CHAPTER TEN
“Oh, my god,” Nia gasps.
Why does she look shocked—and not in a good way? “Aren’t you happy? I thought you were saying yes.”
“No.”
She’s serious.
“What? You said you loved me.” Gaping, I close the ring box and stagger to my feet. “Why are you saying no?”
“What I mean is, I’m not answering your proposal right now. I’m…processing.”
I still don’t understand. “Processing what? The fact I gave you a ring? I’m just showing you I’m completely serious about getting married.”
“I appreciate that you arranged this grand romantic proposal, but I still don’t know how you feel?”
“Excited about our lives together.” I dodge the L-word because I’m focused on giving her everything I can, not what I can’t. “I intended to get married for practical reasons—until I touched you. Until I looked right in front of me and realized you’re exactly who I need. Who I want. You’ve dated a lot of guys who didn’t treat you the way they should have. I’ll be different. I’ll be devoted. I’ll be faithful. I’ll show you every day that you’re the best thing in my life. Say yes. Make me the happiest man.”
She bites her lip. “I want to. I think you mean all that. Just like I think you believe it’s enough.”
Is Nia really going to refuse me?
“It is. There’s no logical reason for you not to be my wife.”
“Except that you don’t love me.” Nia swallows. “And I don’t know that you intend to. Will you let yourself fall for me? Ever?”
I push the ring box into her hands. “Does this look like I won’t adore you? Like I won’t pamper you and shower you with affection?”
Nia barely glances at the five carats of cushion-cut solitaire before she sets the ring on the mattress beside her. “Evan, that’s not the same as love.”
Maybe not, but why isn’t that close enough? I grit my teeth and try to hang on to my composure. “Don’t say no.”
She pauses such a long time, and I find myself holding my breath. If she refuses me, I’m not sure what else I can do to persuade her.
Finally, she presses her lips together. “I don’t want to. But I told you how I feel. Being with you has made me feel things… The way you touched me just now, I would have sworn you felt the same way.”
The fact I’m not professing my undying love hurts her. I’m surprised by how much knowing that hurts me in turn. “Nia, there’s no one else for me. I will give you every part of myself—my attention, my protection, my dedication, my fortune, my commitment.”
“But not your heart.”
How do I reassure her without giving her the words simply because she wants to hear them? “I don’t know what to say. I’ve never felt about any woman the way I feel about you, not even Becca. It’s like…I’m connected to you in a way I can’t explain. And I don’t want to live the rest of my life without you by my side. I don’t know what you call that. I don’t know the words for it. But I know that’s what’s happening with me.”
When I take her hand, she meets my stare with tear-filled eyes. “You confuse me.”
“I’m confused, too. You’re really not accepting my proposal?”
She cups my cheek. “Everything in my head tells me to say no and walk away, let you move to Maui alone. But I can’t.”
Hope burns hot and instant. “So…you’re saying yes?”
Nia shakes her head. “The first time you asked me to marry you, you said I could give you my answer before you relocate here. I need the next six weeks to decide.”
“We can’t just keep dating.” It’s not working. I’m spending time with her, but we’re not close enough. It’s not intimate enough. We’re working together but leading separate personal lives. That hardly gives me the opportunity to convince her I can make her deliriously content even if I never speak that trio of cliché words. “It’s not enough.”
She blows out a breath. “Let me think.”
I disappear into the bathroom, fighting the completely irrational urge to punch a wall. Why is she clinging to some unnecessary, antiquated notion of hearts and flowers? Why doesn’t her logical mind tell her that I’d be so good to her?
Because she leads with her heart. Always has.
Fuck.
After I dispose of the condom and take a minute to bank my frustration, I emerge to see her, legs gathered against her chest, chin on her knees, slowly rocking. She’s distraught. Guilt assails me. I should back down, but that seems too much like giving up—something I’m not prepared to do.
“Are you…breaking up with me?”
Nia lifts her head and regards me, brows furrowed. “No. I won’t deny there’s something strong between us. You say you’ve never felt this way about anyone. I haven’t, either. Ever.”
“Then let’s get married. We’ll figure everything out together.”
Before I even finish speaking, she’s already shaking her head. “That’s not what marriage is for. I only want to get married once.”
“I wanted that, too. But guess what?” I snap. Instantly, I wish I could take the words back. It’s not Nia’s fault that Becca is gone. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Her death hurt you, and I understand you never thought you’d find yourself single and searching again. You’re entitled to be confused. Angry even. Maybe I should be the one backing off so you have more time to grieve and decide—”
“I don’t need time. I know what I want.” I grab her arms. “I want you.”
“But not because you love me.” She wriggles free. “I’m not a consolation prize.”
“Damn it. Do you not understand?”
She shakes her head. “I’m trying to see this from your point of view. You don’t want to be alone or with someone you don’t like. And you don’t want to be with someone you have lousy sex with. I’m available, we’re friends, and when we’re together, it’s all blazing skies and fireworks. Check, check, check. But I’m more than items on your list. I’m a woman.” She claps an emphatic hand to her chest. “Maybe you don’t relate, but I have feelings and dreams. And never once did I imagine myself saying, ‘Even though you don’t love me, I’ll marry you for your companionship and your checkbook, baby.’ That’s not who I am.”
I sigh. She’s right. “How can we compromise?”
Nia falls silent. I feel my blood pressure rise. I’m not angry at her, just at the situation I don’t know how to solve. Why doesn’t simple logic make this better?
Nia rises from the bed and disappears onto the patio. I zip up my shorts and follow her out to the streaming late afternoon sun. She’s wriggling into her clothes with shoulders slumped, as if she feels defeated.
God, I can’t stand that. I hate that I’ve made her feel that way.
As she slides into her sandals, I approach her from behind and cup her shoulders. “Nia? Honey…”
But I don’t know what to say. I have no answer except that I know she’s the woman I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with. I’m also convinced that, despite being in love with me, Nia is perfectly capable of living without me.
“Right now, I don’t see how we work this out,” she admits.
“We need more time together.” Maybe an afternoon isn’t enough for her to see how sincere I am. “Not at work. Time for just the two of us to focus on nothing but each other.”
Slowly, she nods, nibbling on her lip. That’s her I’ve-got-an-idea face. She’s still working it out; I can tell. But something is forming.
“What if we lived together for the next six weeks?” She turns her focus on me. “See what develops between us?”
I don’t love the idea…but I don’t hate it, either. It’s better than the two of us heading back to the mainland to live in our respective pads, only to see each other in the office or on occasional dates. A few weeks ago, I would have celebrated home-cooked meals and a cleaner apartment. But just being next to Nia is way more important than any of that. Getting to kiss her good morning…and worship her body all night. It gives me time to truly sweep her off her feet so she can’t say no.
“That makes sense. You want to be sure before you say yes, and this will help.”
“I’m already sure. But if you need more time—”
“I do. And I honestly think you do, too. I know you want to move on, but I think you need to ask yourself where your heart lies. If you can tell me how you feel about me in six weeks and you still want to marry me, maybe I’ll say yes.”
What she means is, if I can spew out a confession of love.
Fuck. This kind of emotional tripe goes against my grain. She knows that. Does she expect that I’ll suddenly become impractical and sentimental and fall madly in love? Even as invested as I was in my marriage to Becca, I wasn’t that guy.
On the other hand, my only options are to convince her we should be married or for me to spend all my foreseeable days alone.
“I’ll make sure that maybe is a yes. When we get back, you can move your things into my penthouse—”
“No.”
I raise a brow at her. “Why not? I have a bigger place. It’s closer to the office. I have an amazing view.”
“All of that is true, but your wife’s ghost is everywhere, and I won’t be living with her, too.”
I pause. Maybe there’s some truth to that. I think of Becca less these days. I don’t imagine I’m seeing her out of the corner of my eye as often. But so much of her presence still lingers there. Every morning when I get dressed for work, I pass her clothes. I’ve never packed them away. I open the home office we shared and her meticulously organized papers still take up half the desk drawers because I’ve never bothered to cull through them. The few personal pictures in the apartment are those she hung. The handful of knickknacks and throw pillows I possess, she bought.
I might hate to leave the comfort of my bed, my shower, and my quiet. But I wouldn’t want to live in any space in which Nia has cohabitated with another man. Every time I got inside her, I would wonder if she remembered having sex with him in the same bed.
“Have you lived in your place with an ex-boyfriend?”
Her face softens. “No.”
“Had one spend the night there?”
Her expression closes up. “I’ve had a sex life; we’ve established that.”
“So that’s a yes?” I clench my jaw and look for alternatives. “Then we need to find someplace else.”
“To live for six weeks? That makes no sense.” She sighs. “Look, before you, I hadn’t had sex in nearly six months. I haven’t had anyone stay over at my place in almost a year.”
I don’t intend to get stubborn, but I can’t seem to help it. “But if you’ve fucked someone else on that mattress, it’s a no for me.”
She scowls at me. “Actually, we fucked on the couch, then we fucked on the bed. What is your problem?”
I bristle. “I don’t want to imagine anyone else touching you. And I don’t want you thinking about it, either.”
“I’m here with you.”
“Then humor me. Let me replace the couch and the mattress.”
“You’re serious?”
I slant her an expression that tells her my mind is absolutely set. “When am I not?”
Suddenly, she laughs. “If I told you we had sex on the kitchen counters, would you replace those, too?”
“Yes. Did you?”
“No. I just really despise them.”
Despite the tension, I laugh, too. “If it will make you happy, I’ll replace them anyway.”
“No. The place is only a rental, but a girl can dream.” Then she blinks and looks around, seeming to remember where we are. “Did you already…buy this place?”
“I leased it for the day.”
“Just because I said I liked it?” She still sounds shocked.
“Yes. I wanted you to spend some time here to see if you liked it well enough to want to live here. With me.” As my wife.
“Evan, this may not work out. We may not work out. And I may not be moving to the island at all.”
“I’m going to think positive. Maxon and Griff have been negotiating with the listing agent. They’ve nearly brokered a deal everyone can live with. All you have to do is say you like it.”
Her mouth gapes open. “This is millions of dollars. You have to like it, too.”
“It has a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and couch, along with a great place for a flat screen and my gaming console. My needs are met.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s such a man thing to say. You really don’t care about style or decor or…”
“No. I care about making you happy.”
A heavy sigh passes her lips. “If we can’t agree on our future, why do you keep saying such nice things?”
She sounds conflicted, and I feel almost guilty. Almost…but not quite. It’s my job not to take no for an answer. I have to convince Nia that those three words she thinks she can’t do without aren’t vital. It’s my job to treat her like a princess and show her she needs me far more.
“I’m only ever honest with you.” I scratch my chin with a deprecating grin. “Sometimes to my own detriment.”
“I know.” She sounds sad about that. “And I appreciate that you don’t lie to me about your feelings.”
“I never will, Nia. I promise.”
She gives me a melancholy nod. She believes me…but it’s still not enough.
Clearly, I need to focus on more of the good things I can give her. “Let’s tour the house. Maybe after that we can, um…tour the bedroom again?”
“Sure.”
I escort her inside and recite all the things the listing agent told me yesterday when we walked the house. She oohs over the kitchen and aahs over the rustic ceiling beams that caught her eye to start with. She loves the place. She loves the view. She loves our walk around the surrounding area. But despite the fact she loves everything I’ve shown her—and me—it’s not enough to persuade her to say yes. Even after the hours we spend together, sharing one passion-filled orgasm after another, gorging on ecstasy until I’m not sure I’ll be able to use my legs again, Nia doesn’t seem any closer to saying yes.
As we leave late that night and head back to Harlow and Noah’s, I’m wondering if I’ve miscalculated or misstepped along the way. I’m out of ideas. As Nia disappears into her solitary bedroom and asks for some time alone, I hold in a curse. What the hell is it going to take to make her change her mind?
Thursday, November 23
The next day, Nia and I sit down at the table with my siblings and their spouses for a big Thanksgiving. Around me, there’s laughter, teasing, real happiness. But beside me, Nia is subdued, her smile stilted as she speaks, but only when spoken to. I’m preoccupied and, I admit, taciturn. She didn’t refuse my proposal…but she didn’t accept. Nothing—not a beautiful diamond, a gorgeous house in paradise, nor my pledge of undying fidelity—could distract her from insisting that I declare my till-death-do-us-part love. What void does she think my promise of an emotion that’s neither tangible nor valuable will fill in her? Is she looking for adoration? Belonging? Security?
About halfway through the meal, I’m still in thought when Noah’s younger brother, Trace, barrels through the front door, schlepping a huge tote on one shoulder covered in stars and rocket ships. In his other hand, he grips a baby carrier.
“Hi, gang. Sorry I’m late. Someone didn’t want to wake up from his nap.” He turns the carrier toward the crowd gathered at the table to reveal his infant son.
“Oh, he looks so precious,” Harlow arches out of her chair and onto her feet, busting across the floor to lift the boy into her arms.
“He is.” Trace looks absolutely enthralled by his newborn son. “Good eater. Good sleeper. This single-parent thing isn’t so bad so far.”
I know this story, mostly because Harlow has been keeping me up to date over the months. Trace met a woman named Mercedes at Noah’s final Super Bowl victory party, just before he announced his retirement from football. Mercedes assumed Trace was Noah. It’s an easy mistake since they look a lot alike. When she found out she was pregnant, she publicly named Noah as her baby’s father. The accusation nearly tore Harlow and Noah apart. Finally, Trace realized he had fathered the boy that drunken night. When Mercedes caught wind of the fact her baby daddy was no meal ticket, she signed over her parental rights hours after giving birth to Ranger. Since then, Trace has been getting the hang of caring for an infant, apparently with a lot of help from Britta, who also cared for her infant son solo a few years before she and Griff reconciled and married.
The baby fusses a little, then quiets, seeming to stare up at Harlow with solemn eyes already turning dark. He looks exactly like his father, all the way down to the thick black hair and square chin.
If Becca were still here, our son or daughter would be this age.
I swallow, stare. My appetite disappears. My mood blackens.
Beside me, Nia rises to stand beside my sister, suddenly wearing a bright-eyed smile. “Oh… What a cutie. You’re going to be a heartbreaker. Aren’t you, big boy?” Then she looks up at Trace. “Sorry. We haven’t met. I’m Nia.”
“I have terrible manners.” Harlow laughs at herself. “Trace, this is Evan’s girlfriend.” She turns to Nia. “This is Noah’s brother.”
“Good to meet you.” Trace divests himself of all the baby accouterments. “And you’re right about Ranger. He’s already a heartbreaker. He and Daddy get along pretty well, but the minute a woman shows up, he smiles and flirts shamelessly. I could probably take tips from him.”
“You know when babies are only a couple of weeks old the smiling is probably the relief of passing gas,” Britta drawls.
Trace looks totally blindsided by that comment. The table erupts with laughter.
“Really?” Griff turns to his wife. “You’re serious?”
She grins his way as she rubs her distended belly. “Just wait. Parenting a three-year-old is full of challenges, as you’ll be reminded the minute Jamie wakes from his nap. But newborns? A whole different game…”
Suddenly, Griff looks nervous.
“Can I hold him?” Nia asks Trace.
“Sure. Just don’t be surprised if he flirts with—or farts on—you, too.”
With a laugh, she lifts the boy into her arms.
She coos at Ranger and strokes his cheek. I see warmth in her eyes. Her yearning. Her heart. My gut churns. Yes, Nia told me she wouldn’t be content to remain childless. Some women are, and I’d hoped… But the way mine is immediately enthralled by the baby tells me she really will want at least one of her own—sooner rather than later.
Gulping, I stare. Today I’m supposed to give thanks for everything in my life. But what the hell do I have? Money and success, sure. Intelligence? I’m told I do. But my wife is gone, my son or daughter died before he or she had any chance at life, and now I can’t convince the one woman I want to fill the emptiness to marry me. Looking at Nia with Ranger, I’m beginning to wonder if I could even make her happy.
“Wow, he’s heavier than I thought,” Nia remarks. “How much does he weigh?”
“Isn’t he a chunker?” Trace laughs. “We saw the doctor yesterday, and he’s already twelve pounds, two ounces. He’s at the top of the height and weight chart, and he won’t even be three weeks old until Saturday.”
I do some mental math. Shock decimates me. “He was born November fourth?”
The question slips out before I can stop it.
Trace turns to me. “Hey, Evan. How you doing, man?”
When he sticks his hand in my direction, I stand and shake it. But I’m desperate for the answer to my question. I don’t even know why. It shouldn’t bother me that his son was born the day mine should have been. It’s coincidence. Ranger isn’t the child who was growing in Becca’s womb. His birth won’t bring my baby back.
But the something buckling my chest and smashing my composure isn’t hearing logic.
“I’m good,” I finally choke out. “You?”
“Better than expected. Yeah, November fourth. I took him home from the hospital the next day, and we’ve been baching it ever since. Haven’t we, Ranger?” Trace glides a gentle finger over his son’s cheek.
As the boy gurgles, the love on Trace’s face is so obvious and naked. I frown, trying to understand my reaction. I’m both envious of his son yet determined not to have one of my own? I can’t remember ever being this contradictory. I see things one way. It is or it isn’t. It’s light or dark. It’s black or white. It’s up or down. Nothing lies in the middle, and I never find myself of two minds about anything.
Except…I’m conflicted about having a child.
Keeley rises from her chair and elbows her husband, who gets to his feet, too. Soon, Trace has a place at the table, a cold beer, and a plate of food. He sits to eat while everyone passes his son around, bouncing him in their arms while making nonsensical sounds and comical faces for the infant’s entertainment.
I push away my plate, any semblance of appetite gone. Before I can make an excuse and leave the scene, Griff turns to me, bundle of boy in hand. “You want to hold him?”
A big “no” sits on my tongue, ready to snap out like the crack of a whip. But everyone is staring at me, most wearing expressions of pity. They know that, if not for that rainstorm and the slick streets that April day in Seattle, I would have been a father by now. And they’ve all pegged me as concealing emotional wreckage I don’t comprehend. If I refuse to hold Ranger, it will confirm their suspicions.
That bothers me. I’m not sure why. But it’s a feeling, so it isn’t real. I try to shake the annoying emotion away. But all the usual methods of focusing—mentally solving complex math problems, reciting the periodic table, or writing JavaScript in my head—aren’t working.
The silence in the room seems oppressive. I’m aware of every eye on me, especially Nia’s. I look at my brother holding the baby out to me, then the boy’s little face. I swallow. I sweat.
I can’t do it.
Scraping my chair against the floor, I stand. “No, thank you. Excuse me.”
It’s unreasonable and foolish to flee the table. Ranger is a human being, as is everyone else in the room, just a smaller version. What harm could come from holding him?
I don’t know. I simply know the thought of doing it is more than I can manage. I haven’t been blindsided by this kind of crushing tumult in months. Why is it back now, pressing down on my chest?
Once I’ve trekked out of the dining room and onto the patio, I drag in the scent of sunshine-filled salt, listen to the crashing waves, and head toward the beckoning ocean, desperately seeking my personal homeostasis.
What the hell happened just now? I really don’t know.
“Evan?” Nia wraps soft fingers around my shoulder.
I stiffen, wishing she wasn’t touching me while I feel so weak. Her gentle caress dissolves my composure even faster. This turmoil makes no sense, and the last thing I want to do is face her or try to explain why my mood is so foul. Why I didn’t want to hold the baby.
“Go finish your dinner,” I say finally, keeping my back to her. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not. And I’m not leaving you to grieve alone.”
“I’m not grieving.” Am I?
She sighs. “You don’t like to admit to having feelings, I know. They don’t make sense to you, but—”
“The only feeling I’m having is regret that a different decision on my part might have meant Becca and my child would be here with me.”
“You don’t know that. If you’d gone with them, you might have died, too.”
I pause for long minutes. I don’t want to talk about this. But I know Nia. She won’t drop the subject simply because I want her to. My better bet is to reassure her that nothing is wrong. I’d much rather have her apply her mental energy toward deciding she should marry me.
“I’ve had similar thoughts. Maybe you’re right. Obviously, we’ll never know.”
“We won’t. I know you miss them, and I’m sorry for your loss. I’m also sorry I can’t be the woman you want to celebrate Thanksgiving with, but I’ll do whatever I can to cheer you up.”
I cast her a frown over my shoulder. “You are the woman I want to be with.”
As soon as the words are out, I realize I’ve admitted—both to Nia and myself—that I would rather be sharing today with her than my late wife. It shocks me. So does the realization that I meant what I said.
I whip my stare back out to the foaming blue waves. Nia may not be able to see my face, but I can’t hide the truth. As time has marched on, Becca has faded from my memory. I can’t recall her scent anymore. I can no longer recollect the exact blue of her eyes. Weeks ago, I heard a woman in the office with a laugh much like hers…then second-guessed myself. Had Becca sounded like that at all?
“Evan, I want to be here with you, too. I want to be here for you.” Nia squeezes my shoulder, her voice so soft I barely feel it slicing me open. “I know you’re hurting.”
“I’m just in an odd mood. Join the others. I’ll be inside soon.”
I hope more than expect that she’ll release me and return to the house with my family. Becca would have. Funny how I remember the way her mind worked more than the woman herself. But Nia… I already know she’ll make a completely different choice.
“It’s time we cut through the crap and have some straight conversation.” She tries to turn me to face her.
I shrug off her touch, refusing to budge.
“Leave it,” I tell her. Hell, I’m warning her. If she treads here, as agitated as my churning gut and boiling blood seem, I don’t know what I’ll do.
“No. Becca may have let you brood. Maybe her apathy didn’t bother you. Maybe you were even grateful. I’m sorry she’s gone, and I’m glad you want to be here with me. But there’s no way I’m leaving you alone now. And there’s no way I will believe for one minute that you aren’t hurting.” When I still don’t reply, Nia huffs and marches around my unmoving form to plant herself in front of me. “You lost almost everything that meant something to you in a single afternoon. Grieving doesn’t make you weak. You cared for Becca. You wanted your baby. Of course your first holiday without them is going to be difficult. Of course seeing a child born on the very day yours should have been is a shock.”
How did she anticipate everything that would impact me when I didn’t see those blows coming until they’d sucker-punched me?
I lick my suddenly dry lips and force myself to look at her. “It’s illogical.”
“It’s normal,” she argues. Her passion is persuasive, compelling, especially when she gives me a little shake. “There isn’t a single person here tonight who doesn’t feel your ache and doesn’t wish they could make it better for you. It’s okay if you weren’t ready to hold the baby. No one blames you.”
For some reason, her speech stirs up my anger. “They all stared, waiting, wondering, obviously thinking I’m a train wreck. I don’t want their pity. I don’t need yours, either.”
“I don’t pity you,” she murmurs. “I love you. That means I’m concerned about you. I’m in your corner. I’m willing to listen whenever you want to talk. I’m here for you.”
As I blow out a breath, I try again to tamp down my anger. I can’t be mad at Nia when she’s only trying to help. In fact, I should be grateful she even cares about this wretched mood of mine. But her words illuminate parts of my past I wish I could keep dark.
If Becca loved me too, why wasn’t she ever willing to hear me when I was troubled? I excused her disinterest in my frustration during Stratus’s early days as her lack of understanding about my business. Since she and I rarely fought about our personal life, I assumed she either walked away or acquiesced before disagreements got truly heated because she loathed conflict. Looking back, I wonder why she never fought for herself. For me. For us.
Did she ever really care at all? Or was I merely the protective barrier between her and the rest of the world?
“Evan?”
Nia is still waiting. She’s done nothing but try to help. Whatever is plaguing my mood isn’t something I can take out on her.
“It was a shock,” I admit in something just above a whisper since I can’t seem to find the rest of my voice. “I wasn’t ready to hear that Ranger had been born the same day my son or daughter should have been.”
“I know. But if things work out between us, we can have children.”
“I don’t want them.”
“You say that now. The pain of your loss is still too fresh, so you’re not ready to take a chance yet—”
“I doubt I’ll ever be ready. It’s not worth the risk.”
“That’s your grief talking.”
Normally, I would have refuted her, told her that was my logic asserting itself. This time, I pause. Examine. I frown. Is she right?
“Maybe. But I don’t think I’ll change my mind, Nia.”
And I worry about where that leaves us…and our future.