Driving to You (H1.5)

by Marquita Valentine

  She listened with half an ear as her dad droned on and on about family duty, constituents and campaigning coupled with her inability to not keep her head on straight when it came to outward appearances.

  Same lecture, different day.

  It didn’t matter if she were perfect or not, she’d never measure up to her dad’s standards. No one could. Maybe that was why her mother had run off and married the gardener. Last she heard, they were living it up in Acapulco.

  She glanced around her dad’s office. Same dark woods, same wall of books and same smell of old leather and bullcrap. Lots of deal-making and hand shaking went on in this room.

  And she was so tired of it. She wanted a normal life, without politics. Without the scrutiny and campaigns.

  “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” Her dad downed his glass of rum and coke.

  Looking Chad straight in the eye, she took a deep breath and said, “I’m almost four months pregnant.”

  The nearly empty glass fell to the desk with a thud, ice and mixed drink going everywhere. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Who’s the father?” he asked and April blinked at him. “Do you even know?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” He came from around his desk, advancing on her with a dark look on his face, and for the first time in her life, she was afraid of her dad. But she refused to cower.

  “Why does it matter?” Besides, if he wanted to think she slept around…fine.

  His jaw worked. “Why does it matter?” he repeated. “God Almighty, April.” He glanced around the room, then back at her. “Get rid of it.”

  Get rid of it? Like it was an inconvenience to him? Like he had to the right to dictate to her? He’d lost his damn mind. “No.”

  “Then tell me who the father is.”

  “No.” She stood, lifting her chin and gripping her phone tightly in her hand. “I’m keeping the baby and you’re going to have to deal with it. I’m sure your campaign manager will know how to spin it. Think of all the conservative women votes you have yet to capture.”

  “It’s not going to reach Margo’s ears,” he said and she could see the gears turning in his head. One thing that every opponent could count on from her dad was his ability to think on his feet. He was a master at debate and could turn any rebuttal into a gaff. “If only you were still with that Ambrose boy. We could work with him. Nice kid but dumb as hell when it comes to politics.”

  That had been what drew her to him. He couldn’t have cared less who her daddy was. “We were toxic together. I didn’t like the person I was with him.” Normally, she wouldn’t have admitted this to him, but the pregnancy made her vulnerable. It made her wish for a father that was concerned for her and would tell her things like: I support and love you, no matter what.

  “Sugar, you can’t help it,” he said, almost absentmindedly. “Too much of your mother in you.”

  Hurt slashed through her. She bit down on the inside of her cheek for so hard and so long that blood flooded her mouth. Bile rose in her throat and she had to close her eyes.

  Breathe, she told herself, just breathe. Then she opened her eyes.

  “Still, I wonder…” Suddenly, her dad smiled. Oh God. She knew that smile. “You’re still friendly with Leah Ambrose, aren’t you?”

  “Carter’s mother…yes.”

  “Go visit with her. Enlist her help in getting Carter back.”

  “I don’t want him back.” She wanted Finn back, with all her heart. Stupid heart.

  Chad wasn’t listening. “And to sweeten the pot.” He strode to his desk and opened the middle drawer. His checkbook. Did her dad really think he could buy Carter off? Wouldn’t happen in a million years. “Make it happen, April.”

  Or else hung in the air, daring her to ask, “What if I don’t?”

  “Then I’m cutting you off.” He held out the check. “Think about it, sugar. You don’t have a job, unless I say you do, which means no insurance, no salary, no pretty clothes and shoes. I’ll sell the car, sell the house—”

  It galled her to think that her own father had narrowed down her focus in life to material things. Though in the past that might have been true. “I already sold the house and bought another one. In my name only this time.” She gave him a saccharine smile. “Didn’t your secretary tell you? Maybe you should start reading things before you sign them.” But she needed her job, if only for the medical insurance. No one would insure a pregnant woman after the fact.

  God, she hated the corner she’d painted herself into. This was exactly why one never went into business with family.

  “Fine. Keep the car. Good luck paying for maintenance, gas or insurance.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Thanks.”

  The check crumpled in his hand at her mutinous expression. “Dammit, April. At least think of the baby.” He said the word as if it were a curse. “You’ll need transportation, food, a roof over your head and baby stuff. All of that costs a lot of money that you’ll no longer have. And do you really think all of your so-called friends will be there for you? Sure, they might come over and play with the baby, but honey, think about it…You’d be all alone, with a child that you can’t afford to raise.”

  Biting down on the inside of her cheek again, she looked away. Tears threatened to fall. Slowly uncrossing her arms, she held out a hand. “I’ll do it.”

  He set the check in her palm, closing her fingers around it. “You did the right thing, baby girl.” Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he gripped her chin and forced her to face him. “Do what needs to be done and if you can convince the son of a bitch it’s his, do it.”

  Then he released her, striding out of his office and slamming the door behind him.

  April sank into the chair, check in one hand and phone in the other. She let the check fall to the floor. Tears flowed down her cheeks, but she refused to acknowledge them. She pressed that empty hand to her stomach. “For you…I’ll do anything for you.” Unlike her parents, she would put her family first.

  Chapter Three

  April was not used to losing and she hated coming in second to anything or anyone. Yet here she was, driving back to Charlotte in defeat, with a smile on her face. She hadn’t been able to convince Carter that they needed to get back together, and like she had predicted, the check from the governor hadn’t helped things.

  However, she had taken it upon herself to purposefully sabotage the entire thing, though to be honest, as soon as she and Carter were in the same room together that familiar pattern of their toxic relationship reared its ugly head. Instead of whoring herself out, she lied to her ex by saying that she’d cheated on him while they were together, and became the biggest witch this side of the Mississippi to him and everyone else she came in contact with, except his mother.

  However, that wasn’t too much of a stretch, especially now that she was becoming sick at the most odd times of day. No morning sickness for her. It was more like all day sickness.

  Not that Carter would have cared. He wouldn’t have cared if she’d screwed every man in Holland Springs and uploaded videos of her sexcapades on YouTube. Nope, his attention was firmly fixed on his sister’s best friend. Too bad the dumbtail didn’t know he was in love with the girl. But April hadn’t been inclined to help either of them. Instead she managed get herself practically thrown out of the Ambrose’s house.

  Something that her father couldn’t possibly blame on her, because he didn’t know the details while she knew that the Ambroses wouldn’t breathe a word about it. She’d always thought something had been a little off about that family. Maybe it was all those brothers and sisters, with two parents that not only loved their kids, but actually liked them.

  Maybe she should have tried harder to be—she grimaced—nice after all, because she was back to square one: twenty-six years old, all alone, unmarried, pregnant by a no good lying asshole of a man and without a job.

  Awesom
e.

  Making a left on North Davidson Street, NoDa’s familiar landscape greeted her. All funky shops and eclectic eateries. Some even called the historic mill village SoHo’s little sister. She preferred to call it home.

  Almost there, she thought with a little smile.

  Her little bungalow, located on Thirty-Seventh Street, was the only place that had ever felt like home to her. It was cozy and comfortable, with a pretty little front yard and a great backyard, complete with a patio and a swing-set.

  Placing a hand on her belly, she said, “I’ll play with you. Don’t worry.” No way would she raise her child like she’d been raised. On at all times, never able to show emotions about anything, not even when her mother had left her.

  Blue and red lights flashed in her rear view mirror.

  Glancing down, she checked her speed. Thirty-six in a thirty-five zone. “Oh, come on,” she muttered, pressing on the brakes and hitting the hazard lights. She pulled over to the right side of the street, put her car in park and rolled her window down. This was the last thing she needed. Jerking her purse out of the passenger side seat, she dug through it and found her wallet.

  By the time the officer got to her window, she had her license out and was tapping it against the steering wheel. Only the officer wasn’t dressed like a cop. He wore black cargo pants, a black long-sleeved t-shirt and a black Kevlar vest.

  “License, please,” a familiar voice said and her heart stopped. Finn Burke.

  A flutter of anticipation slid through her, but she turned to him with the haughtiest look she could muster, letting him take the square piece of plastic. “Shouldn’t you be out arresting mobsters? Or at least sleeping with their daughters?”

  “There’s a big Mafia problem in NoDa?” he asked, with that brogue of his. She would never admit it to him, but that combination of Irish accent with a touch of the Bronx drove her wild. Made her wet and hot.

  And she hated it now. Him, really. Hated how out of control he could make her feel by saying such mundane things as butter, hotter and basically any word ending with an ‘r’. But that wasn’t the worst of his crimes,not by a long shot. He had made her fall in love with him, or who she thought he was.

  “Are we through here?” Snatching her license out of his hand, she flung it away, not caring where it landed. The smell of Salvador Deli, normally taste bud heaven, made her stomach roil and she gasped. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead and she felt the blood drain from her face.

  He opened the car door so quickly that she couldn’t stop him. “What’s wrong, babe?”

  Breathing through her nose, she slanted him a look. “Don’t call me babe, you damn Yankee.” Another roil of her stomach and she had to lean back in her seat, eyes closing. She would not puke in front of him. On him though, was an entirely different matter.

  “I’m Irish, April. Lived in Ireland most of my life,” he reminded her.

  “But you lived in the Bronx for five years,” she insisted, then moaned a little as the next wave of nausea hit her. “Makes you a Yankee.”

  He grunted. “Get out of the car.”

  “You can’t make me,” she said weakly, but didn’t protest when he unfastened her seatbelt and lifted her out. His bullet proof vest was hard and as unforgiving as she felt on the inside. Wrapping her arms around his neck was something she had to do, because she had no desire to fall.

  Too bad she’d never stopped falling for him.

  Damn stubborn woman. Finn kicked the car door shut, then pressed the lock button on her key fob before readjusting her in his arms. She snuggled up against him, and he glanced down. The color had returned to her face, but she still looked a bit peaked.

  “You aren’t contagious, are you?” he asked, striding to his SUV.

  Her head lulled to one side, one eye cracking open to narrow at him. “Will you leave me alone if I say yes?” Which was April-speak for she wasn’t contagious and wanted him to stay with her.

  A smile kicked up the corners of his mouth. He managed to get his keys out, unlock the door and place her inside. “Sit there, and if you have to hurl, kindly roll down the bloody window first.” Then he slammed the door shut and jogged to the driver’s side and got in. “I’ll get one of my buddies to drive your car home.”

  After he started up his Range Rover and merged onto Davidson, she cleared her throat. “I don’t live on Kingston anymore.”

  Grunting, he glanced at her, then back at the road. “Finally moved up to Myers Park, yeah?”

  “No.”

  “Eastover, then.” It was pure luck that he’d been doing a ride-along with Hunter and was on his way back to his SUV. When he’d seen that silver little BMW whip out onto Davidson, it had been all he could do not to tell Hunter to punch it. Instead he’d suggested that his buddy tail the roadster, just for shits and giggles.

  So, when her speed had gone a mile over, Finn couldn’t have hit the lights fast enough. Pride made him sit in the car so she could sweat it out.

  “Pretty nice ride, for a cop,” she said as he braked for a red light. “Or Uptown’s businesses are doling out major kickbacks.”

  “Security business pays well, remember?”

  “Should I know every mundane fact about your life?”

  Which meant, yes, she did remember. Too amused to be angry with her, he smiled and shook his head. “Do you believe every Hollywood film you see?”

  “Then you explain it.”

  “If I told you, then I’d have to kill you,” he said with a quick glance in her direction.

  She smirked at him, then closed her eyes. “Nice.”

  His stomach rumbled. A quick stop at the deli and he could get his dinner to go. “Are you hungry?”

  She didn’t answer. Glancing her way again, he found April asleep, her mouth slightly parted. Damn, whatever bad dose she’d gotten had made her all knackered.

  He parked his truck again, ran to the window, ordered and was back on the road in under ten minutes. April slept the entire time, until he turned into her driveway. Then she woke up, looked at him and her face went white, then green.

  “Oh, no, no, no,” he chanted, pressing the unlock button while she worked at the door handle.

  “It’s not working.”

  Jumping out, he ran like a man on fire to her side. “Let go,” he shouted, but every time he pulled, so did she and the door refused to budge. Finally, she gave up and stuck her head out of the window, puking down the side of his Range Rover.

  He made a face, running a hand over his eyes, nose and mouth. “Did you have to get it all over the door?”

  “Sandwich,” she moaned.

  She wanted eat. After all that? “Sorry?”

  “Get. Your. Sandwich,” she said through gritted teeth.

  He stood there, stupidly, until his sandwich came flying through the window, hitting him squarely in the chest. Catching it on the way down, he watched April get out on his side and wobble on high heels to her front door. She jiggled the knob a couple of times, then sank to the floor and did…nothing.

  A gentleman would go help his lady up. But he was no gentleman and his “lady” hated him, hadn’t spoken to him in over a month and had puked all over his new SUV’s paint job. He stomped to the side of her house, threw the sandwich away in her trashcan, then searched for a garden hose. After finding it, he turned on the water and pulled the hose along side of him.

  Taking his time, he rinsed off the passenger side door, then rummaged through the back for some soap, a bucket and a sponge. After finding all three, he set to washing the thing, humming a tune as he got the job done.

  When the SUV looked as good as new, he put everything back in its place and headed to April’s porch. He stopped cold when he found her still sitting there, unmoving with her head against the door frame.

  “Why didn’t you go inside?”

  She made a little noise. “You have my keys.”

  “But the spare—”

  “Is in the back, hidden under th
e deck,” she finished. Holding out her hand, she wiggled her fingers at him. “Keys.”

  Damn his temper and damn her stubbornness. She could have asked for his help. He snorted. Fat chance of that happening. Ever.

  “Please,” she whispered, then her arm went limp.

  And didn’t he feel like a big man for reducing her to this. April Billingsworth never said please. Oh hell, no. She demanded and he gave, until they were in bed together, then her demands turned into pleas.

  “Now, Frank,” she growled.

  He smiled. There was that flash of temper he’d missed. Thought she could make him mad by calling him by the wrong name? Not a chance. His smile widened. “There’s my girl.”

  His girl chucked her phone at his head.

  Chapter Four

  April eyed Finn as he held a bag of frozen peas on his cheek. A very, very tiny part of her felt bad for hurting him, while a very, very large part of her thought it served him right.

  Wrapping her robe tighter around her, she sailed past him and into the kitchen. Damp strands of hair slapped her in the face. The shower she’d taken had made her feel a million times better. So had the saltine crackers and ginger ale she’d sneaked into the bathroom while he wasn’t looking.

  “I’ll take a steak-medium; a potato-baked; and a glass of your finest in lieu of your apology,” Finn called out from her living room. “And a twenty for the gas I spent getting you home safely.”

  “Dream on,” she snapped, then stopped short, spun around and stomped to the living room. “How did you know where I lived?”

  His oh so very handsome face paled a little under his tan. “You told me, right before you passed out.”

  Crossing her arms, she lifted her chin. “I don’t think so.”

  “You talk in your sleep, don’t you know,” he said with a wink. “Although, this time there were considerably less ‘more, Finn, more’ coming from that sweet mouth.”