by Mika Jolie
“Nope,” Keely responded. “I just see fuzz and two black holes with two dots inside.” She grabbed the picture again and her mouth fell open. “Oh, my goodness!”
“Twins!” Lily shrieked, pure delight in her voice.
Adam took the photo and examined it carefully then looked at Lily. “You see two babies there?”
“Of course,” Lily responded, then added, “There’s two black holes here as Keely mentioned, and…” She pointed at the pea size dots in the middle. “These are the little munchkins.”
“That’s their placenta,” Minka informed. “Keely and Lily are right, we’re having twins. They are fraternal twins.” She glanced at Keely. “I’m not sure if I should cry or laugh.”
Keely was the first to move in and hug her sister. “Hey, we were great as children. Mom and Dad said we were ideal twins.”
Minka sighed. “I’m a little nervous.”
“Right now we celebrate. This is fantastic news,” Adam suggested, already filling glasses with each man’s drink of choice, wine for Keely and Claire and water for the two pregnant women.
“Says the man who never wanted to have children,” Blake reminded his friend. In response, Adam flipped him the bird.
Jason squeezed his wife’s shoulder and placed a kiss on her lips. Claire sensed her friend’s concern ran a little deeper. Until recently, Minka and Keely’s relationship had been tension- filled, more so on Minka’s part. The sisters had made great progress but Claire would still put them in the WIP category—Work-in-Progress.
“You have us, Minx,” Blake said to his longtime friend. Without Minka, Blake and Keely would have never existed. “As Adam said, this is a time for celebration.” He looked around then met Jason’s eyes. “Isn’t that Forrest’s Jeep parked by the pier?”
“I drove it here,” Claire answered.
Blake’s handsome face fell with disappointment. “Tell him next time we spar, it’s a guaranteed ass whooping.”
Jason waved it off. “Let him be a dick.”
But Claire knew Jason well enough to know he was ticked off by Forrest’s attitude.
By the time she stepped inside Forrest’s home, her head was heavy with muddled thoughts. She had to return to her life in Los Angeles. There was a crack in their circle. Dropping her bag in the hallway, she headed to the only room with a television and found Forrest typing away in his MacBook, an opened beer bottle on the coffee table. The television was on but muted. The only audible sound was the crackling of lively flames in the ample fireplace.
He tipped his head in her direction and patted the spot next to him, one hand still typing as he did so. She plopped on the sofa as close as possible so their hips touched.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she answered, voice low.
His fingers continued to tap on the keyboard. She glanced at the medical jargon on the screen. In addition to causing arthritis, Lyme disease can also cause heart, brain, and nerve problems. A silence, neither comfortable nor heavy hung in the air. Then he clicked save, powered off the computer, and kissed her, a long, sweet, simmering kiss that left her wanting more.
“Minka and Jason are having twins,” she said when they finally broke for air.
“Wow. How is Minka?”
“She’s a little shaken.”
Forrest nodded in comprehension. The drama between the sisters was well documented within the circle.
“What about Jason? You didn’t ask about how he’s doing,” she asked and held her breath. The room grew still like a cemetery. With a sea of anxiety rocking her belly, she rose from the couch, dusted imaginary lint off her pants and walked across the room. A clear head was essential for this conversation, and sitting next to Forrest, hips touching, no way in hell could she not be sidetracked. “Jason is…”
“Let’s not go there,” he cut her off.
Thoughtfully, she examined his face. His dark hollow eyes showed what he’d been working on—to extract the human from inside of him. “We have to,” she whispered.
“Why?”
Their gazes locked. Her frazzled nerves jumped all together, and in different directions. “Because he’s your brother. The two of you were brothers even before you knew about Charles.”
His gray eyes roved over her, then back to her face, and waited her out with a pointed look.
She drew in as deep a breath as she could and said, “You can’t take your anger out on him.”
“I’m not angry at Jason. I just don’t want to have anything to do with the Montgomery men.”
Funny, he was a Montgomery, right down to the stubbornness. “Jason has never done anything to you. He’s guilty by association and that’s wrong.”
Silent as stone. Absolutely nothing.
“You should talk to your mother and Charles.”
He shoved a hand into his hair, holding it off his forehead. “Now you’re pushing it.”
“Don’t you want to know the whole story?” There had to be more. She’d seen Luc, Marjorie, Charles, and Victoria together. Something had to happen to bring Marjorie and Charles together.
“I know all I need to know. My mother cheated and Charles is a fucking scumbag.”
“You should at least allow yourself a chance to find out the truth.” She waited, but he said nothing. Wise thing to do here was probably remain quiet and force him to fill the silence, but her heart was hurting and once in a while everyone needed a good kick in the ass. “Does that mean you’re not coming to my show on Friday?”
Forrest slowly stood up from the couch, walked over to where she stood and crowded her both physically and mentally. He put a finger under her chin and brought her face to his.
“Do you want me there?” he asked.
“You know I do.”
He leaned in so that his upper body hovered over hers. “Then I’ll be there.”
For her, Claire noted, he was willing to put everything aside. The nest of butterflies were back in her stomach, trying to make their way out. “Jason will be there.”
“I’m bigger than him.” A smile lit up his face. “I can handle him.”
“You just made me happy.”
“I can make you happier.”
She arched a brow, daring him to do whatever he wanted. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he dipped and lifted her off her feet.
Claire laughed. “You keep carrying me off to your bed.”
His mouth was on the nape of her neck when he let out a low groan and slowly slid her body down against his, inch by inch, allowing her to feel every inch of him. Confused as to why they were not heading to his bedroom, she stared at him.
“Someone is at the door,” he explained, voice gruff. “Don’t move.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He leaned in for a deep, lingering kiss, muttered, “Give me two minutes.” And disappeared. Claire flopped on the couch. Deep in her stomach, her muscles coiled, the tips of her breasts tightened and between her thighs tingled with need. After counting to twenty and no sign of Forrest, she headed to the foyer and came to a screeching halt. Forrest stood, feet planted wide in an aggressive stance that screamed pissed off, his eyes locked in a stare showdown with Charles.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart and the senses.”
Lao Tzu
Claire froze, her stomach churning over the thick tension bouncing between the two men. She looked at Forrest’s stiff posture, so brittle as if one snap would shatter him into thousand pieces. His eyebrows knitted, jaw rooted, seemingly alone with his thoughts while his brain tried to organize the chaos in his life.
He hadn’t had time to prepare for his father’s death. His mother’s confession catapulted him from shock to anger, and it gave him a convenient venue to direct his vexation at the injustice of it all.
They lied to him. Both of them and robbed his father of his place in Forrest’s memory.
“I
’ll go upstairs,” she said, wanting nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and give him solace.
“Stay.” Forrest said, his eyes never leaving the spot where Charles stood. “Charles is not staying.”
“Actually, I am,” Charles responded in a surprisingly calm tone. “You’re going to listen.”
No sign of anger from Charles, but Claire knew him well enough to know his mood was just as pissy as his son’s.
“You’re not welcome here.”
Forrest’s voice was stone-hard, it forced Claire to take a step backward. Her eyes flickered back and forth between the two men, the atmosphere becoming more and more tight. A feeling of dread crept from her deepest inside.
“Get off your high horse, son.”
“I’m not your son.”
Charles walked past Forrest and gave Claire a long, calculating look. “Are you happy with him?”
The question caught her off guard. Of course she was happy. She was finally reunited with the man who owned her heart. They loved each other. Forrest just needed to accept that. But in a few days she’d be back in L.A. dealing with a crazy schedule promoting Tattooed Hearts set to release in the summer. Anxiety, the sleeping beast, awakened and filled her mind with uncertainty over their pending separation.
Distance didn’t always break relationships. Right?
They’d make it work. More importantly she’d come back more frequently.
“Yes,” she responded, but she hesitated. Forrest noticed, so did Charles. He glared at his son with cold, steady eyes.
“All your life, you’ve only cared about two women,” Charles said, “You’re going to lose them both.”
“I don’t need advice from you.”
Father scoffed.
Son sneered.
They stood in their grandeur, angular jawlines hard as rocks. The resemblance wasn’t striking, but it was there. Claire’s stomach bubbled with uneasiness.
“Starting tomorrow you need to go to Herring Creek on a regular basis to check on your mother,” Charles said, his voice filled with the authority he exuded as soon as he walked in a room. Another trait his son inherited from him.
“Don’t you do that?” Forrest asked.
“You are her son! Her only child. Stop being a fucking asshole!” Charles’ booming voice bounced off the walls and echoed down the hall.
Claire winced. Forrest’s eyes narrowed at the man in front of him, and she knew from the dark, burning glare in his graphite depths that he was very, very angry, and ready to take on his biggest foe. A total shift, because he used to love Charles. He still did. Otherwise, the cut wouldn’t run so deep. But she knew from experience Forrest’s world had no grayscale, only polar extremes.
“Seriously…” Forrest shoved a hand through his hair. “You’re the last person to call someone an asshole.”
“I came here to talk to you. But you have this way of irritating the crap out of me.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
“I slept with your mother once. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I don’t regret it either because I care about Marjorie.” He paused, shoved a hand through his hair.
Like father like son.
“We created you in the process,” Charles said in a gentler tone.
“Fate is a bitch.”
Claire stared at the floor.
“Are you still with her?” Forrest asked.
“What is it about once that you don’t understand?” Charles challenged in rushed speech, his frustration on full display.
An awful, massive silence hung in the air. It made Claire’s blood as cold as the wintry air that crept through the open door. She walked past the two men, still locked in a staring duel. Other than the rhythmic thunk-tap of her boots striking wood and the creak of the door closing, there was absolute stillness.
“When it comes to you and Jason, at times I feel as if I’m speaking to five-year-olds,” Charles said, snapping the silence.
“It could be because you’re such a great role model,” Forrest spat in disgust. “Let’s see, you slept with your supposedly best friend’s wife and cheated on your wife twice.”
Charles’ jaw clenched. “Leave Victoria out of this. In spite of everything, I loved my wife.”
“You cheated on her with her best friend,” Forrest countered, disdain filled his voice. “Did she know?”
The room fell into a deafening silence.
“She committed suicide because of you,” Forrest continued, his voice brutal and accusing.
Charles clenched and unclenched his fist.
Claire’s heart froze and her stomach turned icy. “Forrest, stop!”
“Stay out of this, Claire.” Forrest took a step forward to Charles. “This is between us, isn’t it Dad?” His voice grated on the Dad part.
She sucked in a breath and stepped in between the two men. “No.” Her eyes darted between them, rage and frustration on full display. The sight made her heartsick.
“What are you doing?” She ran a hand over Forrest’s uncompromising jaw. “You’re not a cold, ruthless person. You’ve never been. Don’t let anger change you into someone you’re not.”
Charles let out an impatient snort, drew in a breath and released it before speaking. “That day your mother came to the house to speak to Victoria but she wasn’t home. I noticed how upset Marjorie was so we started talking.” He stared at his son. “That’s when I learned Luc couldn’t have children.”
“So you stepped in. Very honorable of you.”
Frustrated, Claire threw her hands up and stepped back.
“Your father was a brother to me,” Charles said in a heavy voice, ignoring Forrest’s snarky comment. “I never meant to betray him. When I found out your mother was pregnant of course we told Luc the truth, but he asked that I let him raise you as his son.” Charles let out a deep breath. “And so I did.”
Luc knew all along Forrest had not been his son.
The news passed through her like a hurricane, its scythe blade tearing down everything in its path including Forrest. She watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he processed the information. His hands clenched and unclenched.
Charles, with all of his flaws, had always shown love to the boys and her. To step aside and let someone else raise the son he obviously wanted. The thought made her shudder.
“Not because I didn’t want you,” Charles said delicately. “I sacrificed what I wanted so I could give my friend, my brother, what he wanted most and couldn’t have.” His voice thick with emotion. “You made him happy. So I gave you up, but for thirty-one years, every second, I wanted to be a part of your life. I wanted to be your father.”
* * * *
Charles’ words rained down on Forrest with the fury of a hail storm. Waves of deep, stabbing agony forced his abdominal muscles to contract painfully. He deliberately kept his gaze off Charles, couldn't bear to look his way, because if they made eye contact Forrest’s esophagus might close with disgust. Total disgust. And denial.
His once-sunny childhood memories forever tarred, disfigured into something grotesque. His brain, a violent whirl of stupidity, sought to discover a way to control the capriciousness of the situation.
Forrest’s immediate reaction was to flee, and forget the pain that crushed and claimed his body for its own. He looked at Claire. She heaved a sigh. A frown settled between her brow, and regret came to him in this quiet moment. He now understood all the reasons why she ran that night. The saddest thing about betrayal was that it never came from those perceived as enemies. And though his brain knew all of this, his subconscious remained stubborn in its attempt to protect and ensure survival.
“You should leave,” he said to Charles.
“You don’t need to take over the farm. Your father…” Charles started and stopped. “Luc,” he corrected, silently claiming his rightful place. “He had workers. They still come around, but your mother misses you. Talk to her,” he said gently, his voice filled with emo
tion. “And when you’re ready to speak to me, you know where I live.” He headed to the door and stopped. “I want to build a relationship with you, but I won’t force it. I understand your anger.” He glanced over at Claire then back at Forrest. “Take care of her. She loves you.”
It wasn’t until Charles closed the door behind himself that Forrest drew in a steadying breath, then slowly let the air out of his lungs. “I’m going to do some work.”
Claire took a few steps forward and closed the space between them. “I love you,” she whispered and lit a spark in his dark and empty heart.
Her chestnut eyes blazed down to his mouth, then back up and locked with his. A feeling surged through him that felt startlingly like relief. And need.
So much fucking need.
“You should go upstairs and lock that door,” he said because no way in hell was he going to manhandle her again.
“Why?” she asked in a way too sexy voice.
“Because I’m one pissed-off asshole right now. And if we do anything, it will be pure fucking.” He raked a hand through his hair. “But I get it. I know how that makes you feel, so—”
She caught his hand. Her eyes told him she understood and she was here for him, but he refused to take her pity, or worse, make her feel she was his cushion. She was so much more. Standing on her toes, she pressed her lips to his neck, making him suck in a breath.
“God, Claire.”
“I’m here for you.”
“You’re not a cushion.”
She didn’t speak. Instead she captured his hand and led them back to the family room. She took the remote and turned off the television, then threw some wood in the fireplace. Orange flames celebrated with a wild, flickering dance. She stepped back and kicked off her boots. Her jeans and sweater followed. Forrest stood motionless, powerless, watching as she slipped off her underwear and then stood naked in front of him.
Sparks flared. The infinite love he carried in his heart leaped into a fiery blaze.
“Tell me what you need,” she said, voice low.
“You,” he said without a beat.
A smile touched the corners of her lips. “Good thing.” She tugged on his shirt and pulled it off. Her fingers ran down the center of his chest and lower abdomen to the waist of his jeans and snapped them open. Sliding her hand inside the waistband of his briefs, she wrapped her fingers around his raging erection and squeezed. “I need you too, Doc.”