And Then Forever (20 page)

“How was I supposed to tell you that the father you had worked so hard to get close to had done something like this?” She threw up her hands. “I was in a no-win situation. You’ve always wanted so badly to have a relationship with him, and I could either destroy that so you could be a father, or let you have what you always wanted by hiding this secret.”

“You should have told me and trusted me to handle it.”

“Well, that’s half our problem isn’t it, Kincaid? Neither of us trusted the other when it counted. Instead, we just ran.” She shook her head and turned toward the door. She was leaving, and he didn’t know how to get her to stay. “It’s what I did seven years ago and what you did this week.”

“My father needed me—“

“Don’t give me that, Kincaid.” She whirled back toward him. “Your
daughter
needed you. You said you wanted to be a parent. You said you wanted to be part of my life. But the minute the Foster phone rang, you ran off. Don’t keep telling me you want to be your own person because when it comes right down to it, you are too scared to do that.”

“I’m too scared? What about you?”

She raised her chin. “I’m not scared of anything.”

He stood before her. Sunlight streamed through the windows and danced over Darcy’s features. He could see the flickers of doubt in her eyes, in the tremble of her lower lip. “You are scared as hell of falling in love. Of risking your heart. Of making a commitment.”

“I made a commitment. I’m a parent.”

“Yeah, and that is awesome, and you do a great job. Emma is amazing. But when it comes to you and me, you were the one who always wanted to keep it light and uninvolved. And I was the one who wanted more.”

She scoffed. “You are living in some fantasy world. We aren’t meant to be together. You’re some hotshot lawyer in New York, with a billion dollar family behind you and a house the size of Texas on the north part of the island. I’m a waitress at The Love Shack who makes just enough to afford a little house and take care of my child. I live pretty frugally, Kincaid. I put most of the money I got from your father into a college account for Emma. And you know why I did that?” She took a step closer, pointing a finger at his chest. “So that when she grows up, she can get a degree and be a doctor or a dentist or something strong and powerful so that if she ever ends up pregnant and alone, she doesn’t have to take one dime or one unkind word from the Edgar Fosters of the world. She can stand on her own two feet.”

He shook his head and let out a breath. “That’s what it is. You lumped me right in there with my father. As if all of us Fosters are interchangeable.”

“Are you saying you’re different?”

“I have never been the same as my father.”

Her face saddened, and her eyes filled with tears. She bit her lip, and shook her head. When she spoke, her voice was fractured and sad. “You just were today, Kincaid, when you came in here with your money and your lawyers and your custody suits. You want to be an ordinary guy? Act like one.”

Then she turned on her heel and left.

M
ost weeks, Jillian hated
the early part of the week. The Love Shack was closed on Mondays, but open the other six days of the week. Tuesdays and Wednesdays were their slowest days, rarely as much of a party hub—and therefore tip bonanza—as the weekend days. Things started ramping up on Thursday, but it took all the way until Saturday night for the true party to get started. Those early weekdays seemed to drag on ten times slower than the busy nights, which normally drove Jillian crazy. 

After a quiet Tuesday and a nearly-dead Wednesday, Jillian was counting her blessings. Slow nights meant no band, which meant no Zach. After she’d given him back his flowers, he’d stopped calling and texting and trying to contact her. She told herself she was relieved. When really, she was hurt. All those years together, and he let her go as easily as a worn out pair of jeans.

Jillian kept as busy as she could, doing detail cleaning of the bar, polishing all the liquor bottles and glassware, then dusting the kitschy beach style décor, before turning her attention to the walk-in refrigerator, rearranging and cleaning the shelves. Darcy came in after six, and found Jillian checking every last salt and pepper shaker in the restaurant.

“Hey, girl.” Darcy wrapped Jillian in a one-arm hug. “I see you’re doing cleaning therapy.”

Jillian laughed. “It’s better than drinking therapy.”

“We’ll save that and the pie therapy for the end of our shift.”

“Deal.” Jillian returned Darcy’s hug. Darcy had been her best friend for seven years now, partly because she knew when to give a hug and when to hand over a margarita and a huge serving of dessert. “Thanks, Darce.”

“For what? I was AWOL yesterday, leaving you to do everything.” Darcy picked up the next set of shakers and unscrewed the caps to pour more salt into one, then pepper into the other. “I’m sorry.”

“It was no problem. Carter came over and covered for you. Besides, it’s not every day you get to help somebody have a baby.”

“It was pretty awesome,” Darcy said.  She grinned. “Abby was amazing and the baby is so cute. Almost…
almost
makes me want to have another one.”

Jillian thought it would be wonderful if Darcy had another baby. She was such a fabulous mom with Emma, and people like that should have tons of kids. Still, the thought of Darcy expanding her family when Jillian was as far from that as she was from the moon, filled Jillian with sadness. It was just the breakup with Zach, that was all. She would move on, be just fine. “Well, if you pin down that Kincaid—”

Darcy put up a hand and shook her head. Hurt shimmered in Darcy’s eyes. “I’m not talking about him.”

“Oh no. What happened?” Jillian had been so absorbed by what was going on with Zach that she hadn’t even thought to ask Darcy about what was happening in her life. Maybe there was going to be a need for two drinks and two pieces of pie tonight.

Darcy explained the last few days, the argument with Kincaid in the hospital. “I basically told him he needed to grow up if he wanted me. To stop letting his family rule his life.”

Jillian moved on to the next table, unscrewed the tops and refilled the salt. She gave Darcy a sidelong glance. “Is he the only one using family as an excuse?”

Darcy handed Jillian the pepper dispenser. “What are you talking about?”

“You keep saying you need to focus on Emma. That was fine when she was a baby and couldn’t do anything for herself. But she’s six years old. Going to school. Getting herself dressed. Before you know it, she’ll be all grown up and you’ll have missed out on your own life.”

Darcy fiddled with the salt container and shrugged. “I’m not missing out on anything. I love being with my daughter.” But the melancholy tones in her voice sounded like she felt the opposite.

“I’m not saying you don’t.” Jillian replaced the refilled salt and peppers, then turned to face Darcy. “But you can have that and a life. If you take the risk.”

Darcy ran a hand through her hair and let out a long breath. “Jillian, it’s not that easy.”

“No, it’s not.” Jillian thought of how long she had stayed in a dead-end relationship, afraid to take the risk of leaving, of being alone, of admitting she was wrong about Zach all this time. “But sometimes you have to take the leap. Because if you don’t, you’ll never know what you could have had.”

“You may be right, oh wise one.” Darcy gave Jillian a hug, then drew back. “Maybe I should start calling you Yoda.”

Jillian laughed. “I’ve been far from wise with my own life.” She glanced at the empty stage. It still hurt like hell, but maybe that pain was easing. “Though I’m trying hard to be wiser going forward.”

“You will be. In fact, we both will be.” Darcy gathered up the salt and pepper dispensers, then gave Jillian a grin. “Let’s just hope the men in our lives are wiser, too.”

That made Jillian laugh. “I’m hoping for a little life change, not a call-in-the-Pope miracle.”

*~*~*

K
incaid sat in the
leather chair in the corner of his sister’s room, holding his six-pound nephew in his arms. The baby fit just right against his arm, and had that new baby smell that nothing else in the world could capture. “I told you that you’d have a boy.”

Abby laughed. “You were right.”

The baby felt as light as feather, his cherubic face almost smiling in sleep. He had long dark lashes, a dusting of dark hair, and the tiniest fingers Kincaid had ever seen. Kincaid brushed his thumb across his nephew’s curled fist, and thought what a miracle life really was. Something so perfect, alive and breathing and about to embark on a lifetime of new experiences. “He’s incredible.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Love and joy radiated from Abby’s face. She propped herself up against the pillows and put out her hands. “Can I have him back?”

Kincaid rose slowly, then lowered the baby into Abby’s arms. “So what are you naming him? Hercules? Bruiser?”

Abby shook her head, and a smile of pure contentment took over her face as her son settled against her. “I was thinking of Charlie. Charles Foster. I think that sounds…nice.”

“I like it.” Kincaid pressed a kiss to his sister’s forehead. “I’ll let you and Charlie here get some rest, and I’ll be back in the morning to take you home.”

“Thanks, Kincaid. And thank Darcy for me again, will you? I don’t think I can say thank you enough for all she did.”

“I…I don’t think I’ll see Darcy tonight.” Or ever again, but he didn’t add that. From the tone of their argument this afternoon, he was pretty sure their only contact would be for custody exchanges. It saddened him in a way he couldn’t even begin to quantify. It was as if he was severing part of himself by losing her.

“Maybe you should go see her anyway,” Abby said, as if reading his mind. “I think you guys are great together.”

“We want different things.” Meaning, she didn’t want him, and he still wanted her. He’d lost her twice, and this time, he wasn’t sure how to get her back. Or if she even wanted him to try. Maybe there really wasn’t anything between them after all this time and he was a fool for thinking there was.

“Really? Because I disagree. I think you’re both afraid, and if there’s one thing the last few months have taught me, it’s that being afraid can keep you in a spot you shouldn’t be.” She smoothed a finger across her son’s forehead, then skipped over his tiny nose. “Sometimes you just have to take the leap.”

He chuckled. “Is this the new motherhood talking? Turning you into a psychotherapist?”

“Of course.” She kissed Charlie’s temple. “Any other life advice you want?”

“Let’s save that for tomorrow.” He gave his sister and nephew a hug, then headed out of the room. Visiting hours were over, and the hospital was quieting down. A couple of nervous dads were pacing the halls, and from time to time, the cry of a newborn would pierce the quiet.

For the thousandth time, Kincaid wondered what his life would have been like if Darcy had told him the truth seven years ago. Would he have been here, in this very hospital, pacing the floors like the other dads? Would he have been in the room, watching his daughter come into the world and take her first breath? Would he sit in that chair across from Darcy, and count his daughter’s fingers and toes?

He knew one thing for sure—a point driven home by the incredible experience of holding his nephew—if he had been here, he never would have left. Never would have allowed strangers to care for his child or raise her, not like his childhood. He would have been involved and present, not distant and unavailable.

“There you are.”

His father’s voice made Kincaid draw up short. Immediately, the tension returned to Kincaid’s shoulders. How ironic that Edgar would arrive just at the time Kincaid was thinking about how different of a father he would be.

“Of course I’m here,” Kincaid said. “As soon as I found out Abby was in labor, I flew right down.”

His father scoffed. He was still dressed for the day, suit immaculate, tie knotted, shoes shined. Kincaid had removed his jacket, tucked the tie into a pocket, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt hours ago. Edgar, however, never had a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his pant legs.

“It’s not like you were necessary to the birthing process,” his father said. “You could have finished the day in court.”

Good Lord. Was his father really that terrible? That he couldn’t understand the simple act of being there for family?

“It’s called being with my sister when she’s going through something scary,” Kincaid said. “And if I hadn’t been in court in the first place, I would have been here when she needed me.”

“Don’t tell me you are blaming your job for your sister going into labor?”

Kincaid sighed and started to walk past his father. How did his father not see the real point? That when someone you loved was in trouble or needed support, you were there, just there. Nothing else mattered but those you loved. Not a court case, not a bank account, not a charity ball. “Forget it, Father. You wouldn’t understand. Just when I think you’ve changed, you prove to me once again that you haven’t. At all.”

Edgar laid a hand on his son’s arm. “Wait.”

Kincaid spun toward him. “Why? So you can tell me to get back to work? Or so you can talk cases with me instead of asking whether you have a grandson or a granddaughter? Whether the baby is healthy? Whether your daughter is doing okay?”

“I received an update from the doctor already. I know all those details.”

Kincaid sighed again. “Of course you did. Why bother communicating with your kids when you can just call and demand the answers from a stranger?”

His father stood in the hall, his face as impassive as granite. “I do not appreciate that tone, Kincaid.”

“One, I’m not seven anymore, so you can’t send me to my room for disagreeing. Two, I think it’s about damned time you heard the truth, Father. You were never involved in our lives. You would pop in and out like a visitor, leaving the staff to do all the work. Other kids had their parents cheering from the sidelines at track. I had a nanny. I refuse to be that kind of father, and whether you like it or not, I am moving here and helping to raise my daughter. I only get one shot at this and I’ll be damned if I’m going to screw it up.” Now that he’d voiced the decision, Kincaid felt the solidity of it. The anticipation. He would be here, and he would have a relationship with his daughter. His entire life was about to change, in a very good way.

“Are you implying that I somehow failed at raising you?” his father said. “You are a successful lawyer, a partner in a law firm, living in an exclusive neighborhood in the Upper East Side. How can that be any kind of failure?”

“Because I hate that life. I don’t want to be a lawyer or a partner, and I sure as hell don’t want to live in New York. But I did it, because I thought it would change things with us.”

Edgar threw up his hands. “Then why have I wasted my time and money, giving you the best education, the best opportunities and the best life I could?”

A doctor and nurse passed them in the hall, giving the father and son a curious glance, but Edgar gave them a dismissive glare.

“That’s the whole problem, Father. You see what I’m saying as a waste of your time and money. Instead of seeing the real point I’m trying to make.” Kincaid shook his head. “I became a lawyer and worked at your firm, because I wanted to be with you. All my life, I did what I thought would make you happy, so that you would finally treat me like a son, not like a next in line.”

Edgar’s brow furrowed. “I have always treated you as my son.”

“No, you haven’t. I’ve been a piece of clay to mold and shove into the right place. A son is someone you go to dinner with to find out how his day went, or talk to about the Knicks’ chances of making it to the playoffs. Someone you take fishing, for God’s sake. The only thing we talk about, the only thing we do, is work.”

His father looked away. He shook his head, and his lips tightened into a thin line. Kincaid waited, braced for the lecture sure to come. Time passed. The elevator dinged, a nurse got off and turned right. The elevator doors closed again.

“You are right.”

Three words, yet they seemed to echo in the hall. Kincaid had never heard his father say
you are right
, and they settled like a balm over his heart.