His stare was hard. “Prove it.”
She did, she tried, every day. It wasn’t that easy. Being a parent was never that easy. She stared at her son, aching from the pain and anger in his big eyes. The wounds her son carried were her fault—her and Matt’s. All the apologies and hugs in the world couldn’t change that. “I don’t know how.”
“Easy.” He shook his head. “Me or him.”
“You or Graham?” The clarification was necessary. Jack was still the elephant in the room, looming on the edges of everything. But there was nothing he could do about that—no matter how much he resented it. Which he did, so much that he was going to take all his aggression out on Graham. If she tried to point that out, he’d only dig in harder. His life was spinning out of control. Sending Graham away wouldn’t make anything better. He was doing it because he could. If she let him.
He nodded, his nostrils flaring. “You have to think about it?”
“No.” Her lungs emptied. “No. You, Nick. Always. If giving up Graham proves that, then I won’t see him anymore.”
He slumped back into the chair at the same time Charity returned with a full glass of water.
“What do we have to do with Sheriff Martinez? Do I need to sign paperwork? Do you have community service? What?” She glanced at Charity for answers.
“Nothing.” Her sister shook her head. “He gave him a warning.”
“Seriously?” Nick asked, looking just as stunned as she was.
“That’s sort of what I said. No offense, kiddo, but you’re getting off easy.” Charity shrugged. “If you don’t have the world’s worst hangover tomorrow, it won’t be fair.”
“I know,” Nick agreed.
Felicity studied her son. Did he know? Really?
“I do,” he repeated, barely able to look her in the eye. “I sort of lost it tonight. Dad… Jack…” His jaw tightened hard. “Next time…” He shrugged. “I won’t.”
“You can be angry, Nickie.” Felicity touched his chin, waiting for him to look at her. “You have every right to be angry. It’s what you do with it that’s important. Lashing out at the world only makes it worse. And, in all likelihood, hurts the ones around you. The ones who love you more than anything.”
He wrinkled his nose, his bleary eyes filling with tears.
“Besides, Sheriff Martinez might not be willing to let you off with a warning next time.”
“He’s a really decent guy,” Charity added. “I asked him why he was doing this, and he said he understood.”
Felicity knew what Braden Martinez had suffered; the whole town knew. The accident that changed his life forever had been front-page news. Did Charity know about that? About Braden’s poor wife? Every time she saw the man, she felt compelled to hug him—an impulse the very private and reserved man wouldn’t appreciate.
“I’m hungry,” Charity sounded off. “Ice cream, anyone?”
Felicity shook her head. “This guy needs a shower and bed.”
Nick nodded. All signs of his previous temper were gone.
She helped Nick up and as far as the stairs. “I should call Mom and Dad so they don’t wake up and panic.”
He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her for a long time. It was going to be okay. She didn’t know how, but she had to believe it. She had to.
“Need anything?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“I’ll be up in a few.” She watched him make his way up, then she headed back into the kitchen. “Honor?” Not in the laundry room. Or the garage… But Amber’s car was gone. So were her keys. With a frown, she stared around the kitchen. A hastily scribbled note made her heart sink.
Robert Klein, his office address, a meeting time for tomorrow, and his phone number. Felicity picked up the phone and dialed.
…
“He’s on the verge, Dad.” Diana sat, knees drawn up, wide-eyed and upset. “I know what that looks like. And he’s so there.”
Graham tossed his tie on the back of the sofa and ran a hand along the back of his neck. Did he want to know what she was talking about? Right now, he was still battling the urge to head back to Felicity’s. It took a lot to get him upset, but Nick Buchanan had succeeded. Not for himself, but the way he’d spoken to Felicity. Nick was a teenager, volatile and self-absorbed, to boot. But he was a good kid deep down. Today had been a lot—for all of them. Enough to put Nick over his breaking point. “What happened?”
“Tonight?”
“Something happened before tonight?” He flopped onto the couch opposite her, doing his best to act calm. If he overreacted, she shut down. If he acted indifferent, she blew up. Calm and slightly curious seemed to work best.
“Yeah. This isn’t his first slip.” Her eyes pinned his, like she was evaluating her options. “I took him to hang out with some friends one night. He texted me.” She waved away any questions. “He was upset so, you know, I was all come hang out and relax.”
“You mean get high?” he asked, trying to keep his calm.
“Yeah, Dad, exactly. It’s not like meth or cocaine or something.” She smiled. “Anyway, it hit him way hard. But he walked it off.”
He swallowed all the questions and reprimands he had. All of them. It was hell. “What happened, then?”
“He saw some video. His dad and Amanda fighting—on some nanny-cam thing his aunt was watching.” She leaned forward. “Mr. Buchanan said he’d made a mistake leaving Felicity. Sort of gutted Nick, right?”
Graham shook his head. “Right.” He rarely used words like “hate” or “despise,” but he’d make an exception when it came to Matt Buchanan. Of course he’d made a mistake. He’d left Honor, Nick, and Felicity. Left them—all the love and laughter and noise. A family, a real, messy, devoted family. How could he ever have believed he’d create something like that with Amber?
“Tonight, we were chilling out and Charity gets a phone call from Sheriff Martinez. Next thing I know, we’re missing the last fifteen minutes of the movie, flying to the cemetery. Nick’s passed out in the sheriff’s car. Word is he broke his dad’s headstone.”
It hurt to breathe. Whatever anger he felt fizzled out. In its place was an aching hole. “Word from who?” he asked.
“People.” Her smile grew. “I know people.”
He nodded. “Right.” Because his daughter would know the sort of people who participated in or knew about illegal activities taking place in a cemetery at night.
“Cemeteries are good places to party, Dad. No one goes there at night.” She sighed. “So, yeah, they saw Nick climb over the fence and break his dad’s headstone with a sledgehammer. Then he was screaming. Sheriff Martinez showed up, and then Nick went face-first into the dirt.”
Her fingers spun the strands of woven bracelets on her wrist. “I don’t get it. I mean, his dad was a freakin’ asshole. Why does he still get so worked up over it? Are we surprised Felicity is getting stuck with his kid? Really? I mean, she’s Felicity. Like, the perfect mother. Who wouldn’t want to give their kid to her?” Her chipped nails flicked a charm. “Why does each new piece of evidence that his dad is, in fact, a world-class sleazebag make Nick lose his shit all over again?”
Graham couldn’t help but smile. His daughter had a way with words. He might not always agree with what she said, but sometimes—like now—she was pretty astute. “I guess he keeps hoping something will prove us all wrong.”
She blinked, her brows rising. “How is that even possible? You mean, the shithead accidentally cheated on Felicity? He, oops, accidentally knocked up Amber? And then, surprise, he accidentally forgets his real family?” She shook her head. “I don’t get that.”
“I don’t think there’s a way to undo any of that—you’re right. But Matt wasn’t always like that. Once, he was a good dad—and a good husband. I’m sure Nick wants to hold on to that somehow. Still, those
memories don’t align with the last few years.”
“So he can’t even trust his own memories? Because of the shit his dad pulled at the end?” Her eyes widened.
“Yes.”
“That is the saddest thing ever.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Nothing can mess up what I know about Mom.”
“She was incredible,” Graham agreed.
“Felicity is pretty awesome, too,” Diana said, watching him. “I’m sorry we crashed your party tonight.”
He was too surprised to stop his chuckle. It was okay, though. She was smiling—a real smile.
“You like her?” she asked. “A lot? ’Cause, you know, Mom would be cool with it, I think.” She paused, sniffing. “And I’m cool with it.”
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t date her?”
“No,” he answered honestly.
“That’s stupid.” Diana frowned. “I’m sure there will be some days I’m not cool with it. Are you going to break up with her every time I have a mood swing? Jesus, Dad, grow a pair.”
He laughed again.
“I mean, if Nick doesn’t screw it all up—or that Jack kid—we could be a decent family.” Her head cocked. “Messed up, for sure, but isn’t every family?” She stood, unfolding and stretching her spindly limbs. “I’m gonna take a shower. Wanna watch a movie or something? I’m sort of wound up.”
He blinked. Calm. “I’ll make the popcorn.” Stay calm.
“Coolness.” She kicked off her boots and slid down the hall in her mismatched socks.
He sat there, processing. It was only nine thirty. He and Diana would watch a movie and eat popcorn, assuming she didn’t change her mind. But what was Felicity doing? Was she okay? And Nick?
He pulled his phone from his pocket and headed into the kitchen to make microwave popcorn. He typed in a dozen texts but never hit send. Finally, he asked, Everything okay? and sent it.
He was tossing in his bed well after midnight, waiting for a response.
…
Charity sat at the small wrought-iron table outside the local Scoops Ice Cream Parlor, a romance novel open in front of her. She knew the dark and brooding hero would woo the virgin maiden into a haystack at any moment, but her stomach was hurting, and she just wasn’t feeling it.
“Too much ice cream,” she whispered, dropping her spoon in the dish with a sigh.
But the pain only grew, sharp enough that she couldn’t ignore it.
“What’s up, kid?” Her hand rested on her stomach.
The stranger in her belly didn’t offer up an explanation, so she stood, deciding a walk around the small patio might be all she needed. She had been sitting for a while. “A little change is a good thing.” She paced, depositing the sundae in the trash and wandering back to her table. But now she was dizzy, too, so she held on to the back of her chair until it passed.
“You know, you’re making things difficult.” She stared down at her stomach. “I’m not complaining, though.”
Driving might not be a good idea.
Calling for a ride. Calling who? Felicity and Honor were a no. Her parents. A hell no. Grams was a terrifying driver during the daytime… Who the hell could she call?
She knew one person. Their on-again-off-again high school relationship was one of the few things she remembered with true fondness. He’d had the patience of a saint and, if she remembered correctly, had been a pretty good kisser. For all his big, silent, manly ways, he’d been a good guy. And since people used words like “reliable” and “solid” when he came up in conversation, it appeared he still was. Not to mention how incredible he’d been with Nick. Totally a good guy. He’d probably come. If she called.
“Sheriff Martinez?” she asked. “Or we drive.” Drive. Definitely. She was all about not needing a big, strong man to come to her rescue anymore. I got this. She tucked her book into her bag and headed to her car—where she leaned against the side, her stomach clenching.
Everything is okay. Everything is fine. We’re okay. But not fine enough to drive. “Fine.” She dialed the cell number on the card he’d given her earlier that night. Then hung up. Did she really need someone to drive her? Really?
Dizziness and cramping were perfectly normal during the first trimester. She knew because she’d read the pregnancy book until the wee hours of the morning. It had been fascinating. And terrifying.
“We can do this,” she said. “Just give me a minute.”
But her phone rang.
“You called?” Braden’s voice was monotone as ever. “Sheriff Martinez here.”
“Hey,” she mumbled. “I’m really sorry to call you, Braden. Should I call you Sheriff Martinez? Or Braden? You tell me.”
“Charity?”
“Forgot that part, didn’t I? Yes, hi. It’s me. Can you give me a ride?” she asked. “I know that sounds really weird, and you have way more important things to do but—”
“Where are you?”
“Scoops,” she answered.
“At one in the morning?” he asked.
“Yep. I like living on the edge like that.” She covered her face with her hand. “Sorry if I woke you.”
“On patrol. Be there in five.” He hung up.
She was sitting on the curb when he got there. Her stomach was killing her now. And her lower back hurt, too. But she wasn’t going to cry. Because crying would mean something was wrong, and there was nothing wrong.
“You okay?” he asked as he climbed out of his patrol car.
“Honestly? I’m not sure.” She tried to smile up at him. “Maybe I had a little too much cherries jubilee—my favorite.”
He squatted in front of her, waiting.
“I’m pregnant, Braden,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “And something’s not right.”
His face twisted, raw with pain and grief. It was so quick, she might have imagined it—probably had. “I got you.” He scooped her up and deposited her in the patrol car before she knew what was happening. He turned on the lights, had the siren blaring, and sailed down the empty streets of Pecan Valley until they reached the hospital.
She didn’t want to be here. “I don’t think—”
He was already out, getting a nurse and a wheelchair and helping her from his car to the chair. “Want me to call someone?”
“No.” She grabbed his hand. “No. It’s sort of a secret. And everyone who knows has more than enough to worry about. Besides, this is probably nothing. Right?” She looked up to find him staring at their linked hands.
“We’ve got it from here, Sheriff Martinez.” The nurse smiled.
He nodded, his gaze searching Charity’s.
Why her hand tightened on his was a mystery. She was a strong, independent woman—a soon-to-be business owner. A mom-to-be. She wasn’t a clinger. At all. Except she was—clinging and pathetic and on the verge of tears.
No, no, no. Pull it together, Charity Ann. She let his hand go and forced a smile. “Thanks for the ride.”
He nodded again, his gaze never leaving her face.
The nurse wheeled her inside, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum floors as they cruised down the hall. Something about the bright overhead lights had Charity hugging herself and holding her breath. She hated this place. Everything about it. Hated being questioned and probed and having vials of blood taken and the gowns with the weird pockets and ties in the back. But she went into the bathroom and put it on, leaving a urine sample as requested before heading back to her bed. Her feet were freezing.
Braden Martinez sat at the bedside, spinning his hat in his hands, looking out of place and uncomfortable. But he was here. She was so damn happy he was here.
When he saw her, he stood and helped her into her bed.
“You stayed?” Obviously, Charity.
�
�I figured you’d need a ride after?” He kept spinning the hat. “Maybe.”
“Oh, right.” She nodded, running her hands along the sheet. “Guess it’s obvious I’m a little shaken?”
“Understandable.” He cleared his throat. “Scare like this… It’s not easy.”
She glanced his way, the gruffness in his voice surprising. Sort of like the way he’d looked at her when she’d told him she was pregnant. “No, it’s not. Now there are tests and waiting…” Her voice wavered, her eyes burning. Don’t cry. She sniffed.
His dark brown eyes met hers. “Good?” he asked.
She pulled up the pile of blankets. “My feet are kind of cold.”
Without a word, he left her curtained-off partition—returning with a pair of no-slip socks. He slid the socks on her feet quickly, then pulled the blankets down and wrapped them up tight. He wasn’t gentle or lingering or anything but matter-of-fact, but it didn’t change the impact his kindness had on her. His unflinching gaze regarded her steadily, ready and waiting for whatever needed doing.
“Thank you,” she whispered, smiling at him before she burst into tears.
“Miss Otto?” A man, looking way too young to have M.D. after his name, pushed the curtain aside. “We have your results back.” He flipped through the pages. “You have a urinary tract infection.”
Her heart was thumping, waiting for the rest. “That’s all?” she asked, between sobs. Please, please let that be all. She almost choked on the question, “The baby is okay?”
The doctor nodded. “There is nothing abnormal with your bloodwork. Get some rest, drink plenty of water, and follow up with your OBGYN.” He glanced at Braden. “You can take her home as soon as we get the release forms ready for her signature.” He left minutes later.
“Good news.” Braden smiled. He actually smiled.
She grabbed his hand. “I know I said this but thank you—for staying.”
He nodded, holding on to her hand until it was time to go.
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