All Fixed Up (26 page)

But it sounded an awful lot like “forgive me.”

I clung to him against my better judgment. My mind was wary, calling up the recent hurt, replaying in high-definition his reaction to the plus sign. I was still pissed as hell at how he'd left me to cope with the biggest shock of my life alone, no matter what his reason. But I couldn't get rid of the image of him,
infant
him, being abandoned by his mother within minutes of his birth, and my arms wouldn't let go. Part of him was broken, and, fixer that I was, I couldn't turn my back on him. I buried my face in his neck, hiding it as well as I could from everyone else in the room, unsure what my expression might reveal.

“Um, Ciel, I hate to break up your reunion, but our heavily armed carriage awaits. To Fifth Avenue or bust!” Sinead said.

“Billy, you can come with us if you like,” Siobhan said. “Sure, it's
supposed
to be a girl date, but we can stand you if we must. And I'm sure our bodyguards won't mind having an extra along.”

Billy set me down and searched my face again.

“Um, guys, if it's okay with you, I think I need to spend some time with your brother,” I said.

“Hey, no fair!” Siobhan said.

“Yeah, we had dibs on you for today!” Sinead said.

“That's enough, you two,” Uncle Liam said. Quietly. When Uncle Liam said something, his kids listened. “Billy hasn't seen Ciel since her apartment burned”—Billy pulled me more tightly to him, and yeah, I couldn't help thinking that was another time he hadn't been there for me—“and I'm sure they have a lot to discuss. You girls go ahead. And be careful—you do whatever your bodyguards tell you.”

*   *   *

“There's that smell again,” Candy said. She was up front with Al; I was in the back with Billy, who looked at my purse, a grin twitching on his lips. I ignored it, as I did Candy's comment.

Al and Candy had insisted on driving us to Billy's place, and Billy hadn't argued, since they would have had to follow us anyway. Besides, his car was nowhere to be seen. When I'd asked him where it was, he'd mumbled something about it being in the shop.

Sinead and Siobhan's security detail would be the ones who had the pleasure of maneuvering them safely through the holiday throngs. If Candy was disappointed to miss the shopping expedition, she didn't let on.

The ride to Billy's was mostly silent, even the garrulous Candy realizing, and respecting, that Billy and I weren't being especially communicative. I sat a little apart from him, pulled back from my initial inclination to forgive and fix by an upwelling of confusion. My compassion for his situation was muddied by the persistent, fiery ball of anger in the pit of my stomach. I was stuck on the tipping point between needing to hug him until my arms creaked and wanting to slap him silly.

Which, come to think of it, pretty much summed up my relationship with Billy going all the way back to toddlerhood.

Candy and Al escorted us up the stairs and checked the condo before going back down to keep watch on the building while Billy and I were there. They would call up a warning if they saw anything suspicious.

As soon as I walked through the door I knew it was a mistake. There wasn't a place I could rest my eyes that Billy and I hadn't been intimate. Couch, loft, the rug on the floor, bathtub, kitchen counter. (Um, yeah. But it was only once, and we'd sanitized it afterward. Trust me, once is enough when it comes to cold, hard granite. “Adventurous” can be fun, but “comfortable” doesn't give your butt cheeks frostbite.)

Billy seemed to know what I was thinking, and shrugged apologetically as he took my coat and purse. He hung them, along with his coat, on a rack made of old steel pipes welded together. “I didn't know where else to bring you.”

“It's fine,” I said, and walked to the big window beyond the seating area. His condo was a large open space, modern in design, with lots of masculine black leather, softened by a few colorful (all right, ugly) afghans from Auntie Mo's knitting phase. She must have made a ton of them, because every time one of us “lost” or “accidentally” ruined one she always had another ready. I fully expected to unwrap one on Christmas morning, to replace the one I lost in the fire. Truth be told, I'd be disappointed if I didn't.

The window didn't have much of a view—only similar buildings across the way and the street down below—but it did let in a lot of light. I could see the SUV, and wondered what Al and Candy were talking about. Whatever it was, it had to be less tension-filled there than it was here.

“Ciel … I'm sorry. I was stupid. I thought of a hundred different ways to explain it to you, to excuse it, but that's the simple truth.”

“Why are you telling me this? You still don't want a kid, do you?” I said, not looking at him.

He sucked in a breath. “No. I don't.”

I flinched, automatically hugging my middle. The scale just tipped. Anger for the win. “Then why are we even here?” I said harshly, keeping my back turned.

Billy came to me. Leaned over, hugging me from behind. Like he was sheltering me. But from what? Himself? I tried to pull away and, failing that, to elbow him in the gut. He held on.

“I'm not going to lie to you, Ciel. I
don't
want a kid. The idea of it scares me shitless, and you know I don't scare easily. I think you have a right to know why.”

I stilled, needing to hear what he had to say.

He took a deep breath. “The woman who gave birth to me is in an institution. For a very good reason.” He swallowed hard. It obviously wasn't easy for him to talk about.

I twisted around in his arms, compassion, for the moment, pulling ahead. “I know. Your father told me about it right before you got there.”

Anger sparked in his eyes, at Uncle Liam I supposed, for telling me what Billy had obviously wanted kept a secret over all these years.

“He was worried about you, about what you might do. He never would have said anything otherwise.”

Billy nodded, resignation replacing anger. “The thing is, as much as I don't want a kid, I do want you. I want you so much more than I don't want a kid. So I'm here, admitting I was an ass in Houston.” He looked deep into my eyes, his face stripped of his usual brash, take-on-the-world confidence. “Ciel, I regret that more than you can possibly imagine.”

My shields went up, and I pushed away. He let me go. “You once told me you don't do regret, that it was a waste of time. That mistakes were nothing more than life-enriching experiences.”

“I still believe that's mostly true. But not with this. This is the first time in my life I honestly know what regret means. Deep-down, soul-searing regret. I should not have left you there, alone with this.” He spoke the last sentence slowly and deliberately, his eyes emphasizing the sincerity of every word.

“Damn straight, you shouldn't have,” I blurted, poking his chest with my finger.
Because if you hadn't, I never would have slept with Mark
, I thought,
and I wouldn't be feeling so damned guilty right now!

And not guilty on Billy's account either. Guilty at what I'd done to Mark. How I'd used him as some sort of giant Band-Aid for my psyche, without considering how it would make him feel afterward.

That was part of my problem, I realized. Sure, Billy had made a mistake. But would I really be having such a hard time forgiving him if I wasn't trying to avoid my own damn conscience?

Billy laid his hands on my shoulders. My anger deflating, I let him. “Ciel, I'd sell my soul if I could take back the hurt I caused you”—one corner of his mouth lifted wryly—“not that seared souls are worth much, and anyway, that's stupid. I can't. All I can do is tell you if you still want to keep the baby, even knowing about my birth mother, I'll be right there with you, doing my best to be a father.”

I stared up at him, stunned. Until that moment it hadn't once occurred to me that I didn't necessarily have to have the baby. If pressed, I would have considered myself pro-choice, but somehow I'd never thought to apply it to myself.

“You want me to—” I couldn't say it. My God, if my mother ever found out …

“What I don't want is for you to be saddled with a kid from my gene pool.” Bitterness clouded his eyes. And something else. Fear.

The silence stretched out as I tried to consider the possibility. In a way, it made sense. And, God, if it would erase the terror I saw in his eyes …

I was a fixer, and it was certainly one way I could fix a complicated situation. But in the process I would break something inside
me.
And I'd never be able to put it behind me, because every time I looked at my new niece or nephew I'd be reminded.

I shook my head slowly. “I don't think that can be on the table, not for me. I'm no more ready to be a mother than you are to be a father, but the way I was raised … I don't think I could.”

He nodded. Accepted it. “Okay then. Let's do this thing.”

I sagged into him, laying my head against his chest, grateful he wasn't going to push it. “Why didn't you tell me about your birth mother before? In Houston, if not sooner?”

“Before, it never seemed to matter. Frankly, I didn't want to think about it, much less talk about it. And in Houston … it all kind of reared up and swallowed me. I knew I finally had to see her for myself. To see exactly what kind of crazy I'm carrying around inside me.”

I looked up at his troubled face. “Billy, she's mentally ill, not some sort of monster,” I said as gently as I could.

Pain twisted his handsome features. “No, that would be Dad. And me.”

“According to a woman who doesn't have a firm grasp on reality. It sounds to me like she's a product of her early environment. It's sad, but your father is doing the best he can for her.”

“But what if it's genetic? What if
I
lose my mind down the road? What if I pass it on? Jesus, Ciel, aren't you even a little bit afraid of what we might bring into the world?”

“No. I'm not,” I said firmly. “I have never met anyone more grounded than you, and I've known you all my life. I think I would have noticed anything off by now.” I reached up to stroke his cheek. “Your dad said she reacted, um, poorly to seeing you.”

“If by ‘poorly' you mean screaming that I was the devil and collapsing into a catatonic heap on the floor, yeah, that happened. Not very good for my ego, let me tell you. I left, quickly. Probably a little too quickly.”

Something about the way he said the last part worried me. “What happened?” I said.

He looked uncomfortable. “I was agitated. Took a curve faster than I should have. Banged up the Chevy a bit, that's all.”

“How banged up?”

He shrugged. “More than scratched paint, but it fared better than the tree.”

“You hit a
tree
?” Billy was one of the best drivers I knew. Other than Mark, I didn't know anyone better.

“Only a small one,” he said.

“Jesus Christ on a piece of toast. Are you okay?”

“Look at me, cuz. I'm fine.”

Ha. I knew better than to take that at face value. “Show me,” I said, narrowing my eyes so he'd know I meant business.

He dropped the adjustments he'd been making to his aura, revealing a bruised and abraded cheek. Across his forehead was a long gash, perilously close to one eye. It had been stitched neatly, but still stood out starkly on his face.

“Windshield?” I said, compressing my lips.

He nodded.

“Is that all of it?” I said, proud of how well I was controlling my reaction.

He lifted his sweater. Above his drool-worthy abs was a spectacular eggplant-colored bruise. I ran my fingers over it lightly, swallowing hard. No wonder he hadn't been able to come back any sooner.

“Steering wheel?”

Again, he nodded.

“Did you break any ribs?”

He dropped his sweater back into place. “No. I told you, I'm fine. My car and I will both be back to our excessively handsome selves in no time.” The words were pure Billy, but the delivery lacked his usual panache.

I made myself look at the long cut on his face again. “Will it scar?” I asked. He had enough scars from his birth mom; he didn't need a reminder of her every time he looked in a mirror as himself.

“Probably. But it will fade in time, according to the doc. And meanwhile”—the visible remnants of the accident disappeared—“it's not like I'll be frightening the general public. Or my family.” He stressed the last part, looking at me significantly.

I sighed. “I won't tell on you. You know a scar doesn't matter to me, right?”

He nodded.

Okay, enough is enough. Time to lighten this shit up.
“I mean, you've always been prettier than me anyway. Frankly, I was getting tired of all the how-did-she-ever-score-him looks I was getting from other women.”

He grinned. “Want me to rip out my stitches so it will leave a grizzlier scar?”

“Aw. You'd do that for me?” I said.

“Say the word. And then get me some Vicodin and lidocaine, because damn, this is going to sting.” He reached up to his forehead.

“Stop that, you idiot,” I said, and hugged him gingerly.

He pulled me to him harder, as if he felt like he deserved the pain, and his voice turned serious again. “Ciel, I mean it. I am so, so sorry. All I can say is, in my warped frame of mind—then, in that moment—I honestly thought you'd be better off without me. My biggest fear now is that I was right, that you would be. But I'm not strong enough to stay away from you.”

Tears sprang to my eyes at the thought of Billy being afraid of anything, and clogged my voice when I spoke. “Stop it. I need you, damn it. Warts and all.” I managed a small laugh. “Not that I won't use it against you for the rest of our lives. Just so you know.”