CHAPTER SIX
After moving my own desk into my former office late Saturday afternoon, I arrive early Monday morning, ready to go. I throw myself in my chair, looking out the window with a view of the parking lot. And I wait. Undoubtedly, Britta did a lot of thinking over the weekend. The reception I get from her today is going to tell me a lot.
But I have to admit…stupid or not, I have more hope today than I did last Friday.
While drinking Saturday night with Maxon—we both turned down flirty girls at a bar—and while pushing my body to the limit with an eight-mile run on Sunday, I got some clarity about our situation. I could have handled it better. Merely saying I’m sorry for all I did to her wasn’t enough. Kissing her, even if she reciprocated, didn’t repair the damage I inflicted on us. Telling her I love her was too little, too late. But my heart is in the right place. Some combination of all that—something gentler and less rushed—should bring us closer together.
It goes against my grain to downshift. For Britta, I have to try.
My brother pops his head in with coffee. “You prepared for World War III? You know, just in case.”
I’m hoping she’s looked at everything I’ve done these past few days and realizes I’m both serious and committed. But if it’s going to take more time and more potentially heated conversation for her to believe me… “I’m prepared.”
“You’re crazy. You know that, right? I knew that for sure on Saturday when you kissed her…and whatever else you did—”
“I never said I touched her.”
Maxon scoffs. “I’ve got ears. Whatever was happening in that bedroom was getting raunchy. And when I heard a zipper go down, I had to get out of earshot. Nothing I want to hear less than my brother and the woman I think of as a sister doing the nasty.”
“Well, since we have a child together, we obviously have in the past,” I point out.
And the fact that I didn’t see him all weekend is sitting sour in my gut. How am I supposed to start being a father to the little guy if I’m never with him?
“There’s a difference between laying eyes on my nephew and hearing his parents’ slobbers of passion.”
“No one slobbered,” I assure my annoying-ass brother with a pointed glare.
As he laughs, Britta swings her sedan into the lot and parks.
“Speak of the angel…” I drawl.
Maxon looks out the window. “If there are battles, you know the drill. Keep them out of the office.”
“I got it. I got it. Go.”
As she emerges from her vehicle, she’s wearing a black skirt edged in a lacy hem and a gray blouse with puffed sleeves so sheer I can discern the shape of her arms. The rest of her body is frustratingly obscured but so elegant. Sparkling silver shoes complete the cool, sophisticated look.
Fuck, she knows what a turn-on it is for me when she’s dressed like a lady…and she lets me undress her like a woman.
Today, Britta is wearing her hair in gentle waves halfway down her back. The breeze tugs at the strands as she slams her car door with a determined swagger. Then she strides to the office’s main door, clutching a folder in hand and looking ready to conquer the world.
From her attitude, I’m guessing she’s raised her defenses and girded her loins.
That’s not good.
“Good luck with that,” Maxon tosses my way as he watches her, backing out of my office.
“Thanks,” I shoot back sarcastically.
“By the way, George Stowe left me a voice mail late last night. The listing is ours.” He grins.
I relish that piece of good news for a few seconds. This is cause for celebration. We can do great things together.
But I’m distracted by Britta. She looks beyond pissed as she barrels across the office. She doesn’t even stop at her desk, merely continues her stomp into my office and shuts the door, clutching the folder to her breast like a shield. That fucking engagement ring is winking at me in mockery.
“What happened on Saturday will never happen again,” she says through clenched teeth.
Yes, it will. Only next time, she’ll be less angry with me. We’ll have worked things out. Then I’ll get her naked, pump deep inside her until her nails are in my back and she’s crying out my name. I’ll rinse and repeat a few times, put a smile on her face…then we’ll see how she feels.
“Hmm.” I’m noncommittal because I refuse to add fuel to her fire. But I won’t lie to her face and agree, either.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Griffin James Reed, don’t you dare act as if you didn’t step way over the line with me.”
“I did.”
My admission seems to startle her, then she narrows her eyes at me. “But you’re not sorry.”
“If I upset you, yes. That I got to touch you again and remind you of what’s between us, no.” When she stiffens and opens her mouth, likely with a comeback, I hold up a finger. “But I promised Maxon I wouldn’t drag our personal shit into the office.” I glance at the folder in her hands. “So, did you have something else to discuss?”
“That’s a convenient excuse. I’m engaged, and you grabbed me and kissed me. You put your hands on me—”
“My mouth, too. Don’t forget that. In fact, after I left your house and got alone in my own car, I could still smell your pussy on my fingers. It was driving me crazy. I had to lick them. Savor them.” God, she tastes exactly as I recall.
Her eyes bulge, and she turns a hundred shades of red, then whips her stare out the interior window to see if Maxon or Rob could possibly have overheard us. “Don’t say things like that!”
“I should lie?” I lean back in my chair.
“You’re twisting my words. Don’t say sexual things to me.”
I shake my head. “I’m not going to candy-coat how much I want you, angel. Or how much I love you.”
She rears back as if I’ve slapped her. “Don’t say that, either. You’re only claiming you have feelings for me now because you want parental rights to Jamie. I won’t let you sweet-talk me into—”
“Let’s get one thing straight.” I stand and round the desk, approaching her on slow steps. “I still loved you even before I knew about Jamie.”
Britta pauses as if absorbing my words. “Funny how you never took the time to say that until you found out about your son. My reply is still the same.”
Fuck off.
“Too bad. I won’t walk away from Jamie,” I promise. “Or from you.”
“Why do you always expect that everyone will bend to please you? I’ve moved on. I don’t need you.” She clenches her fists with a grunt. “I never lose my damn temper unless you’re involved.”
“Because I matter to you, just like you matter to me.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “No. It’s because you infuriate me. You can tell me you ‘love’ me all you want. I don’t believe you. I never will. Ugh, you make me hate you.”
Not true. I get under her skin. “That didn’t feel like hate on your guest-room bed less than forty-eight hours ago.”
She blinks, looking as if she’s fighting furious tears. “You’re throwing my momentary lapse in my face?”
I refrain from pointing out that her “momentary lapse” was closer to five minutes.
“Stop it, Griff. I’m not a naive little virgin anymore. I’m done letting you manipulate me.” She slaps the folder down on my desk. “This is the solution to our problem. Read these papers and sign them, damn it. If you ever really cared about me and what I want, you’ll do this.”
I stare at the spilling paperwork like it’s a snake. I round the desk and flip the folder open. The header at the top of the stapled document on legal paper reads VOLUNTARY RELINQUISHMENT OF PARENTAL RIGHTS.
Holy. Fuck.
More words swim before my eyes. GRIFFIN JAMES REED DOES HEREBY IN WRITING EXPRESSLY CONSENT AND AGREE TO THE TERMINATION OF HIS PARENTAL RIGHTS CONCERNING JAMES TUCKER STONE. CONSENT IS PERMANENT AND CANNOT BE REVOKED…
I stop reading. I stop breathing. I probably shouldn’t be surprised that she’s fighting back…but I didn’t see this coming. The gnawing in my stomach is definitely panic. I try to keep myself under control as I close the flap of the folder, covering the document. “No.”
Tears well in her eyes, and I see she’s trying to will them away.
I soften my refusal by pointing out one detail. “I’m not his father legally, so I have no rights to relinquish. This document is unnecessary.”
“Damn it, Griff.” She sniffles. “Do the right thing by me for once and sign it so there’s no question in the future.”
Her insistence hurts. But seeing her so upset is killing me, too. She clearly feels backed into a corner, and this legal maneuver is tearing her apart. It must be. If Britta flat-out hated me, she would be coldly silent. But she isn’t the sort of woman to share her vulnerable side easily. So all her upset tells me is that she truly doesn’t want to cut me out of Jamie’s life.
It tells me she’s far more terrified to trust me than I thought.
The other thing this morning says is that Makaio has absolutely no control or sway over Britta. That’s great news for me. Sure, he might have lied to my face about his thoughts and intentions, but I doubt it. He’s a truth-justice-and-American-way sort of guy. He would view something important, like Jamie’s custody arrangement, as too vital to play games with.
Well, I’m not playing games, which he’ll figure out…eventually. Britta isn’t messing around, either. She’s simply trying not to think with her heart.
I need to show her that she can believe in me, that I’ll be here for her. I can’t do that if I’m unable to spend time with her and our son. So I’ll fix that problem—fast.
But I will never, ever sign this document, no matter how much she pleads.
“I’m trying, angel. I’m simply not convinced that me bowing out of Jamie’s life forever is best for any of us.”
Through the interior window, I see Maxon glaring my way. Not in the office. Right.
“You’re just going to confuse him. The schlepping him back and forth between your place and mine… He’s too young to understand. He doesn’t take that well to strangers or new surroundings. You don’t know the first thing about kids. Please. It would be better if you let us go.”
A tear finally escapes and rolls down her cheek. With a valiant sniff, she tries to call it back, but it’s too late. Instead, she wipes it away and blinks stoically, determined to press on no matter how much this is killing her. I’d be happy to kiss her tears away, but I’d rather not be kicked in the balls—by her or my brother.
Of course, I could argue with Britta. I’ve got a hundred comebacks whizzing through my head. He’s a smart boy. We’ll help him figure out any new arrangement. I’ll do everything possible to make him comfortable, and I’ll ask your advice so the transition is the best it can be. What I don’t know about kids, I’ll be more than happy to learn… I could go on. All that does is prolong the argument. We’ll never get to the heart of the issue that way.
Clearly, she’s torn. Her head is telling her one thing. Her heart is saying something else entirely. I’m going out on a limb—not really—and guessing that after I abandoned her, she mentally combed through every moment of every day we spent together and tried to figure out where it went wrong and how she could have been so mistaken about our commitment, etc. When she didn’t find anything she could definitely point to as the moment, she resolved never to let her guard down with a man, especially me, again.
Yeah, I’ve got to fix a lot of shit.
“Why do you think this arrangement would be better?” I ask.
“After Makaio and I get married, I’m going to ask him to adopt Jamie. It would be easier if we all had the same last name.”
That will never fucking happen. I agree with her general concept…but I’m determined Britta, Jamie, and I will be the happy Reed family.
“Let me read the paperwork,” I manage to say without snarling out my frustration. “Then we’ll go to lunch and discuss it.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She shakes her head stubbornly.
So I guess my idea of grabbing takeout and hashing out the particulars at my place is a big hell no. Maybe that’s for the best. I don’t know if I can keep my hands off her. As much as she seems to be falling apart, I don’t think she could deal with sex now. What’s between us is tentative and fragile…but simmering, sparking. If I rush her before she’s ready simply because I’m impatient to put the past behind us, before she’s had the chance to see how getting back together could be the best path for her—and for Jamie—we’ll be done forever.
“We have to talk,” I point out. “I can’t sign this if I don’t understand exactly what you want and why.”
Britta casts a side glance to the ceiling. Obviously, she doesn’t want to put herself in a vulnerable position when she’s feeling weak. I don’t know if she’s aware how easily I can read her, but it’s like I’m tuned into her frequency. She’s mad at me, sure. But she’s more afraid of what I make her feel and what that means for her future.
“I can’t do it today.” She shakes her head. “I have an eye doctor appointment.”
At least I have a viable delay for signing this crap. “Tomorrow?”
She looks at me in horror. “No. I’m not spending any moment of that day with you.”
That day? “Tuesday?”
Britta tosses her hands in the air. “Oh, forget it. What about Wednesday?”
I’m still stuck on tomorrow. What the… I glance at the calendar, and suddenly it’s clear. She’s protesting having lunch with me on Valentine’s Day.
Once upon a time, she was giddy with the thought that I might utterly adore her on this holiday for lovers. I sent flowers, sure. I avoided chocolates since they sometimes give her migraines. And I took her to dinner. During the meal, I spent half the time on my phone. I didn’t really pay her much attention until we got home alone. I was hoping to get her naked…but it didn’t happen.
Valentine’s Day will be different for us from now on. I’ll do everything in my power to make her feel like my one and only.
I tap my thumb against my thigh, knowing I’ve got a decision to make. Either I leave her in peace to share Valentine’s Day with Makaio, knowing what they will more than likely be doing that night, or I push Britta now and risk her shutting down.
“This is obviously upsetting you. Wouldn’t you feel better if we came to a mutual understanding sooner?”
Yeah, I’m coercing her to have lunch with me tomorrow. Of course it’s manipulative. But my statement is true…even if Jamie’s custody arrangement isn’t going to turn out the way she thinks.
She hesitates, pressing her lips together as if she’s not exactly sure what to say. “Oh, all right. Tomorrow. Will you actually read it by then?”
“Absolutely.” And I will. I’ll simply be looking for every possible way to avoid signing it and every single loophole she might use to trip me up. I see check boxes and conditions and more jargon than I can plow through at a glance. This delay, though it chafes, will give me time to confer with my attorney. “I’ll make notes. We’ll talk and figure this out. Just…don’t cry, angel. I’m not trying to make your life worse.”
“It’s too late,” she murmurs, then turns, leaving my office.
It’s a blade in the heart I deserve. But if we’re going to move forward, I have to lay a bunch of my cards on the table so we can get past all the blame-laying and anger. That means I need to explain everything, not just our breakup. She needs to know how much I regret not changing before I destroyed us.
Britta called in sick on Tuesday. Maxon didn’t press her for details, damn him. So all my plans for a quiet—and yes, romantic—lunch go down the toilet. I’m both cynical and suspicious at her no-show. Is she really under the weather…or passive-aggressively refusing to spend even a moment of Valentine’s Day with me?
When she calls in again on Wednesday, I become concerned.
As promised, I read the paperwork she gave me. Yeah. Fuck no. Never. Ever. In a million years. It’s not just a relinquishment of my rights, it also reads something like a restraining order. If I try to approach Jamie in any way, I’m legally a stranger. Anything more than a casual conversation, and she can call the police and have them arrest me.
It’s ludicrous. And it’s never happening.
The end of this hellacious hump day comes, and I leave the office. When I climb in the car, I’m ready to press the redial button on my last missed call from Keeley. I need to find out if she’s getting on that plane tomorrow morning at eight a.m. If not, I don’t know what I’m going to tell Maxon.
But before I can dial my bestie for details, my phone rings. I look at the display on the device and answer with a grin.
“Hey, Harlow.”
“Hey, you.”
I hear a low note in her voice instantly. “You all right?”
“Me? Yeah…”
But she’s not, just like she’s rarely forthcoming with her feelings. If I’m going to get to the bottom of her woe, I’ll have to be subtle. “How’s school?”
“Great!” she says genuinely. “I’m glad I already finished the course work for my final semester and my dissertation is going so well. I’m talking to some great firms about a job after graduation. It’s been hard sticking around to get a master’s when I’m beyond ready to join the real world, but I think the sacrifice will be worth it in the end.”
“Smart girl. How are your wedding plans coming?”
Harlow doesn’t answer right away. “Simon and I have both been busy. He’s traveling all the time. I’ve been neck deep in my dissertation and getting ready to defend it. Mom was helping me with the wedding for a while, but she’s completely focused on Marco, her new boyfriend, and finding Dad so she can officially serve his ass with divorce papers and get her half of his money. Have you seen him lately?”
“Dad? Not since the night he flew in, like, ten days ago.”
No one was more shocked than me when my father beat on my door late unexpectedly one night after arriving from San Diego, demanding I give him a place to stay while he and Mom legally ripped each other to shreds. An hour before that, he’d ragged on Maxon, called him a pussy. Then he said some things that made me realize that I’d been the same kind of bastard to my brother and I owed him a huge apology.
So I guess I can thank him for the wake-up call, but not much else.
“You can’t help Mom find him?” she asks anxiously.
Why would I want to? Granted, Dad is no peach, but she’s hardly without blame in this shit storm. “I’ve got no clue where he is.”
“If Mom doesn’t find him soon, my wedding may never get planned.”
I feel for Harlow…but I’m at a critical stage with Britta and Jamie right now. Between that and business, I can’t babysit my dad. “If he turns up, I’ll let you know.”
“If he doesn’t, don’t be surprised if Mom calls you,” my sister warns.
My gut tightens. I’ve barely spoken more than monosyllables to her in ten years. Then again, what should I say to the woman who forever fucked my adolescence? “To help her find Dad?”
“Yeah. She’s threatening to ‘do something drastic,’ whatever that means. And you know Mom. The wine posse is backing her up, Chardonnay in hand.”
I grunt. I know Linda Reed probably better than anyone in this family. “She’s still hanging around with Julia?”
The leech followed my mother when she moved to San Diego a few years back. Thank god.
“Oh, yeah.”
I can practically hear my sister roll her eyes. I try not to grind my teeth over the phone. God, how much I hate them all.
“Thanks for the warning. So if the wedding plans get finished, how many weeks until you’re Mrs. Butler?”
“Less than twelve. I’m a little panicked. I have to fly to New York for my final fitting at some point. I’ve been waiting for Simon to come home so we could finish the menu and floral selections. He needs to pick out his tux. We have more phone counseling sessions with the minister. We both thought we’d have time to make a trip to Maui and settle everything in person…but life has been so hectic.”
I’ve never met Simon. I understand a job that seems to eat your life for weeks on end. I often live it. Maxon does, too. But if Britta told me tomorrow that she’d marry me, I wouldn’t give a shit what was happening professionally. I would push everything aside to focus on giving that woman the wedding of her dreams. The fact that Simon isn’t interested in the details… Well, I know a lot of people would say that guys just aren’t into that shit. But for the woman you love, c’mon. Taste some froufrou food, sniff a few flowers. Make her feel important. How hard is it?
From a guy who didn’t learn the first time around, what Harlow is describing smacks of a boyfriend who’s not really committed.
But maybe I’m wrong. I hope for her sake that I am. I keep my opinion to myself.
“Things will settle down, and you’ll get it all sorted out.”
“Probably. I just need to not let the details freak me out, I guess.” She pauses. “So…Maxon says you met Jamie.”
“Kind of. I saved him from a trip to the ER. Don’t think he appreciated it.” I have to laugh. “At his age, I wouldn’t have, either.”
She laughs, too. “I’m so relieved I won’t have to avoid talking about the cutie pie with you anymore.”
“Why did you in the first place?” I have some suspicions.
“Because we thought you knew and simply didn’t care. I was so angry I couldn’t even talk to you about him. I thought you didn’t deserve him. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… I should have given you the benefit of the doubt.”
I can’t really blame Harlow. I’d like to, but I see her point. In her shoes, I might have made the same choice.
“I’m sorry if that sounds mean,” she goes on. “But you really broke Britta’s heart, and I didn’t want to see you hurt your son, too.”
“I understand.” I can hardly fault her for trying to protect him.
“Good. I’m glad.” She pauses. “I’m flying to Maui sometime in mid-April. The wedding is on Saturday, May sixth. I can’t wait to see you. And to finally meet Jamie in person! Maxon sends me the cutest pictures.”
“You’ll love him. He’s beautiful.”
“I have no doubt. So…what about you and Britta? You two are talking again?”
“We have a child, so we have to. I’m trying to open the communication between us. And…I’m trying to get her to do more than talk to me.”
“Griff, seriously? Maxon said she’s engaged.”
“She is.” But I can’t feel guilty. The alternative will make us miserable for the rest of our lives.
She snickers at me like I’m incorrigible. “Actually, I’m pulling for you two. You really seemed to have something. It wasn’t perfect, but—”
“That was my fault.”
The shock of her silence is almost palpable. “You’re admitting you were wrong? Someone record this day in history.”
I roll my eyes but take her ribbing in the good nature in which she intended it. “I’ve grown into a more evolved sort of asshole.”
“I’m so proud,” she teases.
In the background, I hear someone knocking on her door. “You need to go?”
I hear rustling and guess she’s getting up from her chair. A few steps later, she groans. “Yeah. It’s Mom.”
Without even opening the door, she sounds exhausted by the woman. I understand, but I’m not about to talk to the she-dragon.
“I’ll let you go. Call me anytime, little sis.”
“Same with you. Love you. Hope everything works out with Britta and Jamie.”
Before I can say anything else, she’s gone. Ending the conversation is probably for the best since I’m nearly at Britta’s. No, she won’t be happy to see me, but she owes me an explanation. We’ll never work out any arrangement about Jamie and our future if she’s going to avoid me.
Three minutes later, I’m knocking on her door. And knocking. I see her sedan under the carport. She should be here. Unless Makaio took her out.
Damning the thought, I’m just about to walk around the house and see if I can peek in through the sliding glass door around back when I hear the click of the lock. The latch gives way and the door creaks open.
Britta wobbles in the portal with her hair pulled back haphazardly, skin somewhere between white and gray. She’s tried to belt a pink robe around her middle. It’s gaping open to reveal an overlarge oatmeal-colored T-shirt. She’s removed everything else—shoes, makeup, engagement ring. Jamie stands behind her, clinging to her thigh.
Whatever remained of my righteous anger swirls down the mental drain. “Are you okay, angel?”
She leans against the door. “It’s just a cold. I’ll be fine. Sorry we haven’t been able to talk—”
A cough interrupts her nasally, scratchy-voiced reply. It sounds deep and productive, and she winces like it’s painful.
“Have you been to the doctor?”
She shakes her head. “Haven’t felt like it. Maybe I’ll go tomorrow.”
Where the hell is Makaio? Shouldn’t her fiancé be taking care of her? Whatever. He wasn’t important before and he’s certainly not important now.
“Have you eaten in the last few hours?”
After a slight pause, she frowns. “Not since midday. It’s probably good you woke me up. I need to feed Jamie. Um, we’ll talk about everything once I come back to the office, hopefully soon.”
If she thinks I’m leaving her and Jamie to suffer alone, she’s absolutely fucking crazy.
Gently, I nudge my way past the front door and lock it behind me. Then I kneel down to Jamie, who’s staring at me, thumb in his mouth, from behind Britta’s shapely thigh. “Hey, big guy. You hungry?”
He looks at me suspiciously, then back up to his mother. When she nods at the boy, he meets my gaze again. “Yeah.”
“I’ll take care of you. Meet me in the kitchen. Mommy is sick, and I’m going to make sure she gets in bed, okay?”
“What?” Britta balks as Jamie scampers off to dance around the refrigerator. “You can’t. I’ll—”
“I can’t make a can of soup or fix a sandwich? C’mon. You need rest and you don’t need to be risking Jamie’s immune system. I’m perfectly healthy and I’ll handle it.” When she still looks uncertain, I cup her shoulder. “You took care of him by yourself for years. I owe you at least this much.”
She closes her eyes, obviously torn. But she’s too exhausted to fight. “He’s allergic to strawberries.”
“Got it. Anything in particular he likes?”
“Bananas. Peanut butter sandwiches. Peach yogurt.”
“Consider it done. What can I get you?”
“I don’t need anything.”
I send her a stare of tender rebuke. “Don’t be stubborn.”
“Seriously. I need to lose those last couple of pounds I gained at Christmas anyway.”
Oh, that just annoys me. If she weren’t so sick, we’d exchange words about the fact that she’d rather starve herself than ask me for help. Nor is an illness a good time to consider her weight, which seems just fine to me. But right now, getting her back to bed so she can rest matters most.
I curl one arm across her back before I bend and lift her, settling her knees over my other forearm. She shrieks as I nestle her against my chest. To keep her balance, she tosses her hand around my neck. Her body feels like a blast furnace. No doubt, she has a raging fever.
“Put me down,” she protests. “I can walk.”
“But you don’t have to. Relax, angel. I’ve got you.”
I start walking down the hall with her in my arms before she can renew her protests. “Which room is yours?”
“The room I stored the chairs in.” She refuses to meet my gaze.
In other words, the room in which I kissed her and tossed her down to the bed and touched her. “You don’t sleep in the master?”
She shakes her head. “It’s on the other side of the house. Too far away from Jamie. He sometimes has nightmares and…”
“Needs you at all hours?” I scowl. How like Britta to give up her comfort for those she loves. Her health simply won’t allow for that now.
After an about-face, I head down the hall again and across the living room, where I spot a closed door on the far side.
Britta sees my destination and starts wriggling with what little energy she has. “I can’t sleep there.”
“You have to. Listen to me. I’ve got this.”
“You’re not sleeping in my bedroom!”
“Is Makaio coming back tonight?” I hate that thought, but I have to be practical at the moment.
“No,” she croaks. “He has a big presentation on Friday. He can’t afford to get sick.”
So he left Britta and Jamie to fend for themselves because he’s not man enough to handle a cough or a sniffle? Fucking uptight dick. It probably wasn’t “logical” to get sick when he could prevent it. But he’d leave a kid who’s not even three alone with a contagious mother who has a blazing fever? I’m not an experienced parent, but even I know that’s moronic.
“Then I’m sleeping in your room and taking care of Jamie tonight.”
She pushes at my chest. “You can’t. He might be upset if he has a nightmare and wakes to find you. When he’s afraid, he wants me and—”
“I’ll handle it, Britta. Don’t be stubborn now. You can’t get better if you don’t rest.”
After a pause, she sighs. “I guess you’re right.”
I am. She simply doesn’t like it.
I give her a nod, then shoulder my way into the master. There’s a king-size bed. The decor is somewhere between nonexistent and masculine. Everything is brown and bland and barely used. It looks like someplace Makaio would enjoy.
Gritting my teeth, I set Britta on her feet gently and yank down the comforter to find cool white sheets. I help her into bed and tuck the blankets around her. “Let me see to Jamie. I’ll be back in ten.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she calls weakly to my retreating back.
Ridiculous. Of course I’m going to worry about her.
In the kitchen, I set Jamie on the counter and look at him eye to eye. “I’m Griff.”
He thumps at his chest. “Jamie.”
I teach him how to shake hands, then we make a game out of washing up, stopping just shy of a suds fight—mostly because I don’t want his giggling to keep Britta awake.
Then I explain to him that I’ll be taking care of him while Mommy is sick before I set a peanut butter sandwich in front of him. He grunts and points at the refrigerator urgently until I realize he’s demanding grape jelly with it. Once I slap that on, too, I grab the yogurt and a spoon, then pluck a banana from the basket on the counter and chop it up. A glass of milk follows.
In ten minutes, he’s demolished everything on his plate and is looking at me as if to ask where’s the rest?
Wow, Britta wasn’t kidding. He’s a great eater.
“What else do you want?”
“Ice cream!”
Of course. One of my favorites, too. I shouldn’t be surprised.
I prowl through Britta’s freezer, but it’s empty of anything that looks like dessert. I sigh. Plan B. I have to feed Britta anyway.
After rinsing Jamie’s plate and milk cup, I put both in the dishwasher and pause. The food wasn’t fancy…but I just fed my son for the first time. I don’t know if he feels like it was a bonding experience. Probably not. But I’m moved and oddly struck by how satisfying it was to take care of him.
After wiping his hands and face clean, I lift him from his booster, then cart him through the front room and into the entry way. I spy Britta’s car keys on a foyer table and swipe them. “Want a little adventure?”
When Jamie bobs his head excitedly, I smile at his infectious grin. I’ll bet he thinks we’re going to do something physical and maybe a little bit crazy. Britta will definitely need my help raising him from here on out.
Silently, we sidle out the front door. I lock up behind me and head to Britta’s car. I would take mine, but a car seat in a Porsche convertible just doesn’t make much safety sense to me. So I press the button on her car fob, unlock the door, secure Jamie in his place, and head to town.
We’re gone about twenty minutes. I make a special trip through the McDonald’s drive-thru for some ice cream for Jamie, then we’re back at Britta’s place with melting soft-serve and one of her favorites.
As soon as I open the door, she’s standing in the foyer, looking as if she’s barely upright.
“You had no right to take him—”
“Angel, come sit before you fall down.” I shut the door behind me and let go of Jamie’s hand so I can help Britta to the sofa. I have our bags of goodies in the other.
Thankfully, she doesn’t really have the energy to resist.
“I was worried,” she says wearily as she sinks onto the nearest cushion.
I grab a blanket from the back of the sofa and toss it over her lap. “I wanted to get something for us to eat and I didn’t want you to exert yourself with Jamie. Now give me one second. Our boy had a request…”
She groans. “He conned you out of ice cream?”
I pause. “Is this a regular occurrence?”
“Almost daily.” She lays her head against the back of the sofa with a sigh and closes her eyes. “He’s good at getting what he wants from me, just like his father.”
I send her a faint smile. She can’t see me. Hell, she’s half-asleep, and I wonder if she even knows what she said. It doesn’t matter. I know. And she has no idea yet how right I’m going to prove her.
Eyeing Jamie’s bib, I hesitate. I already know he’s not great with a spoon. The yogurt was a valuable lesson in toddler messes, so I can’t leave him alone entirely with a cup of soft-serve. But I need to get Britta settled. She’s grown even paler in the last half hour, and I’m really worried.
For lack of anything better to do, I rip a giant plastic trash bag in half and settle it on the kitchen floor. I strip Jamie down to his Pull-Up and set him in the middle with a plastic spoon and a warning to eat where he’s sitting and not to move. He gives me an absent nod before digging in.
I know it’s going to be a mess, so I’m just not going to look.
Instead, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and schlep Britta’s takeout over to her as I settle beside her on the sofa. “Hey, angel. I brought you one of your favorites.”
I show her the bag from the deli we used to frequent when we lived together. Plain white with cheerful red lettering. Her eyes light up. “Tuna salad?”
“And homemade potato chips.” I smile as I set everything up for her.
“Did you get that caveman’s all-meat special you used to love?” she teases me.
And it feels fantastic.
I beat my chest. “Me, Ug. You, Ugga.”
Even though her laugh is weak, I know it’s real.
“That’s a yes. Thanks, Griff. And thanks for remembering.”
No other way to describe it, her praise makes me feel warm and pretty damn proud. “What else can I get you?”
“Nothing. We’ll be fine from here. I can give Jamie a bath soon and he’ll go—”
“No. I’ll give him a bath and put him to bed. You eat and then you rest.”
I must look stubborn because she concedes with a sigh. “All right.”
I check on Jamie while I grab my food from the kitchen counter. Yep, it’s a mess. I’ll deal with it in a few.
As I settle in beside Britta, she takes the first bite and moans. “I’m in heaven.”
“You can taste it?”
“I’m congested, but I’d have to be dead to miss this flavor.” She takes another bite, and her pleasure sounds almost sexual. “I remember eating these at two a.m. after we’d been out barhopping most of the night. They always tasted so good then, especially when I knew we had to get up early for work the next day.”
I remember. I also recall how many times we’d finish our sandwiches, shower up, and fall into bed, frantic and hungry for each other, then make love until damn near dawn.
Why the fuck was I so stupid that I didn’t believe the devotion and happiness in my arms?
After I’ve finished my sandwich, I look over to see she’s managed to eat half of hers, along with a few chips. I insist she drink more from the water bottle before I lift her and carry her back to bed.
As I lay her on the mattress, it’s clear she’s fighting to keep her eyes open. She touches my arm. “I don’t know whether to thank you or ask you to stop before I get used to you taking care of me.”
“You don’t have to do either,” I promise. I don’t need her thanks, and I definitely intend to be by her side—giving her whatever she needs—for the rest of her life. “Just rest.”
Her faint smile slowly fades. “’K.”
“I love you,” I whisper.
But she’s already floating away to wherever her dreams have taken her. I kiss her forehead, resolving to bring some ibuprofen and whatever I can find that’s useful in her medicine cabinet as soon as I get Jamie in bed. Then I back out of the bedroom, leaving her to sleep alone in peace.
I also promise myself it’s one of the last times in our lives that she’ll sleep without me.