Читать книгу Then There Were Three - Jeanie London, Jeanie London - Страница 11

“WE’RE BEGINNING OUR descent,” the captain announced.

Thank God! Of all the flights Megan had taken over the years, forgettable and memorable, smooth and turbulent, these flights would hold the distinction of being the worst ever.

Nearly seventeen hours in the air, out of contact with Violet, angsting about everything from her daughter’s physical and emotional well-being to what the future might hold for their family. Nearly seventeen hours of imagining scenarios of what the meeting between Violet and Nic had been like and stressing about the potential long-term consequences. Nearly seventeen hours of revisiting every decision she’d ever made regarding Violet and analyzing why she’d made it.

And gearing up to face this mess she’d made.

Once in the States, she’d sent Violet a text message:

Boarding in Atlanta. You have three choices. Pick up your phone. Text me your address. Or be at that gate when I arrive. I expect to see or hear from you. I trust you’ll make a good decision. Love you very much. Relieved you’re okay.

An understatement to say the least, but now the ball was in her daughter’s court.

Would she be at the airport? Or would Megan have to track her down? No, Violet may be fiercely independent, which was a trait she’d had since she’d been old enough to form the words, “I do it.” She may have gone berserk on this quest to find her father, but she was still an intelligent, good kid.

No, Megan wouldn’t have to chase her.

But when Megan emerged from the gate with her carry-on over a shoulder, she didn’t find Violet, but him.

She could have spotted him in the middle of the Rex Parade crowd on Fat Tuesday. He stood taller than most of the people, his light hair cropped close. The chiseled features were the same, yet different. Weathered by life. Damage had been done to the once-straight nose. A fight, most likely, as there was a small but deep scar she didn’t remember marring his eyebrow.

She recognized the boy she’d been wildly in love with so many years ago.

Nic.

A man now. A stranger.

The uniform he wore only added to the impression. All sparkly brass and knife-creased edges.

Her daughter wasn’t anywhere in sight, and her absence combined with Nic’s presence rattled Megan. She didn’t even realize she’d stopped until someone bumped into her.

“Excuse me.” A man brushed past so fast all she saw was the back of him as she steadied her bag, which was suddenly swinging her off balance.

She hadn’t realized she’d stopped breathing, either, until she tried to respond. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out because Nic had spotted her. His gaze swept over her in an assessing glance, taking in everything at once.

But giving nothing in return. Nothing to make her brace herself. Nothing to reassure her. Nothing but grim recognition on that still devastatingly handsome face.

Sucking in a deep breath, Megan propelled herself into motion. The burden of this meeting was all on her shoulders, and she wouldn’t shirk it. Holding his gaze, she strode toward him, determined to deal with this mess head-on. She would not make a difficult situation any more difficult.

If that was even possible.

“Nic, I am so sorry.” The words gushed out. “I don’t even know what to say. Is she okay? She said she was, but—”

“Seems to be.” He inclined his head curtly.

Megan tore her gaze from his, glanced around, suddenly needing to look anywhere but at him. “She didn’t come with you?”

“She’s with my mother. Thought it would be best if we talked alone first.”

That made sense. A very good idea, in fact. She was glad someone was thinking, because despite her best intentions, she was overwhelmed: by the stranger he’d become, by the realization that fifteen years away from this man didn’t make one bit of difference because they were still connected through their daughter.

“Do you have a suitcase?” he asked in that stranger’s voice.

“I do.” Spinning on her heel, she took off in the direction of baggage claim.

What was wrong with her? She’d known this day would come, but right now all her rationality, all her carefully planned explanations didn’t seem so rational as she faced that guarded look in Nic’s eyes.

Betrayal?

He had every right to feel however he felt. Every right. She’d made all the choices. And he hadn’t known he should have had an equal say until their daughter had popped into his life out of the blue.

There was no way for Megan to sugarcoat her mistakes or the consequences, no way to miraculously avert this train wreck.

He was suddenly beside her, and she could practically feel him, a physical sensation. The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar, either, which surprised her. Fifteen years hadn’t diminished her awareness of him. It was ridiculous, the absolute last thing she needed to notice right now.

He was working hard to stay calm and controlled. It wasn’t obvious in his expression or in the way he strode silently at her side, so she wasn’t sure why she thought that. Maybe it was the silence. Heavy. Accusing. It didn’t matter that there was an entire airport filled with people, noise and chatter filtering through the place in tidal bursts. The silence between them was deafening. Or maybe she was projecting her anxiety.

Megan was relieved when they arrived at baggage claim and her flight number flashed on the overhead sign. She moved to plunge into the crowd, but Nic caught her arm. Nothing more than a light touch, but a touch that stopped her in midstride.

“What does your bag look like?”

“Lime-green. Can’t miss it.” She stopped obediently, not surprised. Nic, the boy she’d once known, had been equally attentive to details.

As he moved closer to the conveyor belt, the crowds parted to let him through. It might have been the uniform, but more likely it was the imposing figure he cut in the uniform.

Very imposing. Solemn, almost.

Megan hoped it was the circumstances. She didn’t like to think that the ultraresponsible teenager he’d once been had matured into a man who didn’t look like he smiled much.

Nic didn’t miss her bag. No one could miss a neon bag on the conveyor belt.

“We’ll need to pick up Violet’s before we leave, too,” he said after wheeling her suitcase over.

“She stored it?”

He nodded. “I’ve got the key. Want to grab a cup of coffee first? There’s a Starbucks.”

“Of course.”

Then Megan found herself on the concourse, standing on one side of a table facing Nic over two steaming cups of coffee. She could handle this. She’d known this day would come. And she wasn’t eighteen anymore. She was a woman who’d made choices and couldn’t take them back.

But as luck would have it the very first question Nic asked was one she hadn’t expected.

“Why didn’t you want our daughter to know me?”