Читать книгу The Pregnancy Pact - Kandy Shepherd, Cara Colter - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

YOU DON’T HAVE to wait was not quite as firm as you can leave now. Jessica forced herself not to look back at him as the doctor took her to a different room. But she had to admit she felt grateful that he did not appear to be leaving.

A half hour later, her arm in a cast and immobilized in a sling, with some prescription painkillers and some instructions in her other hand, Jessica was pushed by a nurse back to the waiting area. Her feeling of wooziness had increased tenfold.

Because she actually felt happy that Kade was still there. He sprang from a chair as soon as he saw her, and then shoved his hands into his pockets.

“You didn’t have to wait,” Jessica said in stubborn defiance of the relief.

“I’ll make sure you get home safely,” he said. “I had someone from the office drop off my car for me while I waited. I’ll bring it around to that door over there.”

And then, before she could protest on a number of fronts—that she didn’t need him to drive her and that she was going back to work, not home—he was gone.

She didn’t want to admit how good his take-charge attitude felt sometimes. By the time he’d arrived at the door, she’d realized there was no way she was going to work. She was also reluctant to concede how good it felt when he held open the door of his car for her and she slid from the wheelchair into its familiar luxury. Moments later, with the wheelchair returned, he put the car in gear and threaded through what was left of the morning rush with ease.

Why did she feel glad that he didn’t have a different car? She shouldn’t care at all. But he’d bought the car after they’d graduated from university, well before he’d been able to afford such a thing.

“But why?” she’d asked him when he had come and shown it to her. The high-priced car had seemed as if it should not be a priority to a recent university graduate.

“Because when I marry you, this is what we’re driving away in.”

And then he’d shown her the ring he couldn’t afford, either. Three months later, with the roof down and her veil blowing out the back, they had driven away to a shower of confetti and their cheering friends.

One of her favorite wedding pictures was of that scene, the car departing, a just-married sign tacked crookedly to the back bumper that trailed tin cans on strings. In that picture Kade had been grinning over his shoulder, a man who had everything. And she had been laughing, holding on to her veil to keep it from blowing off, looking like a woman embracing the wildest ride of her life.

Which marriage had definitely turned out to be, just not in the way she had expected. It had been a roller-coaster ride of reaching dizzying heights and plummeting into deep and shadowy valleys.

Jessica took a deep breath. She tried to clear her head of the memories, but she felt the painkilling drugs were impeding her sense of control. Actually, she did not know which impaired her judgment more: sitting in the car, so close to Kade, or the drugs.

She had always liked the way he drove, and though it felt like a weakness, she just gave herself over to enjoying it. The car, under his expert hand, was a living thing, darting smoothly in and out of traffic.

They pulled up in front of the house they had once shared. It was farther from downtown than her business, but still in a beautiful established southwest neighborhood with rows of single-story bungalows, circa 1950.

Oh, God, if getting in his car had nearly swamped her with memories, what was she going to do if he came into the house they had once shared? There was a reason she had asked him to meet her at her business.

“Kade,” she said firmly, wrestling the car door open with her left arm, “we need to get a divorce.”

* * *

Kade made himself turn and look at her, even though it was unexpectedly painful having her back in the passenger seat of the car.

He forced himself to really look at her. Beneath the pallor and the thinness, he suspected something.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

She wouldn’t look at him. She got the car door open, awkward as it was reaching across herself with her left arm.

“You could have waited for me to do that,” he said, annoyed, but she threw him a proud glare, found her feet and stepped out.

But her fighting stance was short-lived. She got a confused look on her face. And then she went very white. And stumbled.

He bolted from the car and caught her just as her legs crumpled underneath her. He scooped her up easily and stared down at her. And there he was, in the predicament he would have least predicated for the day—with Jessica’s slight weight in his arms, her body deliciously pliant against his, her eyes wide on his face. She had a scent that was all her own, faintly lemony, like a chiffon pie.

She licked her lips, and his eyes moved to them, and he remembered her taste, and the glory of kissing Jessica.

She seemed to sense the sudden hiss of energy between them and regained herself quickly, inserted her good hand between them and shoved. “Put me down!”

As if he had snatched her up against her will instead of rescuing her from a fall. He ignored her and carried her up the walkway to the house.

Their house.

He was not going to carry her across the threshold. The memory of that moment in their history was just too poignant. He set her down on the front steps and her legs folded. She sat down on the top stair, looking fragile and forlorn.

“I don’t feel well and I don’t know where my keys are,” she said.

He still had one, but he wasn’t sure if he should use it. It felt presumptuous. It didn’t feel as if he should treat it like his house anymore.

“I must have left my purse at the shop,” she said, trying to get up.

“Sit still for a minute,” he said.

It wasn’t an order, just a suggestion, but she folded her good arm over the one in the sling. He half expected she might stick her tongue out at him, but she didn’t.

“You’ve lost weight,” he said, watching her sit on the stoop.

“A little,” she admitted, as if she was giving away a state secret. “You know me. Obsessed about my projects. Right now it’s launching Baby Boomer. Sometimes I forget to eat.”

He frowned at that. She was always obsessed about something. Once, it had been about him.

“What’s your sudden panic to get a divorce?” he asked.

She choked and glared at him. “Over a year is not a sudden panic.”

“Have you met someone?” His voice sounded oddly raw in his own ears.

Jessica searched his face but he kept his features cool.

“Not that it is any of your business, but no.” She hesitated. “Have you?”

He snorted. “No, I’m cured, thanks.”

“I am, too!” She hesitated again, not, he guessed, wanting to appear too interested in his life. “I suppose you’re playing the field, then?”

“What? What does that mean, exactly?”

“Seeing lots of women.”

He snorted and allowed himself to feel the insult of it. Jessica was painting him as a playboy? “You have to know me better than that.”

“You live in that building. It has a reputation.”

“The condominium has a reputation?” he asked, astounded. “The building I live in? River’s Edge?”

“It does,” she said firmly. “Lots of single people live there. Very wealthy single people. It has a pool and that superswanky penthouse party room. The apartments are posh.”

“How do you know all that?” he asked.

She turned red. “Don’t get the idea I’ve been sneaking around spying on you.”

“That is the furthest from any idea I would ever get about you,” he said drily.

“The newspaper did a feature on it.”

“I must have missed that.”

“It seems like a good place for a single guy to live. One who is, you know, in pursuit of fun and freedom.”

That was what Jessica thought he was in pursuit of? Jeez. Well, let her think it. How could it be that she didn’t know him at all?

“Rest assured—” he could hear the stiffness in his voice “—I live there because it is a stone’s throw from work, which by the way is where I spend the majority of my waking hours.” He hesitated, not wanting to appear too interested in her life, either. “So are you playing the field?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

“How come it’s ridiculous when I ask but not when you ask?” And there it was, the tension between them, always waiting to be fanned to life.

“I already told you I’m obsessed with my business. I don’t have time for anything else.”

“So you are not in a new relationship, and apparently not looking for one. You want a divorce why?”

She sighed with what he felt was unnecessary drama. “We can’t just go on indefinitely like this, Kade.”

He wanted to ask why not but he didn’t.

“All those hours I spend working are paying off. My business is moving to the next level.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I did over a hundred thousand in internet sales last year.”

He let out a low appreciative whistle. “That’s good.”

“I think it could be double that this year with the storefront opening.”

So she was moving up as well as on. Well, good for her. No sense admitting, not even to himself, how happy he was that her moving on did not involve a new guy moving in.

“My lawyer has advised me to tie up any loose ends.”

He managed, barely, not to wince at being referred to as a loose end. “So your lawyer is afraid of what? That you’ll be wildly successful and I, as your legal partner, will come in and demand half your business?”

“I suppose stranger things have happened,” she said coolly.

“I think my business is probably worth as much as your business if we were going to start making claims against each other.”

“We both know your business is probably worth a hundred times what my little place is worth. It’s not about that.”

“What’s it about, then?” He was watching her narrowly. He knew her so well. And he knew there was something she wasn’t telling him.

She sighed heavily. “Kade, we don’t even have a separation agreement. We own this house together. And everything in it. You haven’t even taken a piece of furniture. We need to figure things out.”

He rolled his shoulders and looked at their house, the hopeless little fixer-upper that she had fallen in love with from the first moment she had laid her eyes on it.

“It’s like the cottage in Snow White,” she had said dreamily.

It hadn’t been anything like the cottage in Snow White. Except for the decorative shutters, with hearts cut out of them, the house had been an uninspired square box with ugly stucco. The only thing Snow Whitish about it? It needed seven dwarfs, full-time, to help with its constant need for repair.

She had not done one thing to the exterior since he had left. They hadn’t been able to afford too much at the time, so they had rented one of those spray-painter things and redone the stucco white. The black shutters and door had become pale blue.

“Isn’t the color a little, er, babyish?” he had asked her of the pale blue.

Her sigh of pure delight, as if the color was inviting a baby into their house, seemed now, in retrospect, as if it might have been a warning.

Their strictly cosmetic changes were already deteriorating.

Was it the same inside as it had been? Suddenly he felt driven to know just how much she had moved on. It felt as if he needed to know.

He looked on his chain and acted surprised. “I have a key.”

And a moment later he was helping her into the home they had shared. He had thought she would, if sensible, rip out every reminder of him.

But she was the woman who had scuffled with a burglar, and she had not done the sensible thing.

Their house was relatively unchanged. He thought she might have tried to erase signs of him—and them—but no, there was the couch they had picked out together, and the old scarred wooden bench she had fallen in love with and used as a coffee table. She hadn’t even gotten rid of the oversize fake leather burgundy recliner with the handy remote control holder built into it. He had thought it would go. When people had come over she had referred to it, apologetically, as the guy chair, her nose wrinkled up with affectionate resignation. She had even named it Behemoth.

In fact, as far as Kade could see, the only change was that the bench contained only a mason glass jar spilling purple tulips. It was not covered with baby magazines. Oh. And there was one other thing changed. Their wedding pictures, her favorite shots in different-size frames, were not hung over the mantel of the fireplace. The paint had not faded where they had hung, and so there were six empty squares where once their love for each other had been on proud display.

The fireplace didn’t actually work. He remembered their excitement the first time they had tried to light it, the year’s first snow falling outside. The chimney had belched so much black smoke back into the house they had run outside, choking on soot and laughter. There was still a big black mark on the front of it from that.

He led her through the familiar space of the tiny house to the back, where the kitchen was. One day, they had hoped to knock out a wall and have open concept, but it had not happened. He made her sit at the table, another piece of furniture they had bought together at the secondhand stores they had loved to haunt on Saturday mornings. Without asking her, he fetched her a glass of water, finding the glasses with easy familiarity.

He remembered trying to paint the oak cabinets white in an effort to modernize the look of the kitchen. It had been disastrous. They had fallen asleep tucked against each other, propped against a cupboard, exhausted, covered in more paint than the cabinets. The cabinets looked as awful as they always had, the old stain bleeding through the white. They’d never bothered to try painting them again. The truth was, he liked them like that, with their laughter and ineptitude caught for all time in the hardened paint dribbles. And he thought she probably did, too.

The memories all felt like a knife between his eyes.