Never Too Hot (24 page)

That first day back in Isabel’s bedroom, he’d told her that he was a changed man. But he hadn’t been. He’d still been looking out for himself first.

It was long past time to change that.

“You don’t need to be a hotshot, Connor. You don’t even need your hands. Life is what you make it. And you’ve still got the world at your feet. Along with a beautiful young woman to love. And the only thing I know for sure is that if you let her go, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

And then, as his strong son stood beside the sailboat looking utterly lost, Andrew knew what he needed to do.

It was one of the most frightening moves he’d ever made, taking those first steps toward his son, and only got worse the closer he got. But he wasn’t in it to see what he could get right now. Andrew’s happiness was already lost.

He’d do anything he could to help Connor save his.

Andrew put his arms around his son and refused to feel the slightest bit embarrassed by the tears running down his cheeks as he spoke.

“I know I haven’t told you this nearly enough times, but I love you. I know I was a shitty father, that I screwed up a hundred different ways, and even though I didn’t know how to show it, I always loved you. And I always will.”

GINGER GROANED as the phone woke her up out of a rare patch of sleep.

The past week had been utterly exhausting. Worrying about accidentally touching Connor every time she walked past him, knowing that was all it would take to throw herself in his arms, to forget everything she was trying so hard to remember. Trying so hard to be mature, to not be spiteful in the little things by making only herself a sandwich at lunch.

Every night she’d waited for him to come up the stairs, her heart pounding like a lovesick fool. No matter how hard she tried to turn over and go to sleep, she’d lie there wide awake hoping and praying that tonight would be the night he’d turn the knob, walk in, and get down on his knees to beg her forgiveness, to tell her he was wrong, that he loved her after all.

But he never had.

Why did it have to hurt so much to try for happiness?

And why did moving forward after loving Connor have to be so damn hard?

Grabbing the phone off the table, she’d barely grunted out a hello when Isabel said, “Ginger, I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ginger said. She went to sit up in bed, but when she moved her stomach began roiling with nausea.

“I swore I wasn’t going to call you—I know how much you need this week to focus on your painting—but can you come over? I asked Scott to cover for me at the diner. I’ll make you breakfast.”

The thought of eating anything made bile rise in Ginger’s throat, but she said, “Of course. I’ll be right there,” anyway.

So many times since arriving at Blue Mountain Lake, Isabel had been there for her. First with a job and then with friendship. So even a sudden attack of the stomach flu wasn’t going to keep her from helping Isabel.

But as soon as she walked into her friend’s house and smelled eggs frying in the kitchen, she had to run to the bathroom.

Isabel found her there, throwing up.

“Oh my God,” her friend said as she pulled her hair away from her face, wound it into a knot. “The only time I had that kind of reaction to breakfast was when I—” She paused, finished in a gentle voice. “Ginger, could you be pregnant?”

Ginger hadn’t even had a chance to wipe her mouth off yet when round two hit her. A couple of minutes later as she sat back against the cool bathroom wall, wiping her face with the wet hand towel Isabel had handed her, she found she couldn’t say anything.

Not even to tell her friend it couldn’t possibly be true.

How many times had she and Connor been too rushed to use a condom? Nearly all of them, she realized now. She’d been so hungry for his touch, so desperate to be with him, that apart from their one stilted conversation about using protection, she hadn’t given it another thought.

“I’m going to buy you a test,” Isabel said. “Next town over so no one thinks anything.”

Something pinged in the back of Ginger’s brain. Slowly, as if the thought was being dragged through the mud by its hair, she said, “You needed something. Tell me what it is, Isabel. I came here for you.”

But her friend had already grabbed her keys and purse. “My deal can wait. Finding out about yours can’t. Don’t go anywhere until I come back,” she pointed a stern finger at Ginger, “especially not Poplar Cove. I’ll throw the eggs away outside on my way to the car. Go take a shower in my bathroom and then try to relax. I’ll drive fast. I promise.”

Ginger was glad to have Isabel’s directions to follow. Staying in the shower until it went cold, she wrapped herself in a towel, put her clothes back on, then went back downstairs to sit on Isabel’s living room couch to wait. There were plenty of magazines and books she could have thumbed through, a hundred channels on cable to watch, but her spinning thoughts were already providing more than enough stimulation.

She’d wanted a baby for so long that she couldn’t help but pray Isabel was right, that she was pregnant.

But at the same time, she wasn’t living in a fantasy world. Not anymore, anyway.

She’d been so adamant about not using her parents’ money, about not wanting to use her husband’s money, about making it on her own. But there was a big difference between feeding herself on tips from the diner and bringing a kid up right. She wanted to be able to pay for ballet lessons and go see pirates at amusement parks. She wanted to make sure she could always send her child to the best doctors, the best schools, give him or her the best of everything.

Even Isabel, one of the strongest people Ginger had ever met, had said how hard it was to raise a kid alone, that she’d often wished she had a partner to share the burdens and the joys of being a parent.

Examining her thoughts one by one, Ginger knew all along that she was leaving the most important one out.

Connor.

Isabel walked in carrying a white plastic bag. “I bought two. Just to make sure.”

Ginger took the tests into the bathroom. Two minutes later, a blue plus sign stared back at her.

Joy—pure joy unlike anything she’d ever experienced outside of Connor’s arms—roared through her. Ripping open the other box, she mustered up more urine and waited again. Tick-tock went her heart, pounding so hard she almost thought her ribs might splinter from the inside. But long before the two minutes were up, the open oval on the little white stick read PREGNANT in bright blue letters.

Catching sight of herself in the small, rusted mirror, she saw tears of joy streaming down her face.

She’d wanted a baby for so long, and now, entirely by accident, she’d managed to get pregnant.

No more watching new mothers try to jam their strollers into the diner’s narrow front door and wishing it was her. No more looking into the future and wondering when, if ever, having kids was going to happen for her.

But then, it hit her, had it really been an accident? If she’d slept with anyone but Connor, wouldn’t she have been more careful? Had she fallen in love so fast, so hard, that she’d secretly wanted to get pregnant with Connor’s baby every single time they came together?

Isabel knocked on the door. “You okay in there?”

Ginger walked out of the bathroom only able to say one word.

“Pregnant.”

Isabel screamed, threw her arms around her, hugged her hard.

“I’m so happy for you,” came first, before, “It’s going to be okay, whatever happens.”

“I need to go tell him. Right now.”

Isabel nodded. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No.”

This was between her and Connor, no one else.

Joy and fear knocked into each other again and again as she made her way across Isabel’s beach to Poplar Cove. And then she saw him standing on the beach and her legs almost failed her.

It’s going to be okay, she repeated several times in her head, before taking a deep breath and heading toward him.

It was time to tell Connor he was going to be a daddy.

CONNOR’S HEART jumped when he saw Ginger walking across the beach to him.

He’d thought the stronger path was to walk away from her, to deal with his demons on his own. In his world, a hotshot never gave up, never admitted weakness. But was that because they were all so tough? Or was it because they knew there were nineteen other guys backing them up on the mountain? A skilled crew of friends and family who would pull their ass up out of the flames if they ever needed it?

A sudden thought hit him hard in the solar plexus: Ginger was his crew.

How had he not seen it before? She’d supported him, understood him, had risked her life for him. She’d given herself up to him completely. And instead of doing the same for her, he’d run.

A thousand times he’d faced physical threats, but this was the first time his heart had ever been on the line. This was the first time he’d fallen in love, harder and deeper than he’d known was possible.

His father was right. All of his reasons to give up Ginger were just excuses. Just as she’d always been there for him, he wanted to be there for her. To hold her hand when she was hurting. To celebrate her successes.

To love her no matter what the future held. And to let her love him back without doubt.

He wasn’t going to run scared anymore. And he’d do whatever it took to get her back.

As he moved toward her it was almost as if everything was moving in slow motion. He could feel the grains of sand beneath his bare feet, the sun hot on his shoulders, hear the loons calling to each other across the lake. Finally she was standing right in front of him.

He drank in the sight of her. She looked tired. Like she’d been crying. But radiant all the same.

“I’ve missed you, Ginger.”

He watched her start in surprise at his words, then look down at the sand, close her eyes and take a deep breath.

“I need to tell you something, Connor.”

“Ginger, please. Just let me say something first.”

“No,” she insisted. “I need to say this.” She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin. “I’m pregnant.”

The sun emerged from behind a tree and he was momentarily blinded.

“Say that again.”

“I’m going to have a baby.” Her voice was shaking now. “Our baby.”

“You’re pregnant.” He needed a second to process the shocking news.

“It must have happened the fir—” She stumbled over the word. “The first night. Or that next morning. The timing works out right.”

He braced himself, wondered if the walls were going to start closing in. A baby meant his life as he knew it was forever over now.

Instead, he was blindsided by relief.

And pure joy.

He took her hands in his, threaded his fingers through hers. “I love you.”

She looked down at their hands, then up at him, her eyebrows furrowed in a deep frown. And then, she abruptly pulled her fingers from his. Took a step back.

“Don’t say that now, just because—”

He reached for her again, but this time he pulled her against him. “Damn it, Ginger. I just told you I love you. You’re the first woman I’ve ever said that to.”

“I’d also bet I’m the first woman you’ve gotten pregnant.”

What the hell was happening here? He’d just confessed his true feelings to her and she was throwing them back in his face?

“I don’t get it. I thought this was everything you wanted. A baby. A man who loves you.”

“I don’t see any wildflowers.”

“What the hell do wildflowers have to do with anything?”

“I already asked you for everything,” she yelled. “And you already said no. So don’t you dare tell me you love me now and expect me to believe you.”

Her chest was falling and rising and her face was flushed. Visibly working to calm down, she said, “This doesn’t have to change anything. You’ll be going back to California soon. We can figure something out that makes sense. I know this is your child, too, and I’ll make sure you get plenty of time with him or her.”

“Like hell this doesn’t change anything. Everything is different now. You’re going to have a child. My child. And no kid of mine is growing up without a father.”

“If you say the M word I’ll deck you.”

“You’re right, marriage doesn’t necessarily make sense. But what if my wanting to marry you has nothing to do with having a child? What if I want to marry you because I can’t imagine a life without you?”

Her mouth opened in a small “o” of surprise a split-second before irritation took over.

“I don’t have amnesia. Four days ago you were stepping aside,” she put the words in air quotes, “giving me the chance to find Mr. Right. Now you’re trying to step inside his shoes.”

His hands tightened on her shoulders. “They’re my shoes, damn it!”

How had it come to this? The two of them standing here on the beach yelling at each other? He worked like hell to calm down.

“How many times am I going to have to tell you I love you before you believe it?”

“I don’t know, Connor. I just don’t know.” She put a hand over her stomach. “This is all too much for me today. All of it. I need some time to think things through.”

“How much time?”

And how the hell was he going to keep it together until she decided?

“I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t talk to you right now.”

Their positions had just reversed. This time he was the one asking for everything … and she was the one leaving him without it.

Josh waited until he heard his mom leave the house to call his father. “Hey Josh,” his father said, “didn’t expect to hear from you. Especially not this early.”

He looked at the clock, realized it was only 7:30 am. But he’d waited as long as he could.

“I want to come live with you.”

There was silence on the line. “You mean you want to come out for a visit again?”

“No. I want to live with you full-time.”

“Have you talked to your mother about this?”

“No, but she’ll probably be happy to have me out of the way so that she and that guy can finish what they were doing on the hood of that car.”

“There’s a guy? On the hood of a car?”

“She was making out with some dickhead she said she used to be in love with.”

“Andrew.”

“Yeah,” Josh said, getting more and more frustrated with this conversation. Why wasn’t his father telling him to pack his bags already? “So it’s cool for me to move in, right?”

“Hey kid, you know I’d love to have you but I’m going to be in Asia most of next month.”

“I can hang on my own,” Josh said, but just then he heard a girl’s voice and then his father answering, “It’s just my son, honey. I’ll be right back.”

Just his son.

The message couldn’t have come in clearer. Both of his parents were too busy fucking around to give a rat’s ass about him.

“Forget it,” Josh said right before slamming down the phone.

Isabel had just walked into the diner when Scott handed her the phone. “It’s Brian.”

It just got better and better. First Andrew. Then Josh. Now Brian. All the men in her life ganging up on her.

“What’s up?”

“I knew he’d come back for you.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“I just got off the phone with our son. He told me Andrew’s back.”

How was it that after ten years, whenever the subject of Andrew came up, her ex still managed to sound wounded by it?

And she still managed to feel guilty.

But Andrew was none of Brian’s business. “Why did Josh call?”

“He wants to move in with me. Full-time.”

“No.”

“Don’t worry,” he said quickly, “I already told him it wouldn’t work.”

“Jesus, Brian. Is that how you said it? Did you give one second’s thought to how that would make him feel?”

“How about you? When you were on the hood of the car with long-lost Andrew, were you thinking about your son then?”

Fuck you warred with touché on the tip of her tongue.

“Thanks for the warning,” was what she finally managed. “I’ll have a talk with Josh this afternoon.”

She hung up the phone, her heart heavy for Josh, for how hard fifteen was treating him.

At the same time, though, her heart was heavy for herself.

It didn’t matter if she ever got beyond forgiveness with Andrew, if she ever learned to trust him again. Because there was no way her son would ever accept him.

Maybe if Josh hadn’t seen them in the parking lot, maybe if she hadn’t admitted to him that Andrew was one of the big reasons her marriage hadn’t worked, then things could be different.

But they weren’t different.

And never would be.

*   *   *

Josh fingered the half-empty pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He’d swiped them from the new dishwasher’s stash a few days ago, told himself the guy wouldn’t miss the last few in the box. It had been a long time since he’d stolen anything, when he was five years old and had pocketed the water pistol his mother wouldn’t buy him at the grocery store. He hadn’t gotten caught, but just as he had then, he felt guilty.

Pushing out the back door of his house, he headed through the trees, to the wood pile between his property and Poplar Cove.

The house that fuckhead who’d been boning his mom grew up in.

Josh hated feeling guilty for stealing the cigarettes. Just as much as he hated feeling like nothing he did was right anymore, that no matter where he was, he didn’t fit in.

He’d tried to call Hannah but she kept letting it go through to voice mail. And the worst part of it was, he knew it was his fault, that she had been disgusted by the way he blew up at his mom.

’Cause that was the thing, there were times when he could see it all so clear, when he could see that his mom was doing her best and that he was the one fucking up. But then, other times, he couldn’t get a hold on his anger, his frustration.

The cigarettes and pack of matches bounced around in his pocket and he took them out, held them in his sweating palm. He wasn’t really feeling it now, but only a loser would walk away without at least smoking one, right?

Popping one out of the pack the way he’d seen people do in movies, he lit a match and held it to the cigarette. Hopefully he’d lit the correct end of it, he thought as he put the other side between his lips.

Standing in the woods, a lit cigarette in his mouth, for a second he felt completely badass. Like he was finally in control of his own destiny.

And then he took a puff.

The cigarette went flying out of his mouth into the dry leaves as he coughed and choked. Shit, that was the most disgusting thing he’d ever tasted. How could people actually smoke those on purpose?

Smoke whipped up around his feet, the dry leaves quickly burning up near the rubber soles of his tennis shoes, and when his eyes stopped watering he realized the leaves were catching on fire, all of his stupid childhood fantasies going up in smoke too.

Doing a panicked rain dance on top of the leaves and dirt, feeling like a bigger idiot that he ever had, all he wanted was to go to his mom’s diner, sit at the counter with a comic book, and have her make him a triple thick chocolate milkshake. Just like she had when he was a kid.

Finally, when he’d stamped the small fire entirely out, he went home and he buried the pack of cigarettes and matches in the bottom of the kitchen garbage before heading into the bathroom to shower off the smell of smoke.