The Gate to Everything (Once Upon a Dare Book 1) (3 page)

“From the background music, I’d guess you’re out, but would you be able to come tonight? I know it’s late, but I just got off work, and my schedule’s been a little crazy…”
 

Her tone had the Jack in his stomach turning to acid. “I can be there in thirty. Can I bring you something?”

“No, just bring yourself. Thanks, Jordan.” She clicked off.
 

Jordan pocketed his phone and took a moment to settle. Atlanta’s city lights glowed mellow orange, and the traffic below him flowed sparsely. He could only wonder what could have compelled Grace to call him.
Now.
 

She hadn’t called him at Christmas, which he’d spent away from her family for the first time in years. They’d been like a second family to him. Losing them had been almost as bad as losing her. She hadn’t even called or texted after the Super Bowl. Though it wasn’t something he liked to admit—even to himself—he’d been devastated. Of course, he hadn’t contacted her to wish her happy birthday either. He might have worked out in the Rebels’ gym all night to fight off the urge to call and hear her voice.

Taking one last deep breath, Jordan straightened and walked back inside to start his farewells. Almost forty minutes later, he stepped out of a private sedan in front of Grace’s apartment building. The Virginia Highlands neighborhood suited her and her wish for the quaint, small-town flavor while his modern Midtown residence near Piedmont Park was situated close to Atlanta’s nightlife. Even their addresses had shown how different they were as people—a thought that gave him a moment of regret.

He’d arranged for the driver to wait. He needed to be discreet about this stop because the media was following him around like crazy since the win, always eager for a new headline about the Super Bowl MVP for their readers. Grace liked her privacy, and since his fame had been one of the reasons for their breakup, he wasn’t going to throw more gasoline on that fire by having the media speculate that they were back together.

The fact that she’d invited him over here anyway, knowing it might create speculation, sent another wave of worry through him as he walked up the red brick path to the glass doors.
 

God, he’d missed coming here to be with her. Being back here only reminded him how much. In his mind, a vision of her opening the door to him smiling in a simple blue dress came and went.

Since he’d sent her keys back, he buzzed her apartment and heard the lock click moments later. Of course, she’d sent back his keys with the boxes of his things even though he’d told her to keep them. Just Grace being Grace.

When he knocked on her door after taking the elevator to the fourth floor, he heard her yell, “Come in.”

He let himself inside. The smell of chocolate chip cookies assaulted him like a cloying perfume. Grace only cooked like this when she was upset. Really upset.

“Hey,” he called out.

“I’m in the kitchen.”

He followed the voice to the kitchen and stopped in the doorway, stupefied.
 

“Your hair!”

She’d whacked off her glorious cinnamon-colored hair to short wisps that framed her head. His heart exploded at the sight.
What the hell?
He hadn’t seen it this short since second grade, when her mother had let her cut her hair like her older brothers, Mike and John.
 

She sat at her farm table, clutching her tea mug like it was a life preserver. “I got it cut.”

“I loved your hair.” The minute he said it, he wished the words back. He stalked over to the table and stood there scowling. She was wearing an old Notre Dame sweatshirt and looked like shit. Was she still upset about their breakup?
 

He pulled out a chair and sat down across from her. “It looks nice,” he lied smoothly. He hated it. She looked fragile. While always petite, Grace had never appeared fragile. She had always bounded with energy and grit.

He gazed around the kitchen. “You certainly cooked up a storm.” Every workspace was covered with her large chocolate chip cookies on wax paper with paper towels underneath. “I thought you said you’d just left work.”

Her small shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’ve been home a while.”
 

Grace didn’t often stretch the truth, which made him even warier. Something was really wrong, and he took his time studying her, trying to decipher what it was. Her normally golden skin looked gray. Circles lined her green eyes, and her face was puffy. A wave of fear enveloped him.

“Tell me what’s going on.”
 

Grace reached for his hand, and he blinked at her in shock. Her green eyes were pleading, and his fingers curled around her palm of their own volition.

“There’s no easy way to tell you this,” she said haltingly, “and if I could, I wouldn’t for the entire world.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but…I’m pregnant.”

He sat back in the chair. Fell back, more like. “What?” He felt her squeeze his hand again.

“I’m pregnant.”
 

“Wait.” His mind clicked on like a backup generator. He did the math. They’d split up in December, over three months ago. Jordan shoved her hand away. “You’re just telling me
now
?”

“I went to Italy for a while to work in our sister restaurant.” Grace stood up slowly. “I needed some time to think about things.”

He shoved out of his chair. She’d been in Italy? “Time? Are you kidding me?”

The pleading in her eyes turned to anger. “Do you think this has been easy? Our breakup
hurt
me.”

“It fucking hurt me too! How could you think it hadn’t?”

“Please don’t swear at me! And maybe I didn’t think you weren’t affected because of all the women you’ve been photographed with.” She looked down.

“I’m sorry for swearing, and the women were…” Crap, what was he supposed to say? “A distraction. Hype. I can’t believe you’ve waited this long to tell me, Grace.”

Her silence was unnerving. “I decided to wait until I was past the first trimester.”

His head buzzed as he realized why. She’d been waiting to see if she’d miscarry. “Jesus.”

“I told you to stop saying that!” she said in a hard tone. “You know I hate it.”

He blew out his breath slowly, reaching for calm. The first chef she’d worked for in New York had bullied her with bad language, and Grace had promised herself she wouldn’t be around that kind of ugliness again. Jordan had complied. Mostly.

Grace sat down again and drank her tea, clearly upset if her shaking hands were any indication. He’d bet the bank it was chamomile flavored with lemon and honey, her favorite. He was grateful she hadn’t offered him any.

He raised his hand like a white flag. “I’m sorry. I lost it. Chalk it up to shock, okay? It was the broken condom, right?” Frustrated by their separate sleeping arrangements in her parents’ house during Thanksgiving—a Kincaid rule—he’d coaxed her into the barn after a midnight walk to make love. It had broken during the heated exchange.

“I was on antibiotics for my sinus infection, remember? It sometimes negates the effects of the Pill.” Which was why they’d used a condom.

“I thought you said we’d be okay, that it wasn’t the right time of the month.”

Her face scrunched up. “I was wrong, obviously. Here I was talking about my clock ticking…I don’t know if it’s nature’s greatest irony or a cautionary tale about being careful what you wish for.”

“Ah, Gracie.” He swallowed thickly as a wave of emotion rolled through him. “So, we’ll get married.”

“Like your parents did out of high school with you?” A flash came and went in her green eyes. “That’s not the way.”

So, his parents hadn’t been happy. In fact, the decision had basically ruined both of their lives. His dad’s college dreams had been put on hold indefinitely, and he’d ultimately fallen into gambling, women, and alcohol out of resentment. He’d left the family when Jordan was eight. Jordan still had no idea what had become of him.

“We aren’t my parents,” he said. “Grace, we’re having a
baby.
Of course, we’ll get married. I thought this was what you wanted.”
I still love you.

She held up a hand like a white flag. “Jordan, the reasons we broke up haven’t gone away—despite how much…we might wish otherwise. And now you’ve won the Super Bowl.”
 

The fact that she looked at his major life achievement as an impediment crushed him. He took a moment to shove back the pain while she drank her tea.

“It’s hard for me to believe you’re saying this. We both grew up in a community where people still got married if they got pregnant out of wedlock.” Again, like his parents.

She glared at him. “Seriously? Are you forgetting that Deadwood was founded on gambling, prostitution, and gold?”

He fought a curse word. “Fine, so Deadwood has a seedy past, but you’ve always played by the rules. So do I.”

She shook her head, and he could see her stubborn streak emerge a mile wide. “Not this time.”

“You’re really saying no?” He could admit it wasn’t the most romantic proposal in the world.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Jordan, you know I’m right.”

She put a small hand on his arm, and his muscles tightened at the contact. He wanted to cover her hand with his own and make everything between them right again. But he didn’t know how.

 
“Do you think I came to this decision easily? I have no desire to be a single mom. And my parents…” Her eyes blurred, and that pretty much devastated him.

“Gracie, have you told them?”
 

He could only imagine how they must have reacted. Pat and Grace’s brothers would want to beat the shit out of him for putting Grace in this position, even if she was a consenting adult. Hell, Meg would want to kick his butt. The Kincaid family protected their own.

 
“Yes.” She sniffed and shook her head like she was shaking off tears. “I told them that marrying you was…not a good idea. They agree with me.”

That news tied Jordan’s stomach in knots. “I see.”
 

Grace looked up. “Jordan, you’ve always said I was the wiser one. You have to trust me on this.”
 

He met her eyes. “This is new territory, Grace.”
 

“I knew you’d think you were doing the right thing by offering to marry me,” she said, her voice hoarse. “You’d never want to be the kind of father that yours was, leaving his family.”
 

His walls rose up, made of hard, impenetrable steel. His father had been a cheater and a shark, and his abandonment had left deep scars.

“You’ll be a great father,” she whispered, her mouth tipping up at the corners. “But not a very good husband for me. I’m sorry to say that, but it’s true. The fame has changed you, and I don’t want to be a part of it.”

Tears popped into his eyes. Those words were like the final nail in the coffin of their relationship.

“Please don’t be hurt,” she whispered. “You’re wonderful in so many ways. You know that. But your career demands so much of you. It was hard enough before—and we weren’t even living together.”

He bit his tongue to keep from saying that her career as a chef was equally demanding in terms of passion and hours. But that wasn’t what she was talking about.

Silence reigned between them. The icemaker emptied in the freezer, the sound like the crashing taking place inside him.
 

He couldn’t meet her eyes. “You’re right, dammit.”

Chapter 2

Grace felt her heart crumble yet again. Desperate to soften the words she’d uttered, she rubbed the back of his hand. “I don’t know how, but somehow, it will be all right.” Those words had become her mantra after the home pregnancy kit had affirmed that she and Jordan would be tied together forever.

She stood to make his favorite coffee, eager to keep herself occupied as the reality of the situation settled into his bones. The simple tasks of grinding the beans, measuring the coffee, and filling the brewer with water helped her settle. She stilled when he came up behind her.

“When did you know, Grace?” he asked softly, and she fought the urge to lean back into him for comfort.

“I suspected at Christmas, but didn’t have the heart to check. Mom knew something was up.” She’d prayed it was another sinus infection at first, but a part of her had already known. It had seemed like life’s cruel birthday present considering how much she’d been stewing about her biological clock.

His sigh punctuated the silence between them.
 

“I finally took a test on New Year’s when I returned to Atlanta, right before I left for Italy.” Her trip to Italy had been her salvation. No one had recognized her, and she’d enjoyed being a normal person again—especially knowing the hype around Jordan and the Rebels’ Super Bowl win would be insane in Atlanta.
 

“You didn’t have to handle it alone.” He put his hands on her shoulders and rested his chin on her head. “I would have been there for you, even with the playoffs. I would have wanted to know.”

The tears Grace had tried so hard to hold back spilled out of her closed lids. God, she’d missed his touch, but she’d dreaded the comfort she’d take from it.