by Tania Joyce
“I know it did. Hearing you play and sing tested my patience to a whole new level.” His dad’s grin was more of a pained smirk. “But please understand, we’ve never regretted having Jenny or you. Ever.”
“I didn’t exist.” The hollowness in his chest ached. “You gave up everything for her.”
“Like what?”
“You always talked about the school here. The moment I offered to pay, you moved halfway across the country for her. Your life revolves around her. She’ll always be your responsibility. There’s no end in sight.”
Pain flickered through his dad’s eyes. “No, no, there’s not. We’re fortunate to have help and support. But surely even you can see Jenny’s changed. She kicks my ass in football tips—knows every statistic under the sun. She’s memorized every lyric and detail of your music, from your first gig, to your biggest concerts, to every date and venue of your tour schedule. She’s like my own personal Wikipedia. Stop seeing the terrible things about Jenny and look at the good.”
Hunter recalled talking to her on the phone. Jenny would rattle off the highlights for him to see in the cities he’d visit on tour. Unfortunately, with their busy schedule and stalking fans, he hadn’t see any of them. “I do see those things. But she’s a constant handful.”
“So were you. Just in a different way. I know we weren’t always there for you. Doesn’t mean we didn’t love you. You always craved our attention—you’d perform in the living room, sing, and play for us. When Jenny got worse, you found what you needed in music and we supported you. There were the constant singing, guitar, and piano lessons. School musicals and performances. Your mother and I had to find extra work to pay for it all.”
Hunter’s lips twitched. “That was for Jenny’s care. You did everything possible to keep me out of your way.” Great way of showing love.
His dad humphed. “Your version of the truth is incorrect. Not everything was about your sister. We tried to give you what you wanted and more.”
Had that been the case? Were his memories skewed?
Maybe.
Maybe things weren’t as he remembered.
“Somedays you worried me more than Jenny ever did.” His father lowered his chin. “Especially when you started playing gigs and signed that record deal with SureHaven. The touring, the girls, the drinking, the drugs . . .”
“I told you. I don’t do drugs. Not since I cut my arm crashing through that glass door in London on our first tour.” He rubbed the zigzag silver scar that ran down his left forearm. “It scared the living crap out of me that I’d never play again. Music is my life. Kyle and Gem—we live and breathe it together. There’s no room for anything or anyone else.”
Shit. Was that how strongly Kara felt about having a baby?
“It sounds like that will have to change.” His dad tugged on his ear. “I can’t say I’m excited at becoming a grandfather. But wow . . . a grandbaby. If Kara’s adamant about having it and it’s yours, you need to take responsibility. Time to be a man, son.”
“I can’t have a child.” Hunter ripped one hand through his hair. “I’m not in love with her, and she’s not in love with me.”
“Didn’t say you had to be.” His father shrugged. “It’s about being responsible for your actions. You help that girl out in whatever way you can. I know you had a rough time growing up with Jenny, but it gave you strength and a heart of gold, which you don’t let people see often enough. You hide behind your ego too much. But don’t miss out on something wonderful because you’re too scared to take a risk. You have some tough decisions ahead of you. Welcome to the world of being a grown-up.” His dad placed his empty glass on the table and stood. “It’s late. I gotta go to bed. Party day tomorrow. Oh . . . and I don’t want to be around when you tell your mother. Remember, I like my roof where it is.”
Guilt crawled beneath his skin. Crap. Now he had to tell his mom. Just when he’d said to Kara he didn’t want to say anything. But if she was going to have the baby, they’d find out sooner or later.
Hunter shrank back into the sofa. Telling his mom would be tough. She’d be over-the-top excited or filled with utter disappointment because he and Kara weren’t together.
His dad scuffed his slippers against the floorboards and headed up the stairs, humming the tune to “Better.” Hunter couldn’t help but grin.
The moment his father disappeared down the upstairs hallway, Hunter’s reality crashed into him—the nightmare he’d tried to deny, ignore, and drown with booze. There was no escape. Numbness only lasted so long. Now, he felt everything.
He clutched at the pain in his chest. The night’s darkness pressed heavily into him. Dizziness swam through his head. He leaned forward and grinded his palms against his eyes. Damn it! This weekend hadn’t gone to plan.
He had no other options. No other card to play. He’d lost the battle.
He was going to be a daddy. A fucking daddy.
His heart jolted as if he’d been zapped with high-voltage electricity.
There was no way out of this. How was he going to deal with this impossible situation?
Kara was going to have the baby. His baby.
Fuck.
Shit.
Fuck.
Chapter 9
Kara couldn’t get out of the bedroom fast enough. Distance and clarity were needed. Having Hunter sprawled out on the floor beside the queen-sized bed had her hormones overheating. She’d come to Chicago wanting him to be involved in their child’s life, but maybe it was better he wasn’t. Seeing him lying there wrapped in a quilt, with the stress from last night’s conversation no longer evident on his face, listening to him breathe . . . The last thing she needed to do was develop feelings for him. She put on her slippers and shrugged her fuchsia hoodie over her pajamas in record speed. Grabbing a chamomile teabag from her suitcase, she made her way to the kitchen.
The smell of pancakes hit her. Her hand shot to her tummy. Morning sickness rolled in her belly like a boat on restless waves. There was no way she could let Hunter’s mom know she was suffering.
“Morning, Kara. Sleep well?” Lillian, bright and cheery, stood in front of the cooktop with a spatula in her hand. A dusting of flour smeared her cheek. “Would you like some pancakes?”
Kara slid onto a stool at the kitchen counter. She rubbed her belly and burped under her breath. “No, thank you. But I’d love a cup of tea.”
“Sure.” Lillian grabbed the kettle and filled it. “What did you two get up to last night? Have a late one?”
“Yeah. We sat up talking. It was nice.” Liar. It had been a long, emotional night with no closure. What could she do to make his no become a yes?
“Art’s taken Jenny out to pick up the cake for the party. Jenny insisted on pancakes when she gets home. Are you sure you don’t want any?”
“No. Thank you.” The sweet smell of the fresh batter assaulted Kara. She closed her eyes and fought down the nausea swirling in her belly. Oh no. She leapt off the stool, dashed down the hallway to the restroom, and vomited.
Shit.
A cold sweat broke out on her brow. Kara looked in the mirror; her skin held a greenish tinge. Crap. With shaking hands, she splashed water on her face and tried to de-redden her eyes. What a mess. How embarrassing.
On wobbly legs, she dragged herself back to the kitchen where her cup of tea sat waiting.
“You okay?” Lillian’s sympathetic smile did nothing to ease Kara’s shame.
“I’m sorry. I must’ve drunk too much last night.”
Lillian made a disconcerting hmm-hmm sound in her throat—the one that someone made when they knew you were lying. “I don’t recall seeing you have any alcohol.” Lillian flipped a pancake and placed it on the cooling rack.
Kara suspended her cup of tea halfway to her mouth. Did Lillian suspect something? Please no. Kara needed to talk to Hunter, not sit here and skirt around the truth with his mom. Her blood pressure had not come down since landing in Chicago.
Loud fo
otsteps trudged down the staircase, and Hunter strolled into the kitchen dressed in long navy pajama pants and his faded red hoodie. He headed straight for his mom and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“You’re up early.” Lillian’s tone was full of playful sarcasm. “It’s only ten thirty.”
“Funny as always, Mom.” Hunter grunted and scooted over toward Kara. He placed his hands on the countertop and leaned forward. His sexy bed hair fell forward across his face. “How are you this morning?”
Since his broad shoulders were blocking the view from his mother’s watchful gaze, she whispered, “I’m sick.”
Lillian peered around Hunter. “Do you want any pancakes, Hunter?”
When he stood straight, Lillian’s curious gaze jumped back and forth between the two of them. Kara slouched in her chair under the weight of her suspicions.
“Nah. I’ll have a Pop-Tart,” he said. “I never get to eat them on tour. Nutritionists controlling what we eat sucks. I need a total sugar blow-out.”
Kara’s stomach curdled at the thought of a Pop-Tart. She swallowed hard, resisting the urge to be sick again.
Lillian grabbed a Pop-Tart from the pantry and slipped it into the toaster. “You want one, Kara?”
“No. I’m not much of a breakfast eater.” She usually ate a feast every morning, but since falling pregnant she couldn’t tolerate anything. “I’ll just have tea.”
“Okay. But you might want to try some ginger and lemon tea. It can help to settle your tummy.” Her gaze was full of compassion. “You know . . . in your condition . . . of being hungover and all.”
Hunter’s face paled. His eyes flared wide at Kara, and he mouthed, “Did you tell her?”
“No,” Kara whispered.
“Kara looks like she could use some fresh air.” Lillian patted Hunter on the shoulder. “Why don’t the two of you go out somewhere and be back after lunch for the party?”
“Mom, I can’t just go out.” Hunter waved his hand toward the front door.
“I’m sure you can think of somewhere to go where you don’t need an army of security with you.” She handed him his toasted Pop-Tart on a plate. “There are no photographers lurking at the front gate like last time.”
A shiver shot up Kara’s spine. She hadn’t considered the paparazzi. But right now, she was more worried about throwing up. The aroma from the toasted berry-flavored Pop-Tart flipped her stomach. She jumped up from the chair. “I think I’ll go get changed.”
Hunter stuffed the rest of the Pop-Tart in his mouth and licked the crumbs from his fingers. “Me too. Let’s go for a walk. There’s a park down the end of the road.”
Kara rushed for the stairs. “Excellent. Just hurry.”
***
The overcast sky offered no warmth. Rugged up in her new red, thigh-length Conrad Designs puffer jacket, beanie, scarf, and fleece-lined leather gloves, Kara strolled along the tree-lined street and inhaled the cold, fresh air. The chill on her cheeks was like an icepack to a fevered forehead.
Alone with Hunter again.
He strode alongside her, his shoulders rounded. He’d tucked his hands deep into the pockets of his navy anorak. If he wasn’t giving her concerned looks, he was searching the road—forward, back, and down any side street they crossed. On the lookout for the paparazzi. His caution set her paranoia into overdrive.
“Is it okay for us to go out?” On constant guard, she scanned every hedge, every car, and every fat tree trunk.
“There was no one lurking at the house. We’ll be fine. Trust me.” His posture relaxed, and his gait hit cruise speed. “I’m an expert at hiding when I have to. I just prefer not to. I’ll do my best today to avoid attention if you like.”
“Yes, thanks. I don’t want to be your next gossip-fueled headline.” Kara skipped over a muddy puddle. Gossip would only be another drama to add to her excessively long list.
“We can agree on something. No press.” Snarkiness clipped his tone, but then it softened. “Are you feeling any better yet?”
“I’m getting there.” Kara ducked to avoid a bare branch covered in snow. “I think your mom suspected something.”
“Yeah. I got that vibe, too.” Hunter’s breath misted in the air. His nose glowed red in the cold. “I slipped up and told Dad last night. He wouldn’t have said anything to Mom yet. But now I’ll have to tell her before we leave.”
“What? It’s too early. I’m only eight weeks.” She swore under her breath. And he was the one who hadn’t wanted to tell anyone. Grrr. “I haven’t told my parents yet. They’re so not going to be happy.”
She could picture the mortified looks on her parents’ faces. Her mom would pop a valium or two. Her dad would be beyond furious, possibly even disown her. So be it.
“Although I share that sentiment . . .” Hunter kicked at a mound of snow on the edge of a driveway, sending snow spraying through the air. “ . . . why not?”
“You’re everything my parents despise. You’re a long-haired rock star with a wild reputation. You haven’t gone to college. You come from the wrong side of the river. And you drink too much. Oh . . . and you have tattoos. My mother loathes tattoos.”
“If I recall correctly . . .” Hunter flashed her a smoldering grin, holding out his hand to help her across the icy road, “ . . . you said you liked ’em.”
Even through gloves, his touch sent warmth shooting up her arm. She held on because she didn’t want to fall. “What I like and what my parents like are extreme opposites.”
She bit her bottom lip hard to prevent a smile from creeping across her face. She loved his tattoos. Especially the one on the back of his shoulder of the serpent wrapped around a guitar. Totally wicked.
Stepping onto the sidewalk, her foot slipped. Ice! She lost her balance. Argh! Her hands flailed.
Hunter caught her arms and held her until she regained her footing. Her pulse quickened when his face hovered inches from hers. Her breath misted with his.
His gaze intensified. “You wouldn’t have to tell your parents about the baby if you changed your mind.”
“No chance of that happening.” She tugged free of his hold and headed toward the coffee shop.
To avoid Hunter attracting attention, she grabbed two hot chocolates and met him at the park’s entrance.
He stood under a snow-covered conifer and winked at her. “Told you I can go unnoticed.”
Damn his smile. It warmed her from the inside out. But enough with niceties. It was time to talk. Again.
With a shaky hand she handed him the hot chocolate, and they headed into the park along the wide path. Snow crunched under each footstep. The chilly air held a musty, damp-earthy smell that tickled her nostrils.
Kara peeked a sideways glance at Hunter. “Are you still upset after our talk last night?”
He sighed, his gaze turned to the cloudy sky. “I’m trying to process everything. Can we have time-out and not talk about babies?”
“What? Our baby is why I’m here. It’s not going to go away.”
“I know. But I’m on a rare day off from tour, not stuck in a hotel or on a tour bus, and I don’t have people chasing me. Can we just enjoy our walk?” He took a sip of his drink and pointed into the distance. “There’s a lake up ahead over the ridge that only the locals know about. Let’s go check it out.”
She inhaled the cold air to clear her head. “Fine.” She couldn’t deny that a break from stressing might do her and her baby some good. “Lead the way.”
Over the rise, the small lake stretched out before them, frozen solid. A few parents and children darted over its surface, their skates scratching loudly on the ice.
“Wow. Ice skating. I haven’t skated in years.” Kara leaned her elbows on the wooden railing and watched the people glide in a semi-coordinated circle. Kids zipped in and around their parents. “I was on the girl’s ice hockey team in high school.”
“You were what?” His eyebrows shot skyward. His cup hovered an inch from his lips.
&
nbsp; His perfect lips. And mouth. And tongue. Oh, that tongue that made her insides coil.
“Yep.” She pulled off the lid from her chocolate and drained the last mouthful from the cup. “I loved ballet, but I was too tall. My parents assured me I’d never have a career in dance. They insisted I do a sport. They tried to push me into tennis and golf, but the moment I saw the ice hockey team at our local rink, I wanted to play. I begged and pleaded, and eventually they let me try out.”
“I did not pick you to be a brutal hockey player.” Hunter shook his head. His eyes glistened with intrigue. “You’re quite the rebel. You keep on surprising me, Kar. I thought you were more of the day-spa, don’t-break-a-nail, stay-at-home type.”
“I stopped doing many things I loved when I was with Conrad. He was the hermit, not me. Remember when Gem, Lexi, and I went on holidays after your last tour? It was me who suggested the snow. I love snowboarding. Poor Gemma was stuck in the cabin the whole time with her broken leg.”
“Thanks for the painful reminder.” Hunter scuffed his boot against the ground. “I still feel bad about that.”
“You should.” She play-punched him in the arm. “You crashed an equipment truck into her.”
“Yes. I’m beginning to realize I’m accident prone.” He took her empty cup and threw it in the trash can with his.
“Come on, let’s keep going.” He caught her by the arm. “No, wait. You have chocolate on your lip.” He pointed to the side of her mouth.
Her hand shot up to wipe it off.
He shook his head and chuckled. “You’re missing it by a mile. Here, let me.”
He stepped in close and wiped his gloved fingertip over her skin, half an inch from her lips. But rather than a quick it’s-gone stroke, he kept brushing his thumb against her cheek. The blue in his eyes darkened and a half-smile formed on his lips. “What am I going to do with you, Kar?”
Her skin ignited beneath his touch, and her knees weakened. Her body was like a disobedient dog. It never did what it was supposed to. Every cell inside her begged for him to kiss her, hard, hot, and heated.
There was no chance of that happening. Not when he despised her for wanting their baby.