Emergency Engagement (Love Emergency) (20 page)

“He’s held out pretty well for the last three years.”

Sinclair folded her hands on the table and tilted her head to the side. “No. He hid out well for the last three years. He blockaded his heart and nobody got past the barriers until this Thanksgiving, when he lowered them enough to trust you with a problem and ask you for help. He let you into his life—not for the right reasons, and certainly not with the intention of falling for you—but he let you in. Now he cares for you, and I hope he loves you. He just needs to grow a pair and figure it out.”

“I can’t wait forever for him to figure his shit out. I have to start making plans now.”

“Wait a little while, Savannah.”

She folded her arms and stared at the floor. “Why should I?”

“First, because you’re in love with the man. Second, he’s the father of your child, so he’s always going to need a way back. Don’t go to Italy without talking to him.”

Savannah ran her hand over her stomach and accepted reality. “I’m not going to Italy.” The words were surprisingly easy to say.

“You’re not? I thought the fellowship represented the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“This baby is my opportunity of a lifetime, and I don’t want to have him or her five thousand miles from home. I’d actually been thinking about declining the fellowship anyway. The Mercer Gallery offered to represent me, and I trust them. I moved to Atlanta to secure a deal with a reputable gallery that could help establish me in a regional market, and if I accept the offer from Mercer, I’ve fulfilled that goal.”

“And you have your baby at home.”

Savannah nodded. “Provided home isn’t located across the hall from Beau-how-could-you-manipulate-me-this-way-Montgomery. Can I move in with you for a while?”

Sinclair reached around and gave her a hug. “Crazy Aunt Clair always has room for you.”

Chapter Twenty

Beau woke up on his sofa with his cheek sweat-glued to the leather and a yellow Post-it note stuck to his forehead. He peeled it off and flipped it over. The weak gray morning light filtering into the apartment assaulted his eyes, but he forced them to focus on the note. He recognized Hunter’s scrawl.

Call your mother.

P.S. I’m never drinking again.

Yeah, right. He got up, astounded when his head didn’t roll right off his shoulders, and dragged his sorry ass to the medicine cabinet to swallow three painkillers with a handful of tap water. Then he brushed his teeth, splashed his face with a couple more handfuls of water, and took stock.

Red eyes, scruffy jaw, the complexion of a zombie. Not much of a way to show up on his parents’ doorstep on Christmas Day, but they’d seen worse—much worse—and he owed them an in-person explanation and apology. He owed Savannah’s parents the same.

And you need to talk to Savannah…

Had she come home last night? If so, she’d gotten into her apartment more quietly than she’d ever managed in the past six months. He’d been listening for any telltale footfalls on the stairs, or the rattle of a key in a lock—right up until he’d passed out. His eyes dropped to the counter, where the assortment of bottles and jars and…product…had multiplied in some seemingly organic way since the first evening she’d come over with a bag full of stuff to set the scene for his parents.

This was no longer set dressing, though. He tugged off his undershirt and walked to the bedroom to change into clean clothes. His apartment—his life—had morphed into a shared space. He shouldn’t have let it happen, because before she’d come along, he’d been content with his orderly, somewhat stark apartment and his orderly, somewhat isolated life. Now the thought of her things not cluttering the counter, or her discarded robe not tossed across her pillow—the thought of
her
not being there—left a dangerous void. The kind of void that would drive him to her doorstep to offer things he couldn’t afford to offer.

Even realizing this, he found himself pausing between their apartments on his way out
.
He ran his hand over her door.

No sound.

It didn’t dawn on him until he’d reached Magnolia Grove that the next sounds he’d likely hear from her apartment would be the groans of movers, because in seven days she’d board a plane to Italy. If she was still going. Would she leave now that they had a baby on the way? If she did, would she stay away the entire nine months? Give birth thousands of miles from her home, her family…him? The prospect sent a burst of useless energy through him. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel and he had to talk himself out of the impulse to drive straight to the Smiths’ and tell her not to go. First off, he didn’t know if she was there. Second, he’d come off like a crazy asshole trying to play it both ways.
Don’t go, but don’t look to me for reasons to stay
.

The grip of last night’s flight instinct had loosened enough for him to recognize they needed to talk, but he honestly didn’t trust himself with the conversation. His head was all over the fucking map, but it really didn’t matter which way his thoughts turned, because he knew the landscape well enough to realize there was no safe ground.

Not even here
. He parked in his parents’ drive. His mom opened the door before he cleared the front steps, and the disappointment in her eyes made him feel like a seventeen-year-old caught sneaking in after curfew reeking of weed and beer. Except this was worse.

“I’m sorry.”

Tired eyes searched his face. “Why?”

“For lying. For—”

“Not why are you sorry.” Her eyes flashed with impatience. “Why did you lie?”

“It’s a long story, Mom, and the whys don’t change anything. Can’t we just leave it at sorry?”

“No. I don’t think we can. We’ve left too much at sorry these last few years, and this is where it’s gotten us. You’ve lied. Savannah’s lied on your behalf. Her parents are hurt, and angry. Under the circumstances, your father and I have plenty of time for a long story. Come inside, sit down, and start at the beginning.”

Apparently he didn’t have much choice. He let her pull him into the house and drop him in a chair at the end of the kitchen table. His father slid a mug of coffee in front of him, along with two aspirin, and took the chair to his left. His mother took the one on his right. He opened his mouth—to say what, he didn’t know—but the whole story came spilling out. By the time he got to the part about waking up on his sofa with a staggering hangover and the note from Hunter, he was emotionally exhausted and unable to meet their eyes.

His father sat back in his chair and let out a long, slow breath. “Now that you know your mother’s going to be fine, we can revert back to the natural order of things, where the parents worry about the kid. Not vice versa.”

“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re fine,” his father observed. “What about Savannah? What about the baby?”

“I’m handling it.”

“How? By running away?”

“I’ll answer to her for that—”

“I expect you will.”

“Look, last night took me by surprise, and I’m not proud of how I reacted, but the bottom line remains. I can’t deliver the happy ending, okay? I don’t have it in me.” But he might have a panic attack in him. His throat felt tight, and someone had parked a backhoe on his sternum.

“Beau,” his mom interjected. “You’re spending so much of your energy stifling your emotions you don’t know what you have in you. And you’re so determined to avoid getting hurt, you don’t see you’re doing more damage than God, or fate, or luck ever could.” She took his hand and squeezed, as if she could wring something out of him. “How do you
feel
about Savannah?”

He shook his head. Speech was out of the question.

His mom rubbed his hand. “Thanksgiving Day, when you told us you and Savannah were engaged, I was really happy to hear the news, but on the drive home I admitted to your father I had concerns. I saw two people with a lot of chemistry between them, and some easy affection—I think that’s one of Savannah’s gifts—but no real emotional connection. I told Trent I thought you two were in lust, not love. But I had hope because chemistry and affection had gotten you to the point where you were willing to take a chance on something deeper. I staked a lot on that willingness.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll reimburse you and Savannah’s mother for the dress.”

She waved the comment aside. “I’m not talking about financial stakes. Here’s the thing, a week later, when we had dinner together, I saw two people in tune to each other. While I discussed my upcoming surgery, she sensed your anxiety and reached for you, and you held on to her. Took comfort from her touch. That night I said to myself, ‘Aha. It’s not all fun and games. He’s fallen.’”

He shook his head. The weight on his chest paralyzed him. “I can’t—”

“You already have. Done deal, Beau. The only question is whether you’re brave enough to face up to your feelings and strong enough to convince Savannah to trust you with hers. I believe she’s at Sinclair’s, if you want to find out.”

His heart pounded like a Code 3. His lungs couldn’t seem to pull in enough air. But even in the midst of a full physical meltdown, one terrifyingly clear thought lodged in his mind. His mom was right. He hadn’t meant to. God knew he hadn’t wanted to, but he’d fallen in love with Savannah, and she was going to have their baby. He’d gone all-in weeks ago, whether he liked it or not.

His mom patted his hand and stood. She padded out of the kitchen and returned a minute later holding a large box in her arms. “This is for you. Merry Christmas.”

He got up and took it from her. “What is it?”

“A couple good things came out of my cancer diagnosis, one being I finally organized all our boxes of photos into albums. I thought you should have these.”

“More naked baby photos?” His smile felt weak.

“Among others. I hope you’ll look through them when you get some time. Share them with Savannah.”

He lowered his head to accept her hug and kiss.

His dad said, “Good luck,” and then he was back in the Yukon, staring out the windshield at the slate of gray sky, wondering how the hell to go about begging Savannah’s forgiveness for his behavior last night. How could he convince her to trust him? Beyond “I’m sorry” and “I love you,” nothing sprang to mind. His mom had nailed it. He was years out of practice doing stuff like talking things out and explaining his feelings.
You’re gonna have to get better at it, starting now
.

He had a vague idea of where Sinclair lived, and steered the truck along the lonely back road in the direction of the Whitehall Plantation. The antebellum stone and plank barn rose behind a screen of willow trees that managed to look like giant, graceful artifacts with their bare winter branches. He pulled into the packed dirt driveway and bounced along under the leafless canopy until the big, rolling wooden doors came into view. Then he spotted Sinclair in the yard, adding seed to a bird feeder. She dropped the scoop into the bag on the ground and dusted her hands off on her jeans as he rolled to a stop. By the time he stepped out, she’d made it to the side of the truck.

“Hi—” That’s as far as he got before her palm connected with his cheek and the air around them echoed with the impact. It could have been worse, he acknowledged as the sting subsided. He’d seen a Smith girl throw a punch.

She shook out her hand. “Merry Christmas, Montgomery. You look like shit.”

“Thanks. Merry Christmas to you, too. Is Savannah available?”

Her body language told him the slap wasn’t all the punishment he should expect. She folded her arms and rocked back on the flat heels of her tall black boots. “As a matter of fact, she’s not.”

“My parents told me she’s here.”

“I didn’t say she’s not here. I said she wasn’t available.”

He pressed his fingers to his brow bone in an attempt to ease the tension headache blooming behind his eye socket. “I realize I’m on your shit list, and hers, and pretty much everybody’s at this point, but there’s more to resolve here than the fact that I acted like an asshole last night. I need to talk to her.”

“I’ll let her know you stopped by and give her the message.”

“Goddammit, Sinclair—”

She marched up to go head-to-head with him. “Look, she’s asleep, finally, and I’m not going to wake her. She’s exhausted. If you want to talk to her, you’re going to have to wait until she’s ready to have a conversation. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you?”

Fuck.
He exhaled slowly and stared hard at the horizon. “No. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

“Go home, Beau.” Sinclair turned and walked toward her door. “Savannah will be in touch when she’s ready.”

…

Savannah trudged up the stairs to her apartment for the first time since she and Beau had left to spend Christmas at home, like the happy couple they’d been pretending to be. Now, seven days later, the pretense was over, leaving behind a very real consequence. Officially real, as of today, though she’d never had much doubt.

Beau’s door swung open before she reached the landing, and he stepped out. She’d tried her best over the last few days to prepare for seeing him again. To steel herself against the feelings.

“You’re here.” His dark, shadowed eyes met hers, and in their depths she saw some of the same things she saw in her own eyes these days—stress, fatigue, worry.

She shrugged. “You got my text yesterday. I told you I’d be home this evening if you wanted to talk.”

“And I told you I wanted to talk. Anytime, anywhere. It’s been days, Savannah. If you wanted to punish me with silence, you accomplished the goal.”

She could see the truth of that in his eyes, too, and guilt hacked away at her conscience. “I wasn’t trying to punish you.” Not much, anyway. “I wanted to have concrete information before I spoke to you again. I felt an obligation to improve over the haphazard way information came out Christmas Eve.” She reached into her purse and retrieved the lab report she’d received from her doctor earlier in the day. “Here.”

He took the paper, but didn’t take his eyes off her. “What is it?”

“Blood test results. It’s more foolproof than the drugstore test I took Christmas Eve, but entirely consistent. I’m pregnant.” With that, she turned and unlocked her door. “Would you like to come in?”

He put the report in his pocket and followed her inside. “I never doubted you,” he said quietly. “How are you? Does everything look okay at this point?”

“Everything looks fine. I’m about three weeks along. I asked my doctor how I got pregnant while on the pill, and I guess with the type of pill I use, I needed to be very diligent about taking them at the same time of day—”

“You’re moving,” he interrupted, glancing around her packed and considerably cleared out apartment.

“Yes. Sinclair and I have been packing and moving stuff for the last few days.”

“I didn’t realize. I mean, I knew you’d been here Sunday, because you moved your things out of my apartment, but I’ve been working a 12/4.”

“I know. I left your key under your mat. Did you get it?”

“Yes. Don’t go.”

Her heart skipped a couple beats, but she kept her voice calm. “Why not?”

“Because I love you.” The words came out like a criminal’s confession. He raked a hand through his hair and took a step back. “I didn’t plan to fall in love with you. I wasn’t looking for that to happen.” He retreated another step. “But it did.”

“Beau…” She took a step toward him, and he retreated again, until he had the wall at his back.

“The whole thing scares me to death. You…the baby…feeling this intensely about something again, but I can’t shove the emotions into some closet and lock them away. They’re there, and there’s nothing I can do but accept them. And I have. I told you before Christmas I didn’t make promises unless I was one hundred percent sure I could deliver. I swear to God, Savannah, if you trust me, I won’t run again. I’ll be there for you and this baby. I promise.”