The Road to Rose Bend Page 8

  “Sue you for custody?” Cole finished. “Is that what you’re afraid of?”

  “Yes...and no.” When Cole arched a dark eyebrow, she loosed a short, harsh laugh. “I know, I know. I’m not making any sense. And I’m most likely overreacting and being all up in my feelings.”

  “Or you could just be very intuitive and sensitive to the mannerisms of a man you were with for five years.”

  “Or that,” she conceded, scrutinizing his composed facial features. “Or are you just patronizing my hormonal ass?”

  A smile teased the corners of his mouth. “Seeing how admitting to patronizing you or agreeing that you’re hormonal could possibly place me in imminent danger of injury, I plead the Fifth on both.”

  “Very lawyerly,” she drawled.

  “But as it happens, I’m not doing either. And it doesn’t really matter. It’s smart to prepare yourself for anything, especially when it comes to your welfare and your baby’s. Part of that welfare is finding out your legal standing when it comes to custody and your rights as the baby’s mother.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “All of that. Daniel isn’t a bad guy. Conservative and very firm in his beliefs, yes. Still, not bad or spiteful. But he’s also not used to people disagreeing with him or going against him. In his position as dean of a prep school, he’s accustomed to students, teachers and even parents deferring to whatever rule or decision he lays down.”

  And for a long time, she’d been the same. He’d made it comfortable for her to do so by paying for most of their financial obligations, providing a well-off lifestyle, including a beautiful home in an affluent, upper-middle-class neighborhood. She hadn’t had to ask for anything.

  And that’s where the problem existed. That’s why the blame could be placed squarely on her shoulders.

  She’d stopped asking. She’d stopped demanding. She’d stopped speaking.

  One day, she’d woken up and her voice had become his.

  No, Daniel wasn’t guilty of silencing her. She’d been complicit.

  Not anymore, though. She couldn’t afford to be quiet anymore. Because it wasn’t just her. She had to be her baby’s champion, their warrior. And warriors roared, they didn’t whimper.

  “Anyway, all that to say, I never intended to keep the baby from him. This morning, he said he wouldn’t be kept out of the baby’s life. I want him to be part of our child’s life. Just because we’re no longer married doesn’t mean our child shouldn’t have him as a father. But I’m afraid...” She trailed off, twisting her fingers harder before forcing them flat over her thighs. “Can he force me to move back to Charlotte? So we can co-parent?”

  “A judge can block a parent from moving out of state, but this is usually after the children are born and custody is being decided. Because you two are already divorced and you’re pregnant now, no one can stop you from relocating. Also, by the time the baby is born, a court will most likely consider your new residence as the status quo. In other words, the judge wouldn’t issue an order to disrupt the child’s daily schedule or existing residence if keeping the status quo is in the best interest of the child. This is especially true with a newborn.”

  Relief flooded her, pouring through her like a swollen, unchecked river. If she hadn’t already been sitting down, her weakening knees wouldn’t have been able to support her.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I really needed to hear that. I was so afraid...” She rested a hand over her stomach, closing her eyes. Tears pricked her lids, and she inhaled a deep breath, battling them back. After several seconds, she lifted her lashes, blinking rapidly. “Sorry,” she murmured.

  “I’m glad I could ease some of your fears,” he said, nodding. “I need to caution you, though. This doesn’t mean he won’t still petition the court to adjudicate him as the father. If you two were still married, presumption would be that he’s the legal father. But you’re not, so he’ll need to request a paternity test. Once paternity is established, then he can ask the court for custody. But even then, a heavy burden would have to be met in order for a judge to change custody.”

  “Okay, I understand.” Sydney leaned back against the couch’s arm, the sudden release of the tension that had been riding her since Daniel’s phone call leaving her tired. “I’ll keep that in—oh!”

  A flutter. Like the softest brush of a butterfly’s wing against the wall of her belly. She’d felt it. Unlike the heat in Cole’s gaze, she hadn’t imagined it...right?

  She stiffened, going still. Not even daring to breathe.

  “Sydney?” Cole leaned forward, the concern coating his voice etched into the frown darkening his expression. “Baby girl, are you okay?” He settled a hand just above her knee, studying her. “What’s wrong? Is it the—”

  She shook her head, not even concentrating on his murmured “baby girl” or how damn sexy that was. No, every bit of her focused on her body, on feeling that sweet sensation again. But, after several heartbeats, nothing. Disappointment rippled through her. Dr. Prioleau had assured her everything was okay, that this milestone in her pregnancy could come later. Still...

  She stifled a sigh. “I’m good. I just thought—oh shit!” She pressed both of her palms to the slight swell of her stomach, eyes stretched so wide the skin pinched at the corners. Joy, indescribable joy, surged within her, pressing against her chest, her throat. And love. Jesus, how could she possibly love so much that her body almost seemed incapable of containing it? “I knew it! The baby. The baby just moved. Oh my God. Feel it!”

  Without thinking, she grasped Cole’s wrist and lifted his hand from her leg and planted it over her belly. Only when his long fingers splayed wide over her did the impact of her impetuous actions slam into her.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry, Cole. I’m so sorry,” she breathed, nearly shoving his hand away in her haste to undo the harm she might’ve unintentionally caused in her excitement. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  His body had gone as still as the statue of W.E.B. DuBois outside of city hall. She couldn’t detect the whisper of a breath or the rise and fall of his chest. But his eyes. Jesus, his eyes. They flared wide, as if deep within the cage his body had become, he’d plummeted into a full-blown panic attack. And the amber depths swirled with so much pain, so much grief, that she couldn’t contain her gasp.

  It could’ve been that soft sound that snapped him from his paralysis.

  Cole slowly tipped his head down and inspected the hand she’d tossed aside as if it were a separate entity from his body. His fingers curled into a tight fist against the cushion. Then, slowly, he stretched them out.

  And raised his arm until his palm hovered over her stomach.

  “I’m...” He paused, swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his strong throat. “Can I?” he whispered.

  The request sounded as if it’d passed through ten pounds of chewed-up gravel before it emerged, rough, jagged and worn. As if he asked, not because he truly wanted to touch her—touch the place where her unborn child lay—but more so to prove a point. Prove that he could.

  And because of the almost grim determination in the clench of his jaw and in his pain-drenched golden eyes, she took his trembling hand and guided it to her belly.

  Once more, his big hand spanned the length of her.

  And once more, as if greeting him, or maybe even congratulating him for his bravery, her baby moved. That butterfly caress brushed against her, and she didn’t even try to contain the soft puff of delight, of wonder, over this proof of the precious life within her.

  His fingertips flexed against her, but he didn’t jerk his hand away. The trembling didn’t cease either. Her gaze followed the length of his arm, up over his shoulder until she reached his face. Eyes squeezed closed, his beautiful mouth pressed into a flat line, his cheekbones in striking relief against taut skin, he appeared in pain. An answering ache twisted inside her, and she cove
red his hand with hers, prepared to end this torture he seemed intent on inflicting on himself. For her? For himself? For the wife and child he’d lost?

  As the last question echoed against the walls of her mind, his thick, unfairly long lashes lifted. The soul-deep agony still shadowed his gaze, as did the grief. But the same wonder that shimmered in her chest glistened in his golden eyes.

  “This is the first time?” he whispered, as if they were in church instead of his office.

  “Yes.” She grinned, and once more those damn tears threatened again, but this time, she let one fall, too overwhelmed to care. And too eager to feel that flutter again to risk moving her hand to wipe it away. “I was expecting it, you know? Waiting on it. My doctor told me it could happen anytime between now and twenty-five weeks. And of course, I’d read books and articles about what it would feel like, but this...” She shook her head, unable to lose her smile. “I wasn’t prepared for this. No article came close to describing the beauty, the perfection of...this.”

  They both sat there, their hands stacked on her belly for—God, she didn’t know how long. Minutes, hours, an eternity. And they were rewarded by two more shy movements.

  “I think she might’ve gone back to sleep,” Sydney murmured after several more moments passed with no more action.

  “She?” Cole asked, arching an eyebrow. “You found out the sex already?”

  “No.” Sydney rubbed a small circle over the last spot she’d felt her baby brush against. “It’s still too early for that. Up until today, I’ve been saying he or she. I really don’t have a preference. But today...” She shrugged a shoulder at her fancifulness, the corner of her mouth quirking. “Your sister insists on calling the baby Arwen, the elven princess from Lord of the Rings. I think she’s rubbing off on me.”

  He snorted. “Yeah, I remember that. Even if it is a girl, I hope you don’t plan on calling her that.”

  “Not even if Tolkien was my baby’s daddy.”

  Cole snickered, and the sound warmed her as much as if it’d been a full-out belly laugh. He used to have the best of those. She hadn’t heard it since returning to Rose Bend. If he even did let go like that anymore.

  Something whispered to her that he didn’t.

  “No, I’m waiting until I see his or her face when they’re born to determine their name,” she added. “Then I’ll know for sure.”

  For the second time in a matter of minutes, Cole stiffened as if electrocuted. In the next second, he snatched his arm back and jackknifed to his feet. He stood there, his long fingers curling into his palm. To preserve the sensation? Or to eradicate it?

  She was putting her money on the latter.

  “Cole?” What had she said? She slowly rose from the couch, running her words through her head like a recording. But no. Nothing in their conversation stood out as something that would garner this kind of reaction.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, frost sheeting his voice. “I have an appointment in ten minutes that I need to prepare for.”

  He gave her his broad back as he headed toward his desk, his white dress shirt stretching across wide shoulders and molding to the sleek lines of his tapered waist. She jerked her gaze up, but not before it glanced over the firmness of his ass and the strength of his powerful thighs.

  Good God. What was wrong with her?

  Not yours to ogle. Just a friend. Or rather, the brother of a friend.

  If there was ever a man who embodied the definition of unattainable, it was Coltrane Dennison. She needed to keep that reminder front and center and stop staring at the man like he’d transformed into 75%-off chocolate the day after Valentine’s Day.

  Especially when he was dismissing her from his office.

  Clearing her throat, she wiped her damp palms down her denim-covered legs, then silently cursed herself for the telltale betrayal of nerves.

  “Of course.” She summoned up a smile, but her lips barely moved. Confusion and embarrassment streamed through her. “I’ll just get out of your hair. Thank you, though.” She tried for the smile again. Failed again. “I really appreciate your advice and help.”

  “No problem, Sydney,” he said, standing behind his desk, his hands deep in the front pockets of his pants. The stoic expression belied his words and increased her need to escape.

  Escape before she questioned him about what she’d done or said to catapult him back to the place where darkness claimed his golden gaze. A wall had shot up between them that she couldn’t scale.

  Didn’t think she should scale.

  With a last nod at him, she turned and exited, closing the office door behind her. The relief he’d given her still lingered, but more emotion crowded in. Hurt and bewilderment at the abrupt change in his demeanor. The kindling of anger for the same reason.

  And then the persistent residue of that damn desire. A desire she wanted no part of.

  As she pulled the door open to the law office and stepped back out into the summer sunshine, she paused on the top step and swept a hand down her belly.

  “It’s me and you,” she whispered. “And that’s more than enough.”

  It would have to be.

  CHAPTER SIX

  COLE GRIPPED THE steel bar with eighty-five pounds of weights on each side of it. Exhaling, he bent his elbows and deliberately lifted the equipment from the rest and pressed it toward his garage ceiling.

  I’m waiting until I see his or her face when they’re born to determine their name.

  He paused, muscles straining, holding the weight aloft. Then slowly lowered it.

  I’m waiting until I see his or her face when they’re born to determine their name.

  The bar clanged against the rest, but he didn’t stop. After several moments, he repeated the exercise. And then again. Trying to exorcise Sydney’s voice and her love-softened words from his head with pain and exhaustion.

  Two hours of slamming his fists into the punching bag, jumping rope, running on the treadmill and lifting weights hadn’t worked so far. But he wasn’t a quitter.

  For the last time, he set the weights down and levered off the bench. His arms were jelly, the muscles trembling in protest. They might be screaming “What the hell did we do to you?” but his mind, whirling with snatches of his conversation with Sydney at his office earlier that day, assured him they had this. Keep going. Don’t stop until nothing works. Not his body. Not his brain. Not his fucking heart.

  His breathing sawed out of his chest, a rough, labored sound that reverberated against the cement walls. He closed his eyes and immediately an image of Sydney’s face snapped into vivid detail. The shocked hurt. The confusion. He’d caused that by leaping away from her like she’d contracted a disease. Guilt pounded away at him, aching and relentless.

  Sydney couldn’t have known how her innocent declaration would be a sucker punch to his chest. Couldn’t have known that panic had seized him in its razor-sharp teeth.

  ...when they’re born...when they’re born...

  He’d felt his son move in his wife’s belly. Had shared the joy and awe when that life they’d created brushed and rolled. And then, when his child was born, he should’ve rejoiced in each wave of his tiny foot and fist, should’ve delighted in his enraged cry. Instead he’d held a devastatingly still baby. Heard nothing but silence.

  In that moment, with his hand on Sydney’s belly, with her words echoing in his head, fear had ripped through him. What if he became attached to this baby that grazed a caress under his palm? What if he grew to care for them...love them?

  And what if he lost them as he’d lost his own boy?

  No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

  Yes, he’d shot to his feet, backed away from that new life and his or her mother. But it hadn’t been about disgust. It’d been pure self-preservation.

  But trapped in the grip of the past, of his own personal terror, he ha
dn’t been able to assure Sydney he wasn’t an asshole who ran hot and cold. He hadn’t meant to ruin what should’ve been a sweet, memorable moment for her as a mother.

  He was just a scared man who couldn’t stop his bruised heart from beating.

  “Mijo?”

  Cole jerked his head up and glanced toward the door that led from the garage into the tiny mudroom off the kitchen. As his gaze settled on the petite, older woman standing in the entrance, he rose. A warm glow settled in his chest. Love only tinged a little by sadness. Because looking at his mother-in-law, Valeria Narvaez, was like peering into the future and seeing how his wife would’ve appeared if she’d lived another twenty years.

  “Bendiciones, Mamá,” he greeted, smiling and crossing the small garage in several steps. “What are you doing here?”

  She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Making sure you’re alive, what else? You haven’t been by to see me and Ramon in a few days, so I know your refrigerator is probably lonely and pathetic.” She shook her head, tsking. “Bony is not sexy, mijo. Why do you think I keep feeding Ramon? A woman needs something to grab a hold of and keep her warm at night.”

  He groaned, swiping up his towel off the top of the dryer and scrubbing it over his face and head. “Please, stop. My tender ears can’t stand any more of that. And I’m fresh outta bleach to cleanse my mind.”

  “Ay dios mio, when did you become so sensitive?” She snorted. “Get in here so I can feed you. But first,” she scrunched her nose up as he neared her, “shower. I can’t have that stink in my kitchen.”

  “Actually, it’s my kitchen,” he reminded her on a playful smirk.

  Valeria sniffed. “I’m in it. My kitchen.” Then she disappeared through the doorway.

  And he went to shower.

  Fifteen minutes later, clean and dressed in a fresh T-shirt and pair of black sweatpants, he approached the small kitchen where Valeria stood over the stove—barely. While Tonia had inherited her height from her father, her mother just crested five feet. But what she lacked in inches, she more than made up for in personality and love. He’d known Valeria and Ramon since he’d been a tall, lanky fifth grader. They were second parents to him, and in the two years since Tonia’s and Mateo’s deaths, they’d been his sole connection to the woman who’d owned his heart from the time she’d run up to Branson Greggs on the playground at recess, kicked him in the nuts and called him a pendejo for spitting “spic” at Cole.