Break Away (The Baltimore Banners Book 5) (7 page)

He had expected nothing more than another fun night with Emily. Dinner, maybe a movie. No drinking—Emily stayed away from alcohol since discovering she was pregnant, and JP didn't want to drink in front of her. But they would still have fun. And later, while they were in bed together, he would hold her in his arms and rest his hand against her stomach, a little round, a little hard, and wonder at the miracle of life growing inside her.

The pregnancy had come as a surprise to both of them, especially so early in their budding relationship. But once the surprise had worn off, he had been excited, caught up in plans for the future, for his son or daughter.

But he had known, as soon as he saw Emily standing at his door, that something was wrong. She looked frail, tired, pale. Heartbroken and lost. And she just stood there, her eyes rimmed in red, her full mouth trembling.

And then she had told him. She'd had a miscarriage, and their daughter was dead.

The news hit him with such force, he lost his breath. But he didn't do anything, didn't say anything. He stood there, frozen, using every ounce of will he possessed to keep himself from collapsing right there at the door.

He still didn't know how long he stayed that way, but it was too long. Too much time passed and he couldn't say anything, couldn't find the right words. And then it was too late, because Emily took his silence to mean something else. She had straightened her shoulders and nodded, then turned and walked away.

It was the last time he saw her, until that morning at the practice rink several weeks ago.

But he had never forgotten her.

JP brushed a hand over his face, trying to banish the memories, trying to banish the emotion that suddenly felt so fresh.

What did he want to know?

Everything. Nothing.

"Do you..." He cleared his throat. "How did it happen?"

"They don't know, not really. They, uh, they tried to explain but...they didn't really have an answer." He heard her swallow, felt her shift next to him. "I woke up fine, then started bleeding. And cramping. I...Monica knew something was wrong. She took me to the hospital."

JP tried to nod, not knowing why. Maybe to let Emily know he was listening? He clenched his hands together, folding them tightly around each other to stop them from shaking.

"You weren't alone." He hadn't meant for it to come out as a question. But it was suddenly important to him to know, important that she hadn’t been forced to go through that by herself.

"No. No, my sister was there with me."

JP nodded again. Took another deep breath. "I...I wish I had been there for you."

"There was nothing you could have done." She said it so quietly, her words so certain and empty of all accusation. That didn't stop his guilt. But he couldn't say anything, couldn't speak through the sudden tightening in his throat. And then Emily was speaking again. "They weren't going to let me see her. They said it would be better if I didn't."

"Did you?"

"Yes. I named her. Made them give her a death certificate."

JP leaned forward and covered his face with his hands, trying to breathe. He had a daughter, and he didn't even know her name. He bit down on the inside of his cheek and held himself still, trying to convince himself that if he didn't move, if he didn't breathe, the pain and guilt would go away.

Something soft and warm settled on his shoulder, the touch gentle, reassuring. He didn't think, just reached up and grabbed Emily's hand and held it between both of his like it was a lifeline and he was a drowning man. And he was. Drowning in sorrow, in guilt, in regret.

"Her name. What is it?"

There was a long pause, so long JP was afraid she wouldn't answer, that she would refuse to tell him. But she squeezed his hand, just the barest movement, before she answered in a voice that was barely a whisper.

"Her name is Gabriella. Gabriella Jeane Larocque."

Something inside him finally broke and the walls he had been so busy building around himself for the last five years tumbled down, as easily as if they were nothing more than castles built of dry sand. A sound escaped him, little more than a growl built of pain and regret. Then arms closed around him, warm, reassuring, offering comfort instead of taking. And it was wrong. All of it. Emily was the one who needed comfort, not him. He hadn't been there for her five years ago and he wasn't there for her now.

But he couldn't move away, couldn't offer her comfort. He wrapped his own arms around her and held on tightly as she ran her hands along his back and whispered words of consolation. He dropped his head onto her shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut, her voice soft in his ear, and let the pain of the last five years crash around them.

The road wound along a small hill then curved to the left, away from a tiny brook that swirled and bubbled under a wooden footbridge. Mature trees flanked the road, their branches dark and bare in the chilly November air. JP pulled the car to the side and cut the ignition, his eyes full of shadows as he looked to the left, away from her. Away from where they needed to go.

Emily didn't want to be here. Not now, not with JP. The last two hours had been too draining, too intense. Too...everything. Her body was limp, exhausted; her eyes scratchy but dry. She ran a hand across them then blinked in a futile attempt to create moisture.

She glanced over at JP, not wanting to look at him but unable to stop. He looked worse than she felt. His dark hair was disheveled, strands sticking up here and there from all the times he had run his hands over his head, like he could scrub away whatever thoughts were whirling through his mind. The healthy complexion of his skin had faded, the light stubble of a day's growth of beard a dark contrast on his chin and jaw. She didn't have to see his eyes to know they were rimmed in red but just as dry as her own. He gripped the leather steering wheel of the SUV with both hands, his knuckles white. Emily knew his hands would be shaking otherwise.

She looked away, her gaze moving to the neatly manicured lawn stretched to their right. Even now, in November, the grass was thick, carefully maintained. But the green was washed out, the color almost gray in the weak light.

She opened the door and climbed out, then headed to the pathway that would take her over the footbridge. The sound of a door closing echoed behind her, followed by the sound of footsteps. The sound was muffled, almost distorted, like nature was refusing anything louder than a whisper to intrude on this somber place.

Emily kept walking, her feet retracing steps she had taken so many times before. But alone, always alone.

She wasn't alone now.

A breath hitched in her chest and she shuddered, then folded her arms in front of her. The jacket she wore was thick and warm, she shouldn't be chilled. But she was.

She stopped at the peak of a small incline, near the base of a large oak tree. Thick branches spread outward, spreading like protective arms above the ground around her. She took a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder, waiting for JP to catch up.

He finally looked at her, his expression one of anxiety and sorrow. She didn't know why, didn't question what she was doing, just reached for his hand and threaded her fingers through his. Then she looked away, motioning toward the bronze plaque with a small nod.

Gabriella Jeane Larocque.

Beloved daughter.

There were no other words, nothing else except a single date to mark a profound moment of heartbreak that stretched for years. JP's hand tightened around hers, his grip almost painful. Emily looked away and blinked.

Cold swept over her when JP released her hand. Cold, and an aloneness deeper than any she had experienced before. She shoved her hands into the jacket pockets and watched as he moved closer to the grave, each step slow, hesitant.

He stopped, his gaze focused on the plaque for a long minute that stretched around them. Then he dropped to his knees, his hand reaching out until he traced the letters with a shaking finger.

Emily heard his soft moan, heard the breaths hitch in his chest, deep and broken. Her chest squeezed, hard and quick, as he leaned forward and rested his head against the plaque. His broad shoulders, so hard and strong, shook silently.

She didn't want to be here. Not now, not with JP. She didn't want to see the strong man she remembered, the strong man he was, break under the weight of sorrow and grief.

And she didn't want him to suffer alone.

She kneeled beside him on the cold hard earth and for the second time that day took him into her arms. From her own experience she knew there were no words she could say, nothing she could do.

Except hold him.

So she did, for long minutes that stretched around them, holding no meaning as time itself seemed to stretch, stop, distort. The earth beneath her knees should have chilled her; that chill should have seeped through her body, spreading until it took hold. But she wasn't chilled, couldn't even feel the hardness of the ground beneath her. JP's warmth chased the chill away, comforting, reassuring.

No, not his warmth. Their warmth. Together. Each taking and giving as they mourned this shared loss together for the first time in five years.

JP finally pulled away, gently, then brushed his face against the shoulder of his sweatshirt. He kept hold of her hand as he leaned forward, dropping a kiss against the cold metal of the plaque. His lips moved, his whispered words nearly lost in the cool air around them, a mix of French and English combined in his faint, gentle accent.

Emily only understood a few words.
My love
.
My daughter
.
My heart
. She didn't need to understand more than that, not when the emotion in his voice said so much more.

She swallowed against the thickness in her throat, struggling for breath as she stood. She turned away, wanting to give JP some privacy, needing privacy herself as she ran her hands over her face. Her lungs filled with air, crisp, clean. She took a few more deep breaths, in and out, each one deeper, trying to force a calmness she so desperately needed.

"No wonder you hate me."

Emily jumped, startled, as if the words had been shouted instead of merely whispered so softly behind her. She turned to see JP less than a foot away, his eyes dark with shadows as he looked at something in the distance.

"Is that what you think?"

His eyes darted to hers then just as quickly looked away again. "You should. I wasn't there for you. I made you go through that alone."

"JP, there was nothing you could do. There was nothing anyone could do."

"Not...not then. After. I should have..." His voice drifted off and he shrugged, the action speaking of desolation and regret instead of uncertainty. Emily paused, not sure what to do, what to say.

Not when he was partly right.

She had hated him. Right after, when she had first told him. For months afterward, as she tried to heal, to forget, to move on. But that was five years ago and she'd had time to view it from a safe distance. Or as safe as could ever be. She hadn't given him a chance, had simply walked away, content to convince herself he didn't care, content to convince herself it didn't matter.

Yes, she had hated him then. But now? No, not now. She didn't have room for hate, not any more, not after letting it consume her for so long, not after it nearly destroyed her.

She took a hesitant step toward him, not sure if she was doing the right thing or not. Then she stopped questioning and simply reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand. His skin was surprisingly warm, the stubble oddly soft against her palm.

"Oh, Jean-Pierre. I don't hate you. Not anymore."

His eyes finally met hers, the brown so deep and warm, pulling her in even as they reflected a hundred different questions she couldn't begin to answer. The air grew warm and heavy around them, cloaking them with a gentle understanding.

She knew he was going to kiss her before he even moved, saw it in his eyes, felt it in the shiver that ran through him. Before she could move away, before she could tell him no, his lips pressed against hers.

Soft, warm, gentle. Giving, not taking. The kiss was reassuring and sweet, not the passionate claiming she had been expecting.

And all the more dangerous because of that.

Then he pulled away before she could react, before she could make sense of the range of emotions swirling through her. JP pulled her into his arms and simply held her, the strength of his arms protective, the warmth of his body reassuring.

She lowered her head against his chest, his heart beat steady beneath her ear as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

And they stood there, holding each other above the grave of their daughter as silence stretched around them.

JP drifted to awareness slowly, the slight tingling in his left arm nudging him toward consciousness. Gray light seeped behind his closed lids, beckoning even as the silence surrounding him lulled him back to sleep. He was stuck between the hazy comfort of an unknown dream and the harsh reality of wakefulness, his body fighting for one while his mind fought for the other.

The tingling became a little sharper, a little more uncomfortable, pulling him more fully from the dream. He shifted, the fact that he was stretched out on his oversized sofa slowly registering in his cotton-filled brain.

And he wasn't alone.

His eyes opened slowly, squinting against the dull light filtering through the partially closed living room curtains. He blinked a few times, the insides of his lids damn near scratching his eyeballs with grit, then turned his head a fraction to the left.

Emily was pressed against his left side, his arm wrapped loosely around her. Her head was tucked against his shoulder, her hand soft and warm as it rested in the middle of his chest.

JP squeezed his eyes closed for a brief second, wondering if he was imagining things, if maybe he was still dreaming.

No. Emily was still there, her body soft and warm, pressed against the length of his own. He caught a whiff of her hair, the scent light and fresh, reminding him of spring breezes and warm sunlight. The urge to lean down and breathe in her scent was overwhelming but he pushed it away. Wouldn't that be embarrassing, if she woke up to find him smelling her?

Scattered images floated through his hazy mind, bits and pieces from this morning. Fuck. No wonder he felt drained and wrung out, like he had just finished a game without taking a single line change.

How long had they been laying here, on his sofa? Long enough for his arm to fall asleep.

No way in hell was he moving it, not if it meant moving Emily. The damn thing could just fall right off for all he cared, as long as it meant that she would stay right there, her body pressed against his.

He closed his eyes, surprised at the contentment hovering at the edges of his mind, wanting to take over. The desire to let it do just that, to take him over completely, was strong. But he fought it, almost afraid of it.

Afraid it would be the wrong thing to do, especially after this morning.

Fuck. Had he really broken down this morning? Yeah, he had. Like a damn kid taking his first real hit against the boards. What the hell was wrong with him?

He hadn't expected it. Any of it. The crashing emotion that had blindsided him. The burning need to know, especially after burying it deep inside all these years. The glimpse of what Emily had gone through.

Alone.

Because he hadn't been there for her, had thought she didn't want him there.

He sure as hell hadn't expected to see a grave.

No, not
a
grave. His
daughter's
grave.

He brought his right hand up and rubbed his eyes, pushing against them to ease the grittiness, the sudden burning. Something painful squeezed his chest, causing his breath to hitch.

Fuck.

He took a slow breath, pushing the pain away, then let it out.

What the fuck had he done?

Too much. Not enough.

He glanced down at Emily, wishing he could see her face. But her head was turned to the side, long strands of her wavy hair covering her cheek as she slept.

How could she be curled against him, so trusting like that? After what he had done.

Why had she even come back here with him? He hadn't suggested it, hadn't bothered asking her. He just drove, like he couldn't get away from the cemetery fast enough. And he sure as hell hadn't been thinking. It was like he had been on autopilot, his mind completely blank.

No, not blank. But he had definitely shut down, forcing himself not to think as he drove. And he had come here, back home, wanting only to escape.

And Emily had been with him.

She didn't say a word and he wondered if she had been just as drained, just as lost, as he was. Like they were both shell-shocked.

So he had led her inside, offered her something to drink, sat down beside her. Neither one of them said a word.

Who had drifted off first? Did it matter? No, not when they were both stretched out on the sofa, their bodies pressed together.

JP glanced to the right, frowning as he tried to figure out what time it was. The light coming in between the curtains framing the French doors was gray, watery. Afternoon, definitely. But early afternoon? Later?

His gaze slid to the expansive entertainment system along the far wall. The digital clock was nothing more than a steady blink, the time frozen at 12:00 because he had never bothered to reset it. His cell phone was just out of reach on the oak coffee table, useless right now for learning the time.

And why did he suddenly care what time it was? He had nowhere to go, nothing to do.

He turned his head, letting his eyes drift down to Emily's hand, resting so still against his chest. The light weight of it against him, the slight warmth of it, was reassuring, and he wasn't sure why.

Before he could stop himself, before he could think too much about it, he eased his right hand down and gently took her hand in his. Her fingers curled around his, just a small movement, like she was seeking reassurance or taking comfort in her sleep.

It felt so small in his, her skin paler and more delicate against the rough skin of his own hand. He ran his thumb along her finger, gently stroking it as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes once more.

Time drifted away, the silence of the house surrounding them, cloaking them. JP drifted off again, maybe a few minutes, maybe longer. But he came awake as soon as Emily stiffened beside him and he knew without looking that she already regretted being here.

He tightened his arm around her for just a second, then released her when she pushed against him and tried to sit up. Their legs tangled together and she uttered a small sound of surprise as she pulled her hand from his.

JP opened his eyes, not daring to look at her, then eased himself to a sitting position. Emily did the same, quickly sliding away from him, putting space between them. He ran his hands over his face then up through his hair, willing his mind to completely wake up before he finally turned and looked at her.

Her back was rigid, almost uncomfortably straight as she sat on the edge of the sofa. Her head tilted forward and her face was hidden by a fall of honey-colored hair. He didn't need to see her face to know she was embarrassed, uncomfortable. Tension hummed around her, from the set of her shoulders to her hands, tightly clasped in front of her.

JP wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and hold her, reassure her. But he didn't move, worried that she would bolt from the sofa if he did.

Long minutes stretched around them, turning the silence into something oppressive and uncomfortable. JP shifted, turning to the side so he could better see her. And then he reached out and brushed the hair from her face, the silky strands soft against his finger as he tucked it behind her ear.

She jumped at his touch and he pulled his hand away, cursing beneath his breath. He didn't want her to jump at his touch, didn't want her sitting there, so stiff and cold.

She finally looked at him, her blue eyes wide in her pale face. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, what she was feeling. And he suddenly wanted to know.

He slid closer, waiting to see if she would move away or even stand up. But she didn't move, just kept looking at him with those wide eyes. So he reached out and cupped her cheek against his palm, his thumb gently stroking the soft fullness of her lower lip. And still she didn't move so he slid even closer, slowly, hesitantly, afraid that each inch would cause her to push him away and jump from the sofa.

And then he was next to her, their legs touching, the heat from her sleep-flushed body seeping into him.

"Jean-Pierre." She whispered his name, the sound nothing more than a soft breath between them as he lowered his face to hers.

And gently, so gently, he pressed his lips to hers. Not claiming, not forcing, just barely touching. Waiting. She stiffened at first, her hand closing around his wrist. He waited, wondering if she would push him away, if she would get up and put distance between them.

But then her body relaxed and she leaned closer, sliding her hand down to his chest. He pressed his mouth closer, coaxing now, his tongue sweeping the crease of her lips until her mouth opened under his.

Warm, welcoming.

He swallowed her soft sigh as his tongue plunged deeper, searching, exploring. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair that curled past the collar of his shirt. Desire flared, sudden, hot, intense.

JP cupped her face with his hands and deepened the kiss, needing more, so much more. He wanted to lose himself in her, needed to find an escape from the hell of this morning.

No. He wanted her. Emily. All of her.

He dragged his mouth along the delicate line of her jaw, down to the soft skin of her neck. Her head dropped back, her hand cupping his head as he kissed and nipped and licked.

He eased one hand to the hem of her sweater, pushing the soft material up, sliding his palm along the warmth of her smooth skin. Up to the soft mound of one firm breast. He stroked the hard peak of her nipple through the smooth fabric of her bra, felt it tighten it even more under his touch.

"Jean-Pierre." Her throaty whisper stroked the heat growing inside him, encouraging, empowering. He groaned and slid the sweater up, pulling back enough so he could pull it over her head.

He tossed it to the side and looked at her, drinking in the sight of her flushed skin, of her small firm breasts and the hardened peaks of her nipples pushing against the fabric of her bra.

He groaned again and pushed the straps of the bra from her shoulders, pulled the material down to bare her breasts to his hungry gaze. He cupped each breast in his hands, his thumbs teasing each hardened nipple. Then he leaned down and closed his mouth around one tightened peak. Licking, sucking. Her chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. Her back arched, giving him fuller access as he feasted. First one breast, then the other.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, her hands holding his head in place as he sucked and nipped and teased. His cock hardened, the erection nearly painful against the worn denim of his jeans.

He reached down and popped the snap of his jeans, his fingers shaking as he fought the zipper. His erection sprung free between them, long and hard, thick, eager. He grabbed Emily's hand and guided it to his cock.

Her fingers closed around him, strong and cool. His breath caught on a hiss as she stroked him, slow, steady. JP's head fell back, his jaw clenched as each hard stroke unleashed a little more of his control.

He wanted. Needed. Now.

No. Not yet. This was Emily. Not some nameless pick-up, not some sure-thing puck bunny. He couldn't use her like that. He wouldn't.

He gritted his teeth and tried to ease away but she kept stroking him, harder, faster. Her touch was heaven, pulling him closer to the edge until he thought he'd explode right there in her hand.

No. He wouldn't give in. This was Emily.

He finally pulled away enough, nearly crying out in pain when her hand released him. A groan tore out of him and his hands fumbled with the snap and zipper of Emily's jeans. Each touch was frantic, desperate, his hands shaking with the strength of his need as he pulled her jeans and underwear down her legs.

JP kneeled in front of her, his hands on her thighs, spreading her to his gaze. He heard her whimper, looked up as her head fell against the back of the sofa, her breasts thrust forward with the motion.

Then he lowered his mouth to her, his tongue darting out for one long lick against her clit. She was wet and warm against his tongue and he was suddenly starving. He fell on her, licking, stroking, teasing the tight nub of her clit with his teeth. Her hips bucked under his touch and he grabbed her hips with both hands, holding her still.

It wasn't enough.

He dragged his right hand along her hip and down the outside of her thigh, then ran the tips of his fingers along the sensitive flesh on the inside of her leg. Up, up further, until he spread her moist folds with his fingers, opening her even more. He ran his tongue along her, dipping inside as she thrust her hips toward him. His tongue swirled around her flesh as he slid a finger inside her. Muscles clenched around him, pulling him deeper, holding him even as he slid his finger out. In, out. He added a second finger, heard her gasp as his rhythm quickened. Harder, faster. Her body tensed, her muscles clenching for a second that felt like a lifetime. Then her climax exploded, her inner muscles squeezing around his fingers as her soft cries fell around him.

He refused to stop, holding her over the edge with his fingers and mouth and tongue until her hands fisted in his hair. She called his name, her voice hoarse and desperate as she tried to move away.

He shifted, reached up, leaning forward until his mouth closed over hers, hard and demanding. Not claiming—possessing. He fumbled for the wallet in his back pocket, opening it one-handed and reaching for a condom by feel. Emily's arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close as he finally sheathed himself with the condom.