Shatterproof (4 page)

I assume he’s heard rumors about the partnership announcement. Baxter is extremely well-connected—not because he’s popular, but because he’s got something on nearly everyone, with the exception of Rueben, apparently.

Nodding to the pool table, he says, “Shall we?”

I’m surprised he knows how to play, He’ll be surprised I play to win. At work, I never overtly compete with Baxter. When he took his game underground, I simply stepped up my performance. I’ve had to be extra diligent to make sure there isn’t a square inch of bare butt Baxter can shine a light on. His vendetta has made me a far better employee.

Pool is a different matter. My brothers tried to keep me from becoming hopelessly un-cool by teaching me to play—a mission they regret now that I’m the reigning Eight-Ball champ in the family.

Baxter leans over the pool table to make the break shot, running the cue over his left hand a few times before taking a feeble stab at the cue ball. It ambles toward the rack and stops short of hitting anything.

Before I can take my turn, Mom comes up behind me and slips my cardigan over my shoulders. Baxter smirks, but it fades fast when I send the cue ball rocketing across the table. It makes the break with a satisfying crack, and sends two of my balls straight into the side pockets. Even I’m impressed when I don’t foul a single shot. And Baxter’s smirk is long gone by the time I sink the eight ball with a flourish and hand him the cue.

The win won’t help one bit on the corporate front, but it felt good just the same.

“Not the Valentine you had in mind?” Noah asks, appearing at my side.

I rest my forehead against him and groan, “Why didn’t you stop them?”

A laugh rumbles in his chest. “They’re unstoppable, you know that.” After a moment, he says, “There’s something else, El. I want—”

Before he can finish, there’s the clink of cutlery on glass and Scott calls for silence. Oh great, a speech. I don’t want Baxter hearing anything about my private life that he could use as a weapon.

“Contrary to popular belief,” Scott begins, “there are some fascinating stories about Ellie I could share. But as my birthday present to her, I’m going to deny myself the pleasure. So I’ll just turn over the spotlight to the guy I consider my older, and more mature brother:  Noah Taggert.”

Noah looks sheepish. Meanwhile, my parents and Jasper have materialized beside Scott, forming a row of expectant faces.

“Wait a second,” I say.

Noah holds out his hand, palm up, and Jasper steps forward holding a small box. He makes an elaborate show of snapping the box open and displaying the contents as if he were flogging a product on the Shopping Channel. The lights make the jewel inside sparkle. “Yes, folks, it’s a carat-and-a-half cubic zirconium,” Scott says. “Emerald cut, if that means anything to anyone.”

There’s a squeal. It means something to Charlotte.

“No one could be happier about this than I am,” Scott says. “Except of course, our mother.”  Indeed, from the corner of my eye, I see Mom is clutching Dad’s arm for support. “Mom knows her only hope of grandkids is Ellie, so this day has been far too long coming. Better get on it, El. Make the old girl happy.”

“Scott,” Mom hisses. “Leave your sister alone. Let Noah speak.”

“What’s left to say?” Jaz says. “Just make it official, already.”

Jasper finally surrenders the ring to Noah, who takes my right hand from my side, uncurls my fingers, and sets the box in it. “Ellie, will you?” he asks.

I look at the sparkling stone. It’s actually a radiant cut, and I have no doubt whatsoever that it’s real. It’s exactly what I’d want, if I wanted an engagement ring. And the simplicity of the proposal itself would also be perfect, if I wanted a proposal. But I would never in a million years want those things to come together tonight, at Tease, in front of Baxter Thorpe.

Looking up at Noah, I can tell he knows that. He succumbed to my family’s pressure. So, I lean in to hug him and mutter, “What can I say?”

“You could say ‘yes,’” Noah says, into my hair.

“I could say yes,” I repeat, dazed.

My mom picks up the last word and holds it aloft like a trophy, “Yes!”

N
oah is sitting on his front steps when I pull into his driveway. A light snow is falling, and his bare head and shoulders are dusted with flakes. But he hasn’t been here long. My foot was heavy on the accelerator.

I wait until we’re inside before blurting, “Noah, what were you thinking?”

His expression is a mixture of guilt and defiance. “I was thinking that I wanted to marry you.”

A voice inside tells me to stop, but like my brothers, I’ve become unstoppable. “And that’s the best way you could bring it up?”

“It was Jasper’s idea,” he says.

“It was my mother’s idea. Have I ever seemed like the type who’d want a jumbotron proposal?”

“It was three words in front of your closest friends.”

“And Backstabber Thorpe.”

He glares at me. “That’s why you’re so upset, isn’t it? Because Baxter heard it.”

“That’s one of many reasons. But of course I’m upset that Baxter will tell everyone I’m about to crank out kids. Reuben will think I’m not committed to the job.”

“You just spent six months in Australia. What’s left to prove?”

I give an exasperated sigh. “You know what it’s like at NTA. I won’t make partner if they think family is my priority.”

“Well, is it? Your priority, I mean?”

I stomp through his living room, booting one of his hockey shin pads with my bare foot and cursing. As always, the place is littered with sports equipment. In the kitchen, I open the fridge and reach for the wine I opened last time I was here.

“That’s three weeks old,” he says, probably to make a point of how seldom I come to his place. It’s no wonder, with dirty dishes piled in the sink, and a battered dining set that came with the house he inherited after his mom’s death.

I pour the wine into a juice glass, wincing as I take a sip.

“So?” Noah asks. “Is family your priority?”

He’s really asking if
he
is my priority. I want to throw something at him right now, but I say the right thing. “Of course.”

My tone must not be convincing, because he snorts.

“What? It is.”  I wave my left hand at him. “I’m wearing it, aren’t I?”

“Thanks for sounding so happy about it.”

“Well, come on, it was an ambush. How am I supposed to feel?”

He walks back into the living room and collapses onto the brown leather sofa that’s been with him since college. “You can still say no.”

“I said yes.”

“You didn’t, really. I was hoping for a sincere yes, now. But we don’t have to do this.”

“It’s done,” I say. “I always meet my commitments.”

Throwing me a fierce glare, he swallows hard, clearly choking down what he really wants to say. He settles for, “That’s all I am to you?”

Reaching for the remote, he turns on the TV as an excuse not to look at me.

I sit down across from him. “Of course not. But you know my career’s important to me.”

“I know I’ve been dating my TV for the better part of six years.”

“That’s unfair. I’ve spent every spare moment I could with you, when I was home.”  He doesn’t respond, so I say, “Could you turn off your other girlfriend?”

He turns down the volume. “I know your career is important to you. Just like you know I want to get on with things. Have a family. It’s my half-life, too.”

“The average life span is shorter for men,” I say. It’s a feeble attempt at lightening the mood.

“All the more reason.” Setting the remote on the coffee table, he leans over and takes my left hand and twists the ring so that the diamond catches the light and casts a tiny universe of stars on the threadbare carpet. “If this isn’t it for you, El, now’s the time to say so.”

“Or what?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I started talking about marriage three years ago and you’ve been putting me off ever since. If I’m not what you want—”

“It’s not that. It’s not about you.”

Dropping my hand, he says, “It’s a hundred per cent about me, okay?”  His voice has an edge as sharp as the diamond. “If I am not what you want, let me move on.”

The stale wine roils in my stomach. “Not wanting to get married
right now
doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you.”

“Yeah, it does,” he says, turning up the volume on the TV again. “It means you’re choosing work over having a life together. And it’s been long enough.”

“Are you giving me an ultimatum?”

He keeps his eyes on the TV. “I gave you a ring.”

“With strings attached. You want me to scale back at work, not travel, have kids.”

“I want you to make our relationship your priority. If that’s too much to ask, I have to accept it.”

Setting the juice glass on the coffee table, I get to my feet and put on my coat. “Well, since you’re making TV your priority right now, I’ll head home.”

With heavy snow forecast for overnight, I expect him to try to stop me, but he doesn’t. I button my coat as slowly as I can, waiting, and finally he says, “You probably shouldn’t drive. A storm’s moving in.”

“Yeah,” I say, heading out the door. “It sure is.”