filled with nothing.

  The clock on Dalton's dashboard read two in the morning when he pulled up in front of her parents' house. He turned the key to shut off the engine at the same time the door of an SUV across the street opened and Nathan stepped out. God, this was not what she needed.

  "Do you know that guy?" Dalton asked as Nathan started toward them.

  "Yes. He's—" She broke off as she watched Nathan cross the street. She no longer knew how to refer to Nathan, how to think of him. Friend? No, it was more than that. Lover? Once. Father of the child she carried? Her heart hurt with the thought.

  Dalton opened his door and climbed out.

  Nathan came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the street. Tension suddenly surrounded him, as though seeing a man bring her home put his aggressive nature on high alert.

  "What the fuck are you doing here?" he demanded.

  "Nathan!" Scrambling out of Dalton's car, she slammed the door and strode around the front end, but Nathan ignored her.

  "I asked what you're doing here?"

  "Stop it, Nathan!"

  He finally noticed her. "What the hell are you doing with this guy, Jill?"

  She turned to face Dalton. "I'm so sorry, Dal—"

  "Don't you dare apologize for me," Nathan cut in. "Do you know who he is?"

  "Of course I know who he is! He's the man who saved me from a Mickey Finn and probable rape!"

  Damn, she hadn't wanted to say that. Could things get any worse?

  Nathan turned sharply to stare at Dalton. Hard. In the light of the overhead street lamp his frustration was visible.

  "You're the last person I want to be indebted to," he gritted out. There wasn't a single note of gratitude in his tone.

  "Yeah, I get that," Dalton answered. Then he ignored Nathan and turned to face Jill. "Look, I have to work tomorrow too. Do you want me to walk you to the door?"

  In other words, if she needed protection from Nathan, he was willing to provide it and make sure she got inside safely. God, yes, the night could most definitely get worse. From where she stood she could feel waves of fury rolling off Nathan.

  "No," she answered quickly. "Nathan and I need to talk." She held out her hand and his larger one closed around it. "Thank you again, Dalton. For everything. I'm sorry it took so long."

  "Don't worry about it." He released her hand and turned to get back into his car. Pausing, he said, "Think about what I told you."

  "Yes. I will."

  She didn't want to look at Nathan. Her reckless behavior had rebounded on her with a vengeance and he was furious. So she procrastinated, standing in the middle of the street to watch Dalton's car until the taillights disappeared around the corner.

  Nathan waited, staring at her. Until Nathan was finished waiting.

  He turned and walked to the passenger side of his black SUV, opened the door, and held it.

  "Get in."

  It wasn't an invitation. He'd probably toss her over his shoulder and dump her in if she didn't comply. So she took a deep breath that did nothing at all to fortify her against the inevitable tongue-lashing and walked over to the SUV. Pausing beside the open door, she made one last attempt to postpone it. "Couldn't we do this another time? Please?"

  She didn't expect him to agree, but she made the mistake of looking into his eyes. His anger was molten. She actually felt a chill run down her arms. He hadn't been this furious with her in years.

  "What part of 'call me' do you not understand?" he bit out.

  The thread of hope she held onto disintegrated. Since the afternoon of Rachel's wedding he'd left a single message in her voicemail each day. No pressure, just, "Jill, call me." And she'd ignored it.

  So now he'd resorted to sitting in front of her parents' house until two o'clock in the morning, waiting for her to come home. Of course he wasn't going to let her postpone it and slip away.

  She reached up to climb into the passenger seat and felt his hands slide to her waist to help her up. When she was comfortably seated, he shut the door and walked around to the driver's side.

  She knew better than to hope he was merely gathering his thoughts when he sat behind the steering wheel without speaking. More than likely, he was fighting for control, scraping enamel off his teeth from clenching them so tightly.

  "Did you report it?" he finally asked, his words short and brittle.

  "Yes. And Carl knows. But there was nothing left. No evidence." She lifted a hand to emphasize the pointlessness of it. "Thy guy knocked over both drinks and took off."

  "Can you describe him?"

  "No."

  "Did you dance with him?"

  "Yes."

  "What color hair?"

  He'd taught her to pay attention. He'd taught all three of them to pay attention. He knew, and they knew, what could happen.

  But she'd been careless tonight. And not just tonight. Nathan's anger had as much to do with her inattention and what might have resulted as it did with the man who had driven her home.

  "Dark," she answered, stretching her brain cells to recall some small detail. "His hair was dark."

  "What else?"

  "I don't know, Nathan. It was one dance. Just one."

  His eyes drilled into hers, rebuking her without words, and she looked away. She knew he wanted to shout at her. She could almost feel the vibration in the air. Instead, he said, "Where's your car?"

  The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Turning away, she stared out the windshield at the darkened street. She didn't want to tell him about her car.

  "Where's your car, Jill?" he persisted.

  She whirled back arou
nd. "Stop treating me like a teenager! I'm not sixteen anymore!"

  "Then stop acting like you are!" he snapped. "You're going to be a mother in a few months, for God's sake. It's fifty-five degrees outside and you're not even wearing a coat! You've got no business out there partying every goddamn night, sucking in those poor bastards and putting yourself at risk—"

  "I'm not partying!" she shot back. "I'm trying to forget! I'm trying not to think! If I wear myself out I can fall asleep at night without coming apart at the seams!"

  "Then start thinking about the future instead of the past!" he roared back.

  She stared at him, unable to speak, unable to find the words. She hadn't wanted to think at all—past, present, or future. And certainly not about the baby she was probably carrying.

  Guilt twisted its nasty knife in her chest. Because she knew better. He was right. She knew better.

  The silence between them filled the cab and echoed in the stillness. Then suddenly there was too much to say, too much to feel. Her throat thickened with painful emotion and she opened her mouth, but nothing would come out.

  Nathan swore beneath his breath. But when he spoke, his anger seemed to have run itself dry. "It's okay to grieve, Jill. It's okay to mourn," he said. "But it's not okay when it becomes self-destructive." He drew in a breath, then let it out. "Now tell me where your car is."

  Her shoulders sagged. He wasn't going to leave it alone until she answered. Worse, he knew her well enough to pay attention when she hedged and delayed. If he had to drag something out of her it was because she was trying to stay out of trouble and here she was, hedging and delaying to avoid being scolded, just as she had as a girl.

  Sighing, she met his eyes without flinching. "Somebody slashed my tires. Dalton walked me out to the parking lot because of what happened at the bar, and all four of my tires were slashed. He was the one who called the police."

  She took a shaky breath and told him the rest. The sooner she finished this, the sooner she could go inside and fall into bed. "After that he called Mason so Mason could tell me it was safe to accept a ride home from him. And after that he stayed with me until the police arrived, and handled things when the tow truck came. Then he drove me home."

  There. That was it. No more hedging.

  But instead of the punishing words she expected, he held her gaze for a few more seconds. Then he turned away, pushed his key into the ignition, and started the engine.

  "Fasten your seatbelt," he told her.

  "Why? Where are we going?"

  "I'm taking you back to my place."

  "It's two o'clock in the morning."

  "I know what time it is."

  She stiffened. "I'm not going to sleep with you, Nathan."

  "Shut up, Jill." He shoved the SUV into gear and turned on the heat. "Just shut up."

  She reached for her seatbelt, not because he'd ordered her to, but because he had an honest right to be angry. The child inside her was his, and he or she could have been harmed by her carelessness. Rachel's instructor from RUSH had advised her to find a different club, but there weren't going to be any more clubs. She'd have to find some other way to struggle through the hours. Tonight had frightened her. It still frightened her, knowing how close she'd come to being drugged.

  But Nathan was right about one thing. She needed to start focusing on the future. If it turned out she was pregnant, and if she would let it, this baby might help her heal. She didn't know how it would affect her relationship with Nathan or the various relationships between his family and her own, but it was time to slow down and start taking care of herself. And maybe it was time to start looking for a place of her own.

  The apartment complex where Nathan lived was comprised of twelve three-story buildings. Professionally landscaped and maintained, it boasted two community swimming pools, a game room, and a full workout room with state-of-the art equipment. His unit was on the ground floor and had quick access to one of the pools from a sliding glass door just off the kitchen. Another sliding glass door led from his living room onto the screened patio at the front of the building.

  The grounds of the complex were well lit, but at two-thirty in the morning, few apartments showed signs of life, including Nathan's. Completely dark, not even the patio light was lit to show the two deck chairs he'd placed there or the philodendron she'd bought and put on the small table between them. She wouldn't have liked coming back home with no lights to welcome her but that obviously didn't bother him.

  Until the night she'd slept with him, his place had been a comfortable stopover on her drive home from work. He usually got there shortly before she did and sometimes she'd cook dinner for him and stay for a while. Other times his partner Brian was with him and all three of them would talk or play cards.

  Those occasions, however, had become less frequent after she moved in with Luke. It took a lot of energy to work all day, cook for Nathan, then go home and cook for Luke. And although he'd stopped asking about it, she knew Luke hadn't been happy with the time she spent at Nathan's apartment. Consequently, she'd started turning into this parking lot on her way home, but only to drive through. A few minutes out of her way to look for his SUV assured her he was safely home and she could drive the rest of the way to Luke's with one less thing to think about.

  Standing beside him now, she waited while he unlocked the front door and reached inside for the light. Apparently, when he was last there, he'd been called out on a case in the middle of taking care of laundry. A pile of folded clothes sat on the far corner of his sofa while another, in need of being folded, sat in a heap beside it.

  He dropped his keys onto the coffee table and pulled a sweatshirt from the folded stack, passing it to her.

  "Put that on," he ordered. "How were you planning to get to work tomorrow without a car?"

  "I'm taking the morning off. I called and left a message."

  He nodded. "I'll run you home in time to get ready, and I'll take you to pick up your car. Where did you have it towed?"

  She told him.

  "Good enough." He swept up both piles of laundry, carried them into the bedroom, and came back with a sheet, a blanket, and an extra pillow. "You've got the sofa because it's too short for me. But when you wake up tomorrow we're going to sit down and talk. And I want you to think about something between now and then."

  He looked into her eyes and his were sober and unsmiling. "We've known each other a long time. Fifteen years. That's more than half your life, and almost half of mine. And now we've made a baby together."

  He paused, but his gaze didn't waver, his expression didn't change. Tomorrow, when we sit down for that talk, I'm going to ask you to marry me. Tomorrow, not tonight. And I want you to think about that. I want you to think about what your life would have been like if you'd grown up without your father's presence in the house, and I want you to think about what you want for our son or daughter. Neither one of us anticipated this, but if we make up our minds, we can build something good together. We can make it work. So think about it. Think about it and we'll talk tomorrow."

  He watched her for a minute, then he turned away and walked back to the bedroom.

  She stared after him. When her brain caught up and took over, his words tore at her, hurting in a way that cut so deeply, she grabbed onto the back of an armchair.

  Marry Nathan? How could he think they could build a life together when he was in love with Rachel? How had they come to this? She didn't want to marry anyone. Not anymore. And even if she did, she wouldn't want to marry someone knowing she was her husband's second choice.

  For as long as she could remember, Nathan had preferred her sister. Rachel was calm and quiet. Rachel didn't get into trouble—not unless she was mistaken for Jill. And Rachel followed the path of convention.

  It wasn't that Jill purposely took chances that ended in disaster. In fact, she carefully thought things through before acting. She wasn't comfortable with change, so she had to push herself to tackle new experiences that others
would take in stride. Nathan, however, didn't see it that way.

  He didn't want to marry her any more than she wanted to marry him. If they married each other, they'd both be miserable. And what if, after living with him, sleeping with him, and raising a child together, she fell in love with him? It wasn't out of the question. She'd adored him for years. But Nathan had always seen her as an annoyance. She angered him, she frustrated him, and although he might truly love her, she didn't believe he liked her. He would never propose to her if she wasn't pregnant. So she'd spend the rest of her life knowing she was an obligation, a duty—the proverbial ball and chain—because they'd made a child together.

  Tears ran down her cheeks and she sank down onto the chair. She didn't want to be anyone's ball and chain. If she ever took the chance and loved again, she wanted to marry a man who adored her in return, not her sister. She wanted to be his world, his everything. The way it had been before. With Luke.

  Unable to stop crying, she pushed up out of the chair, walked over to the kitchen for some paper towels, and brought them back to the living room. She allowed the tears to fall until they eventually ran dry. Then she sat quietly, battered and exhausted, and took responsibility for ruining not only her own life, but Nathan's as well. He was in the same position, facing the same heartache of knowing he came in second, of wondering if she would pretend he was another man when they climbed into bed together each night.

  Open your eyes, Jill.

  She frowned at the memory.

  On New Year's Eve he'd sunk his hand in her hair and told her to open her eyes. Had he, even then, wanted her to see him? To know whose body was about to fill hers? Thinking back, she thought it was possible. Even probable. Nathan wouldn't allow himself to be a stand-in for anyone.

  . . . if we make up our minds, we can build something good together.

  Did he really believe that?

  CHAPTER 27

  For a full hour Nathan stared at the soft glow of light seeping in from the living room. For a full soul-searching, difficult hour he listened to Jill cry, blow her nose, cry some more, and then . . . nothing. Had he done the right thing? The best thing for them both and their child?