One to Tell the Grandkids (24 page)

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Caleb tried again when they’d pulled up in Taryn’s driveway. His heart was pounding too fast, and his stomach had taken up permanent residence in his throat. “It was two consenting adults having a little bit of fun. That’s all. You of all people should understand that.”

Slate slammed the car door and glared across the roof. “Then that’s what you talk about.”

“We didn’t—” His words were cut off when Slate slammed his palms against the car, the slap of flesh against metal loud in the quiet of the neighborhood.

“You sound like one of those guys. Those assholes who try to justify why they don’t have to take responsibility and have difficult conversations.” He jabbed his finger in Caleb’s direction. “The guy you’ve stopped me from being more than once. You’re not that guy, Caleb. If it were me, you’d be telling me what we both already know. Five weeks isn’t the same thing as a one-night stand. At five weeks, the least of what you owe her is a conversation.”

“You think I’ll ever owe her as much for five weeks as you owe her for your one night?”

Slate recoiled, and the hurt look on his face made Caleb’s insides twist. Before he could swallow down his irrational panic, Slate was in his face. “That’s the way it’s going to be? Fine. You want to talk about the bro-code violations going on here? Seriously, Caleb? This whole situation isn’t fucked up enough, you had to sleep with her?” He poked Caleb’s chest hard. “Is this what you want? You want me to be mad because she should have been off limits? You and I both know what kind of drama comes with having sex with people, and that’s my kid in there even if Taryn isn’t my girlfriend. That alone should have been enough for you to keep your hands off.”

At the end of his diatribe he gave Caleb a shove as if to emphasize his point. It wasn’t hard, but Caleb stumbled backward a few more steps than was necessary. His hands were in fists at his side, but he was more guilty than angry.

“You know what, fine.” Slate flung the car keys at him, and it was only by the grace of his sharp reflexes that Caleb caught them. “You want to run off like a pussy, do it. Get the hell out of here. I don’t know who the hell you are right now, but you’re not my friend, my brother. The guy I know wouldn’t even think about doing this. The guy I know wouldn’t do this on principle, let alone to someone he cares about. You find that guy, let me know, because you? You suck.”

“Hey!”

Caleb wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but the sound of Taryn’s voice made him feel even worse. He dropped his gaze away from his furious friend to stare down at the cracked concrete.

“What the hell is going on out here?” Taryn asked.

“Nothing. Caleb was leaving.”

“No.” The word was barely more than a rasp. Though there was still a twitch under his skin desperate to avoid this confrontation, avoid the pain he knew damn well he was bringing on himself and Taryn, he also knew he couldn’t leave, not when she was standing right there. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard before he lifted his head to look at her. “No. We need to talk.”

Taryn’s irritated expression melted as she hunched in on herself. Her shoulders dipped, and she crossed her arms over the bulge of her belly, uncertainty and fear tinging her features. She glanced at Slate. “All of us?”

“Yes,” Slate said at the same time Caleb said, “No.”

Caleb leveled a stare at his friend. “No,” he repeated.

Slate’s cheek twitched. “Are you going to be a prick?”

Probably
, Caleb thought but didn’t say.

“I’ll be okay, Slate,” Taryn said. She gulped audibly, her look careful as her eyes found Caleb’s. “He’s right. We need to talk alone.”

Slate didn’t look happy about it, but he jerked his head in a nod. “Fine. I’ll be in the living room,” he said as he walked ahead of them into the house.

Caleb and Taryn followed at a slower pace. He let her go ahead, and he didn’t know if it was worse when she headed down the hallway to her bedroom. Was he really going to do this in the room they’d spent so many happy hours in?

The dread that puddled in the pit of Caleb’s stomach grew heavier with each footfall down the hallway. In his head, he was lamenting each wrong turn and choice that, with the clarity of hindsight, he should never have made, not if it brought them to this moment. Slate was right. If Taryn had been an ex-girlfriend of his, Caleb wouldn’t have even thought about going near her. But she hadn’t been an ex-girlfriend. She’d been a ship passing in the night that got stranded at low tide.

Slate was right about another thing. Their places were normally switched. Slate was good at getting himself in tricky situations, with Caleb off to the side advising him and wondering how the heck he hadn’t seen this coming. He didn’t like this switch at all.

Once in her room, Caleb wandered automatically to one side of the bed, his side of the bed. He reached out and fingered the edge of his e-reader, his eyes touching on the contents of the pockets he’d emptied only a couple nights before. Thirty-seven cents in change, a rubber band, and a business card. He’d turned out his pockets before he climbed into bed beside her, taking her in his arms easily. Was he really going to let that go, let her go? He flexed his fists at his sides.

“I’m sorry about Slate,” she said.

Caleb raised his head, confused.

“I asked him. About Trinity.” She wrung her hands. “That’s how he figured out about us.”

“Trinity isn’t your business.” There was a small voice, much smaller than the furious one that rang in his ears and seemed to be controlling his tongue, that knew damn well he had no right to snap at Taryn. As it was, though, he was steeped in regret and conflicted over what he wanted. He was helpless, and helplessness fueled his fury. “If there were something I wanted you to know about her, I’d have told you.”

Insecurity drained from her features as her eyes narrowed. The atmosphere around them shifted becoming something dark and threatening. “Oh, well, excuse me for being curious. I remember what you said months ago about your tattoo, you know. You got it because you needed something permanent. Then Slate accidentally mentioned how you used to know a girl, a kid named Trinity. It’s a trinity knot, and pretty much the only thing you won’t talk about. Who wouldn’t be curious?”

“It’s none of your business,” he said again, his tone harsh.

Her glare sharpened, and she took a breath, looking like she was about to argue. Just as quickly, the fight went out of her. Her shoulders hunched inward. “What if . . .” She closed her eyes and then opened them, looking up at him. “What if I want it to be my business?”

Caleb’s head spun, his anger dissipating in a flash, the flame deprived of oxygen. Desire hit him with a strength that made him sway where he stood. So easy. She was right there in front of him, and he wanted nothing as much as he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her just as senseless as he was. He could have it. He could have her.

He took a step toward her and stopped, breathing as though through sand. It filled his lungs, chafing his insides, leaving him raw. He repeated the same thing he’d told Slate. “I can’t.” It was impossible.

Taryn shrunk backward. “I don’t—”

“It’s not fair,” Caleb continued quickly, talking over her before she could ask the wrong questions. There was no way to explain the situation without it coming out all wrong. “You and Slate—”

“There’s no me and Slate. You know that.”

“That’s not what I meant. This should be about the two of you and the baby. You’re still a unit. You’re still learning how to be a family. Have you even thought about how complicated your situation is?”

Her eyes narrowed again. “Complicated? I don’t know what you’re talking about. We live in different cities, each have jobs we like, and family and friends in our separate spaces. Slate lives with people who come and go at all hours of the night, who sometimes party too hard. And I’m not judging—they’re young—but it’s not exactly a great place to have a baby. I have room for a baby, but I’ve been struggling to maintain my place since I lost my roommates almost a year ago. I’ve heard these things”—she splayed her hand over her belly—“require a lot of upkeep, and they aren’t great at paying rent. No, Caleb. No, I haven’t considered how complicated this all it as at all.”

“Exactly.” In a moment of madness, Caleb was legitimately irritated at her for not rebuffing his advances in the first place. “You want to add this”—he gestured between them—“to all that? I live in LA. There are things I’ve been putting off for years because I needed to be here for Annie.”

Her jaw worked. “That’s it, then? You’ve got better things to do?”

“No!” He turned away from her, pacing a step in one direction then the other. “The timing is all wrong. It’s too complicated.”

She was quiet, and when he finally summoned enough courage to look at her, he found he couldn’t read the expression on her face. She breathed in through her nose and out again before she took a steady step toward him. Caleb stepped back as she got closer. His heart sped. He wondered if she was going to hit him or kiss him. Neither would have surprised him, and he didn’t know which he preferred. She did neither. Instead, she reached past him and picked his e-reader up from the nightstand. “Here,” she said, her tone flat and even. “Maybe you’re right. If you’re not brave enough to face a few complications, it’s not worth even talking about.”

He could feel the heat of her body on his skin, she was standing so close. Every muscle in his body was tensed, poised for fight or flight. He could pull her to him then. He could kiss her and prove to her he knew how to fight. For the space of five of his too-quick heartbeats, he thought he was going to do it.

Then he turned, e-reader held to his chest, and strode from the room without another word.

Slate was waiting for him in the living room. He had two plastic bags in his hands. His things, Caleb realized dimly. Slate had gathered the various Caleb-related paraphernalia that had migrated over in the five weeks they’d been together. His friend didn’t speak as Caleb reached for the bags. He didn’t have to. The disappointment and anger in his eyes was worse than words. Still, Caleb paused as though he was going to say something, though he had no idea what.

The door to Taryn’s room slamming made both men jump. With one final glare, Slate headed down the hallway and Caleb out the door.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I
know it feels horrible right now, but this part gets better. You know that saying—the course of true love never did run smooth and all that.” Mel was trying to be helpful, but Taryn wasn’t having it.

“You’re quoting a Shakespearian play in which a human turned into a donkey. You know that, right? True love.” Taryn scoffed. “Maybe it is a good fit. I’m an ass. Like it wasn’t enough to deal with a surprise pregnancy with a complete stranger, I had to bang his best friend.” She groaned. “God, it sounds so tawdry.” She put her hands over her eyes and wiped away the tears that had managed to escape.

Mel rubbed her back. “It’s a little Springer-esque.”

“I don’t understand why it has to be, though. Slate and I were never together. He’s fine with it. Why?” Taryn shook her head and straightened up. “Whatever. It’s not like Caleb and I were together either. He never promised me anything.”

“The wise thing would have been to talk about it sometime in the, what, five weeks you played house? But who does that, anyway? Think things through. Pfft. If I ever meet a person who thinks everything through and does the wise thing every time, I’m calling The X-Files because I guarantee you they’ll be an alien. Humans aren’t built that way.” She gave Taryn a hug. “He was giving you mixed signals.”

“The X-Files doesn’t exist.”

“You bite your tongue.”

Taryn smiled. Mel’s simple acknowledgement that she wasn’t crazy for seeing something more between her and Caleb helped.

Rob emerged from the kitchen then and plopped down on her other side, handing over one of the glasses in his hand. Wary, Taryn brought the glass of dark red liquid close and sniffed. “There’s alcohol in this.”

“It’s wine. Anyone who’s turned on a television knows a pregnant woman can have a glass of wine every once in a while, let alone once a pregnancy.” He offered the glass again. “Since we can’t get you drunk, at least enough to take the edge off.”

Taryn took a long drink. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the couch, willing the uncomfortable knot in her throat down. “I think the rejection is bullshit, but I can almost get behind it. Almost. He said Slate is his friend, and he thinks this should be about the three of us—Slate, me, and Rory.”

“See, this is what I mean by mixed signals.” Mel stabbed the air with her finger as she spoke, heated up on Taryn’s behalf. “That is not a clear rejection. That’s not the same as ‘we’re incompatible’ or ‘I don’t want to date you.’ That’s a ‘come back later and try again’ response.”

“That’s the thing I can’t let go. There’s no finality to it. I missed something.” She put her free hand to her chest, and her lower lip trembled. “And it hurts. It’s like, you know, when you
know
you’re going to get a promotion at work. You just
know
it, and then you’re shocked as hell when they pull someone else into the office?”

Mel and Rob both nodded.

“Except a billion times more painful.” Like a one, two, three sucker punch to her gut, her chest, and her head for good measure. Her stomach was in knots, her heart ached, and her thoughts were so rattled, she may as well have taken a blow to the head.

Rob took the now empty wine glass from her hand and set it on the table before wrapping her up in a bear hug. “Forget about him, sweetheart. You’ve got a lot on your plate. Who needs to think about a stupid guy, anyway?”