by Beth Andrews
“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want anything to do with me or the baby.”
He slammed his palm down on the table, and they all jumped.
“Don!” Nancy admonished, catching her wineglass before it fell. “Calm down.”
“I want his name, Jane Cleo, and I want it now,” her father said.
J.C. wound the napkin around her finger so tightly, her fingertip went numb. “I… It…” Her stomach burning, she forced herself to meet Liz’s eyes. “It was Brady.”
Liz jerked as if she’d been slapped. “Brady? You…you and…” She shook her head slowly. “You slept with Brady? With my Brady?”
“Your Brady?” Carter asked, his eyebrows shooting up.
And with that, all hell officially broke loose. Don wanted to force Brady to “do the right thing” while Nancy tried to calm him down. Grandma Rose was worried what her Bunco group was going to say when this got back to them, and Liz and Carter were having a heated argument off to the side over Liz’s lingering feelings for her ex-fiancé.
J.C. slouched down in her chair so far, her chin was level with the tabletop. For half her life all she’d wanted was Brady Sheppard to notice her. To want her. And now that he’d slept with her—albeit he hadn’t exactly wanted her—this was what she got.
Her mother had always warned her to be careful what she wished for. As usual, she’d been right.
TWO HOURS LATER, Liz was elbow-deep in a sink of soapy water and seriously regretting not taking her mother up on her offer to stay to help her clean. But after the dinner disaster, she’d needed some peace and quiet.
Though peace seemed to be out of the question, she had more than her share of quiet.
“I’ve already apologized,” she said, proud of how composed she sounded when all she wanted to do was hit something. Or someone. Or burst into tears. “Several times. How long are you going to continue with the silent treatment?”
Setting leftovers in the refrigerator, Carter glanced coolly at her over his shoulder. “You’re the one who said you didn’t want to discuss it.”
Since when did he use that biting, condescending tone? She couldn’t say she cared for it much. She threw the tofurkey into the sink. Shoved it down the disposal with a wooden spoon. As the whirring sound filled the air, she tapped the spoon repeatedly against the sink. And to think, she’d been so excited about hosting her first holiday as a married woman. Thrilled to be able to spend one of her precious few days off from the E.R. with her family.
Now she didn’t think she’d ever be able to look at J.C. the same way again.
Liz turned off the disposal. “There’s nothing to discuss. I made a mistake. A slip of the tongue.” She tossed silverware into the water. “I don’t see where you have any right to hold it against me.”
Shutting the fridge door, he faced her, his shoulders rigid, his pale hair sticking up from where he’d run his fingers through it. “Some would say that slip of the tongue indicates your true feelings. Such as you still considering your ex as belonging to you.”
“You’re a pediatrician, not a psychiatrist. Don’t try to analyze me. And I didn’t appreciate you humiliating me in front of my parents by accusing me of still having feelings for Brady.”
His expression darkened. “You were humiliated? How did you think I felt when your ex-lover crashed our wedding?”
She blew the hair off her forehead. “What did you want me to do, Carter? Let your idiot friends throw him out?”
“No, but you could’ve trusted me to handle it.”
“I didn’t want a scene.”
“Right,” he said, his sarcasm setting her teeth on edge. “But it didn’t bother you that I was embarrassed in front of three hundred people.”
Of course it’d bothered her, but how could she worry about something that happened three months ago when all she could think about was what had happened at dinner? She scrubbed the bottom of the roasting pan. No, she shouldn’t have reacted that way but she’d been…shocked…hearing that J.C. and Brady had…been together…she hadn’t been able to censor herself.
Still, it wasn’t like Carter to get so angry. To treat her so coldly.
When they’d first met while doing their residency training at George Washington University Hospital, she’d immediately been attracted to him. And guilt-stricken over that attraction since, at the time, she’d been wearing Brady’s ring. For months she’d deluded herself into believing the pull between her and Carter was just physical, a result of only seeing Brady a few times a year. She’d tried to ignore the attraction, tried to think of Carter as only a friend, but after working with him day in and day out, her feelings for him became too big. Too real. She found his intelligence, sense of humor and easygoing attitude impossible to resist.
Especially after years of Brady’s quiet intensity.
She wished Carter would display some of that laid-back attitude now.
“I’d think you’d be happy Brady has moved on,” Carter said as he began drying dishes. “Weren’t you the one who was worried he wouldn’t be able to let you go?”
“I want him to move on. Just not with J.C.”
“Why not?”
She gaped at him. How could he be so intelligent and still be so clueless? “Because it’s not right. She’s my sister.”
Drying a handful of spoons, he glanced at her. “Because it would be uncomfortable—for all involved.”
“Exactly,” she said with a sigh. Now this was more like it, and more like the man she’d fallen for so hard for. The man she’d chosen.
Carter nodded. “I get that. But from what J.C. said, he’s not going to be involved with her or the baby.”
The baby. Brady’s baby. With her sister.
God, why did it hurt so much?
She swallowed past the lump lodged in her throat. “Brady would never abandon his own child.”
“You sound pretty convinced of that.”
“I am. I know him.”
Carter tossed the towel over his shoulder and stood eyes downcast, feet apart, hands braced against the edge of the sink. “Do you still love him?”
She blinked. He’d never asked her that before. Not on their wedding night when they’d argued over her not wanting him to confront Brady. Not almost two years ago when she’d gone to him in tears because she’d ended her relationship with Brady. Ended it so she could be with Carter.
“Wha-what?”
He faced her. “Do you still love him?”
“I love you,” she said, taking his hand in her wet one.
He shook his head and stepped away from her. “That’s not what I asked.”
Suddenly chilled, she crossed her arms. “I…I don’t understand.”
“I need to know if you still have feelings for Brady.”
“Of course I do,” she said carefully. “I’ll always…care…about him. I was with him half my life.”
“But you’re not with him now,” Carter said quietly. “You’re with me. And I can’t help but wonder if with me is where you really want to be.”
HEADLIGHTS CUT THROUGH the darkness as the car pulled into the short driveway. A motion-detection light above the garage came on, illuminating the bottom half of the stairway on the side of the building. Where Brady sat at the bottom of those steps. He didn’t move. Wasn’t sure he could so much as stand since his leg had stiffened up during the two hours he’d been waiting in the cold for J.C. to come home.
She opened her car door, grabbed something from the seat next to her and then got out of the car. She took two steps before she noticed him and stopped, a huge purse clutched to her chest. Her gaze flicked from him to her apartment above the garage, then behind her to her car.
“If you take off,” he said, figuring she was thinking of doing just that, “I’ll still be here waiting when you get back.”
She turned back to her car anyway but didn’t get in. After a moment, she mumbled to herself and started walking toward him again. “What do you want?”
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Gripping the wooden railing, he put all of his weight on his right leg and stood. “Things got out of hand this morning and I wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”
“As much as it may shock you, I’m not a complete idiot. You don’t want anything to do with me or with this baby. See? Same page. Now, I’ve had a really craptastic day and all I want is for it to be over. Goodbye.”
Then she brushed past him and climbed the stairs, another motion-detecting light coming on when she reached the top. As he watched, she went inside and shut the door. No slamming this time, but somehow the quiet click was just as final.
That hadn’t gone quite as planned. He shoved his frozen fingers into the pockets of his jacket. After J.C. left his house earlier, he’d tried to forget she’d been there in the first place. Forget what she’d told him…and how shitty he’d treated her.
While he’d sat in his living room staring into a glass of whiskey, she’d more than likely been telling her family—telling Liz—he’d gotten her pregnant. And that he didn’t want anything to do with his own child.
Oh, yeah, he’d wanted to forget all of it.
Unfortunately, his usual method of temporary amnesia hadn’t worked.
He scanned the long, steep staircase. At least thirty steps.
Shit.
The railing was on the wrong side to be of any help to him but he’d have to make the best of it. Have to take it one step at a time. Literally. He debated getting his cane from his truck, but when he faced J.C. he wanted to do it on his own two feet.
Clutching the rail, he leaned on his arm to take some of the weight off his left leg while he lifted his right onto the first step. He gritted his teeth against the pain and stepped up with his left leg.
He repeated the process. Then again. And again. Halfway up, he stopped to catch his breath. To think, less than a year ago he was running top speed up mountainsides in full combat gear. With that cheery thought still in his head, he glanced toward the dark house to find J.C.’s grandmother glaring at him from a bedroom window. From what he could remember, J.C. had moved into the apartment above her grandma’s garage a few years ago after her latest attempt at college had failed.
He was just thankful Mrs. Montgomery hadn’t come home with J.C. It was going to be hard enough to fix things with J.C., he didn’t think he could handle facing anyone else in the Montgomery family.
By the time he reached the top, his shirt clung to his sweat-soaked skin and he had an inch-long sliver imbedded in his palm from his death grip on the wooden railing. But hey, at least he’d made it. Bracing his shoulder against the door, he wiped the sweat from his face with the bottom of his T-shirt before knocking. After a minute, he knocked again. Another minute, another knock.
He’d forgotten how, underneath that sunny personality, J.C. was as stubborn as they came.
“Last winter I waited in a cave in southern Afghanistan for over fourteen hours,” he said, pitching his voice so she’d be sure to hear him through the door. “Sitting out here until you go to work tomorrow won’t be a problem.”
A moment later, the door opened to reveal a pinched-face J.C. holding the fattest white cat he’d ever seen. She stepped aside to let him in. “Like I said, I’m tired so wh—”
“I thought you were allergic to cats.”
“What?”
“I remember you wanting a cat when—” When he and Liz were together. Seemed as if his life could be defined in two ways: when he and Liz were a couple, and now. “In high school. But you couldn’t get one because you were allergic.”
“I couldn’t get one,” she said with enough frost to cause the temperature in the apartment to drop at least ten degrees, “because Liz is allergic to them.” The cat gave Brady a sneering, you-are-a-dumb-ass look, then leaped to the ground and waddled off. “I didn’t get a chance to finish my dinner, so I’m going to make a sandwich. Do you want one?” she asked so grudgingly that even if all he’d had to eat for the past week were MREs—meals ready to eat, the packaged, precooked meals given to military personnel out in the field—he would’ve said no.
“I’m good.”
“I guess you might as well sit down, then. I’ll be back out in a minute.”
But when she would’ve walked away, he grabbed her by the wrist. Ignoring how she went as stiff as a new recruit at attention, he lightly tugged her forward, hooked his finger under the edge of the neck of her sweater and pulled it down. She swallowed and tried to step back but he didn’t loosen his hold. All day long he’d tried to convince himself that he hadn’t hurt her, that his hangover had dulled his recollection of what had happened. Of how bad it’d been.
The cat was right. He was a dumb-ass.
He brushed his thumb over the light bruises on her pale, delicate skin, his stomach turning. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Apprehension flashed in her eyes. “I’m fine.”
This time when she pulled away, he let her go. She disappeared through a doorway, and he crossed over to the white couch. He sat on the edge—the only spot available among six pillows of varying shapes, sizes and colors. Stretching his left leg out, he rubbed his knee and glanced around.
Her apartment was a good deal smaller than his house, so how did she get so much stuff in it? He remembered the squat, light blue chair he used to sit in in her parents’ living room next to her sofa. But not the two red velvet ottomans on the other side of a chipped, painted coffee table. Or the two hardback chairs on either side of a round table underneath the window. A large, glass-fronted case took up an entire corner, its shelves filled with everything from ceramic animal figures and music boxes to tea cups, crystal bowls and books, both paperbacks and hardcover. As if a rummage sale had blown up.
The cat padded in and jumped onto a low stool and then up onto the blue chair. J.C. followed a minute later, one hand curled into a loose fist. In the other she carried a glass of water with a sandwich balanced on top. She set the water on the coffee table in front of him and picked up the sandwich.
“Here,” she said, holding out her hand to show him the two small, white pills in her palm.
“What are those?”
“Acetaminophen. It’s all I have.” When he didn’t move, she shrugged irritably and set them next to the water. “From the look on your face when I opened the door, I thought you could use them.”
Tossing the yellow pillow from the chair to the floor, she nudged the cat onto the arm rest and then sat, curling her bare feet under her. She took a bite of her sandwich and stared straight ahead.
Brady scratched his cheek. Realized he forgot to shave again today. He supposed he appreciated her bringing him the pills—though he knew from experience a few over-the-counter pain relievers would barely take the edge off. But she was too generous. Too sweet. After everything he’d done, she shouldn’t give a crap if he was in pain or not. Not to mention how humiliating it was that he’d been so easy to read.
“Thanks.” He took the pills and washed them down with the water. “Did you… Have you told your parents?” She gave a terse nod. Leaning forward, he picked up an ugly ceramic duck, turned it in his hands. Cleared his throat. “And Liz?”
J.C.’s mouth flattened. “Is that why you’re here? To see how Liz reacted to finding out that we slept together?”
“No.” Maybe. He rubbed his thumbnail over a chip on the duck’s beak. “How did…your family…take the news?”
“About as well as you’d expect.” She bit into her sandwich again. “And so you won’t be wondering…Liz didn’t take the news well.”
Okay. And what the hell was that supposed to mean? Not that he dared ask. “I didn’t handle things as well as I could have this morning.”
“You don’t say,” she said dryly.
“I’ve done some thinking and…I’m not going to shirk my responsibility.”
She set the remainder of her sandwich on her lap. “What do you mean?”
Talking about this made it hard for him to br
eathe. Hell, it was as if his lungs were being squeezed by a vise. “That I’m willing to support you and the baby.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Support?”
“I’ll call my lawyer tomorrow. We’ll figure out some sort of financial agreement.” He rubbed his damp palms up and down the front of his jeans. This was for the best. For J.C. and the baby. And for him. “I’ll make sure you and the child are provided for, but…I won’t be in Jewell much longer.”
“Where are you going?”
He had no idea. “I’d only planned on staying until I was back on my feet.” Which would probably happen faster if he showed up at his physical therapy sessions. “I’ll probably be doing some traveling, so it’d be best if we don’t set up any type of…shared custody or visitation rights.”
“This is perfect,” J.C. muttered as she got to her feet, her sandwich falling to the floor. The cat pounced on it and began eating while J.C. paced on the other side of the coffee table, swerving to avoid the ottomans. “So what am I supposed to say in a few years if your child asks about its father?”
The idea of J.C. having to tell her kid—their kid—he’d essentially abandoned them… He set the duck down with a sharp crack. “You can tell it whatever you want.”
She shook her head, her dark curls bouncing on her shoulders. “What happened to you?”
What happened to him? He went to hell and he didn’t think he’d ever get out. His hands fisted, so he forced himself to relax. To stand with no sign of weakness—when all he felt was weak. And out of control.
She wanted him to be the man he used to be. Someone honorable. The type of guy who did the right thing no matter what the cost.
“People change,” he said flatly. “Look, I’m willing to take responsibility—”
“But not too much responsibility, right?” She rubbed her temple and exhaled heavily. “You know what?” she said, dropping her hand. “Forget it. Let’s just pretend I never came to you this morning.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t bother meeting with that lawyer tomorrow. I don’t want your money.”