Even realizing this, he found himself pausing between their apartments on his way out. He ran his hand over her door.
No sound.
It didn’t dawn on him until he’d reached Magnolia Grove that the next sounds he’d likely hear from her apartment would be the groans of movers, because in seven days she’d board a plane to Italy. If she was still going. Would she leave now that they had a baby on the way? If she did, would she stay away the entire nine months? Give birth thousands of miles from her home, her family…him? The prospect sent a burst of useless energy through him. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel and he had to talk himself out of the impulse to drive straight to the Smiths’ and tell her not to go. First off, he didn’t know if she was there. Second, he’d come off like a crazy asshole trying to play it both ways. Don’t go, but don’t look to me for reasons to stay.
The grip of last night’s flight instinct had loosened enough for him to recognize they needed to talk, but he honestly didn’t trust himself with the conversation. His head was all over the fucking map, but it really didn’t matter which way his thoughts turned, because he knew the landscape well enough to realize there was no safe ground.
Not even here. He parked in his parents’ drive. His mom opened the door before he cleared the front steps, and the disappointment in her eyes made him feel like a seventeen-year-old caught sneaking in after curfew reeking of weed and beer. Except this was worse.
“I’m sorry.”
Tired eyes searched his face. “Why?”
“For lying. For—”
“Not why are you sorry.” Her eyes flashed with impatience. “Why did you lie?”
“It’s a long story, Mom, and the whys don’t change anything. Can’t we just leave it at sorry?”
“No. I don’t think we can. We’ve left too much at sorry these last few years, and this is where it’s gotten us. You’ve lied. Savannah’s lied on your behalf. Her parents are hurt, and angry. Under the circumstances, your father and I have plenty of time for a long story. Come inside, sit down, and start at the beginning.”
Apparently he didn’t have much choice. He let her pull him into the house and drop him in a chair at the end of the kitchen table. His father slid a mug of coffee in front of him, along with two aspirin, and took the chair to his left. His mother took the one on his right. He opened his mouth—to say what, he didn’t know—but the whole story came spilling out. By the time he got to the part about waking up on his sofa with a staggering hangover and the note from Hunter, he was emotionally exhausted and unable to meet their eyes.
His father sat back in his chair and let out a long, slow breath. “Now that you know your mother’s going to be fine, we can revert back to the natural order of things, where the parents worry about the kid. Not vice versa.”
“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Oh, yeah. You’re fine,” his father observed. “What about Savannah? What about the baby?”
“I’m handling it.”
“How? By running away?”
“I’ll answer to her for that—”
“I expect you will.”
“Look, last night took me by surprise, and I’m not proud of how I reacted, but the bottom line remains. I can’t deliver the happy ending, okay? I don’t have it in me.” But he might have a panic attack in him. His throat felt tight, and someone had parked a backhoe on his sternum.
“Beau,” his mom interjected. “You’re spending so much of your energy stifling your emotions you don’t know what you have in you. And you’re so determined to avoid getting hurt, you don’t see you’re doing more damage than God, or fate, or luck ever could.” She took his hand and squeezed, as if she could wring something out of him. “How do you feel about Savannah?”
He shook his head. Speech was out of the question.
His mom rubbed his hand. “Thanksgiving Day, when you told us you and Savannah were engaged, I was really happy to hear the news, but on the drive home I admitted to your father I had concerns. I saw two people with a lot of chemistry between them, and some easy affection—I think that’s one of Savannah’s gifts—but no real emotional connection. I told Trent I thought you two were in lust, not love. But I had hope because chemistry and affection had gotten you to the point where you were willing to take a chance on something deeper. I staked a lot on that willingness.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll reimburse you and Savannah’s mother for the dress.”
She waved the comment aside. “I’m not talking about financial stakes. Here’s the thing, a week later, when we had dinner together, I saw two people in tune to each other. While I discussed my upcoming surgery, she sensed your anxiety and reached for you, and you held on to her. Took comfort from her touch. That night I said to myself, ‘Aha. It’s not all fun and games. He’s fallen.’”
He shook his head. The weight on his chest paralyzed him. “I can’t—”
“You already have. Done deal, Beau. The only question is whether you’re brave enough to face up to your feelings and strong enough to convince Savannah to trust you with hers. I believe she’s at Sinclair’s, if you want to find out.”
His heart pounded like a Code 3. His lungs couldn’t seem to pull in enough air. But even in the midst of a full physical meltdown, one terrifyingly clear thought lodged in his mind. His mom was right. He hadn’t meant to. God knew he hadn’t wanted to, but he’d fallen in love with Savannah, and she was going to have their baby. He’d gone all-in weeks ago, whether he liked it or not.
His mom patted his hand and stood. She padded out of the kitchen and returned a minute later holding a large box in her arms. “This is for you. Merry Christmas.”
He got up and took it from her. “What is it?”
“A couple good things came out of my cancer diagnosis, one being I finally organized all our boxes of photos into albums. I thought you should have these.”
“More naked baby photos?” His smile felt weak.
“Among others. I hope you’ll look through them when you get some time. Share them with Savannah.”
He lowered his head to accept her hug and kiss.
His dad said, “Good luck,” and then he was back in the Yukon, staring out the windshield at the slate of gray sky, wondering how the hell to go about begging Savannah’s forgiveness for his behavior last night. How could he convince her to trust him? Beyond “I’m sorry” and “I love you,” nothing sprang to mind. His mom had nailed it. He was years out of practice doing stuff like talking things out and explaining his feelings. You’re gonna have to get better at it, starting now.
He had a vague idea of where Sinclair lived, and steered the truck along the lonely back road in the direction of the Whitehall Plantation. The antebellum stone and plank barn rose behind a screen of willow trees that managed to look like giant, graceful artifacts with their bare winter branches. He pulled into the packed dirt driveway and bounced along under the leafless canopy until the big, rolling wooden doors came into view. Then he spotted Sinclair in the yard, adding seed to a bird feeder. She dropped the scoop into the bag on the ground and dusted her hands off on her jeans as he rolled to a stop. By the time he stepped out, she’d made it to the side of the truck.
“Hi—” That’s as far as he got before her palm connected with his cheek and the air around them echoed with the impact. It could have been worse, he acknowledged as the sting subsided. He’d seen a Smith girl throw a punch.
She shook out her hand. “Merry Christmas, Montgomery. You look like shit.”
“Thanks. Merry Christmas to you, too. Is Savannah available?”
Her body language told him the slap wasn’t all the punishment he should expect. She folded her arms and rocked back on the flat heels of her tall black boots. “As a matter of fact, she’s not.”
“My parents told me she’s here.”
“I didn’t say she’s not here. I said she wasn’t available.”
He pressed his fingers to his brow bone i
n an attempt to ease the tension headache blooming behind his eye socket. “I realize I’m on your shit list, and hers, and pretty much everybody’s at this point, but there’s more to resolve here than the fact that I acted like an asshole last night. I need to talk to her.”
“I’ll let her know you stopped by and give her the message.”
“Goddammit, Sinclair—”
She marched up to go head-to-head with him. “Look, she’s asleep, finally, and I’m not going to wake her. She’s exhausted. If you want to talk to her, you’re going to have to wait until she’s ready to have a conversation. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you?”
Fuck. He exhaled slowly and stared hard at the horizon. “No. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”
“Go home, Beau.” Sinclair turned and walked toward her door. “Savannah will be in touch when she’s ready.”
…
Savannah trudged up the stairs to her apartment for the first time since she and Beau had left to spend Christmas at home, like the happy couple they’d been pretending to be. Now, seven days later, the pretense was over, leaving behind a very real consequence. Officially real, as of today, though she’d never had much doubt.
Beau’s door swung open before she reached the landing, and he stepped out. She’d tried her best over the last few days to prepare for seeing him again. To steel herself against the feelings.
“You’re here.” His dark, shadowed eyes met hers, and in their depths she saw some of the same things she saw in her own eyes these days—stress, fatigue, worry.
She shrugged. “You got my text yesterday. I told you I’d be home this evening if you wanted to talk.”
“And I told you I wanted to talk. Anytime, anywhere. It’s been days, Savannah. If you wanted to punish me with silence, you accomplished the goal.”
She could see the truth of that in his eyes, too, and guilt hacked away at her conscience. “I wasn’t trying to punish you.” Not much, anyway. “I wanted to have concrete information before I spoke to you again. I felt an obligation to improve over the haphazard way information came out Christmas Eve.” She reached into her purse and retrieved the lab report she’d received from her doctor earlier in the day. “Here.”
He took the paper, but didn’t take his eyes off her. “What is it?”
“Blood test results. It’s more foolproof than the drugstore test I took Christmas Eve, but entirely consistent. I’m pregnant.” With that, she turned and unlocked her door. “Would you like to come in?”
He put the report in his pocket and followed her inside. “I never doubted you,” he said quietly. “How are you? Does everything look okay at this point?”
“Everything looks fine. I’m about three weeks along. I asked my doctor how I got pregnant while on the pill, and I guess with the type of pill I use, I needed to be very diligent about taking them at the same time of day—”
“You’re moving,” he interrupted, glancing around her packed and considerably cleared out apartment.
“Yes. Sinclair and I have been packing and moving stuff for the last few days.”
“I didn’t realize. I mean, I knew you’d been here Sunday, because you moved your things out of my apartment, but I’ve been working a 12/4.”
“I know. I left your key under your mat. Did you get it?”
“Yes. Don’t go.”
Her heart skipped a couple beats, but she kept her voice calm. “Why not?”
“Because I love you.” The words came out like a criminal’s confession. He raked a hand through his hair and took a step back. “I didn’t plan to fall in love with you. I wasn’t looking for that to happen.” He retreated another step. “But it did.”
“Beau…” She took a step toward him, and he retreated again, until he had the wall at his back.
“The whole thing scares me to death. You…the baby…feeling this intensely about something again, but I can’t shove the emotions into some closet and lock them away. They’re there, and there’s nothing I can do but accept them. And I have. I told you before Christmas I didn’t make promises unless I was one hundred percent sure I could deliver. I swear to God, Savannah, if you trust me, I won’t run again. I’ll be there for you and this baby. I promise.”
Something hot splashed on the hand she had pressed to her chest, and she realized she was crying. She scrubbed her palm over her cheeks to wipe away the tears. “I’m sorry, Beau. I know this is hard for you, and I don’t want to appear ungrateful for all the soul-searching you’ve done, and everything you’ve said, but I can’t move forward if this is how you feel.”
“You can’t stay if I love you, and promise to be here for you and the baby?” He shook his head, rejecting her refusal. “I don’t understand.”
“I can’t stay because you don’t want to love me. In your own words, you’re terrified. You’re trapped by your feelings. Look at you,” she went on, gesturing toward him when he would have interrupted. “You couldn’t even finish the conversation without backing yourself into a corner.”
He pushed away from the wall and closed the distance between them. “My anxiety isn’t a reflection on you or the baby. It’s about risks I have absolutely no control over—and yes, they terrify me. I can’t erase my past.”
“I know. And I understand your fears. Honestly, I do. If it were just you and me, I could be patient and hope your reluctant love evolved into something more enthusiastic and generous, but it’s not just you and me. Our baby deserves joyful, enthusiastic, generous love, right from the start.” She hesitated as he prowled the room like a caged animal, but then added the last bit of truth. “Just like your first one.”
“That’s not fair. I’m not the same man I was three years ago, and there’s nothing—nothing,” he repeated, and pounded a fist on the wall, “I can do about it. Don’t you think I wish I could be that guy again? Don’t you think if I had the power to magically change, I would? Tell me how to do it, Savannah, and I will.”
Her heart broke for him…and for herself. “I don’t know how to help you let go of the fear. I wish I did. I can only tell you what we need. Accepting anything less is unfair to all of us.” There was nothing left to say, and standing there crying wouldn’t change anything. She hitched her purse straps onto her shoulder and walked to the door. “I have to go.”
“Fine.” He stepped in front of her, blocking the door. Tension radiated from every line of his body. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll go to therapy, or church, or whatever you want. Just don’t leave.”
“This isn’t about you jumping through hoops to satisfy me. That’s not the right answer. Go to therapy if you want to go to therapy. Attend church if you think faith will help you find what you need.”
“You’re the one putting me in a trap now. There’s nothing I can say at this moment to convince you to stay with me.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and walked past him into the hallway. “I’ll text you updates on the baby, if you’d like.”
He dropped his head and stared at the ground for a long moment, and she thought he might tell her to go to hell, but when he finally looked up, his expression was impossible to read. “I’d appreciate that.” A few long strides brought him into the hall beside her. “I’d appreciate hearing from you in general.”
She locked the door and then went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I can do that.” It took every ounce of her willpower not to wrap her arms around him and burrow into his strength. His warmth. The weakness came out in the form of one last, long inhale, to commit his scent to memory. She pulled away before her resolve crumbled. Blinking back tears, she muttered, “Take care of yourself.” And she left.
Chapter Twenty-One
Beau wandered around his living room, unable to sit still. Traps were the theme of the evening, and right now, the four blank white walls of his apartment felt like one. Since Sunday night when he’d come home from work to find Savannah’s things gone, the lack of warmth and energy in the space had h
it him like a fist to the gut. How had he lived like this for so long?
Only one splash of color drew his eye. The glass bouquet Savannah had made sat on his end table. The little serpent mocked him from the rim. He looked away, and his gaze snagged on the box his mom had given him for Christmas, which he’d placed on the coffee table days ago and not bothered to move. He walked over to it and lifted the lid. Four photo albums rested inside. One he recognized from his trip down memory lane with Savannah. Seeing the light blue cover brought too many recent memories bubbling to the surface. He grabbed a white album instead and sat on the couch.
A satin ribbon looped into a bow across the front of the album, and something about that made his stomach clench. He opened the cover to reveal a protective parchment paper page with the words “Our Wedding” embossed in silver. Shit. He almost closed the album, but he could already see an image through the thin paper. He turned the page and confronted a black-and-white portrait of Kelli decked out in her wedding gown, standing in front of a large window covered by thin white drapes. Her back was to the camera, her radiant face in profile and a gentle smile curving her lips. She looked young and happy. Incredibly alive.
The next page featured a funny shot of Kelli and her bridesmaids doing a Zoolander supermodel thing for the camera. He kept flipping—his dad had been busy that day—and paused to look at a picture of his groomsmen and him dressed in their tuxes, playing Texas Hold’em in the suite before the ceremony. He’d gone all-in, and won, thanks to drawing into four-of-a-kind on the river to beat Hunter’s full house. Yeah, he’d been one lucky bastard back then.
Emergency Engagement (Love Emergency) Page 19