Gifted To The Dragon: A Paranormal Pregnancy Romance (The Gifted Series Book 2) (11 page)

"Emma, I really don't think that Eric feeling sorry for you is the reason he's friends with you. He sure seems to check in on you and Jake an awful lot for a person who supposedly just feels pity."

He'd actually called Emma while we'd been at the care home, just wanting to know that we'd arrived safely.

In response to what I'd said, Emma just shrugged.

"Well...maybe. But, anyway...so that's the story of how I lost my Gifted power, or how I never had a good handle on it in the first place, or whatever."

Thinking, it was now my turn to hesitate in responding, I said, "Well...it sounds like you 'lost' your power and weren't ever able to do it again after Josh was killed...so, I have to agree with Eric that you not being able to levitate anymore might be some kind of a mental block. Like, maybe you subconsciously feel guilty that-"

"No, there's nothing subconscious about it. I absolutely feel guilty that Josh was speeding and crashed his truck, and I absolutely feel that I'm to blame for him not being around to watch Jake grow up. If I hadn't told him to 'hurry home,' then-"

"But that's insane, Emma. Josh, regrettably, made his own choice to speed-"

"Because
I
told him to rush on home."

"Doesn't matter. You're still not to blame for what happened, and it's clear to me that maybe your mental block is because something really bad happened right after the first time you used your powers, which maybe got mixed up in your mind, like, 'I use my powers and people I love die.' So now you have this feeling, subconscious or otherwise, that something really bad might happen again if you ever really use your powers again. Maybe your subconscious hasn't been
letting
you use them, even though you've tried. Maybe your mind's been trying to protect you, or rather, others you love.”

Emma just stared out the windshield for a long moment.

"Let's just please change the subject."

"Okay. I won't say anything more about it. But will you at least promise to come with me again to practice tomorrow? Just to sit and watch; that's all."

"Well...I'll do that. But just so I can see how you're coming along with your zapping, and just so that Jake can get some time with his friends at the daycare. But I'm not going to personally join in, so you can just forget about that. Shortly after arriving here in Chicago, I got more than enough of embarrassing myself in front of all the other Gifteds. Now...." Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "While we're talking about serious things and subconscious things, here,
I
have something I've been wanting to talk to
you
about. And I've been kind of waffling back-and-forth about bringing it up, hoping that Desmond would just tell you himself, but since he seems to have just been going out of his way to avoid you these past few days...."

With my pulse already accelerating a little bit, I glanced over at Emma.

"What? Was it it?"

She gave me a return glance, knitting her chocolate-brown brows.

"It's about Desmond's past, and I think it relates to why he's seeming less-than-thrilled about your pregnancy. I think that once you hear what I'm going to tell you, things might make a little more sense to you."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The same day that it had happened, I'd told Emma all about the conversation Desmond and I had before I'd made my unsuccessful phone call to Cynthia for a reassignment. Emma had listened, frowning, eventually remarking that it wasn't at all like Desmond to be so cold, especially to the point of saying that he wanted nothing to do with his own child. I'd told Emma that maybe she just didn't know Desmond as well as she thought, because he himself had even admitted that he wasn't a good guy.

Emma had just frowned harder, saying that definitely wasn't true, as evidenced by the fact that he worked so hard, often putting his life on the line, to protect the people of Chicago. I had to admit that something wasn't matching up, and Emma agreed. All she said further was that she hoped Desmond and I spoke again very soon, though she wouldn't elaborate on what, specifically, she hoped we spoke about. She simply said that she felt like we needed to talk more.

Now, days later, with Desmond and I
not
having spoken again, it seemed that maybe I was about to get some kind of illumination as to why, precisely, he was so upset about my pregnancy, illumination that apparently Emma had been hoping he might give me himself.

However, just a second after saying what she had about Desmond's past, and how it might relate to him being "less-than-thrilled" about my pregnancy, Emma closed her mouth and gave her head a good shake.

"Nope. I'm doing something that I've done a time or two in the past, and it's something I
shouldn't
do again, so I'm not going to. I'm not going to share something about someone's past that they should share themselves. No matter that Desmond has been avoiding you, or you've been avoiding him, or whatever has been-"

"We've both been avoiding each other. He hasn't contacted me, and I haven't contacted him."

"Well, at any rate, the two of you need to talk, because he needs to share a bit of his past with you. And I didn't mean to just 'tease' you by saying that I was going to tell you, but I really shouldn't. It's not my place, and I've gotten in trouble for this sort of thing in the past. Please don't tell Desmond that I told you that he needs to share a bit of his past with you, either.

“There's something about his past that he told Eric in confidence, but Eric very recently slipped and told me, and I do think it was an accident; so if you tell Desmond that
I
told you to get him to share some of his past, he'll know that Eric told me, and that won't be good for Eric. Do you get what I'm trying to say?"

"I do, and I don't want to make Desmond mad at you and Eric, so I won't say that you advised me to try to get him to share about his past with me; I'll just try to get him to do it. However, do you really think I'm going to be able to get him to do that? I don't. I have a feeling he's said everything to me that he wants to."

"Well, just go see him when we get back to the tower. A lot of times, if their daily surveillance of the Angels and the Angel dragons hasn't taken them too far, Desmond, Eric, and most of the other dragons are home by five or six. So, just go on up to the penthouse and see if you can catch Desmond before dinner. If he doesn't eat down in one of the restaurants around seven, he usually has something brought up to him around that time. Maybe he'll even ask you to eat with him."

We'd come to a red light, and I now braked, scoffing, behind a line of cars.

"Right. Something tells me Desmond would rather gouge his eyes out with a fork than eat dinner with me."

"Well, maybe he's had time to think things through a bit now. At least try him. Just go up there and say you'd like to talk."

I said that I would. "First I might take a quick shower, though, to get the rest of Jake's applesauce out of my hair."

While at the care home, Jake had been sitting on my lap at the table, enjoying a snack of applesauce. After getting it all over his hands, he'd then thoroughly tangled his fingers in my hair while planting big, sticky kisses all over my face.

"Not that Desmond probably cares if I have sticky, messy hair or not. The night we met, he kept saying how beautiful he thought I was, but he apparently doesn't think so anymore."

Emma turned from looking out the window to look at me.

"Or, he's just hiding how he really feels about you."

Not sure if I wanted that to be the case or not, and not sure how I should respond to Emma, I just shrugged.

An hour or so after we'd arrived back in the city, I'd showered, dried my hair, and re-dressed in clothes completely free of applesauce. At six, I knocked on Desmond's penthouse door, but like the other time, he didn't answer. I knocked two more times and still nothing. Figuring he might not be back from his job duties, I'd just turned to head back down the hallway to the elevator when I heard the quiet sound of the door being pulled open, followed by a single word.

"Yes?"

I froze dead in my tracks; that single word, so formal and civil, angered and deeply wounded me at once. It was a word a person might use to greet an unwanted visitor to an office or something. It definitely didn't seem like a greeting for someone the speaker had slept with and was now having a baby with. It was a greeting that seemed like it could only be said by the speaker if the speaker felt absolutely nothing for the person being addressed, and never had. And something deep in my gut kept wanting to deny that that could possibly be true.

After turning around slowly, I just looked at Desmond for a long moment, trying to ignore the fact that in jeans and a white t-shirt, and with his dark hair rakishly tousled, he looked so good, my first impulse was to throw myself at him.

"'Yes?' That's how you're greeting me now? I don't even get a 'Hello, Madison?’  I get a 'Yes?'"

I thought I saw Desmond wince just slightly, though I couldn't be sure, because my attention was kind of flicking all over the place, from his bare feet to his darker-than-usual hair, indicating that he might have just gotten out of the shower and his hair was still damp. Silently cursing myself for the thought, I wondered how great he smelled just out of the shower.

"All right. Hello, Madison. What can I help you with?"

I crossed the four or five steps between us gritting my teeth, but not only because of irritation at what he'd just said. I was also gritting my teeth fighting not to look at the way the soft cotton of his white t-shirt highlighted the hard ridges of his chest.

Knowing I was in some kind of a danger zone, though not quite knowing exactly what kind of one, I came to a stop right in front of him, catching a little whiff of soap along with a hint of his usual masculine, woodsy scent.

"What can you 'help' me with, Desmond? Well, just for starters, you can stop saying things like 'Yes?' and 'What can I help you with?' Like we barely even know each other or something. Like we never even...like you didn't...."

I usually wasn't one to become misty or cry on a near-daily basis, but pregnancy seemed to be changing that.

Fighting mightily not to cry at present, I swallowed a lump in my throat before continuing in what I hoped was a fairly cool, unemotional manner.

"You don't need to speak to me like we just met."

Just then, a short distance down the hallway, the elevator doors dinged open and a slim young man dressed in a waiter's uniform got out carrying a large paper bag. When he saw me, which was almost immediately, his steps seemed to slow, but he continued on down to Desmond's door.

When he reached us, he briefly looked between the two of us with an expression that made me think he knew he'd come upon an awkward situation; then he said good evening, apparently addressing both of us. When Desmond and I responded tersely, he looked even a bit more uncomfortable.

"Commander Grant, was I supposed to bring up two dinners, or...or is just the one still all you'd like?"

Now the young man was very pink-faced, throwing his light freckles into sharp relief. Desmond looked just about as uncomfortable, shifting his gaze to a point somewhere down the hallway and hesitating in his response, which I wasn't even sure how he issued, being that he seemed to be grinding his teeth.

"No, Ryan, I'd like two dinners now. I suppose."

With the lump in my throat now completely gone, I scoffed.

"Oh, you 'suppose,' Desmond? Well, how could I turn down a chivalrous dinner invitation like
that
?" Before Desmond could respond, I shifted my gaze to the young waiter. "You don't need to bring him up an additional dinner, Ryan. Just the one you brought will be fine, because he'll be eating alone tonight, the way he apparently likes it."

Looking almost comically uncertain, Ryan looked from me to Desmond and tentatively began extending the large paper bag, seeming to be studying Desmond's face for any sign of approval.

"So, if this will be all, then, Commander Grant...."

Desmond took the bag, frowning. "Please bring us up another dinner, Ryan. Miss Bennett seems to be in some sort of a mood tonight-"

"I'm in a...a
what
?"

"But I have a feeling it might be hunger-related, so go ahead and bring us up another dinner."

"I'm in a
what
, Desmond? I thought I heard you say a 'mood,' but as that's offensive on a thousand different levels, I know you wouldn't
dare
-"

"Better hurry, Ryan. She seems to be getting hungrier."

I actually gasped. "How dare you, Desmond. How
dare
you. And you, Ryan...don't you dare even think about going back down for another dinner. You ignore him completely. He has no clue about my hunger level."

Eyes wide with what almost looked like fear, Ryan glanced between me and Desmond, then slowly began taking a step backward.

"So, I guess I'll just...."

"Just go get another dinner, Ryan, please. Miss Bennett is being stubborn and ridiculous, and I think a good meal-"

"Don't you dare take another step, Ryan. At least not to go get another meal. I won't be eating with Commander Grant tonight. I'm actually not even hungry in the least, which just proves he's insane."

I hadn't been hungry when I'd come up to Desmond's penthouse, anyway. But now that I was picking up a heavenly aroma coming from the bag that he was holding, I was starting to get maybe just a bit hungry, maybe even more than a bit, though I didn't want
him
to know that.

Glancing between the two of us, Ryan was looking pretty close to petrified.

"So...so, no second meal, then? So, is it okay if I go back down to the restaurant, and if the two of you want a second meal later, you can call down, and someone else will bring it up?"

Even while he'd been speaking, Ryan had already been inching his feet backward, toward the elevator. And it suddenly hit me how terribly uncomfortable Desmond and I had made him, and that certainly hadn't been my intent. Not like I had any clue what my intent
had
been the previous few minutes.

After shooting Desmond what I hoped was a very clear look of warning, I told Ryan to go ahead and go back down to order another meal.

"Please have it delivered to my apartment on the eighty-fifth floor, though, because that's where I'm headed right now. I've had enough of Commander Grant for one evening."

Before Desmond could respond, I took Ryan by the sleeve and kind of briskly began leading him down the hallway. He didn't look back, and neither did I. Desmond didn't follow us or call after us, and soon I heard his door close.

Once in the elevator heading down, Ryan and I both kind of just stared at the walls, but the silent awkwardness was too much for me after a few seconds, and I truly did feel bad.

"Ryan, I'm really sorry about all that. Commander Grant and I should have never put you in the middle like that."