Chapter 19
DEACON STOOD ON CLARE’S doorstep, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. Everything had been so much easier in his head. He’d had eight months to think about it in theory, then just hours to decide to come today or wait until next weekend. He figured nine months was long enough.
He’d considered bringing the girls, but his mom and sister had talked him out of it. It was the right decision. He honestly had no idea what Clare’s reaction to him would be.
But still, he hated leaving them, and he’d wanted Clare to know the absolute truth of what had happened. And more, he and the girls were a package deal. If Clare didn’t want that whole package, then there was no future for them.
Either it was going somewhere, or it was time to close this book.
Would it be everything he remembered? His feelings? Their connection? Was he about to find out he was wrong? That he’d imagined it all? Built it up into more than it had been?
Deacon raised his hand to knock again, but before his knuckles made contact, the door opened. And after all this time, there she was.
They stared at each other, neither speaking, his heart thumping like a bass drum in his chest. He’d gone over everything he might say so many times he could have written a song. A book. Now it all backed up in his throat. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, even in sweats and a faded blue sweatshirt that hung loose on her frame, except where it curved over her breasts. Her hair was shorter and hung around a slightly fuller face.
“Clare.” His eyes went from her eyes to her lips to her hair and back to her eyes again, wanting to look everywhere at once. The need to grab her and pull her into his arms was so intense it hurt.
She stared at him, confusion and shock etched on her pale face.
He had imagined her throwing her arms around him or asking him inside. He imagined her slamming the door in his face. He hadn’t considered this…nothingness in her eyes. Other than the first second of shocked surprise, she stared at him like he was a stranger. His already-knotted stomach twisted, and a possibility dawned on him. She could be with someone else. Could be in love with someone else.
“You’re here,” she finally said.
“Yeah. I’ve been looking for you.” He laughed nervously. “Really, really looking for you.”
Damn. This had all made more sense when she wasn’t standing mere inches away, staring and waiting.
Her fingers gripped the edge of the open door. “It wasn’t easy,” he went on quickly. “I didn’t have your number or your last name, and I—”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Why were you looking for me?”
“Because I wanted to explain,” he said. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I wanted—needed—to tell you that I’m sorry for leaving the way I did. My daughter was sick. Really sick. She was only two—she’s three now—and her appendix ruptured. She was in surgery. I had to get home.”
Some feeling flickered in her eyes. “I’m sorry. Is she okay?”
“Yes. She is, but it was really scary. She was so little and… I almost brought her—them.”
“Them?”
“Yes. I have two. Twins.”
She gaped at him. “You’re kidding.”
“No. They’re three and a half. Girls.” He smiled. “I thought—I hoped—that we could talk.” A second passed and then another. “Can I come in?”
He was sweating when she finally stepped back to let him in. He had no illusions she was letting him into more than her house. He closed the door and took a moment just to drink in the sight of her. She might not be beyond happy to see him, but he couldn’t look at her enough.
Aside from the smudges under her eyes, there was no color in her face, and he wondered if she’d been sick. Maybe she still was. And there was more than surprise and confusion in her dark eyes. Anger? Fear?
His hands itched to reach out and touch her. But everything felt…wrong.
“You’re married,” she said suddenly.
“What?” It hadn’t been a question. “No. No, I’m not.”
“I saw a picture. Of you. Your family. A wife and daughter.”
He shook his head.
“Yes. I did. I never would have slept with you if I’d known.” A spark flashed in her wounded eyes.
“No, that’s—that’s not what I mean,” he said, shaking his own head. “I mean I don’t know what picture you saw, but I’m not married. I’ve never been married. Clare.” He shifted his weight to move toward her. She moved back, and it felt like a punch.
And then in the silence hanging between them came the unmistakable sound of a newborn’s cry.
A baby?
He met Clare’s eyes, saw anguish, and guilt. And he knew.
Numbly, he walked past her toward the sound. The crying intensified, and his heart lurched again when the cry turned into a sound he knew so well. Two cries. Two babies. Growing more frantic as they fed off each other.
Following the sound, he walked into the den, past a chair and couch to a dark-brown crib. The scene hit him like a flood rushing over him. The two little bodies lay together in one crib, as he had done with the girls in the early weeks. They lay on their backs, eyes closed, mouths open, bodies wriggling against the light blankets swaddled around them. His knees wanted to buckle.
He reached out slowly, laid his hand on one then the other. It wasn’t enough. He needed to hold them. His insides shook, but his hands were steady as he lifted one tiny body.
He held the baby close against him, his chest so tight, so full, he didn’t know how he was breathing. Maybe he wasn’t. Then Clare was beside him, and he watched as she carefully picked up the second baby.
He pressed his lips to the downy head, breathing in the baby’s scent.
“Your sons,” she said softly.
“Yes.” He’d already known, but hearing her say it ripped open a vein. He had two babies. Two sons.
The pressure in his chest threatened to suffocate him, and he thought maybe he should give her the baby and put his head between his knees for a minute. Just until his ears stopped ringing.
Everything he’d planned on saying to her stuck in his throat like a ball of yarn he couldn’t unravel. None of it worked now. None of it mattered now.
“When?” He cleared his throat. “When were they—”
“Ten days ago. I was going to tell you.”
There was apology in her voice, and he tore his gaze from the baby to look at Clare. Tears filled her eyes but didn’t fall, and he felt another punch to his gut.
“I thought you were married, but still. I was going to…” She drew in a shaky breath. “I was just trying to catch my breath.” A tear slid down her pale cheek, and she swiped it away.
There was so much to say, so much to ask, that he didn’t know where to start. Clare had been pregnant. All this time, she’d been pregnant—and alone. She’d given birth to his babies, and he hadn’t been there. He felt sick, and shaky, and a little bit dizzy.
“This is Parker,” she said abruptly, like she’d forgotten the introductions. “That’s Patrick. I… It’s Parker Henry and Patrick Davis. The middle names are from my grandfathers and that’s something I probably should’ve asked you. You might have a family name you wanted to use or…”
“No,” he said, looking not at her, but at his son. “It’s perfect. Everything about them is so perfect.” He shifted the baby from his chest and cradled him in his arm, needing to see him, touch him. He traced the shape of his baby’s face. “He’s so small. The girls were small, but you forget,” he said, his voice trailing off.
“Parker weighed five pounds exactly. Patrick was five and seven ounces.”
“Are they identical?” he asked, forcing a steadiness in his voice that he didn’t feel yet.
“No. They look a lot alike. I read that’ll change.”
Parker started to cry, and she walked, swaying and patting his back.
“I have two cribs. I set one up in here. I thought it might be good, you know. To have options. I wasn’t sure…” Her voice faded off. “Looks like you have the magic touch.” She nodded at Patrick in his arms. “It’s probably safe to put him down.” She moved to the crib and, reaching out with a free hand, smoothed the white sheet. “This guy might settle if I laid him down, but then again, he might not, and we’d be back to two boys awake.”
She went on talking, looking anywhere but at him, nervous energy pouring off her.
“I’m probably ruining them both so that they’ll never fall asleep on their own, but sometimes I feel like I’m on a never-ending cycle of getting them to sleep only to have them wake each other up.”
“Clare.” Would she just look at him?
“All the books say to let them cry a little. That they’ll get used to it. That it’s good for twins to get used to falling asleep with a little noise.”
“The books can be wrong.”
“Right.” She flicked him a glance. “I guess you’d know.”
Another moment passed. Patrick had quieted, but his eyes were open like he knew there was something going on, and he didn’t want to miss it.
“Do you mind if I don’t put him down?” Deacon asked. “Maybe we could just sit?”
“Okay. Sure.” She looked around. There was just the couch and a chair, and the chair held a mountain of laundry. He sensed her unease.
Deacon took a seat on the couch. Clare looked like she was trying to decide how to get the laundry out of the chair without putting the baby down, but eventually, she sat on the other end of the couch.
The lighting was dim, just a lamp glowing on the end table beside him. The quiet room felt loud, so crowded with emotion.
“Can I hold both of them?” he asked, suddenly desperate to touch Parker.
He kept Patrick’s body cradled in his right arm as Clare gently slid the second baby into his left. Good, Lord. Two babies. It was like déjà vu.
“Hey, buddy. Hey. It’s your daddy.” The emotion he’d been trying to get a handle on since he’d walked in welled up inside him until he was afraid he might cry. Parker blinked slowly. His little lips formed an O. “They’re beautiful, Clare.”
“Thank you.”
He looked at her and saw the tears clinging to her lashes. Not only had she been alone, she’d thought he was married, thought he’d lied to her. “I never meant for it to end like it did. I left you a note at the front desk.”
“I didn’t get it.”
He nodded slowly. “I figured. I hoped. I mean when I never heard from you I hoped you hadn’t gotten it and just not called.” He didn’t say just how desperately he’d wanted to believe that. “Did you have them okay? I mean, are you okay?” So many questions.
“I’m fine. I thought I might have a cesarean, but I didn’t. It went well. My mom was there, and my friend Jess.”
“The Jess that made you—”
“Yes. That Jess,” she said quickly and looked even more uncomfortable if that were possible.
“How? I mean… We used protection. And you said were on the pill.”
“I was. I might have missed a few days. Not missed them, exactly. Lost them.” She explained about the throwing up. “I asked the doctor, and in addition to pointing out neither birth control was foolproof, she mentioned if you don’t…disengage…condoms lose their effectiveness.”
Disengage? Right. He did seem to remember falling asleep inside her during the night because he hadn’t wanted to move. Hadn’t been willing to break that connection.
“I had a hard time finding the right pill. They all made me nauseous, and I’d been off and on a few during the months leading up to the wedding. I guess my body didn’t think I was serious about the whole no-pregnant thing.”
Deacon smiled, but he didn’t take his eyes from the baby. “I guess not.”
The babies in his arms grew restless, and he stood to walk them.
“They’re probably hungry,” Clare said, standing to follow him. “I usually feed them at the same time, or try to. I read it’s easier that way. Not easier to feed them, but easier in the long run to get them on the same schedule.”
“Right. I remember that.” Clare took Parker, and he shifted Patrick to his shoulder. “I’m pretty handy with a bottle. Not so much the other way.”
“I’ve only tried bottles once. It didn’t go well.”
“Oh. Right. Well.”
Both babies were crying now, their frantic newborn cries.
“My flight’s at one tomorrow. I couldn’t get away for more than one night. Maybe I can come over in the morning? Late morning? Nine? Ten? Whatever’s good for you.”
“Either is fine,” she said over the crying.
“Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He passed Patrick back to her. He didn’t want to leave. He’d just gotten here. But Clare was still looking at him like a stranger. And like she wanted him gone. So he would go. And then he’d be back.