Make Me Yours (Men of Gold Mountain)

by Brooks, Rebecca

  But Claire shook her head. “I’ve got to go.”

  He tried to laugh it off. “I’m not asking you to spend the night.”

  “I still can’t.”

  “Five minutes?”

  This wasn’t some random hookup. It wasn’t like they were avoiding admitting they didn’t know each other’s names. But Claire started picking up her clothes strewn across the floor.

  She untangled her underwear and slid it on, then found her bra. He propped one arm behind his head, watching the show, trying to act like it didn’t matter that she’d just fucked him and now couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  She lived here, he lived in Chicago. His manager had rebooked his flight and was sure as hell expecting him to be on that plane tomorrow. He knew nothing else was going to happen.

  But damn, did she really have to be in such a rush?

  “The babysitter,” Claire said as she stepped into her dress. “I told her I wouldn’t be out late.”

  Ryan felt all the air leave his lungs.

  The babysitter.

  Claire had actual goddamn shit to do, and here he was acting like she should have all the time in the world to curl up in his arms, press her ass against his dick while he spooned her, held her while she drifted off to sleep, and then woke her up to do it all over again.

  He felt…

  He couldn’t even say what he felt. His chest hurt, but maybe that was the side effect of not getting any air. He’d stopped breathing as soon as Claire said that word. It wasn’t like he’d forgotten about Maya, whom he still desperately wanted to meet. But the fact that Claire had a kid—he and Claire had a kid—wasn’t exactly something he was used to accounting for. It still felt a little unreal.

  Claire came over and stood by the bed, turning her back to him.

  “A little help?” she asked. He sat up and brushed her hair gently over one shoulder before he zipped the dress and latched it at the top. Then he put his hands on her shoulders and kissed the bare skin at the nape of her neck.

  “Let me give you money for the sitter.”

  Claire turned in his arms, eyes suddenly flashing. “You don’t have to pay me to fuck you.”

  Startled, he held up his palms. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I’ve been paying for babysitters for the last five years. I think I can handle it tonight.”

  “I honestly didn’t mean anything by it, Claire. I just want to help. You’ve done everything by yourself, and I—”

  “And you forgot, again, that you have a child. That I’m not just here for whatever you need, without my own life to worry about, too.”

  “I know,” he said. “Of course I know that.” This was coming out all wrong.

  “I still want to see her,” he said, as gently as he could. It was supposed to be the whole reason he was meeting Claire tonight—not for sex, but for Maya.

  Claire shook her head. “It’s too complicated,” she said, avoiding his eyes.

  “She’s my daughter, too.” He thought of the photograph on Claire’s desk, of that wild smile and the brightness of her gray-blue eyes. “I just want to meet her—that’s all.”

  He heard her sigh. Like maybe it wasn’t as easy for her to go home as she was pretending. “It’s not fair to Maya, okay? She’s just a kid, she doesn’t know you, and you can’t just pop into her life, announce you’re her dad, and then leave.”

  “But doesn’t she wonder where her father is? Doesn’t she at least deserve to know?”

  “When she’s eighteen. Or, if I have my way, closer to forty.” She let out a laugh. “But she’s five. She won’t understand what it means. Anyway.” Now she was busy putting on her heels, reaching for her purse. “I have to work tomorrow morning, so I have to get home.”

  “On a Sunday? You work on a Sunday?”

  “People who work during the week still want massages. I try to offer extra hours on the weekends. I’m not going to turn someone away just because they can’t get time off during the week.”

  He frowned, running a hand through his hair. He was still naked, and the sight of her in that dress again made him want to bend her over the bed, hitch up the skirt, part her thighs, and show her again why she should stay.

  But he knew she was right. He couldn’t just drop in on Maya, make a huge, life-changing announcement, and then go home. That was why Claire was the one with the stable life and the beautiful daughter—because she always thought of people other than herself. And he was alone because he didn’t.

  “You’re heading out tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  She stepped toward him, and he thought, this is it, the crack in her armor. She was faltering and was going to be in his arms, be there for just a minute longer before they had to say good-bye.

  But she only kissed him on the cheek and touched him softly.

  “You take care of yourself, okay? I expect to be hearing your voice all over the radio.”

  He wanted to tell her about these things called telephones that would allow her to hear his voice anytime she damn well pleased. Also, the internet. Skype. He’d even break down and get a Facebook account that wasn’t managed by his publicist if she’d talk to him on one of those video messaging things and let him know how she and Maya were doing.

  It wasn’t even like he really wanted to go. It was only because he had to. Because for once in his life he was actually being responsible, and he needed to get on that plane.

  But the words stuck in his throat. Around Claire, he never could quite say what he meant.

  “Okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t okay at all.

  She took one last look at him, and he couldn’t tell if what he saw was sadness or satisfaction.

  And then she walked out.

  He felt frozen—until the door shut and he lunged for his jeans, searching for the room key. He had to go after her, give her one more kiss, the kiss that would make her believe he was different, that she could believe in him again. He just wanted to lay eyes on what was probably the only kid he’d ever have.

  But he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. For one short evening, Claire had felt like she was his again.

  But he knew it was all a fantasy. Make-believe. She didn’t really want him here. He knew it was time to go home.

  Chapter Nine

  “You didn’t,” Mack said, mouth open in shock as she poured way too much wine in Claire’s glass.

  “She did,” Abbi said, grinning. “It’s all over her face.”

  “Would you leave the poor girl alone?” Sam said, and Claire was glad someone was on her side, until Sam added, “She’s obviously still recovering.”

  “For your information,” Claire said, busying herself with the universal source of solace, the cheese plate, “it was only once. For old time’s sake. And given the number of things I’ve heard you all talk about”—she sat up a little straighter—“I’d think you’d be proud of me.”

  “We are,” Mack cried, and everyone raised their glasses.

  “To Claire being just as much of a depraved hussy as the rest of us,” Abbi said. To which Sam and Mack solemnly replied, “Amen.”

  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” Mack said after they drank. “So, how was it?”

  “Fine,” Claire said. But she felt the blush creeping up her cheeks and knew it gave everything away.

  “You’re not doing very well at this game,” Abbi said, pouting. “You’re supposed to have mind-blowing sex with your ex, dish on every detail, and we all go home happy.”

  Claire laughed. “Aren’t you usually the one dishing on mind-blowing sex? I’m just the listener.”

  “You’re always the listener,” Mack said.

  “And now we’ve gotten boring,” Abbi complained, brushing purple hair out of her face. “You’re our only source of fun.”

  Claire tried not to choke on her wine, but she was laughing too hard at Abbi trying to play innocent. “Your boyfriend is a wildland firefight
er, Abs. I’m pretty sure your sex life is plenty hot.”

  Abbi gave a smirk that said Claire was absolutely right. “But I’m not allowed to kiss and tell anymore.”

  “Not even about sneaking away at the ribbon-cutting ceremony for Sam’s new offices?” Mack asked.

  Abbi turned to her, shocked. “How did you know?”

  “I was just guessing!”

  “That ceremony was endless. And Tyler was in his uniform…”

  “Please just tell me you haven’t desecrated any of my other properties,” Sam said, groaning, and Abbi, blushing, pretended that suddenly the only thing that mattered was the cheese.

  Claire thought they’d forgotten about her complete lapse in judgment until Mack asked, “So when are you seeing him again?”

  She took a drink to buy herself time, but the wine suddenly tasted sour. “I’m not.”

  “What?”

  “He lives in Chicago. He’s already on his way back. And he’s an ex for a reason.”

  “Which is what, exactly? We barely know anything about this guy.”

  Everyone looked at her. It was true, she’d managed to successfully brush off questions about Maya’s father for years. When she came to Gold Mountain, the wound was too fresh. Over time, it seemed fruitless to keep picking at the scab.

  Now, though, she found she couldn’t ignore the old scars anymore. Ryan was part of her life, even in memory, whether she liked it or not.

  “We were together for years,” she said, swirling the wine in her glass and watching the colors catch the light. “I dropped out of college for him.”

  “You’re kidding.” Sam sounded shocked. Which wasn’t surprising—she was a successful CEO who ran her family’s multimillion-dollar company. When she came to Gold Mountain and fell in love with Austin, it was because he added to her life, not because he took anything away. She’d never put herself on hold for a guy or stay with anyone who didn’t put her first.

  This was why Claire didn’t like to revisit her history. She was so ashamed when she had to own up to the stupid choices she’d made.

  But Sam put a hand on Claire’s, and Claire realized she hadn’t meant any judgment. “Not my brightest moment,” she admitted. “But I got to live in New York for a few years. Which I guess was kind of cool.” She paused. “Actually, it was mostly terrible. But I did it, you know? I moved on my own, supported myself—barely, but still. I stopped doing what everybody else expected of me.”

  She thought her friends would think she was crazy. But all three of them were nodding. It made her feel stronger, and she went on.

  “You’ve seen Ryan play; you know what he’s like. Back then, Little White Lie was just starting to grow, and it was electrifying. To be there from the ground up, to feel his eyes on me and know I was the one he had chosen?” She shook her head, laughing at the memories. “He made me feel amazing, like together he and I could do anything, be anyone we wanted. I was such a goner.”

  “So why did you leave?” Abbi asked.

  “Ryan had this idea that we’d move to New York, they’d sign a major record deal, and everything would be set. I knew he was talented, and I wanted to be there to support him. I certainly couldn’t imagine staying behind on my own. But of course, it didn’t work that way. The band slogged through a hundred small performances, small venues, barely breaking even. They’d fill the space, get great reviews, but there are a million bands filling spaces and getting great reviews. Ryan would do anything to make it, so he’d stay out all night, connecting with whomever he was supposed to connect with, doing whatever it took. And all those late nights—it led to another problem. He started drinking. A lot.”

  She swallowed. She’d spent so long feeling angry and hurt, but it was hard to reconcile the person she’d left with the one who’d pulled back the covers and longed for her to curl up with him last night. The one who used to be so good to her. She closed her eyes for a minute, but whether to recover the memory or push it away, she couldn’t say.

  “I’m so sorry,” Abbi said.

  “Me, too,” Claire said. “And I’m sorry I spent so much time thinking he was going to change.”

  “You heal people,” Sam said. “It’s what you do. I’ve been on that massage table, Claire. You didn’t just ease my muscles—you’re the reason I’m with Austin, because you helped me see what I needed. You don’t have to apologize for believing in Ryan, even if it didn’t pan out.”

  “What finally happened?” Mack asked.

  “Ryan’s drinking got really out of control. Even I could see it. He’d swear he’d change, he’d stop drinking the hard stuff, he’d stop doing whatever. But it wouldn’t make a difference, and it wouldn’t take long for him to break that promise, anyway. I was scared for him. Once he came home all bruised but didn’t remember what had happened. I threatened to leave. I gave a thousand empty ultimatums. I even stayed at friends’ apartments. But he always found me, sweet-talked me, said everything I wanted to hear.

  “And it’d be good again. We’d make dinner together and eat by candlelight to save on electricity. He’d do something nice for me. Once he took the earnings from a successful show and booked me a massage. I felt guilty—we could have used that money for something else—but he insisted I take it because he loved me, and he thought I worked too hard, and he wanted me to let someone else take care of me for a change. He could be thoughtful sometimes. Ridiculously sweet.”

  She still remembered lying on that table in the dark, the smell of lavender in the air. It was the only time she’d felt relaxed in that city, a feeling she’d longed to return to when she left New York and had to figure out what to do next.

  “But the good parts never lasted,” she went on. “I stopped being able to afford birth control, but I didn’t tell him because, I don’t know, I was afraid he’d get upset. He always got upset about money, as if reminding him about something we needed to pay for was really pointing out that he’d failed. So this one time, he came home, I was asleep, and—ugh, God, you guys, this is so embarrassing to admit, but we’d barely been having sex at that point.”

  Mack nodded. “The drinking.”

  “Not exactly sexy.” Claire made a face. “But we’d had this big fight earlier, and he came home talking about how he was going to change, how much he loved me… And I thought I was okay just that once, that we could have sex and feel close again, and he’d keep those promises, and I’d tell him about the birth control later but just not right that second because then we’d have a fight instead of having sex…”

  “And lo and behold,” Abbi said.

  “I love Maya more than anything,” Claire said. “But if you ever tell her she was conceived because her mom was a scaredy-cat—”

  “Oh, come on,” Sam said, shaking her head. “Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on yourself?”

  “Seriously,” Abbi said. “Maya would be proud her mom had the ovaries to make a tough decision when she had no good options. Who knew how to take care of herself.”

  “Stop it,” Claire said. “You’re going to make me cry.”

  Mack spoke up. “No crying at Mackenzie’s. New policy. Or something.”

  Claire laughed. Trust Mack to avoid talking about too many feelings.

  “It’s crazy, but when I realized I was pregnant, you’d think I’d panic, right? My life was so not set up to have a baby! But the thing is, I saw those two lines on the stick, and I started to cry because I was so happy. I’d always wanted kids, a family, and it was the first time in so long that there was something I wanted and I realized I could have it. What broke my heart was knowing Ryan would freak.”

  “So you left him to have the baby on your own?” Abbi asked. And while Claire had always been so ashamed of this, of all the circumstances that put her in that situation, she heard the note of admiration in Abbi’s voice.

  “Well, first I told him. Then he flipped. Then apparently he forgot I told him—”

  “Wait, what?” Sam and Mack c
ried in unison.

  “Then I left.”

  “Back up,” Mack said. “You told him you were pregnant and he forgot?”

  “He was blitzed. When I told him, he got upset and left. I found him the next day literally asleep on the front steps of the building. He was out of it, but I got him upstairs and into bed, which wasn’t easy. And while he lay there and I made sure he wasn’t dead, I packed. Because even if I’d never been able to leave him for myself, I sure as hell wasn’t going to bring a child into that home.”

  There was silence. Sam had grown up following in her family’s footsteps to take over one of the largest companies in the Pacific Northwest, even before she met her husband. Mack had grown up in foster care and was now running her own bar and restaurant with the love her of life. Abbi had traveled all over the country and found happiness with the one man who could keep up with her. Next to them, Claire felt anything but significant.

  But maybe she was. Maybe she had done something important with her life.

  “I thought he knew,” Claire said. “He could have easily found me. I just thought he didn’t care. I mean, I’d told him, didn’t I? It wasn’t like I was planning on keeping her from him. But I wanted her to be safe. I didn’t want her to know the kind of heartache I felt, watching him make promise after promise and then not show up. When I never heard anything from him, I decided it was better that way.”

  “So, he had no idea when he saw you,” Abbi said.

  Claire told them about how he’d found the picture on her desk.

  “But you just slept with him again,” Mack said, and there was a note of worry in her voice that wasn’t there when this was just a story about a romp in the sack with any old flame.

  “He’s stone cold sober,” Claire said. “And he seemed…different. Not just that I believe him when he says he’s not drinking. But something else. He’s different even than he was when we were younger, before things got so bad.”

  “He grew up,” Sam said.

  “Well, I wouldn’t take it too far.” Claire laughed. “He seems weirded out by the whole parenting thing.”