Fix You (41 page)

             
His face creased with displeasure, lean cheeks sucking in. “I got rid of Kim.”

             
Another jolt of glee went through her. “Bored already?”

             
He frowned.

             
“That’s the thing about lust, Dylan: it fades. It always fades. And when it does, you’re left with all there ever really was: nothing.”

             
“You should know – you’ve succumb to it yourself.”

             
“No,” she shook her head, hair rustling. “No, I didn’t ‘succumb’ to anything. I have
nothing
to hide.”

             
He glanced away from her, dark eyes slicing out across the lawn toward the cottage with its blazing windows, its curl of smoke licking from the chimney.
Look
, she thought.
Look at what a family’s supposed to be. Look at what you threw away
.

             
“I suppose,” he said to the crisp night air, “that there’s something to be said for growing pains.”

             
Jess didn’t follow; she tightened her arms beneath her breasts and waited.

             
“We were young and stupid when we married,” he explained, gaze snapping back to her. “We needed some time to…come to terms…with what we had left of life. I had my experiences; you had yours.”

             
“Oh, don’t even –  ”

             
“But we don’t have to do this.” He tapped the papers against the porch rail. “Nothing’s final. We can make another go of it, Jessica.” His expression softened, his tone patronizing. “We’ve both learned things…”

             
Her stomach grabbed and heaved.

             
“…we both understand that marriage doesn’t have to be so limiting anymore. There’s no reason we can’t still fill valuable roles in one another’s lives…”

             
She was going to hurl. Jess lunged to the rail, locked her clammy palms around it, leaned over and brought up what little dinner she’d managed to choke down into the azaleas. Dylan leapt away, and when she’d collected herself and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, she turned to find him watching her with horrified contempt.
Yeah
, she thought,
you’ve “learned.”

             
Getting sick left her shaky and tearful, embarrassment fueling the emotional maelstrom that already ripped through her. “You idiot!” she choked out. “’Valuable roles’? I’m pregnant! How does
that
fit into your plan?”

             
“You’re pregnant?”

             
The voice came from behind her and didn’t belong to Dylan. Gasping, she whirled. Chris, in his socked feet, moving soundlessly on the new porch floor, had come out the back door and crept up behind them down the long, dark length of the wraparound porch. As the lamplight touched his face, she saw the shock go streaking across his face, replaced by doubt, and then fury.

             
Dylan spoke first. “I don’t remember inviting you into this conversation.”

             
Chris didn’t acknowledge him; his eyes, black as obsidian in the shadows, bored into hers. “Are you?”

             
There was no denying it now. She kicked up her chin as best she could. “Yes.”

             
“When were you going to tell me?”

             
She didn’t know. She hadn’t planned that far. And clearly, it showed on her face, because his brows became angry black slashes over the shadows of his eyes.

             
“Call off your dog, Jessica,” Dylan snapped. Then, to Chris: “I’m talking to my wife, dipshit. You can grope her when we’re done.”

             
Again, Chris ignored him, but Jess watched the aggression go trembling down his arms, curling his hands to fists. “You told
him
,” he bit out. “You told him and it’s not even his.”

             
“Go back inside,” she told him. “We’re not doing this now.”

             
“But you’re doing it with
him
?”

             
“Dylan and I need to get things straightened out,” she said, and turned her back to him.

             
Which was a mistake. His hand clamped down on her shoulder and he pulled her back around. “Hold on. You’re pregnant? You can’t just drop that bomb and –  ”

             
Her composure snapped. “I didn’t drop it! You weren’t even supposed to hear it! Can you please give me some goddamn space for a minute?!”

             
For a heartbeat, no one breathed. And then Chris’s face went blank. “I wasn’t supposed to hear,” he said evenly. “I get it: it’s not mine, is it? Is that how you’re gonna “finalize” things? Go crawling back to him?”

             
The insult went bone-deep in more ways than she could count. To be pregnant and so cornered – by both of them – was the cherry on top of the shit sundae that was her life. Her eyes glazed over with tears. Her arm snapped back, knuckles curling, and she threw the punch she’d so itched to deliver for so long.

             
She missed, staggering as he ducked out of reach. She caught herself against the far rail and let her head hang off her shoulders, tears gliding down her nose and falling into the shrubs below, breath leaving her in ragged gasps. This was what it felt like: losing.

             
“Go away,” she said in a strangled scream. Neither of them moved. “
I said go away!
Both of you –
go
!”

             
They did, and the silent acquiescence burned like hell. Over the din of her own breathing, she listened to them descend the porch steps and go to their vehicles; heard Dylan sling gravel and Chris stomp the gas.

             
Neither of them, it turned out, were “here” when it counted.

29

              “
T
ell me you’re lying.”

             
Jess continued assembling Tyler’s roast beef sandwich and ignored her little sister as she came stalking across the kitchen toward her.

             
“Jess,” Jo said as she drew up beside her, “you did not tell him
that
in
that way
!”

             
The smell of cold lunch meat pushed at her gag reflex again and she swallowed hard.

             
“Here.” Jo shooed her out of the way and took over. “How…okay. Really? You’re pregnant?”

             
“Yes, Jo. We’ve already established that I’m the slutty sister, haven’t we?”

             
Blue-green eyes flashed over to her as mustard went on the sandwich. Jo wasn’t serious often, but when she was, it was a sight to behold. “A nun would’ve fallen for Chris; you are
not
slutty. What I don’t understand is why you tried to
punch
the guy after you told
Dylan
you were pregnant.”

             
Jess laid a knuckle against her lips and fought her heaving stomach.

             
“I thought things were good with you and Chris.”

             
“I don’t know what things were like,” she managed around the knot in her throat. “But this…this is not good.”

             
“Well of course not. You offended the shit out of him.”

             
“I don’t really care if he’s offended.”

             
“Jess,” the sandwich was slapped together and stuffed in a Ziploc bag, “you always wanted more kids.” Jo’s new ring flared brilliant red in the sunlight coming in above the sink. “And now you’ll have one. Think of this as your new start.”

             
“Don’t feed me your optimistic bullshit; it doesn’t look good on you.”

             
Jo had the decency to look abashed. “I’m trying –  ”

             
“I know what you’re trying to do,” Jess said. “And it’s not going to work. I’m the whore who couldn’t keep her pants on and I’m just going to have to live with that.”

             
Her sister pulled a disgusted face. “Overdramatic much?”

             
“I – ”

             
“Mama, where’s my Braves hat?” Tyler reminded her how inappropriate it was to talk about her whorish ways while he was still in the house. He trooped in with his shoes unlaced, sweatshirt crooked and jeans falling off. Her heart hurt when she looked at him. She didn’t know how she would explain the inevitable to him. Six-year-olds didn’t understand husbands’ infidelities and mothers’ need for a little release – mothers’ stupid oversight of birth control in the heat of the moment. Six-year-olds couldn’t understand how siblings could have different daddies.

             
In truth, she wasn’t even sure she could understand it. Not as it pertained to her, at least.

             
“I don’t know, sweetie,” she said, ruffling his hair.

             
Jo handed his sack lunch to him. “Here, dude. Tie your shoes; I’m taking you today.” She shot Jess the same sort of disappointed look their mother might have. “Your mom’s not feeling so hot.”

             
Which wasn’t a lie. When they were gone, she fixed herself a mug of tea and…sat. She just sat. She folded her legs beneath her in a kitchen chair, braced her elbows on the table, and gave herself over to the wave of helplessness that crashed through her.

             
She’d always hated the victim mindset: the woe-is-me whiny-ass doldrums in which people blamed everyone but themselves for the mistakes of their lives. She hadn’t asked for any of this, but she couldn’t pretend she was innocent. The collapse of her marriage had been beyond her control; what had happened with Chris – her surrender to temptation and her lack of judgment – was her fault and no one else’s. What stung the most was learning that her most immature moment had come about in her thirties.

             
A knock on the back door sent her stomach hurtling up her throat.
Oh, no
. She didn’t have the composure for Chris, or Dylan, or whoever it was, not now. Through the glass panes in the door, she saw the wide shoulders of a man who was neither her husband nor lover; with a deep breath and a hopeless finger-combing of her hair, she went to the door and pressed her face up close to the glass. Her backyard stalker had left her cautious, so she spoke through the window: “Can I help you?”

             
He’d been staring out across the yard and his profile, she noted with a shock, was familiar. The arc of his prominent nose; the set of his chin; the proud angular lines of his jaw. He was clean-shaven, and his hair was clipped short and swept back along the crown, softened with some kind of product, but when his eyes snapped to hers, they were brown and the look in them was unmistakable. Jess knew: on her back step in a smart blue suit and solid moss-colored tie, the collar of his wool dress coat turned up against the wind, was Chris’s older brother.

             
Her first reaction was disappointment that bordered on outrage. What kind of man sent his brother to clean up his messes?

             
“Jessica Walker?” he asked. A shiny brass badge was pressed to the door. “Detective Ben Haley.”

             
“I know who you are,” she snapped, voice bouncing off the window. She racked her brain for all that she knew of the man. He was three years Chris’s senior and had been a Marine. He had a daughter named Clara and a much-younger-than-him ex-girlfriend named Jade. He was a cop – obviously – and was, in Chris’s words, a real dick. She didn’t have trouble imagining that.

Sure she would regret it, she opened the door. “What?” she demanded. “Did Chris send his big brother to beat me up?”

              His eyes raked over her without any of the warm, appreciate intensity Chris always showed; Ben looked her up and down like livestock, and she knew she was less than a pretty picture in sweats and her favorite hip-length sweater, her hair a mess.

             
He snorted. “Chris doesn’t know I’m here.”

             
“Ah, so you’re taking initiative on the beating. Lovely.”

             
His non-smile was wicked; he was, in a technical sense, the better looking brother. But there was a meanness about his face that made him unattractive. “He didn’t like you ‘cause you’re sweet, did he?” Before she could answer, he ducked past her and stepped into her kitchen, the heavy soles of his shoes thumping against the hardwood. “I don’t care what’s going on with you two,” he said as he surveyed the room. He turned to face her. “But you owe my brother money, and I know he won’t pursue it. I’m here to collect.”

             
Jess felt like she’d been sucker punched; or maybe that was just the morning sickness. Either way, she banded an arm across her middle and gaped at him. “Money?”

             
“Chris was your contractor,” Ben explained in a tone that suggested she was stupid, “and he held up his end of the deal. You owe him his last payment and, considering what else you have going on, I don’t trust you to deliver.”

             
Stunned and insulted, it took her a full five seconds to find her voice. “Y-you think I wouldn’t pay him just because of our personal problems?”

             
“You haven’t paid him yet,” he shot back, “and you should have weeks ago. It would be just like a woman to think breaking up meant you were no longer obligated.”

             
“Breaking up?” Her pulse leapt. “What did he tell you?”

             
“He was too drunk to make much sense,” he gave another condescending snort, “but apparently you getting knocked up by your ex didn’t sit too well –  ”

             
“Are you
kidding
me?”

             
“ – and he’s too torn up about the whole thing to even hold you to your word.” His big hands went in his trouser pockets. “So that’ll be five grand. I can wait while you cut him a check.”

             
“I am not…” She exhaled in a trembling rush, too hurt and too furious to compose a credible argument. She choked back the bile coming up her throat and glared at him. “I hadn’t paid him yet because I couldn’t, not because I wasn’t going to.”

             
His dark brows lifted. “Maybe you shoulda thought about that before you hired him. Or maybe you did. What, you thought you’d spread your legs if you couldn’t open your wallet?”

             
Her chest tightened, lungs twisting, anger getting lost somewhere between what he’d said and the slamming realization that Chris was done with her. It hurt – all of it – so much worse than she’d thought it would. Eyes glazing over, she snatched her tea mug off the table, slopped hot tea over her hand, and flung it with an inhuman shriek.

             
Ben ducked and it went all the way across the room, shattering against the front of one of her white cabinets, tea splashing like blood spray in a horror movie. The sound startled her. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and she swiped at them, breath rattling in and out of her and leaving her shaking. He watched her, unaffected, and furious tremors coursed through her.

             
Clumsy as a child, she fumbled her purse down off the peg by the door and dug for her checkbook. She folded it open to a new check and broke a nail rifling for a pen, swearing. Ben appeared at her elbow and produced one wordlessly; she snatched it away from him and scrawled out the amount with trembling fingers.

             
“Here,” she snarled, ripping it free and thrusting it toward him. “Five grand. Please ask him,” she said through her chattering teeth, “to wait until Monday to cash it because I have to scrape some funds together.”

             
His gaze flicked from the check to her face.

             
“Take it, asshole! Take it and get out!”

             
His eyes held hers, dark and unforgiving, frighteningly more intense than his brother’s. “It’s his, isn’t it? The baby?”

             
“Of
course
it is!” And to her horror, a sob ripped out of her before she could stop it. She clapped a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. “And he knows it,” she said when she could. “He knows we weren’t careful.”

             
Ben’s tone became even, and less hateful. “I wanted to find that out for myself.”

             
Her eyes popped open. “You –  ”

             
“I had to get you mad enough to know for sure.” His head dipped in what might have been an apology. “Keep your money.”

             
He twitched a tight non-smile and stepped away from her; Jess held her breath and listened to his footfalls move toward the door. The door eased open with a creaking sound, but he lingered a moment. “He’ll care,” he said. “When Chris cools off, he won’t be able to stay away from his own kid.”

             
Then he was gone.

             
Jess tucked the check under a thumb tack on her corkboard and went to clean up the mess she’d made.

**

              Jo returned a half hour later, tumbling into the back door with rosy cheeks and nose, hair swirling in the wind, smelling of cool autumn air. She had Willa’s hand clenched tight in hers and both were breathless from their trip from the car. “We have guests!” she crowed before Jess could calm her startled pulse.

             
“What?”

             
“Guests! I got a call on my cellphone from Aunt Jules. She has a friend who’s coming into town for her niece’s wedding, and she was gonna stay in a hotel, but Aunt Jules told her about our place, so the woman – Mrs. Bancroft – she called while I was on the way home and –  ”

             
“Hold up. I’m only catching every other word.”

             
Jo took a breath and calmed. “Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft,” she said, beaming. “They’re coming to stay with us this weekend. And they might have friends who want to come along too.”

             
Jess felt a smile touch her lips. The clouds that lay over her didn’t lift, but they felt lighter across her shoulders. “Guests,” she repeated.

             
“
Paying
guests.”

             
“That’s the best kind there is.”

**

              There was an age after which it was no longer acceptable to have a hangover. Chris was well past that age, and he had a mother of a hangover. Thanks to a poorly stocked liquor cabinet at home, he’d mixed beer with the dregs of a bottle of Jim Beam and thrown some gin down over it. From four to five a.m. he’d prayed to the porcelain throne. He’d awakened on his bathroom floor at eight. At eleven, the clatter of flatware in Sheila’s Diner was loud as gunfire, and his head felt like it had been worked over by a ball peen hammer. He’d chosen a booth at the end of the counter, as far from the unforgiving sunlight as possible. His runny eggs and corn beef hash were going down rough, but he pushed through, forcing down bites between sips of coffee. It all threatened to come back up when he saw a douche in a suit come through the front door.