Running Away With You (Running #3) (58 page)

Everyone lets out a collective sigh.

“With almost one hundred percent certainty, Adam is Kai’s biological father,” I tell the group.

The rest of Evan’s family rushes up to him to congratulate him.  Oddly, my mother remains seated, watching everyone around her thoughtfully.  I know that look.  Her wheels are turning.  Once everyone sits back down, I have to ask for her insight.  “Mom, isn’t that great news?”

“I’m not so sure,” she answers, surprising the lot of us.  “Evan, you’ve been warming up to the idea of being a father, haven’t you?”  He nods and agrees.  “And you’ve spent time getting to know that little boy.”

“I have.”

“Well then, there must be a part of you that’s disappointed.  You must have imagined sharing holidays with this child, watching him grow and someday, hearing him call you ‘daddy’.”

I’d never thought about it, but my mother is absolutely right.  The look of longing on Evan’s face is enough to tell me she’s not wrong.  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.  I should have realized how conflicted you would feel.”

“Yeah, well – it’s for the best, really.  I mean, think about it.  If I was Kai’s father, the press would be constantly on our heels.  We’d never have a moment’s peace.  This way, with Adam, the kid actually has a chance at a normal life.”  Evan emphasizes the word
normal
, and it breaks my heart.

“You stop that right now,” Jill tells her son.  “I can see right through that tough-guy façade you try to put out there.  Everything that happens is not your fault, you know.”

“Bullshit.”

“Do not talk to your mother like that at our dinner table,” John sternly tells Evan.

“I’m sorry, Dad, but you and Mom both know that none of this would have happened if I didn’t play in the NFL.  For starters, Laci wouldn’t have been interviewing me and that night with her never would have happened.  And you must know that the main reason why that piece of shit blackmailed Juliette is because she had access to me and my money.  Tell me I’m wrong.”  He waits for a response. 

“Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong,” he challenges them again.

“Evan Thomas McGuire, you listen to me.  And listen very carefully, because I’m only going to say this once,” his mother responds.  “No life is easy – not yours, not mine, not even David’s.  Now, I have no idea why he did those terrible things, but I assure you, those events were set in motion long before you arrived in Juliette’s life.”

“Jill’s right,” my mother agrees.  “David had those demons inside him long before you two met.”

Silence fills the room.  Jill and my mother are both right. I just hope Evan is clear-headed enough to see it too.

“I think what you two need is a vacation,” Callie declares.  “Evan, you should take Juliette to Parrot Cay in Turks and Caicos.  Ben and Jennifer got married there.  They have private cottages.  It’s perfect.”  Callie met Ben Affleck once at a charity event with Evan, and now she thinks they’re friends.

“Let’s just wait and see what happens after Night After Night airs,” Evan counters.

“Okay, girls.  Let’s clean this mess and start a pot of coffee.  John, I’m leaving you three in charge.  Have something planned by the time we’re done.  We have three hours to fill before Night After Night starts.” 

We spend the next three hours or so laughing, eating, and playing Monopoly.  Evan throws a fit when his brother-in-law chooses the racecar first.  He settles for the top hat, but vows to destroy Dean the first chance he gets.

After buying my first property, I can’t help but notice a creeping sense of discomfort arising.  Everyone around the table is changing.  As we all make our way around the board, it’s clear there’s a strategy in place and tension in the air.

I decide to stay out of the fray and do my best to obtain the utilities.  When it becomes apparent that my efforts are in vain, I decide to redirect my attention toward the railroads.  Maybe, just maybe, if I play my cards right I can catch the train out of this game and travel far, far away.

Callie insisted on being the banker, but she refuses to keep the cash organized.  Instead it’s in a big pile, all jumbled up.  My fingers are twitching, desperate to sort through the chaos. 

All sorts of wheeling and dealing is going on around me.  This isn’t a game, it’s war.  Rents are quickly rising as houses and hotels are built with no regard for health or safety regulations.  All the properties are taken, and I’m left with nothing more than Baltic and Mediterranean. 

After a short trip to the bathroom, I actually have less money than before I left.  Evan took my turn for me and landed on Pennsylvania Avenue, complete with two hotels.  I didn’t think you could build more than one hotel, but apparently the rules don’t apply to McGuire Monopoly.

I’m actually relieved this time when I find myself in jail.  It’s the safest I’ve felt in hours.  Jill is the first to declare bankruptcy, and Evan and Callie quickly claim some sort of inheritance clause, which makes no sense whatsoever. 

Evan is the worst of all, teasing and taunting the remaining players, even my mother as she contemplates selling her properties.  He makes her an offer she can’t refuse, and honestly, she should have known better, because in just two short turns, she joins Jill in bankruptcy.

Our once happy little group has been reduced to a bunch of desperate landowners haggling over hotels and houses.

In a moment of sheer genius, Callie and I decide to team up, combine our collective holdings, and declare a merger.  One by one, we pick off Dean and John, leaving Evan as our final opponent.

Evan approaches our finest properties, Boardwalk and Park Place.  Just as he thinks he’s out-maneuvered us with his high roll, he lands instead on Chance and,
wham
!  He’s given an advance token to Boardwalk.  Two hotels.  Game over.

As everyone pitches in to help clean up, I slip into the living room to check my phone.  I left it on silent and I’ve missed dozens of texts and calls.  The studio started airing teasers right away and apparently we’re big news.

I swipe through the missed messages and I get a nice snapshot of what’s being aired.  Emmy says they talked about my interview on Access Hollywood.  Reese heard them discussing it on Entertainment Tonight.  And Auggie didn’t mention a specific show, but he says I look stunning on the small screen.

Slowly, everyone filters into the living room to watch the end of the eleven o’clock news.  When my mother joins us, she has her coat and purse in her hand.  “Mom, aren’t you staying?” I ask, jumping to my feet.

“Is there anything you talk about on the show tonight that I don’t already know?” she asks.

I had a very long and frank phone discussion with her early this morning.  “No, nothing.”

“Then, no.  I have no desire to watch you rehash the most painful experience of your life.  Watching you suffer while the cameras zoom in on you is not something I’m interested in seeing.” 

Evan jumps to his feet to help my mother put on her coat. 

“Besides,” she adds, “your grandmother is home alone and I really need to go check on her.”

Not one ever to overstay her welcome, she always finds a reason to slip away.  Although in this case, I can’t say I blame her. 

After walking my mother to her car, Evan and I return in the middle of Joey’s monologue.  He talks about current events and politics, and for a moment I find myself enjoying the show.  That is until he names tonight’s guests.  How strange it is to hear my name.  Sure, I’ve heard it on television before, but always as is pertains to something Evan is doing.  Like when we appear somewhere together or if we’re spotted in public.

Evan’s interview is first.  I’ve seen him interviewed countless times and it’s always the same.  There’s not a single camera angle that doesn’t capture how gloriously handsome he is.  He is charming, shy, and slightly uncomfortable with all the attention during the interview. I noticed his nervous twitches and mannerisms when the fans in the audience get all worked up over him.  Still, he remains humble and very adorable. 

When my interview begins, the only way to describe the experience is to say that it’s like watching yourself in a dream.  I’ve had all kinds of weird dreams about speaking in public.  In some of them, I was naked.  In others, the audience is laughing at me, not with me.  This is worse.

I cringe when I hear my own voice.  I whisper to Evan, “Is that really what I sound like?”  He looks at me oddly and focuses his attention back to the screen.

I can’t get over how awkward I look.  My legs are crossed, my arms are crossed, and I have a pained expression on my face.  “So this is how other people see me?” I say aloud to no one in particular.

Callie shushes me, and again I am dismissed.

The McGuires laugh along with the audience in all the right places.  As the interview takes a more serious turn, I notice how strongly the studio audience responds to me.  This show feels like an episode of Dr. Phil.  The camera scans the crowd and focuses on one person, an older woman around my mother’s age, who actually wipes away a tear. 

At that moment, it all becomes clear.  Any preoccupation with appearance and mannerisms is irrelevant.  I have every reason to look nervous and frightened.  I’ve been through hell and back and it shows.  I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of and everything to be proud of.  I’m a survivor.

John gets up and turns off the television at the end of the interview.  He leaves the room silently and steps out into the backyard.  I can see him standing there, alone on the patio, illuminated by the moonlight.  Men are fixers, protectors, providers.  He knows there’s nothing he can say or do to make the situation better, so he retreats.

Jill and Callie, on the other hand, remind me how most women are the caregivers and the nurturers.  Callie hugs me and tells me over and over how sorry she is that this happened and how proud she is of my strength.

Jill tries to convince Evan and me to spend the night.  After all, it’s over an hour-long drive back home, and who know what will be waiting for us when we arrive.  She wants to take care of us, and it’s sweet.  But I’m deeply grateful when Evan insists we sleep in our own bed tonight.

W
hen I open my eyes, the bright light filling the room makes me blink.  My head is fuzzy.  I haven’t slept like this in too many days. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Evan murmurs, smiling affectionately.  He’s lying beside me, fully dressed, on top of the bed.  His eyes run up and down my frame, admiring the rise and fall of the sheet, lingering on the curve of my ass under the thin white fabric. 

“Morning,” I murmur, wishing he were under the covers with me. “How long have you been watching me?” 

“Only about five minutes.” He leans over and kisses me gently.  “Did you sleep well?” he asks. “Certainly seemed like it to me, with all that snoring.”

What?
“I do not snore!” I promptly point out.

“No, you don’t.” He grins at me.

“Did you shower?”

“No. Waiting for you.” 

Good answer.
“What time is it?”

“Ten o’clock. I didn’t have the heart to wake you earlier.  Breakfast is ready – French toast and bacon. Come on, get up, I’m getting lonely out here.” He swats me sharply on my behind, making me jump, and rises from the bed. 

As I stretch, I’m aware I ache all over ... no doubt a result of the long and stressful events of yesterday. I stagger out of bed and make my way into our bathroom while going over the events of the previous day in my mind. When I come out, I toss on my favorite overly fluffy bathrobe, which hangs on a brass peg in the bathroom. 

I wander into the kitchen – no sign of Evan. I take a seat, grateful for the impressive breakfast laid before me.  The only thing needed to make this meal perfect, other than having Evan sitting here with me, is to warm up the maple syrup.  Cold syrup could ruin an otherwise mouthwatering meal.

As I stand at the stove stirring the syrup in the pan, Evan emerges from his office with a newspaper in his hands. He puts it on the kitchen island, saunters toward me, and wraps his arms around me, kissing my neck. “Barefoot and in the kitchen,” he murmurs.

“Shouldn’t that be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?” I tease.

He presses his firm body against me. “Not until I put a wedding ring on that finger.”

I pour the syrup into a small bowl and carry it to the table while Evan pours us two cups of coffee.  As we sit enjoying our shared meal, I can’t help but constantly look over toward the island, trying to catch a glimpse of the headlines.  Are we front-page news?  God, I hope not.

“Want to see the paper?” Evan asks.  “You’ve been staring at it for the last five minutes.”

“I’m not sure.  Part of me is curious, but I don’t know if I really want to know what they’re saying,” I ruefully admit.

“The good news is, we didn’t make the front-page today.  Apparently the President ordered another air strike in the Middle East,” he tells me between mouthfuls.

“That’s great!” I answer entirely too enthusiastically.  Evan raises his eyebrows at me, drawing attention to my inappropriate response.  “I didn’t mean it like that.  I’m just glad we’re not the center of attention, that’s all.”