Stay With Me (31 page)

That finger trembled over the button again before pressing it, and suddenly I was filled with love for him. He may never love me like Robby, probably would never look at me the same again, but he was my dad. Whether we talked through appliances or not, I always knew he loved me. I stood and went over to his chair. Then hugged him tightly from behind, ignoring the way he instinctively went rigid as stone. It reminded me so much of Finnegan’s duck-and-cover move that I chuckled against his thinning hair.

“What was that for?” he asked gruffly.

“Because you’re my dad,” I answered simply enough.

“Mac?” His voice was uncomfortable, begging me to end this atrocious display of affection.

“Now hug me back,” I demanded. And he did.

I heard Robert groan as the front door slammed behind him. He’d slammed that door since he was a little kid, and he’d always gotten in trouble for it. The big lug never learned. He managed to smack me on the back of the head, even with his arms full.

“God, I thought you said you can’t catch gay,” Robert said, dropping the pizzas off on the kitchen counter.

This, of course, prompted me to chase him around the room as he screamed like a girl. And our dad to yell at us both before turning up the TV.

I
SAT
on the top step of the back porch, arms around my knees, rolling a cigarette between my fingers. I wasn’t planning on smoking it. I’d better not, not with my dad and brother within one hundred feet. No, I’d developed a new, stranger habit of keeping them tucked places on my person—in a pocket, in my sock… behind an ear like a character in the musical
Grease
. At the post office earlier, one of them even fell out of my wallet. Cigarettes were truly the devil.

My phone trilled in my pocket, and I looked at the time before answering. Two in the morning. My, my, don’t we stay up late in “New York”?

“Hey, Jordan.”

“Hey, sweetheart. I missed you earlier.”

His voice was like a punch to my stomach and sent desire spiraling up my spine. I meant to be cool and breezy, but once again, I’d underestimated his undiluted effect on me. I’d have to cut him with premium vodka next time—Jordan on the rocks with a splash of Ketel One.

“I was a little caught up,” I lied. “Couldn’t answer the phone.”

“Yeah?” I heard him yawn and pictured him stretching out on… on what? Where
was
he exactly?

His next question was eerily similar to what I wanted to ask him. “Where’ve you been?”

“At my dad’s house.” I rolled the cigarette some more. “We were watching the game.”

“I didn’t know anyone was playing.”

“There’s
always
someone playing at Joe’s house.”

His laughter almost made me smile.

“So where are you?” I asked.

His next laugh was a little uneasy. “That’s an odd question.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, it is. I’m still in New York. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Home,” I repeated softly. Interesting concept.

I looked up at the sky. Millions of diamonds on God’s rich, velvety cerulean backdrop. Glittering. Sparkling with expectation and promise. What the hell did they know? They were just interminably burning balls of gas, whiling away time in the sky.

“Everything okay?”

“Perfect,” I said. Some part of me realized that he knew what that meant. I didn’t try to clean it up. “Just perfect.”

“Y
OU
FINISHED
the paperwork for the skip trace.”

“Yup.”

“Left me all the details for the Hernandez case.”

“Yep.”

“You finished the report for Mr. Blake.”

“Yup. Finished a full report with video and left it with Jennie.” I was surprised to see my exit coming up so quickly. Driving just seemed quicker in Jordan’s Mercedes—she responded to my every move smoothly. Almost intuitively.

Don’t get used to her
, I reminded myself with a happy flutter that couldn’t quite be suppressed.
My boyfriend’s back and you’re gonna be in trouble….

Yes, I’d have to give up the Mercedes, but I’d also get to see him. It was a fairly even trade. I had to admit, I felt pretty good. Jordan was back, and I was on vacation as of… five minutes ago.

Drew still wasn’t satisfied, but I didn’t care. I’d taken my two weeks, and that was that. He’d have to bitch at someone else in that time.

“Drew, I gotta go. See you when I see you.”

“Better see you in two weeks,” he warned, but I could tell he was amused.

“We’ll see,” was all I’d offer as reassurance and clicked my Bluetooth off. And tossed it on the dash. He’s lucky I didn’t toss it in the trash. When I was off, I was
off
. Sandals. Shorts. No shirt. Shades. Here I come.

A week had never seemed so long or so tedious. Surrounded by his things, sleeping in his bed alone, made the feeling worse. When I turned down his street and saw the garbage and recycling bins had been taken in, I felt eager as a freaking puppy. Embarrassing. I was so impatient to pull in, I almost missed the sleek white Beamer parked by my truck. I’d seen that car before. I’d followed that car before.

Rachel. I swore. She was like a bad fucking rash. Either that or Jordan was giving her the most mixed signals I’d ever seen. She just didn’t seem like the clingy sort. If he’d given her walking papers, she would stick those tiny feet back in her stilettos and march on out.

Both spots were taken in front of the house, so I parked on the street, close to the curb. I turned off the engine. And sat there. Part of me wanted to drive off as if I hadn’t seen her car, maybe even call and alert him I was on my way home. I knew that would be cowardly, but for a moment, it was deliciously tempting. I nibbled on my nail. They could be having a private conversation.
Another?

My inner bitch was right. What was with all these damn private conversations? Coming back early and not telling me?

Staring at my truck in its usual space annoyed me. The smell of cooling pizza in the backseat didn’t help. I’d had very definitive plans for how I wanted to spend tonight—it included pizza, fucking, and beer, and not necessarily in that order. None of my plans had included a visit—a private visit, from the looks of it—from Jordan’s ex.

My annoyance grew as my mind flashed over their previous secret little meeting at the restaurant. What the fuck? Besides, if anyone had a right to be here between the two of us, it was me.

I got out of the car and pulled out the pizza box, stopping to grab the mail on my way up to the door.
I
was the one who had a key. I was the one whose stuff was strewn about inside. I was the one who was parked in the guest space.

I… was the one who hesitated briefly before using the key in the lock. But then I was entering the house as if nothing was wrong, with the mail and pizza in hand. I dropped the pizza box off on the kitchen counter and made my way to the living room. He would be happy to see me. We hadn’t seen each other in a week. He would greet me warmly, and I’d realize I was being ridiculous.

There was nothing but silence as I entered. I was sure it hadn’t been that way before.

When I entered the living room, she was sitting on the couch, legs crossed elegantly as one shoe swayed back and forth. She looked surprised to see me and gave me a little wave. My gaze swept over Jordan, perched on the coffee table in front of her. His expression was fairly neutral, and I decided that two could play that game.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he responded easily.

“I got the mail.” I waggled it unnecessarily.

“Oh, thanks. Can you just leave it on the table?”

Leave it, he said. Leave it as in “leave it before you go do whatever you were going to do”? Or leave it as in “leave it before you let yourself back out”? I decided I wouldn’t live my life by assumptions. If he wanted me to leave, he could ask. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t angry. I tossed the mail on the table.

“I brought pizza. Does anyone want any?”

They looked at one another and then me. “No, thanks,” they said simultaneously, and I wanted to kill them both. But you can’t kill someone for sharing private looks.

“Rache and I had an early dinner,” Jordan explained. His ears looked flushed.

I stared at him, a muscle ticking in my jaw. A dinner, another dinner, and an after-dinner meeting at the house. Better and better. As I marched off to the kitchen, I heard her ask softly, “Does he have a key or something?”

Or something, sweetheart.
I forced myself to keep walking, act naturally, and not bang dishes like I wanted to. I pulled out a plate and set it out on the counter next to a prescription bag. My eye caught the name on the bag, and I realized it was mine. He’d picked up my prescription. It made me more confused than ever.

I could hear the soft murmurs of their voices but not the words. I found myself shuffling closer to the door, trying to get close enough to muddle out what they were saying. I found my vantage point at the same time her voice broke, right in the middle of whatever she’d been saying.

“I’m pregnant,” she said. And burst into tears.

T
HE
INSIDE
of Jordan’s home may have been a showpiece, but it had nothing on the view from his deck. Usually getting this close to the beach in South Florida involved stalking someone for metered parking for at least twenty minutes. I sat on the bottom step, which allowed me to dig my feet in the sand without getting it in my jeans. I was pleased with the compromise. I picked at the faded, frayed denim of one ankle while watching the goings-on below.

A small gathering of Jordan’s neighbors frolicked down on the dunes, a circle of hazy golden light in the darkness of the beach. The laid-back group, having some kind of barbecue around a pit, had invited me over several times. I declined. I wasn’t exactly the best of company right now. It was one of the main reasons I was out here, letting the sound of the wind and lapping of the waves soothe my nerves. Oh, that and a kiss from my nicotine mistress of course. The waves crashed eagerly on the sand, farther up than before, sending the frolicking neighbors shrieking and laughing to higher ground. My fingers itched for my surfboard.

I heard the screen door slide open but didn’t turn around.

“Did she get to sleep all right?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Jordan slid the screen door closed behind him. “She finally relaxed and fell right out.”

She’d certainly been through enough. We’d taken turns comforting her on her emotional roller coaster as she’d gotten out the story through sniffles and tears. I’ll save you the trip and give you the highlight reel: she is pregnant, she isn’t sure if Jordan or her new beau is the father, and even though she is ecstatic, she doesn’t know what she is going to do with a baby right now.
Now
back to you in the newsroom, Bob.

By the time she’d finished and calmed a bit, it had gotten late. I’d recommended that she stay in one of the guest rooms, to the surprise of everyone, including myself. She’d accepted and given me a hug. Then we’d all snacked on pizza in front of the TV—her choice of show had been one of the vapid
Housewives
shows I loved. Damn. But for the fact she might be having my boyfriend’s baby, I could actually like that girl.

When I glanced back, Jordan was mussing his perfect hair up into some sort of faux hawk. When he dropped his hands, the terrified strands fell back into place. “I tried to give her warm tea, but she has a sweet tooth to rival yours,” he said. “I gave her some milk and a few of those cookies you’ve been hiding in the bread bin.”

“You mean the ones you weren’t supposed to know about?”

“I hope you don’t mind.” He sounded faintly amused.

I shrugged. What are a few cookies when your life is imploding?

He didn’t say anything about my cigarette, which was worthy of at least some sort of nationwide treaty, and sat beside me on the squeaky clapboard step. “You okay?”

I took a long drag and let out a cloud of smoke. “Do I look okay?”

He drew his knees to his chest and looped his arms around them. “No,” he said simply.

A baby. I knew it shouldn’t change everything, but it just did. No, I was not okay.

“Talk to me,” he said, nudging me with his shoulder.

I knew he was trying to give me time and space to process. Freedom to ask questions without getting anger or defensive answers in return. I was appreciative, but frankly, I just didn’t know what to say. Or think.

“I’m not in the mood to pretty it up for you, J. I’m having a little trouble with this.”

“So am I.”

“I mean, this is just irresponsible. Like the Maury Povich show irresponsible,” I blurted out. “Haven’t you all ever heard of a tiny little thing called protection?”

He didn’t seem to mind my rudeness.

“They were using double contraceptives. So were we,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s on the pill, and we used condoms. It’s… it’s unexpected to say the least. She’s still in shock.”

Though I’d spent most of the evening out on the deck, I knew she had to be. Conducting an investigation on Rachel had given me an unfair, intimate glimpse into her life. What made her tick. I knew that she was career driven and focused, and having a baby right now was nowhere in her master plan. I’d imagine the term “shock” was an understatement.

“Can you please put that out?” He looked at my cigarette with intense dislike.

I ignored him, taking another drag and letting out a smoky breath. A finger appeared in front of my face as he plucked the offending cigarette out of my mouth and stubbed it out on the steps. I shrugged and pulled out another. Flicked my lighter and lit the end. Took another puff. He grabbed that one too. I glared.

“They come in a pack, J. I guarantee you’ll get tired of this before I do.”

He stubbed it out and tossed it in my ashtray, sitting one step above us. He glared right back. “I thought you’d quit.”