You're My Baby (21 page)

“Very.”

She continued gazing at him. “Are you sleepy?”

“No.”

“Feel like talking?”

No way could he tell her what his traitorous body really felt like. “Sure.”

“I overstepped my bounds with Andy. I should've told you he was playing ball in the park. He's your son, after all.”

He rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand. “He trusted you.”

“So did you. Then.”

She sounded sad, wistful. “I still do. You did what you thought was best for him. And, Lord knows, you were succeeding with him when I wasn't.”

“And now?”

“We're doing better. At practice, I try to treat him impartially. And he's controlled his mouthiness. The guys have been really great about accepting him.”

“Dad's noticed the change in him. Andy was afraid of you before. About the basketball.”

“I know. How could I have been so blind?”

“Shelley—”

“That's a cop-out. I should have made Andy my business. She's not responsible for my failings. I am.” He flopped over onto his back. “From now on, I'll be the kind of father Andy deserves.”

“He loves you, Grant.” Unbelievably, he felt her fingers thread through his. Even this slight touch was enough to make him lose his bearings. Was it his imagination or had she inched closer to make hand-holding easier?

“He loves you, too.” Then, unbelievably, he felt
wisps of her hair against his shoulder where she rested her head.

She didn't say anything for the longest while. He'd have thought she was asleep except for the way she feathered one finger up and down his forearm, inciting a powerful rush of desire. Jeez, all he had to do was move toward her, pull her into his arms and…

“Grant, what are we going to do?”

“About what?”

“About us? About Andy?” She let go of his hand then and surprised him by moving even closer, draping an arm across his chest, cradling her head between his shoulder and neck.

He couldn't find his voice. The warmth from her belly, the scent of roses, the tickle of her hair against his cheek were making it impossible to concentrate. He reined himself in. Desperately he sought an answer to the question so he could keep talking. “Carry on, I guess.”

“Wait until September to decide?”

“That was the agreement.” Oh, damn. Now she was making tiny circular motions on his chest. His nipples weren't the only part of him hardening.

“Just friends, then?”

It must be his imagination. She couldn't be kissing him in that vulnerable place under his ear. But what else could be sending shocks of current through him? “Uh, yeah. Friends.”

She moved her head, and her breath was soft against his ear. “But what do I do about wanting you?”

“Wanting me?” If he didn't know better, he'd swear she was seducing him.

She moved again, and her breasts nestled against his chest. She drew one hand gently, tantalizingly across
his cheek, all the time looking at him with this soft, tender expression. “Well?” she said.

Before he could formulate an answer, she sought his mouth, wantonly, fully. He gathered her to him, running his hands up and down her back, reveling in each plane and curve, lost in the sensations of her body, her kiss. Still keeping her lips on his, she rose up, lowered the blanket from their shoulders and, unbuttoning his pajama top, ran her hands over his chest. He fought for control. They'd had an emotional evening. She was vulnerable right now, that was all. For that matter, so was he.

Then she withdrew and, trailing kisses from his neck to his shoulder, settled back into his embrace. “Very good friends,” she murmured throatily.

He waited until his heart rate was back in the high normal range. “You're a beautiful, desirable woman. But I could never take advantage of you.” Besides, they had an agreement, even though right now he'd like to rip their stupid contract to shreds.

She cocked her head and stared at him. “You think maybe it's hormonal?”

He gritted his teeth. “It's possible.”

“Or maybe you don't find a pregnant woman desirable.”

Double damn.
What could he say to that? “Desirable? You're about to drive me wild, woman.”

A slow, lazy smile bloomed on her face. “But?”

“This can't be just about need. Er, wanting.”

“It's been a long time for both of us, is that what you're saying?”

“Not exactly, but we
did
make a deal. We've been talking about trust with Andy. I want you to trust me. Especially about this.”

She propped up so she could see him better. “Know
what I think? You're probably right. Now isn't the time. We're both stressed. Tired.”

What kind of masochist was he anyway, turning his back on this achingly beautiful woman? “Maybe our friendship's more important than…you know…”

She lay back down, drawing her knees up, facing him. “Could be.”

He waited for her to drift off, knowing he'd be second-guessing himself until dawn. Just when he thought she'd finally gone to sleep, she spoke again. “Could I ask you a favor?”

“Shoot.”

“The childbirth classes start next month. Would you be willing to go? Be my birth coach?”

He'd walk to the ends of the earth for her. What was a little thing like a childbirth class? “Sure.”

The next time he sneaked a peek at her, she was sound asleep, a tiny smile playing over her lips.

 

G
RANT HAD REJECTED
her advances. She shouldn't feel happy. But she did. The funny thing was it didn't seem like rejection. Not really. She'd awakened about six, aware that their bodies, for the first time, were spooned, that his hand was cupped around her breast, that his exhalations rustled her hair. She felt protected, secure.

They were both adults. Married, even. It would've been easy to fall into a sexual relationship. But like he'd said, their friendship was too important. He'd given his word.

Trust had to come first. Then commitment.

If she was very, very lucky.

 

G
RANT ARRIVED
at the hospital shortly after seven and was relieved to get a positive report from the nurse at
the desk. He entered Andy's room quietly and stood at the foot of the bed observing his sleeping son—thick brown hair, sleep-induced rosy cheeks, an upper lip and chin sprouting early indications of manhood. Where had the years gone? How could he have been so oblivious? Surely there had been signals.

He hung his head. Parenthood was something he'd never learned from his own father. He sometimes wondered what would've become of him without Brian. Who else would've taught him the left-handed hook shot, paved the way each time they entered a strange new school or defended him against his father's tirades? God, he missed his brother. He'd have liked Pam and Andy and Will.

He supposed he needed to call Shelley, but that could wait until Andy was alert. No point alarming her unduly. He could fault her for the way she'd handled the custody issue, but there was no doubt she loved their son.

Settling in the only chair in the room, he began reading the newspaper he'd brought from home, containing a full account of Keystone's loss to Porter. Funny how that didn't seem nearly as important this morning. He looked up from the article. Instead of his son,
had
he made basketball his priority? He didn't think so, but it sure could've seemed that way to Andy.

When a nurse arrived to take Andy's vitals, he stirred, then tried to sit up. “Easy,” the nurse said, laying her palm on his chest. “Get your bearings, then we'll try elevating the bed.”

“Can a guy get anything to eat in this place?”

Grant smiled in relief. “I'd say you're feeling better.”

“Dad?”

Grant moved to Andy's bedside. “How's the head?”

“I feel pretty good, considering. What about the game?”

“Porter won by nine.”

“Damn.”

The nurse put her arms under Andy's shoulders and pushed a second pillow under his head. Then she elevated the bed. “Any dizziness?”

“No. Does this mean I can go home?”

“That's up to the doctor.”

Within ten minutes, scrambled eggs, oatmeal, toast, milk and juice arrived. Grant didn't know when he'd taken such pleasure in watching someone eat.

“The Knights mighta won if you'd been there to coach,” Andy said between bites.

“Or if you'd been there to play. But we'll never know.”

“Makes the rest of the season tougher, right?”

“We don't have much margin for error, that's for sure.”

Andy concentrated on buttering his toast. “Dad, how come you didn't stay with the team? I mean, that's your job.”

Grant perched on the foot of the bed. “Yes, that's my job. But it's not my life.”
Now.
The time to say it was here. “I'm afraid I haven't been much of a father, Andy.”

“But—”

“You deserved more attention through the years than I gave you. Oh, I had my reasons. And you're right. Many of them had to do with the school and basketball. It was wrong of me to expect a seven-or eight-year-
old to understand.” He studied his hands. “Maybe the biggest factor, though, was fear.”

“Of what?” Andy asked, his expression puzzled.

“That I didn't know how to be a good father.”

Andy shoved aside his breakfast tray. “I don't get it.”

“Something you said the other day really got my attention. You said you didn't think you'd be good enough to please me. That you didn't want me on your case. It got me to thinking.” Grant fell silent, picturing his own father standing in full dress uniform in front of the scared little boy whose shoes hadn't been polished to specifications.

A cafeteria worker entered the room and removed the tray. Summoning his courage, Grant went on. “They say history repeats itself. In this case, I'm afraid that may be true. Your grandfather provided for me in several important ways, but, for whatever reasons, he was never able to give me his approval.”

Andy eyed him attentively, waiting for him to continue. “When you came along, I hadn't had any practice at being a father. Nor had I had a very good role model. I…I felt helpless. To cover up my own insecurity, I made some serious errors in judgment. Not letting you know through the years how much I love you was one of them.” He mustered a lopsided smile. “Whether or not you played basketball.”

“You were okay, really.”

“Thanks for trying to make me feel better, son.” Grant got off the bed and moved beside Andy, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Mainly I want to say I'm sorry, and to pledge that from now on things are going to be different. Better.”

Andy's eyes brimmed. “I can go for that.” Then he held up his palms. “Hit me, Dad.”

It was the best high-five of Grant's life.

 

I
T WAS GREAT
to be home. And it was cool how he was sort of a hero. Angie had spent yesterday afternoon with him. She'd even made him a shoe box full of chocolate chip cookies. And when Gramps, Dad and Pam kinda disappeared, Angie'd cuddled with him on the sofa. Then last night some of the guys on the team had dropped by with a James Bond video. Before they watched it, though, he heard about the rest of the Porter game. It sucked that he'd gotten hurt. But the neat thing was how determined Chip and Cale and the guys were to bust the season open, game by game.

Dad had made pancakes for breakfast. Gramps told this funny story about a bull he used to have. And Pam looked…prettier somehow. A coupla times he even caught her sending his dad these special looks. Mainly, though, he'd been doing a lot of thinking about what Dad had said about being a lousy father.

But there was something that bugged Andy. Maybe he'd blocked it out before, but he could remember times he'd heard his mom on the phone with his dad saying stuff like, “That wouldn't be convenient,” or “I don't think it's appropriate for him to fly alone.” He'd heard about how divorced people sometimes used their kids as pawns. Was that what his mother had done?

But she sure didn't have any problem now, having him come live with Dad. He shuddered thinking what it might've been like to be in Dubai with Harry. The worst was, he was getting used to it here. Pam was the greatest and Gramps had practically adopted him.
Andy'd even started thinking of Keystone as his school. And then there was Angie. Lots of reasons to stay.

But that prob'ly wasn't an option. Mom had only agreed until September.

There was one other thing bugging him. It sounded kinda childish, he guessed. He picked up his notebook. Maybe he could tell Pam about it. She sometimes gave good advice. And he sure needed it. Because, of all the dumb things, he was jealous of a baby that hadn't even been born yet.

 

G
INNY
P
HILLIPS CORNERED
Pam outside her classroom. “You're looking fat and sassy this morning.”

Pam patted her stomach. “Emphasis on the ‘fat.'”

“Let me rephrase that. ‘Contented' is more what I had in mind.”

Smiling a secret smile, Pam nodded. “That's fair. I am happy.”

“Grant being suitably attentive?”

“A veritable prince among men.” One bound and determined to keep his word. At least Pam hoped that was why, though they continued to snuggle, he'd retreated from her not-so-subtle come-on. “We start childbirth classes next week.”

Ginny wiggled her eyebrows. “Think Grant's up for the film?”

“Is any man?”

Students ebbed and flowed around them, banging lockers, shouting greetings. Ginny paused long enough to chastise one young man for inappropriate language. Turning back, she said, “The faculty women would like to have a baby shower for you. At my house. You just tell us when.”