by Julia London
He was an old school chum of Mark’s, a Prince Harry lookalike, a charming, dashing man with his tall, muscular frame, his winsome smile, and his ability to make her laugh.
It was embarrassing that she’d fallen so hard and so fast for him. They’d spent three fantastic days and two incredible nights together, and after the wedding she’d flown back to New York with his number in her phone and the belief that love at first sight could really, truly happen.
“What an idiot I am,” she said now, staring at the floor.
“You’re not an idiot,” Brandi said. “Well, the part about having unprotected sex was incredibly stupid, but you’re not a total idiot.”
“Gee, thanks.” Kyra couldn’t look Brandi in the eye on that one. A condom had not been readily available, so they’d used the old rhythm method . . . except that Josh’s rhythm was way off, and he hadn’t pulled out in time. He hadn’t pulled out at all.
“I get it, Kyra, I do,” Brandi said, sounding more sympathetic. “Who would have thought he would ghost you?”
“You had no idea he was like that?” Kyra asked.
“Me?” Brandi asked and shook her head. “I met him for the first time in Puerto Vallarta. He and Mark were college buddies, but they don’t really hang out. I saw the same thing as you did—supercute, nice guy, someone you could have a blast with.”
Oh yeah, she’d had some fun, all right. Just look at her now.
“But you’re definitely pregnant,” Brandi continued, “and now you have to pull on your big girl panties, and Josh needs to hike up his big boy briefs, and you two have to talk about this.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “I have to run. Will you be in the office Monday?”
“Sure,” Kyra said halfheartedly. She hadn’t even thought about how this pregnancy might affect her job. She hadn’t thought of what she might do if she was truly pregnant. She’d been so determined not to be pregnant, but now . . . now she couldn’t deny it, and uncertainty began to pound in her temples. What was she going to do? She had options, didn’t she? None of which felt like an answer as they flit through her head.
Brandi stood up, pulled Kyra to her feet, and hugged her. “Listen, it’s going to work out. Mark says Josh is a good guy.”
“Right,” Kyra said.
She had a really bad feeling about this. A good guy didn’t ghost.
That bad feeling only grew worse over the course of the weekend as she repeatedly tried to get in touch with Josh. When he wouldn’t respond to her phone calls or texts—even after she tried to assure him in another unanswered text message that she was not a stalker—she had to resort to drastic measures.
Monday morning, as she walked to work, she built up a good head of steam. She knew where Josh was employed, thanks to some pillow talk, and stopped outside of her office building to call his office.
“May I say who is calling?” asked the woman who answered the phone.
“Kyra Kokinos,” Kyra said. “Please tell him it’s important.”
A moment later, Josh was on the phone. “For God’s sake, Kyra,” he said impatiently. “What are you not getting? When a guy doesn’t respond to your calls or your texts, it means he—”
“I know what it means, Josh,” she said, cutting him off before he could utter the indelible I’m not that into you. She knew what was up, even if there was a tiny part of her hoping that maybe he’d lost his phone or had been hit by a bus and had been in the hospital all this time. How could she have been so wrong about their connection? “What part of important do you not get?” she shot back. “I wouldn’t have called you at work if you had just responded to a text or two.”
He sighed. “Look, Kyra, we had a great time in Puerto Vallarta. Fantastic. But this is—”
“I have to tell you something, Josh,” she said angrily. She was suddenly shaking. As in might-pass-out shaking. She sat down on a bench. “I’m pregnant.”
That was met with silence. Cold, hard, empty silence. And then, “Is it mine?”
“What? Yes, it’s yours! What do you think?”
“How can you be sure?” he asked, sounding a little frantic.
“Are you kidding me right now? For one, I can count. For two—”
“Kyra—you have to get rid of it.”
Kyra didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. There was no how are you feeling, or what do you want to do, or let’s meet to talk. Just a very firm get rid of it, spoken so decisively that it made her stomach twist.
“Look, there is something I didn’t tell you in Puerto Vallarta,” he said, his voice low.
Now Kyra’s stomach fell to her toes. She instantly assumed disease or drugs or something that meant she was carrying a mutant in her. “Oh my God, what is it?”
“I’m getting married in a couple of months.”
Those words didn’t register at first—they confused her. “You already met someone?” she asked. It had been six weeks. How had he met someone, proposed, and already set a date? Was that even possible?
“Yeah. I mean, a long time ago. This wedding . . . it’s been planned for a while.”
The fog of confusion began to lift from her brain. The asshole had been engaged while he was hitting on her in Puerto Vallarta. “But you were sleeping with me.”
“Only twice.”
“Only twice?” she shouted into the phone. “Like that makes it okay? When does it become not okay, Josh? Three times? Four times? What kind of douche are you?”
“Jesus, don’t freak out, Kyra.”
“Too late! I’m freaking out! I don’t sleep with guys who are with other women, Josh! I don’t help guys cheat! Oh my God, I don’t believe you—I honestly thought we had something,” she said, railing at herself for being so dumb. “We had so much fun, and I thought it could be real, and you gave me every reason to believe it could be real, and you said you’d pull out, and then you didn’t! Did everyone know?”
“That I’m engaged? No, no,” he said, sounding miserable about it. “I haven’t seen Mark in a while. He sent me an invitation with a plus one, and I . . . I figured it was one last good time before I got married. So I didn’t mention it.”
“That’s insane! Who does that?” she exclaimed. That’s how blind she was—she had never once considered that he wasn’t being entirely truthful with her.
“Stop shouting! Where are you, anyway?”
“Honest to God, have I learned nothing?” Kyra exclaimed to the sky, ignoring the woman who pulled her son closer as they hurried by. “All the sex education in the world, and still I had unprotected sex!”
A man passing by gave her a sharp look.
“Don’t judge me,” Kyra snapped at him. “You had to be there!”
“Who the hell are you talking to?” Josh asked, sounding worried now. “Will you please calm down? I know, that was wrong, and I regret it, but it was great, and you were great, and it felt good, and I just . . . I just sort of lost myself,” he said.
“Great,” she said. “You just sort of lost yourself and now I’m pregnant.” By Josh, the guy who was engaged, who just sort of lost himself.
But she couldn’t put the blame all on him. She had been there, too, just as lost. God, what am I going to do? She supposed she’d been hoping that Josh would have some miraculous answer for her. But he was just making everything so much worse.
“Kyra? Are you there?”
“I’m here,” she mumbled and sighed heavily, the weight of her situation really beginning to sink in.
“You have to do something,” he begged her. “If you don’t want to get rid of it, then put it up for adoption. I’ll pay. You don’t have to worry about that, I’ll pay.”
It? It wasn’t an it. “I can’t believe you,” she said, her voice shaking right along with her gut now.
“Look at it from my perspective. Liz and I have been together for two years. Two years. The wedding is planned, our life is planned. You’ll ruin her life.”
“What about
my life?”
Josh was silent. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say.”
Neither did Kyra. She hung up on him. She had in mind to hurl her phone into the Hudson, but she was two blocks away. She stood up and started walking. Marching, striding, desperate to reach the river and throw that fucking phone to the other side. She’d be late to work, but she didn’t care.
I have no one to help me. Her mother had been gone fifteen years, taken from their lives by brain cancer. Her dad—oh Jesus, he’d be pissed, and he’d be no help. And what about her job? Brandi said she was in line to get the editorial position, but that job required long hours and had deadlines that sometimes kept staff in the offices all night.
Kyra somehow reached the river without knowing how she’d crossed the streets, but here she was, staring down at the undulating current as the river flowed merrily along.
She knew nothing about babies. She didn’t know how to have one, she damn sure didn’t know how to take care of one. And what kind of money was she looking at? Diapers cost a lot, didn’t they? Her insurance sucked, and she didn’t have any money in the bank, because hello, she’d spent it on that damn trip to Puerto Vallarta. How was she going to pay for this?
Maybe Josh was right. Maybe she should abort it. What was she supposed to do, bring a baby into this world whose father didn’t want him and whose mother couldn’t afford him?
Kyra’s breath began to grow short. She braced her hands on her knees and bent over, desperately trying not to hyperventilate. “You can’t have this baby,” she whispered to herself. “You can’t. You can’t.”
It was several moments before she managed to catch her breath. She slowly pushed herself upright and shook her head, trying to clear the muck of so many jumbled thoughts. She dug her phone out of her bag and punched Brandi’s name on the contact list.
“Brandi Jenkins,” Brandi answered after two rings.
“Brandi . . . I talked to Josh.”
She gasped. “You did? What did he say?”
“I don’t . . . I—” She paused, rubbed her forehead. “He’s engaged.”
“What? Since when?”
“Will you go to Planned Parenthood with me?” Kyra whispered.
She heard Brandi’s breath catch. Her friend said nothing for a moment. “Oh, Kyra,” she whispered. “Of course I will.”
Chapter One
Seven years later
July
Leave it to a female to think the rules did not apply to her.
The little heathen from next door was crawling under the split-rail fence that separated the cottages again. Dax, who already had been feeling pretty damn grumpy going on a year now, wondered why she didn’t just go over the fence. She was big enough. It was almost as if she wanted the mud on her dress and her knees, to drag the ends of her dark red ponytails through the muck.
She crawled under, stood up, and knocked the caked mud off her knees. She stomped her pink, sparkly cowboy boots—never had he seen a more impractical shoe—to make them light up, as she liked to do, hopping around her porch several times a day.
Then she started for cottage Number Two, arms swinging, stride long.
Dax watched her from inside his kitchen, annoyed. It had started a week ago, when she’d climbed on the bottom railing of the fence, leaned over it, and shouted, “I like your dog!”
He’d ignored her.
Two days ago he’d asked her, fairly politely, not to give any more cheese to his dog, Otto. That little stunt of hers had resulted in a very long and malodorous night between man and beast.
Yesterday he’d commanded her to stay on her side of the fence.
But here the little monster came, apparently neither impressed with him nor intimidated by his warnings.
Well, Dax had had enough with that family, or whatever the situation was next door. And the enormous pickup truck that showed up at seven a.m. and idled in the drive just outside his bedroom window. Those people were exactly what was wrong with America—people doing whatever they wanted without regard for anyone else, letting their kids run wild, coming and going at all hours of the day.
He walked to the back screen door and opened it. He’d installed a dog door, but Otto refused to use it. No, Otto was a precious buttercup of a dog that liked to have his doors opened for him, and he assumed that anytime Dax neared the door, it was to open it for him. He assumed so now, stepping in front of Dax—pausing to stretch after his snoring nap—before sauntering out and down the back porch steps to sniff something at the bottom.
Dax walked out onto the porch and stood with his hands on his hips as the girl brazenly advanced.
“Hi!” she said.
She was about to learn that she couldn’t make a little girl’s social call whenever she wanted. There were rules in this world, and Dax had no compunction about teaching them to her. Clearly someone needed to. He responded to her greeting with a glower.
“Hi!” she said again, shouting this time, as if he hadn’t heard her from the tremendous distance of about six feet.
“What’d I tell you yesterday?” he asked.
“To stay on the other side of the fence.”
“Then why are you over here?”
“I forgot.” She rocked back on her heels and balanced on them, toes up. “Do you live there?”
“No, I just stand on the porch and guard the fence. Yes, I live here. And I work here. And I don’t want visitors. Now go home.”
“My name is Ruby Kokinos. What’s yours?”
What was wrong with this kid? “Where is your mother?”
“At work.”
“Then is your dad home?”
“My daddy is in Africa. He teaches cats to do tricks,” she said, pausing to twirl around on one heel. “Big cats, not little cats. They have really big cats in Africa.”
“Whatever,” he said impatiently. “Who is home with you right now?”
“Mrs. Miller. She’s watching TV. She said I could go outside.”
Great. A babysitter. “Go home,” he said, pointing to Number Three as Otto wandered over to examine Ruby Coconuts, or whatever her name was. “Go home and tell Mrs. Miller that you’re not allowed to come over or under that fence. Do you understand me?”
“What’s your dog’s name?” she asked, petting that lazy, useless mutt.
“Did you hear me?” Dax asked.
“Yes.” She giggled as Otto began to lick her hand, and went down on her knees to hug him. “I always always wanted a dog, but Mommy says I can’t have one now. Maybe when I’m big.” She stroked Otto’s nose, and the dog sat, settling in for some attention.
“Don’t pet the dog,” Dax said. “I just told you to go home. What else did I tell you to do?”
“To, um, to tell Mrs. Miller to stay over there,” she said, as she continued to pet the dog. “What’s her name?”
“It’s a he, and his name is Otto. And I told you to tell Mrs. Miller that you are supposed to stay over there. Now go on.”
She stopped petting the dog, and Otto, not ready for the gravy train of attention to end, began to lick her face. Ruby giggled with delight. Otto licked harder, like she’d been handling red meat. Frankly, it wouldn’t surprise Dax if she had—the kid seemed like the type to be into everything. She was laughing uncontrollably now and fell onto her back. Otto straddled her, his tail wagging as hard as her feet were kicking, trying to lick her while she tried to hold him off.
Nope, this was not going to happen. Those two useless beings were not making friends. Dax marched down off the porch and grabbed Otto’s collar, shoving him out of the way. “Go,” he said to the dog, pointing to his cottage. Otto obediently lumbered away.
Dax turned his attention to the girl with the fantastically dark red hair in two uneven pigtails and, now that he was close to her, he could see her clear blue eyes through the round lenses of her blue plastic eyeglasses, which were strapped to her face with a headband. She looked like a very young little old lady. “Listen to me, k
id. I don’t want you over here. I work here. Serious work. I can’t be entertaining little girls.”
She hopped to her feet. “What’s your name?”
Dax sighed. “If I tell you my name, will you go home?”
She nodded, her long pigtails bouncing around her.
“Dax.”
She stared at him.
“That’s my name,” he said with a shrug.
Ruby giggled and began to sway side to side. “That’s not a real name!”
“It’s as real as Ruby Coconuts.”
“Not Coconuts!” She squealed with delight. “It’s Ruby Kokinos.”
“Yeah, okay, but I’m pretty sure you said Coconuts. Now go home.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m a lot older than you,” he said and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her around.
“I’m going to be seven on my birthday. I want a Barbie for my birthday. I already have four. I want the one that has the car. The pink car with flowers on it. There’s a blue car, but I don’t want that one, I want the pink one, because it has flowers on it. Oh, and guess what, I don’t want a Jasmine anymore. That’s my favorite princess, but I don’t want her anymore, I want a Barbie like Taleesha has.”
“Great. Good luck with that,” he said as he moved her toward the fence.
“My shoes light up,” she informed him, stomping her feet as they moved. “My mom says they’re fancy. They’re my favorites. I have some sneakers, too, but they don’t light up.”
They had reached the fence, thank God, before the girl could give him a rundown of her entire shoe collection. Ruby dipped down, apparently thinking she’d go under again, but Dax caught her under her arms and swung her over the fence, depositing her on the other side.
Ruby laughed with delight. “Do that again!”
“No. This is where our acquaintance comes to an end, kid. I don’t have time to babysit you, get it?”
“Yes,” she said.
She didn’t get it. She wasn’t even listening. She had already climbed onto the bottom rail, as if she meant to come back over.