A Camden's Baby Secret (16 page)

She was who he wanted to be with every minute. Who he wanted to share every piece of news with.

Even today, when he'd been furious with her, he'd still found it hard to leave her.

So she
was
his Maeve...

But thinking that brought Callan back around to the rest—to having Maeve and John Sr. and Greta already in his life, already his responsibility in ways that demanded more of him than he'd thought they would.

It brought him back around to the struggles he was already having balancing work with commitments at home.

It brought him back around to the whole complicated mess that also included his lost friend, who would go ballistic at the idea of a Camden in the life of her daughter.

It brought him back around to the late husband Livi idolized.

And now there would be a baby, too?

Callan leaned over the counter yet again to put his head in his hands.

That was a lot.

But just as John Sr. had decided it was worth anything to him to have Maeve, Callan realized that it was worth anything to him to have Livi. Livi and their baby.

More work, more adjustments, more relationships for him to figure out. But it was still all worth it.

Because otherwise there was no Livi.

And John Sr. was right—nothing was as bad as that.

For a moment Callan felt the weight of everything on his shoulders. Of even more to come with a baby on the way. But somehow feeling that weight and thinking about having Livi to help him with it suddenly made it all seem workable.

“Here's how it is, Mandy,” he whispered to the memory of his friend. “You're gonna have to trust me that Livi is different than the Camdens who sank your dad. You're gonna have to trust me that it's not only good to have her around Greta, but that Livi makes me better at being your daughter's guardian.”

And in thinking about his late friends, he also suddenly knew that Livi gave him what Mandy and J.J. had had.

Elly hadn't—there had never been the kind of closeness that Mandy and J.J. shared, the bond, the connection.

But with Livi it was all there. That and so much more.

Feelings that were deeper and stronger.

He loved her. With a power and a passion that he'd never known was in him.

“And I walked out on her again...” he groaned when that occurred to him. “After accusing her of some pretty awful things.” He wished now that he hadn't done that. And wondered how much damage it might have caused.

Especially when he recalled her telling him pretty bitterly to leave...

Yeah, that wasn't good, he thought.

But no matter how things had been left between them, he wanted her, loved her, too much to let anything get in their way.

And he wanted her too much to let any more time go by without telling her that.

Chapter Twelve

W
eeks of morning sickness had taught Livi showers helped. So after an hour of crying and fretting about what had happened with Callan—and feeling even worse than usual—she called upon what little energy and strength she had, and went into the bathroom to shower and shampoo her hair.

The spray of water washed the tears away, but couldn't stop them from falling. The last thing she wanted to do was go to her grandmother's house that evening for Sunday dinner with red puffy eyes and a swollen face. So once she turned her shower off, she put every effort into turning off her own waterworks, too. But her sadness wasn't as easily stifled.

What would have happened if she'd told Callan as soon as they'd met again in Northbridge? She couldn't help wondering.

But
she
hadn't even been able to accept it then; she hadn't even bought the home pregnancy test until after that Sunday when they'd met again at the Tellers' and she hadn't taken it until after that. And she'd still thought that he'd ditched her in Hawaii. Even once he'd told her the truth, she'd needed time to adjust her thinking and accept what had happened.

Had she handled everything perfectly? No. But it wasn't as if any of this had been easy. It wasn't as if she had any experience with this.

So what if she'd bided her time a little?

So what if she'd taken a misstep by not telling him the second she'd stopped denying it herself?

It wasn't as if
that
much time had gone by before she
had
told him. It wasn't as if he'd found out some other way.

What had she done that was so wrong? she wondered, beginning to find some solace in getting a little angry herself.

The condom had broken—that wasn't the fault of either of them, and the pregnancy was as big a shock to her as it was to Callan. What gave him the right to get on his high horse and ride out of here the way he had? Much less accuse her of using Greta in such an underhanded way. Didn't he know her better than that?

“Jerk,” she muttered, as she wrapped a towel around herself and tucked the corner in to keep it in place.

Anger felt better than hurt, so she hung on to that as she blow-dried her hair. But when she took a look at herself in the bathroom mirror, she saw plainly that neither anger nor her shower had erased the evidence of her crying.

Maybe lying down for a while with a cold washcloth on her face would help.

She wet a fresh one, then took it with her into the bedroom.

Where Callan was sitting on the end of her bed as if he'd never left. He was even dressed the same way he had been in his tuxedo pants and shirt.

And maybe she was a little angrier than she thought. Because after the initial shock of finding him there, Livi threw the washcloth at him.

It hit him smack in the center of that broad chest.

“You left!” she said heatedly. “What are you doing here now and how did you get in?”

He put the wet washcloth on the bed beside him.

“I did leave,” he replied. “But I guess I didn't lock the door behind me. And apparently you didn't notice and lock it yourself, because when you didn't answer the bell, I tried the door and it was open. Not really safe...”

“Well, since it was you who didn't lock it on your way out, thanks,” she said facetiously. “Try to do better on your way out now.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” he said flatly. “I shouldn't have left before. I'm sorry for that.”

Livi only raised her chin, not offering instant forgiveness or acceptance or encouragement. But not
dis
couraging him, either, merely waiting to see what came next.

“You hit a hot button, Livi,” he said then, not sounding completely calm himself. “You have to understand—after six months of Elly making a fool out of me,
no
amount of time being kept in the dark about another pregnancy can sit well. But...” He sighed and seemed to let whatever remained of his anger release on that breath. “I know a couple of weeks isn't the huge deal that I made it into. And I shouldn't have done that. I definitely shouldn't have accused you of using Greta—I know you'd never do that. It's just that when my trust in you was shaken, I didn't know what to believe, so I defaulted back to my old opinion of Camdens. That wasn't fair to you, or to your family, who were nothing but kind and welcoming to me and the others when we came to dinner.”

Livi did understand how any delay in finding out he was going to be a father could trigger old issues for him. And she understood why Callan might assume the worst of any Camden. But she still wasn't going to cave that easily, so she just raised her chin a notch higher.

“And you gotta admit, it's a shock to find out there's a baby on the way,” he said, his tone, arched eyebrows and crinkled forehead all conveying that fact.

“For me, too,” she reminded him curtly.

“I'm sure.” There was empathy in his tone that pushed some of her own anger away.

But she still wasn't sure why he'd come back.

So she went on standing there, wrapped in her towel, trying to be strong when she felt anything but.

Callan stood up and met her gaze.

“I don't know if you know it or not,” he said, “but you're an amazing person, Livi Camden. You're gorgeous and smart and wise and kind and generous and funny and fun to be with and...well, a million other things that make you seem like some kind of hidden treasure to me. You open my eyes and widen my horizons and make me better than I am. Better than I ever have been.”

Was this a lead-in to him saying “so it's not you, it's me”?

“A lot went through my head when I left here,” he continued. “First and foremost that I didn't ask you if the baby is mine—”

Livi stiffened.

“But then I realized,” he went on, “that the reason it didn't even occur to me is
because
you are all the things you are and there's really no way that baby
isn't
mine.”

“It is,” she felt compelled to say.

“I know. And I also know that trusting you enough not to doubt it—after Elly—is a very, very big thing. Almost as big a thing as the way I feel about you.”

But he didn't go on to tell her how he felt about her. Instead he laid out for her all the things he'd thought about between when he'd left and when he'd returned, and the conclusions he'd come to.

Then, when he seemed to have covered all the bases, he took a step closer, peering down at her solemnly. “I know I'm just beginning to get the hang of parenthood, and you're right, I'm in the deep end with just about everything right now. But there's still no way I'm not going to be involved in my own kid's life. And I want it to be hand in hand with you. I want dealing with all that stuff that I'm in over my head with to be hand in hand with you, too—even if it does seem a little unfair to ask that of you.”

Another step toward her, close enough that he could have reached out and touched her. But he didn't. And despite everything, she still wanted him to.

“I know I'm up against that two-halves-of-a-whole business about Patrick,” Callan said. “I know you've gone through the last four years convinced that there couldn't be anyone else for you. But I think that if you just consider how good we are together, what we have when we're together...” He stalled. Then said, “I think together we make two halves of a new whole. A whole of our own. And maybe I'll never measure up, but I'm willing to spend my life working on it. If you'll let me...”

He paused again, looked more deeply into her eyes and said, “I love you, Livi. Believe it or not, John Sr. actually helped me weed through things this morning to realize that. And even if there wasn't a baby on board, I'd still be here telling you this and asking you to give me another chance.”

Apparently he was taking a turn at shocking her. And she didn't know whether it was that shock that sent a noticeable shiver through her or if it came from still standing there naked but for a damp towel.

“I need to put something on,” she said. Which might have been true. But she also needed a moment to herself, a moment to think.

Callan nodded once, his expression making it clear that he feared the worst and was waiting for the hammer to drop. “I'm not leaving again,” he informed her. “I came back to say what I've said and to take care of you while you're sick, and that's what I'm going to do no matter what. But I can wait downstairs while you get dressed if you want. Maybe fix you something for breakfast?”

“Crackers are all I can eat in the morning. But if you're hungry, then you could have something—coffee or whatever you find in the kitchen—and I'll be there in a minute.”

“Okay,” he agreed, but he didn't go anywhere, he just kept standing there, watching her as if he thought she might sneak out on him if he didn't.

So Livi turned and went into her closet, closing the door between them.

She was genuinely cold now, so she dropped the towel and dressed in a hurry, opting for the comfort of gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt that fitted like a ballet top.

Still chilled, she also pulled on a black angora shrug, then grabbed fuzzy socks and sat on the upholstered bench to pull them on.

But the minute she was sitting she forgot about putting on the socks. Because she was facing Patrick's side of the closet.

His clothes were all gone, but in her mind's eye she still saw his shirts and jackets and slacks hanging just the way they used to be.

And as she stared at that empty space, she realized how distant Patrick felt now. She'd had not thought of him whatsoever in all the time she'd spent getting ready for the previous evening's auction, spending that evening—and then the night—with Callan. She realized that even this morning Patrick had been only a reference point, that his memory hadn't had the kind of presence it had had for her since his death.

Instead, everything had been Callan, Callan, Callan...

Callan, who was not Patrick.

But who, it seemed, loved her and wanted her.

That wasn't something she'd ever expected to hear again. And now that she had, she had to admit that the words had meant every bit as much coming from Callan as they had when Patrick had said them.

Maybe it was time that it was
Callan alone she thought about...

“I'm sorry, Patrick,” she said. “But I...think it's time for me to move on.” Because it was Callan's baby she was having. Callan waiting for her downstairs. Callan, who had just told her he loved her.

And who she had to admit she loved, too.

Callan, who was warm and kind and sweet and caring and compassionate—even if that wasn't always visible on the surface, it slipped out from behind a protective barrier when he let down his guard.

But Livi understood that. Not only because her own shyness sometimes made her the same way, but because of how Callan had grown up. Of course he would have to feel comfortable with people before he let himself be vulnerable with them. And of course he wouldn't be family oriented; of course being in close relationships was difficult for him.

But look what he made of himself
, Livi thought.

Yes, maybe he'd caused a little trouble as a kid, but he'd grown up to be an enormous success. And with that success, he'd chosen to give back with his charity auction, to provide generously for the Tellers and Greta, bringing them into his home and life.

It didn't matter that it wasn't coming easy to him. It mattered that he was willing to do it. That he was working hard now on those relationships.

That he had the kind of character all those things spoke of.

So while Callan thought he couldn't
measure up
to Patrick, the more Livi thought about him, the more she knew he genuinely did
.

Patrick had taken her out of her shell when she was a little girl, and Callan had brought her out of the grieving haze that she'd been denying she was in.

Callan had lured her out of the limbo she'd been left in since Patrick's death, and helped her to see that she
was
still alive and well and kicking—what he'd said the night she'd told him about Patrick.

Being with Callan opened her up. It made her see the world again as a brighter, more hopeful place. It gave her a dimension outside the cocoon of her own family that she'd crawled into, and put her in a place where she saw a future for herself that she hadn't seen since Patrick's death. Callan had shown her that there honestly could be a full life for her again. And he'd given her a baby to help that along.

A baby she believed—now that she'd seen how Callan had prioritized his relationships with Greta and the Tellers—he wouldn't neglect. A baby who instead would benefit from the work Callan was doing to be a dad to Greta.

And most of all, he'd shown her that she was capable of loving another man—him. That even though she'd loved Patrick with all her heart and soul, he wasn't the
only
man she could love.

“Oh, Patrick, it isn't that I don't love you, too. I do. It's just that...”

It was just that she loved Callan equally as much.

Somehow she didn't feel as guilty for that as she'd thought she would. Instead she felt something else—a sort of peace in it, a strong sense that loving Callan, too, was okay, almost as if Patrick was there with her and letting her know that.

Maybe he was. Or maybe it was just that she'd known Patrick so well that she knew he
would
be okay with this. That he would
want
her to be happy even without him.

“Callan is a good man, Patrick,” she assured her late husband, as if he really was there with her. “And there's a baby...”

A baby and more life waiting for her that she knew now she needed to live.