Love Entwined (23 page)

“Is everything all right over here?” I asked, walking toward the two women. “Katie, my best friend sure is one lucky man. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Jamie,” she said, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and pulling me in for warm embrace and gentle kiss on the cheek. I’d always had a soft spot for my best friend’s soon-to-be wife. The next words out of her mouth shocked me. She could’ve told me that aliens would soon invade planet Earth and turn us all into sea creatures within five minutes, and I wouldn’t have been more shocked.

“Jamie, this is my best friend and maid of honor—Ireland.” There is no way she just said her best friend’s name was Ireland. It’s not a common name. Not at all. Am I breathing? I’m not sure I’m breathing.

Say something you idiot. She probably thinks you’re crazy just staring at her. “Ireland? That’s a pretty uncommon name?”

“Dad? Are you OK? You don’t look so hot,” I heard Tanner ask from beside me.

“Uh huh,” I mumbled. “Take the pizza inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Tanner grabbed the pizza from the backseat and stepped out of the vehicle. I watched as he walked into the house before glancing at the picture on the left. It was a selfie of the two of us wrapped in a blanket lying on the floor of my folks’ cabin in Tennessee. Ireland had gone back to Tennessee with me?

“Ahhhhhhhh,” I screamed. “Why is this happening to me? Why can’t I remember. Just let me remember.”

Another flicker . . .

I was in the guestroom of the cabin, getting myself more comfortable before slipping into bed. I’d offered to stay on the couch for the night, but Ireland insisted on me coming back to the bedroom with her. Although I’d talked a big game, I didn’t intend on rushing anything between us. If I’m being honest, I just enjoyed watching her face flush and her hands fidget when I said something inappropriate. She acted shy, but knew how to play the game well herself. After a few feisty comments, I wanted to get down on my hands and knees and beg her to fuck me.

The door creaking open alerted me that Ireland had joined me in the room. I quickly closed the drawer of the nightstand, turned and looked up to see Ireland standing there only wearing a light pink, sheer nightie. Her tits filled out the top perfectly. Just the sight of her gave me an instant hard-on. I reached down and readjusted myself, fearful I would shoot my load before I’d even touched her.

I sauntered toward her—wanting to eliminate the space between us. We met at the edge of the bed, but I stopped her just before she reached me.

“Stop right there,” I growled. “I need to look at you.”

I felt bad devouring her with my eyes. I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, but at the same time I needed to see all of her.

“This is a first for me,” she said, breaking the silence in the room. “I’ve never made love before.”

At first, I didn’t understand exactly what she was saying. As much as I wished I would be her first and her last, I knew that it couldn’t possibly be the case.

“You’re not making any sense, Shamrock. I know you can’t possibly be a virgin,” I said with a shake of my head.

She laughed softly before responding, “No, I’m definitely not a virgin. I don’t think you understand what I’m saying . . . I’ve had sex before, but I’ve not made love before.”

Realization struck me. Ireland loved me. I needed her to know that I loved her too. I think a part of me always had loved her.

I swallowed, my nerves getting the best of me, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Ireland? Do you love me?”

Wait. What are you asking her? You can’t make her say it first. What man makes the love of his life say those three words before she hears him say them first?

“I–.” she started. I stopped her, pulling her forward so only inches separated us, placing a single finger against her lips.

Here goes nothing. “Because I love you, Ireland.”

My words brought tears to her eyes. I reached out and touched her cheek, catching a falling drop with the pad of my thumb.

“Don’t cry, Shamrock. You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know how I was feeling.” Although I said the words, I was secretly saying a silent prayer that she would say the words. And, yes, it’s quite possible that in just a short span of five minutes, I, James Bentley Roberts had grown a vagina.

“I do, Bentley. I love you, too,” she whispered. Sweet music to my ears.

I whipped my cell from my pocket and shot a quick text off to Tanner. I needed to go see Ireland. I couldn’t let any more time go to waste.

Dad: I have a quick errand I need to run. Will you be OK for a little while on your own?

Tanner: I’ll be fine, Dad. I’m practically fourteen. And, that’s practically an adult, you know.

Dad: Ha! You’ve got a few years until you’re an adult. Don’t go outside and don’t let anyone in the house. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Tanner: I got it Dad! News flash: I’m not a kid anymore. Mom lets me stay at her house alone all the time.

Dad: Don’t get snarky with me, son. But, I trust you so I’ll see you when I get home. Save me some pizza and you can show me those new video games you were telling me about.

Tanner: Sure, Dad. But, I can’t make any promises about the pizza.

Like father like son, I thought to myself. I set my phone and Ireland’s locket down in the seat next to me before backing out of the driveway. I was going to reclaim my girl. I was asking her to marry me—tonight. I just hoped that too much time hadn’t already passed.

I’
d just pulled a piping hot pizza out of the oven and was sitting down to catch up on my DVR recordings when there was a rap on my door.

Looking down at my cell, I saw it was approaching nine o’clock.
Who could be knocking at my door at this hour?
Standing up, I felt my baby wiggle inside my belly. I was nearing my twentieth week of pregnancy and the little bugger had been quite active in the last few weeks. At first, I thought I was experiencing indigestion from all of the taco salads I’d been craving. But, after several hours and some internet research, I realized it was actually my Little Bean—the nickname I’d given my baby when I first saw him or her swimming around on the screen during my initial ultrasound.

I rubbed my now protruding baby bump, which was barely concealed under my oversized sweatshirt, as I padded to the front door. Looking out the peephole, I was stunned to see Bentley standing on the other side of the door. I thought about not answering, but he’d clearly seen my car which was parked in the driveway. If I let him in, he’d see that I was pregnant and he’d have so many questions. My mind began to swirl and I was beginning to feel lightheaded.

“Ireland, I know you’re inside. Please open the door. We really need to talk.”

Did Katie tell him about the baby? I was seriously going to kill my best friend. I’d be a pregnant woman in jail because I would be put away for murder. I hoped Greg was ready to be a single father. Or, maybe it was actually Greg. Maybe I’d have to murder him just to be safe. Oh my god, now I’m acting like an axe-wielding, crazy person.
Blame it on the pregnancy hormones. There was no other excuse for thinking it would be OK to kill your best friend and her husband.

“Shamrock, please,” Bentley said once again.

Wait, did he just call me Shamrock? That’s odd.

I took a deep breath before slowly opening the door.

We stared at each other for a moment before Bentley spoke. “Tanner found this between the seats of the SUV,” he said, holding out the locket he’d given me months before. He’d surprised me with it as an early birthday present after we’d gone to the recreation center with the kids. The fact that he’d combined a piece of our past with our present made my heart melt.

“I see,” I said, nodding in understanding. “You came by because you thought I’d want it back?”

“Well, yes, but there’s more, Ireland,” he started to explain.

“It’s OK, Bentley. You don’t need to explain. You can keep the locket if you’d like. It doesn’t mean anything to me anymore anyways,” I said as I began to shut the door on him.

“Ireland, stop!” he shouted, putting his hand against the door. “You need to listen to me. I did think you’d want the locket. It meant so much to you when I gave it to you when we were sitting outside the putt-putt course waiting for the kids to finish. I remember the sadness in your eyes when you’d thought it was lost.”

It took me a minute to absorb Bentley’s words. “How—how did you know we were sitting outside the putt-putt course? I never told anyone that and I didn’t think anyone had seen us,” I said with confusion in my voice.

“I remember,” he said softly.

“You remember? What do you remember?” I asked, tears now beginning to stream down my face.

“I remember everything, Shamrock. I remember the wedding, the coffeehouse, the cabin, the dinners, the breakfasts—and definitely what came between the dinners and breakfasts,” he said with a wink. “Most importantly, I remember you, Ireland.”

Bentley took the pad of his thumb to wipe the corner of my eye. “You remember me?” I asked, hesitantly.

“I remember you. All of you. I love you, Ireland Erin O’Brien,” he said, pulling me closer to him to capture my lips with his own.

“What about Staci,” I asked, pulling away.

“I haven’t been with her in two months. Even though I couldn’t remember everything, I knew something wasn’t right between us. I moved back to my place. I’ve been wanting to come see you, but I didn’t want things to be awkward between us,” he explained. “I’m so sorry, Shamrock. Please tell me we can start over.”

“Bentley, I—I have something to tell you.”

Something caught Bentley’s eye; he began looking me up and down. “I think I have a pretty good idea what you’re going to tell me,” he said, his voice filled with anger. “Are you pregnant, Ireland?”

I stared at him blankly, my head beginning to pound.

“Answer the goddamned question, Ireland. Are you fucking pregnant?”

“Yes,” I muttered, barely audible even to my own ears.

“Is it even my baby?” he sneered.

Now it was my turn to get angry. I knew I’d hurt him, but he’d drawn the line by asking if it was his baby.

“Of course it’s your baby!” I screamed. “What kind of fucking question is that, Bentley?”

“A pretty fucking obvious one, I think. We haven’t been together for months. How would I know who you’re fucking? You didn’t think it was necessary to tell me about it, so it would make sense if it was someone else’s.”

“Well it’s not,” I cried, smacking him in the chest. “It’s yours. I haven’t been with anyone but you since the day I ran into you again at Katie’s wedding!”

He took a deep breath, calming himself slightly, before he asked his next question. “OK, so you’re carrying my baby. I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me. Please help me make sense of this!”

“I did tell you, or at least I tried to tell you,” I sobbed.

“I don’t remember your telling me, Ireland. I thought all my memories were back, but I don’t remember your telling me you were pregnant with my child. I’m pretty sure I would remember something as significant as that.”

“You were unconscious,” I whispered.

He chuckled before responding, “I see. So you thought telling me I was going to be a father again while I was unconscious was good enough? Didn’t you think I deserved to know the truth, Ireland? Were you ever going to tell me when I was conscious? Or did you just plan on sending me a Father’s Day card in five years—congratulations, you’re a daddy!”

“I was going to tell you. I swear, I was going to tell you.”

“When Ireland? When were you going to tell me? From the looks of things, this isn’t something you just found out!”

“I found out right after the accident. You were in the hospital. I was constantly throwing up. I assumed it was just nerves, but when it didn’t go away I bought a pregnancy test from the hospital gift shop. I took it in the bathroom and immediately came out and told you. Then you woke up and didn’t remember me. What was I supposed to say, Bentley? Hi, I’m Ireland. You loved me when we were kids and we found our way back to each other in the last six months. You were going to marry me. Oh, and by the way, I’m having your baby? You see, that may have worked except there was one other hitch . . . you thought you were still married to your ex-fucking-wife!”