A Baby Affair (The Parent Portal Book 2)

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  There’d been more. A lot more. All delivered to him through Kent. The family had been happy to share their lives with him. They’d been so incredibly thankful. He’d seen school reports. Family photos. They’d even opened up her medical records to him—their offer, not his request—because he was a doctor. And because they wanted to give him the peace of mind he sought, since he’d given so much more to them.

  The rest wasn’t his to share. But he needed Amelia Grace to know that he truly wasn’t after her child, any more than he’d been after the Sanderses’ girl.

  “I’m looking for peace,” he told her. That was it. Just a mind and heart at peace.

  “And you think I can give it to you?”

  “I hope to God you can.”

  “And if I can’t? What happens then?”

  He had no idea.

  * * *

  Amelia’s sudden strong surge of desire to help him was not welcome.

  The man hadn’t answered her last question. What happened if she couldn’t magically give Craig Harmon the peace he was looking for?

  Hell, some days—most days—it felt like she was still seeking her own peace. She was beginning to think it was a mirage.

  None of which she planned to share with the recipient of her phone call. She wanted to get rid of him, not send him further into need.

  Pulling her phone away from her ear, she checked to see that they were still connected. If he was waiting for her to invite an invasion of her private life, as that Oregon family had, he was holding on in vain.

  And yet...she wasn’t hanging up, either.

  Which was odd. He was no one to her. She felt no connection between him and the precious child that was growing inside her.

  “Why did you donate samples?” She’d asked once before. He’d said he’d give her the long story when they met. She wasn’t agreeing to meet with him. She was just talking.

  “I was an only child in a close-knit family. My folks and I, we’re still close. They wanted more children, but couldn’t conceive a second. When I got to med school, I met Tad Miller and heard about what Christine was trying to do, starting up the Parent Portal with money left to her by her mother, making it a place where family came first, in an open environment where biologicals would give each other contact rights... Christine had couples wanting families, but she didn’t have men knocking down her door to leave viable sperm. My friend, Tad, was donating, his mother was involved with the clinic, and...it just sounded like a decent thing to do.”

  Her heart lurched. She moved to the kitchen. Polished the chrome faucet with the bottom of her shirt. Adjusted the table in the nook, making certain that three of the four chairs were situated to catch the best of the ocean views from the bay window. She usually sat in the chair that faced the kitchen, but had been moving it around a bit. Just trying out the other spots. The views—one of the main reasons she’d purchased the two-thousand-square-foot luxury unit when they’d moved their headquarters to town the previous year—really were spectacular. Even at night.

  Shortly after she’d moved in she’d spent most of one night sitting at that table with a bottle of wine, watching the lights of boats and barges, and the occasional cruise ship, bob out in the far distance. From her sixth-floor vantage point, she could also see the two blocks between her and the water.

  The man had donated for altruistic purposes. Not money. At least, that’s what he wanted her to believe.

  “How much did she pay you?”

  “Nothing. We did, however, get extra credit in our medical cell biology class,” he added.

  A-ha. So he’d benefitted personally.

  Having graduated with honors, though...she wasn’t sure how much he’d needed that extra credit. It certainly wouldn’t have been enough to catapult him to the top of the class.

  Dropping one thigh to the chair with the most direct ocean view, Amelia half sat in the near-dark, contemplating a cup of decaffeinated green tea. With two spoonfuls of honey. Because it was Friday night.

  “So you donated, but didn’t feel completely good about having done so,” she surmised, in no real hurry to end the conversation.

  Craig Harmon was more interesting than television. Angie was still in LA, out with some friends. They’d invited her along, but they were at a wine bar and since she was consuming zero alcohol for the foreseeable future...

  Besides, they weren’t her friends. Or even their mutual ones. Angie was catching up with the high school friends who’d seen her through the worst year and a half of her life. The time when Amelia had hardly seen her.

  Because of choices Amelia made.

  “Have you ever made a choice that you so deeply regret you can’t let it go?”

  She lurched, almost dropping the phone. Had she spoken aloud? She actually did a double check on her last few seconds to reassure herself that she had not opened her mouth.

  “Why do you ask that?” Her tone was a little sharp. She didn’t apologize.

  “Because if you had, you might be a little better able to understand.”

  Yes, she’d made a choice, which had led to continuously bad ones. She’d hurt those she loved most, those who’d stood by her her entire life, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to forgive herself. Or trust herself, more like it.

  No, that wasn’t right, either. She’d made other choices since, and because of them, she did trust herself. She was never, ever going to allow a man to have control over her again. Not ever.

  She was her mother’s daughter. That wasn’t her fault. Couldn’t be helped. But knowing that she, like her mother, had an inexplicable need to please the man in her life, to subjugate self and other loved ones, to sacrifice the feelings of others to fulfill his needs, to put him first no matter what...she could be accountable to that knowledge and keep herself from hurting her loved ones by staying away from any form of long-term commitment to a man.

  “I’m listening,” was all she said, forgoing the idea of tea for the moment. She hadn’t really even had dinner yet. The couple of blended fruit pouches she’d consumed on the drive home didn’t count. She’d been dreading the conversation with Dr. Harmon. Hadn’t had much of an appetite.

  Which seemed a bit extreme to her at the moment.

  In the dark, safe in her home with the ocean in front of her, a simple phone conversation couldn’t hurt anything.

  Chapter Four

  He was a doctor. Healing people was his business. When had Craig himself become the one in need of healing? How had he let himself get to this point?

  Shaking his head, Craig sat with Talley, not allowing himself to take comfort from her presence anymore, but rather, watching over her as he spoke to Amelia.

  “I was in a six-year relationship,” he said, sifting through facts to make Amelia Grace understand.

  He didn’t need her sympathy. Silence hung on the line.

  “The woman had a child. A son, Gavin, who was two when I came into the picture. The boy’s father never had anything to do with him. Tricia was just as happy to have him out of her life and never went after him for child support.”

  “Define ‘six-year relationship.’ Were you married? Living together? Just seeing each other?”

  The question was fair. Until she’d asked it, he hadn’t been sure she was still interested in hearing what he had to say.

  “Living together,” he told her. “I wanted to get married. Asked her several times.” That might make him look like there was something wrong with him, not marriage material. But her opinion of him wasn’t at stake here. His peace of mind, while causing her little to no stress, was the immediate goal.

  To ensure the end goal.

  A healthy and happy child.

  “Did she have something against marriage in general? Or just marriage to you?”

  He relaxed a bit more into the couch. The woman on the o
ther end of the line...her forthrightness was kind of refreshing.

  “Marriage in general,” he was kind of glad to report, though the fact made no difference to their outcome. He didn’t need Amelia to like him—didn’t plan to be in her life long enough.

  “Tricia used to say that nothing lasted forever. And she didn’t want us to be together because we were tied, legally or financially. She wanted us to be together just because we both still wanted to be,” he found himself explaining further. On the surface he’d understood Tricia’s explanation, which had been logical enough to keep him around. But he’d never agreed with her.

  He wanted a wife. An equal partner in all aspects of life. Legal. Financial. And emotional. He believed in family forever. If that made him some kind of sap, then so be it.

  He wanted what his parents still had after forty years together.

  Life was unpredictable. He saw that every day at the clinic. Seemingly healthy young people developing life-threatening problems. Elderly patients ready to go who continued to live and grow older.

  Family and love: those seemed to him to be the glue that kept happiness present. Both certainly played a huge part in the healing process. He’d seen evidence of that time and time again.

  None of which was pertinent here.

  And Tricia—maybe she’d somehow known, on some level, that her life was to be short. The thought offered an odd comfort now and then. And didn’t really ring true. If she’d known, she’d have made arrangements for Gavin...

  “I’m assuming you broke up?” Amelia’s tone seemed to have softened by the time she broke into the silence that had fallen.

  “Tricia was killed in a car accident a couple of years ago,” he said. “A drunk driver crossed a double yellow line just outside of town.”

  “This town? Marie Cove?” She sounded surprised. “You hooked up with her when you moved here?”

  “Before, actually, but we made it official when I moved here.” He glanced around the home he’d moved into upon graduation from medical school when he’d agreed to be a part of the start-up, physician-owned clinic at Oceanfront. “I met Tricia through Dr. Miller, Tad’s mother. I don’t know how much you know about Marie Cove’s history, but the town has long been a haven for LA’s rich and famous who want to be able to exist in a somewhat normal, if luxurious, atmosphere. Tricia grew up here, the daughter of one of the big city’s wealthiest plastic surgeons and a married man she never named, but whom Tricia firmly believed her mother loved until the day she died.”

  More than he’d needed to say. Or maybe, exactly what she’d needed to hear to be able to ascertain what he was asking of her. Either way, the conversation wasn’t unpleasant.

  “So she was already gone before Tricia’s accident?”

  “She died before Gavin was born.” She’d killed herself with a drug and alcohol cocktail, due to the pain of loving a married man. After the funeral, Tricia had slept with the first guy she’d come in contact with, got pregnant and nearly three years later met Craig. It was all neatly documented in his mind. Facts that fit together in a way that made sense to him. Facts that helped distract him from the gaping hole inside him—left not just by Tricia, but by the boy he’d loved like a son, thought of as a son, and then lost.

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, what?”

  “Oh, no.”

  Sitting up abruptly, Craig slowed his motions as Talley’s head popped up, her eyes wide and alert as she studied him.

  “What’s going on?” he asked when there was nothing further from the other end of the line.

  “Nothing. Just... Gavin... What happened to him? Because you’d have said you had a son to feed or something if you had him, instead of just a dog to pick up. And there were no grandparents on Tricia’s side to take him with her mother gone and her father unnamed. The dad was just an after-the-funeral thing. So that leaves...he was in the car with his mother, wasn’t he?”

  It was a hard thing for him to get right with in his mind.

  “No.”

  “You do have him, then?”

  “No.”

  “It’s not good, is it?”

  “Tricia had money. Gavin’s father knew that. He was named on Gavin’s birth certificate. I knew the guy was no good. I petitioned the court, promising Gavin that I’d keep us together...”

  Again with the facts...the rest of it...how did you go on when you could hardly draw air? When you felt so helpless you weren’t sure you’d ever be in charge of your life, or be able to make things right ever again?

  “Oh, God. I know where this is going.”

  Partially, she probably did.

  “The jerk got custody, you lost your son because he wasn’t biologically yours and now...”

  “Not only that but the jerk also abused his son, but even when family services got involved, they refused to allow him to be adopted.”

  “By you.”

  Or anyone.

  “Where is he now?”

  “Living with a stepmother who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about him. Gavin’s father got married so that he could name her guardian of his son, and the woman plays along because she likes getting money from his trust fund for his care.”

  “You’re kidding. I mean, I know you aren’t, but...what about the abuse? How does the father have custody?”

  “He doesn’t. She does. They live separately. He has visitation rights. They’ve moved out of state and, last I heard, Gavin had done a stint in juvenile detention for putting a kid in his class in the hospital.” He burned, with physical acid in his gut, every time he thought about it.

  Anger issues had been Gavin’s diagnosis, not that anyone was doing anything more than absolutely legally necessary to help him. They did what they had to so that they could keep their hands on his money. Craig was as certain as he could be without actual confirmation that Gavin knew that, too. He was a smart kid.

  One with a great heart and a load of potential.

  And who was likely headed for prison if someone didn’t intervene soon. Lord knew Craig had tried to visit with Gavin, to be there for him. So hard that The Jerk had finally taken out a restraining order against him, claiming that Craig was trying to interfere with his ability to parent his child.

  He’d gone to court. Explained to the judge. And while the order had been denied, the judge had firmly suggested that Craig not try to contact Gavin again, explaining to Craig that it was to give the boy’s father a chance to form a relationship with him. It was state mandated. And though Craig had continued to appeal, to try, he’d been shot down by the state supreme court the month before.

  He could tell the judge had been on his side. But the law had not been.

  “Last you heard...so you still have some contact?”

  “Only if he contacts me. And then I have to let his father know.”

  “Has he contacted you?”

  “No.”

  “But you keep a watch over him.”

  “I hired someone to keep track of him as much as is permitted. And if I ever find a legal way to help him, I will do so.”

  “You said his mother died two years ago.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you still living in the house you two shared?”

  “Yes.”

  “The house where Gavin lived?”

  “Yes.” But if she thought he was living off of Tricia’s money, as well...

  “I bought the house from her the first time I asked her to marry me and she declined. I agreed to stay with her on the condition that I owned the home.” He’d figured that way Gavin would always have his childhood home to come to, whether Craig and Tricia stayed together or not, and had told her so.

  Tricia had cried at the thought of it. And had still charged him market value for the home. Which he’d willingly paid. He’d never cared about her money. He ca
red about her.

  And Gavin.

  About their family.

  Talley looked over at him and for a second there Craig allowed himself to believe that the dog knew what he’d been thinking. And was thanking him for keeping what was left of that family—her and him—together.

  “This is why you regret your choice to make it possible for your children to be in the world without you having any way to keep them safe.”

  He wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but admitted, “Yes.”

  And then he added, “I am now grossly aware that not everyone is meant to be a parent. And that children are completely dependent on those raising them to help them reach their potential. I know, firsthand, that some parents can hurt their children and that the courts can’t always save them. Or can only do so for certain periods of time at which point the parents get a second chance. And sometimes a third and fourth, depending on the circumstances. And the age of the child.” He could go on. And on. But he stopped himself.

  “If you’d like to make an appointment to stop by my home sometime this weekend, I will let you inside for a short time.”

  He had to replay her words in his head before her offer hit home.

  “And only with the very firm understanding that no matter what you think, this child is mine. Not yours.”

  Okay. Hell’s bells. He was being given the road to recovery. To at least some level of emotional freedom from regret. “I understand.”

  “You have no say, no ownership, no rights to make even one single suggestion where my baby is concerned.”

  “I understand.” But she didn’t seem to. He didn’t want her baby. He just wanted her to be a decent parent. And finally felt free to start probing her background.

  “I didn’t ask Christine, but are you married?”

  Which mattered only because her husband should then have a say about when he visited their home.

  “No.”

  No reason to feel any hint of relief there. To the contrary, he’d rather his child have a two-parent home. As he had. So when one adult was ill or otherwise distracted by life’s responsibilities, there was another to step up. Children’s needs didn’t wait around for convenient moments.