by Ann Mcintosh
“Do you?”
It was, to him, a moot point. One he didn’t want to discuss.
He would have told her so, but she said, “I don’t think you do, and I’d like to explain.”
He lifted his hand, gesturing for her to go on, humoring her, and for an instant he saw a hint of what might be anger in her eyes. Then it faded, and she sighed. Moving to the dining table, she pulled out a chair and sank into it. All this he watched as if from a distance, detached, refusing to allow himself to get pulled in. To feel.
“Two years ago I discovered that my fiancé, Nick, was cheating on me. He’d told me that while he eventually wanted kids he wasn’t ready yet, and I’d agreed to wait. Then I found out the woman he’d been cheating with was pregnant. He tried to say it was a mistake, get me to take him back, but I think that was because he was worried my father would be angry.”
She shrugged and shook her head, ruefulness evident in the gesture.
“Daddy didn’t care, of course, and I won’t bore you with the rest of the fallout, but needless to say I was reluctant to get involved with anyone else after that.”
David forced himself to nod—a sharp, get-on-with-it motion—and Nychelle closed her eyes for a second. He swallowed, feeling bad for her but also hating how the woman he’d just made love with now seemed a perfect stranger.
Hating her for ruining the happiness he’d only just found.
“I didn’t want to wait—take the chance of leaving the attempt to have a child until it was too late. With my problems there would always be risks, but the longer I waited, the longer the odds of my even conceiving would become. I didn’t know...”
He winced, her words piercing the ice around his heart. What hadn’t she known? That they’d meet? Fall...?
No. He couldn’t think that way. Refused to. Wouldn’t allow her to follow that train of thought in case she completely destroyed him. Instead, he asked the first question that came to mind. “What do your parents think about this?”
“They don’t know. I didn’t tell anyone except Aliya.”
The sound that broke from her was bitter, but he didn’t let it weaken the barriers he’d already thrown up around his battered heart.
“When the doctor told me, at thirteen, about the problems I’d have carrying a child I started crying. And my mother...” She paused, her hands clenching into fists. “Do you know what she said to me?”
“What?”
“She said I shouldn’t cry. That it was a chance for me to concentrate on my career without having to conform to what society deemed was my duty to procreate.”
She looked away, but he saw the way she blinked, trying to hold back her tears.
“I remember wondering if she regretted having us, saw us as burdens she was forced to bear. It explained why she was hardly around—why she left our care to others and was only interested in how we were doing academically. Was so cold and uncaring.”
“Maybe she was just trying to spare you the pain of trying and not being able to conceive.” The instinctive words broke from him, tearing at his throat as they passed. “Or the pain of carrying a baby only to lose it later.”
She stared at him, eyes wide, and he saw the tracks left by her tears. “You don’t know...”
“But I do know.” Trying to push back the pain, keep his expression stoic, took everything he had inside. “And that’s the advice I’d have given you...as a parent who’s lost a child.”
* * *
The shock of his words left Nychelle frozen except for her hand, which crept to cover her still-flat belly. David’s eyes flicked as he followed the movement, and then rose to her face again.
“What?” she whispered, a horrible, aching sensation filling her chest. “Oh, David.”
“Yes.” His lips twisted. “My daughter was born at twenty weeks.”
The way he said it wasn’t lost on her, and tears filled her eyes again. He didn’t see it as his wife having had a miscarriage, but as his daughter being born too early to survive.
“It’s soul-destroying, Nychelle. Something you never get over. I wouldn’t wish it on someone I hate, much less on someone I care about.”
The air she’d just inhaled stuck in her lungs. All she could do was shake her head and blink to clear the tears from her eyes as the enormity of what she’d done crashed over her.
David had gone through hell, and she was bringing it all back to him. It was there in his pain-filled eyes, and in the way his fingers gripped the arm of the couch until they turned white.
“So maybe your mother was trying to shield you the only way she knew how.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “She knew the difficulty you faced, the potential heartbreak, and she tried to stop you from doing something you might regret even more than you’d regret not having a child.”
“Don’t say that!” The storm building in her was a maelstrom of pain and anger, and they were both there in the ferocity of her cry. “I’ll never regret trying.”
“Really?” David got to his feet so quickly Nychelle gasped at the rapid motion. “Even if—God forbid—something happens to your child?” He turned away, his shoulders rigid, his fists clenched. “Believe me, at that point you’ll feel nothing more than regret and heartbreak.”
She saw it so clearly then: David’s desire never to be a father again was really his need never to take a chance on losing another child. And she knew now there was no hope for them.
None.
Blissful numbness overcame her and she welcomed it, knowing she couldn’t bear to fall apart in front of him. Feeling distantly amazed that her legs held her, she stood and walked toward the bedroom, unsurprised when David said nothing; didn’t even turn to watch her go. Collecting her clothes from beside the bed, averting her eyes from the place where she’d experienced the greatest pleasure of her life, she went into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind her.
Only then did her hands start to shake, and it took her longer than usual to get her swimsuit on, and her sundress, and to undo her ponytail, finger-comb her snarled hair and secure it again.
By the time she got back to the living room David was in the kitchen, as though it was important to put the width of the island between them. Her bag was on the table by the door, instead of on the floor where she’d dropped it earlier, and she figured he’d put it there so she wouldn’t waste time searching for it.
So she’d get going quicker.
“I’ll drop you home.”
There was that distant tone again, and it struck her straight in the heart, threatening the calm encasing her. “No. I’ll call a cab.” She held up her hand when he looked as though he might argue. “Really. It’s okay.”
There were so many things she wanted to say, but couldn’t. So many questions, too, that she would keep to herself. She’d destroyed whatever they might have had—even friendship. She didn’t have the right to ask anything more of him.
But as she put her hand on the door handle there was one thing she had to ask. It was, to her, too important to ignore.
“What is her name?”
His expression didn’t change, as though he hadn’t heard her, but then his eyebrows went up in query.
“Your daughter,” she clarified. “What’s her name?”
The silence that fell was so profound Nychelle’s ears hummed with it, and it felt as though she’d sucked the air from the room with her question. David’s expression cycled through pain to surprise, and then to an almost beatific calm.
“Natalie,” he said, so softly she almost couldn’t hear. Then his voice got stronger. “Her name is Natalie.”
“Beautiful.” Her voice hitched, and she knew her control was slipping.
Without another word she opened the door to step through. When it closed behind her the click of the lock snapping into place sounded suspiciously like the crack of her
heart breaking.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ALL NYCHELLE WANTED to do was pull the afghan up under her chin and go back to sleep, but the insistent ringing of the doorbell wouldn’t let her. Rolling to sit up, she groaned, wanting to disappear for a little while and let the world go by without her.
She’d made it as far as her couch the evening before. Haunted by the conversation she’d had with David, she’d replayed it over and over in her mind. The numbness which had allowed her to leave his place without breaking down completely had lifted, and she’d cried long into the evening. The pain she’d felt as she’d recalled David talking about his daughter had been visceral, and she’d wept as though Natalie were her own—as though David’s agony were her own.
Finally she’d forced herself to eat some yoghurt and fruit, although her stomach had threatened rebellion the entire time, and then had fallen asleep in the living room, her dreams bedeviled by images of David.
“What time is it anyway?” she groused as she blinked to try to clear the sleep from her eyes.
A glance at the kitchen clock made her wince. Nine o’clock was far later than she usually slept, but who on earth was at her house at that time on a Sunday morning without letting her know they were coming?
David.
Her heart hammered at the thought, but looking through the peephole in the door brought a mixture of shock and disappointment.
Quickly unlocking the door, she opened it.
“Aliya? What are you doing here?”
Her cousin stepped in, letting go of her bag as she did so, and grabbed Nychelle in a hard, sweet hug. Tears immediately threatened and had Nychelle wiggling out of the embrace. Aliya held on to her shoulders, kicking the door shut behind her.
“I was worried about you, so I grabbed the first available flight out of Hartsfield.” Her dark eyes flashed and her usually smiling mouth was grim. “I’m glad I did. You’ve been crying.”
“But why were you worried?” Nychelle forced a smile. “We spoke a couple days ago. You knew I was fine.”
Turning Nychelle toward the living room, Aliya gave her a little shove. “Yeah, well, when I get a call from your Dr. Warmington, saying he knows you’re upset and is worried about you, and your phone goes straight to voice mail all evening, of course I’m going to drop everything and come see what’s going on.”
Shock made Nychelle stumble, and she grabbed the back of the nearest chair for balance. “David called you? When?”
Aliya moved the blanket out of the way, then plopped down on the couch. She patted the seat beside her in invitation, but Nychelle ignored her, still too surprised to move.
Aliya sighed. “Yesterday—in the evening. I tried calling you afterward—”
“I’d turned off my phone.” Nychelle waved her hand. That wasn’t the important part. “What did he say?”
“Just that you’d had a really upsetting day and he was worried about you.” When Nychelle made a rolling go on gesture with her hand, Aliya shrugged. “Seriously, that was it.”
Forcing her trembling legs to move, and still holding on to the chair for support, Nychelle stepped around to sink down into the seat. “How did he get your number?”
“Does it matter?” Aliya raised one eyebrow.
“You flew all this way just because—”
Her cousin’s raised hand and fierce expression were enough to have Nychelle snap her mouth shut.
“Listen, you need me—here I am.”
Her face softened, and Nychelle turned away from the love shining in her eyes.
“You know if the situation were reversed you’d be at my side in a flash. Besides, that stiff upper lip nonsense comes from your father’s side of the family. This side is all about making noise and garnering sympathy. That’s what I’d be doing, so I figured I’d give you the chance to have at it—even though apparently there’s nothing really wrong with you. What I want to know is, what happened to make him feel he needed to call me?”
It all came flooding back, overwhelming her, and Nychelle covered her face to hide her tears.
“Tell me,” Aliya said softly.
The words poured out of Nychelle then: how wonderful the day had been, how she’d started telling him about her medical issues and had been interrupted by George’s accident. Even how, as she’d watched David minister to the other man, she’d realized just how she felt about him.
“You’re in love with him.”
It wasn’t a question, but Nychelle didn’t want to go there with her cousin, so instead she blurted, “I slept with him.”
“Oh.”
Aliya’s shocked expression would normally have made Nychelle laugh, but she couldn’t summon any amusement.
“Before I told him about the baby.”
“Oh...”
“And then he told me he’d lost a daughter when she was born at twenty weeks.”
She couldn’t bring herself to say his wife had miscarried—not when David so obviously saw it as a premature birth.
“My situation brought it all back to him. I saw it on his face, in his eyes—the fear and the agony. The regret. And I knew, no matter what had happened between us, it was over. He’d never take the chance of going through that again.”
“Oh, honey.” Aliya got up and came over to perch on the arm of the chair, pulled Nychelle into a hug. “You can’t know that for certain. It was a shock, and once he’s thought about it...”
“You didn’t see him. He was gutted.” Nychelle buried her head in her cousin’s lap, tears flowing to dampen Aliya’s dress. “He’ll never forgive me. And I’ll never forgive myself for hurting him that way.”
Aliya sighed and stroked Nychelle’s hair, seemingly unable to come up with a reply. After a while, she sighed again, then said, “Listen, you’re upset, and probably overtired. Did you sleep much last night?” When Nychelle shook her head, Aliya coaxed her out of the chair and over to the couch. “Lie down for a while. I’m going to cook some soup.”
“I’m not sick,” Nychelle pointed out as she allowed her cousin to tuck the afghan over her legs. “I don’t need soup.”
“Maybe not, but cooking clears my head and I need to think about everything you’ve told me. And you need to eat. My goddaughter or godson needs nourishment, and Auntie Aliya is going to provide it.”
Nychelle felt herself relax as the sound of her cousin bustling about in the kitchen filled the house. No matter how David had gotten Aliya’s number, she was grateful he’d cared enough to make sure she wasn’t alone. At the same time it was just more evidence of the kind of man he was, and the relationship she’d missed out on.
Shifting around so she was sitting up against the cushions, Nychelle said, toward the kitchen, “You can say it, you know.”
Aliya glanced over her shoulder to ask, “Say what?”
“That you were right to tell me to wait.”
Aliya put chicken in the pot. “I’ll say I told you so if you want, but what good will that do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe justify how horrible I feel about all of this?”
Aliya didn’t answer immediately, and when she did her tone was musing. “If you had waited, and gotten involved with David, because of how he feels chances are you wouldn’t even have tried to get pregnant. Is that what you would have wanted?”
“No!” Pushing herself farther up on the cushions, Nychelle glared at her cousin’s back. “Of course not. I won’t ever regret doing what I did.”
“So, then, you’re going to have to accept the situation as it is.” Aliya’s rueful and kindly tone softened the prosaic response. “It isn’t like it’s a binary situation, where you can only regret either trying for a baby or not being with David. You’re going to have to deal with loving both the baby and David—even though it seems as if you can only have one but not the other.”
Suddenly exhausted, ineffably sad, Nychelle slid back down on the couch and pulled the afghan up so only the top of her head was exposed.
“I kind of hate him right now,” she mumbled, more to herself than to Aliya. “For being the perfect man and coming into my life at the worst possible time.”
“No, you don’t. It’s yourself you’re hating, and you need to stop. Poor David’s probably as messed up about all this as you are.”
It made sense. Too much sense. “I hate it when you’re right.” Sitting up, she grabbed a tissue and blew her nose in an effort to be able to breathe, but her next thought just made her tear up again. “I doubt he cares about me now.”
“I don’t know, honey, and neither do you. And you won’t know until you talk to him. At least then you’ll know for sure where you stand. You want to know that, don’t you?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to deny even caring about where she stood with David Warmington, but they’d both know it was a lie. “Yes...”
Aliya chuckled at the grudging admission, then said, “Think about it. Talk to him when you’re ready.” When she continued, her voice was soft, yet serious. “I know you’re in love with him, Nych, even if you won’t come out and say it. You wouldn’t have slept with him if you weren’t. Maybe it’s time to take stock, figure it all out, before you try to move on. He’s all wrapped up with this period of your life, and sometimes you have to deal with everything that’s happening rather than just bits and pieces.”
“Okay, that’s enough.” Through her tears and stuffiness Nychelle found some laughter, let it roll over her. “You sound like a TV psychologist. Or your mom.”
“Ha!” Aliya sounded suitably outraged. “Could be worse. I could sound like your mom.”
Full-on giggles caused Nychelle almost to suffocate, since she still couldn’t breathe through her nose. “That is too darn true.”
* * *
He’d been unable to sleep, to eat, since Nychelle had left the night before, and finally David took his tortured mind and tired body down to the beach for a run. It made no sense for him to sit at home waiting for text updates from Nychelle’s cousin. They obviously weren’t coming. She’d been kind enough to let him know she was in Fort Lauderdale and on her way to Nychelle’s house. He really couldn’t expect more than that. After all, she didn’t even know him.