The Best Man's Baby (13 page)

“Back off.”

“Hey you guys, calm down.” Holly’s gentle, worried voice clashed with their angry ones. Jake stared at his brothers, feeling so far removed from them and their memory of what life had been like in their house that he stepped away from the table. That’s how they saw him. And now that’s how Claire saw him. “You’re going to wake Ella up.”

“Jake,” Quinn said, his voice slightly calmer. “Do this for your kid.”

“I just bought W.W. Custom Homes.” He knew this would be one of those moments he’d regret in his life, seeing the incredulous shock in his brother’s eyes. Quinn literally backed away from the table.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Jake finally met his cold stare, trying his best to convey something his brother would never be able to understand without knowing the truth. He never should have allowed himself to get drawn into this battle of the past.

“I was in negotiations with them for a while. William’s got no kids who want to take over his business and he’s too old to run—”

“I’m not talking about him. Why the hell would my own brother buy the competition? And I’m sure you’re not going to tell me we’re going to join the companies.”

“I didn’t buy it to compete with you. I bought it to have my own company. I’ve got no intention of running it as a commercial building company like Manning. It’s going to be custom homes—”

“You stood with me in that town house and I asked you about hiring some of William’s’s guys. Did you know then?”

Jake gave him a short nod. Quinn gave him a look he’d never seen. Not when he’d gotten back after disappearing for a year. Not when he was a teenager. Not even when Claire had stabbed his burger.

“Say something. Say something that will convince me my own brother didn’t just stab me in the back.”

Jake held his chin up higher and held his brother’s stare. He wanted to tell him. He looked over at Evan. No one was going to give him the benefit of the doubt anymore. Jake opened his mouth and then shut it. He’d rather they thought this. Being disloyal was better than the reality of what he was.

“What, are you going to poach my crew, too?”

“I’d never do that,” he said.

“Really? How the hell do I know that? I don’t get you. I never have. Sometimes I think I know you and then…”

Censure oozed into the air and Jake felt like he was going to choke on it. And he couldn’t bring himself to look at Claire. Right now he needed a few stiff drinks, in a bar, by himself, right where he was most comfortable.

“I told you to drop it,” Jake said under his breath and moved away from the table.

“Run away, just like you always do,” he heard his brother’s voice trailing after him as he walked out the front door. Away from his brothers, his family.

And Claire.

Chapter Ten

Claire walked to the front door on legs that felt like jelly. She left the tension at the table, the hurt, in search of Jake. The moment he got into it with his brothers, his hand had left hers and any feeling of unity disappeared. Jake’s rebellious teen years had obviously been a lot worse than she had thought, and yet when Evan had yelled at him, she sensed an undercurrent from Jake.

Something didn’t add up.

She couldn’t picture him willingly hurting anyone he loved. She had stared at his profile as he’d stood there—every part of his body had been so tightly wound with rage she wondered how he had kept it under control. He had obviously kept things from her, but she knew no matter what things his brothers accused him of, there had to be more to the story.

Claire stepped out onto the veranda, her eyes scanning for a sign of Jake. Half of her thought he would have been long gone by now, but the other half held out hope. Her heart stopped for a second when she spotted him on his bike. And then she felt her eyes burn with the sting of tears when she noticed he was holding a second helmet. He was waiting for her.

She walked down the driveway. He must have heard her approaching and turned around to look at her. His firm jaw was clenched tight and his blue eyes were as cloudy as the country sky overhead.

“Jake?” she called out as she reached his side.

He held out the helmet for her, his posture stiff, rigid. He didn’t make eye contact with her. She took the helmet in her hand, its smooth surface cool to the touch.

“Hi,” she said softly, almost sounding like she was asking him a question.

He put his helmet on and she did the same.

“You look surprised to see me here,” he said gruffly.

Claire opened her mouth, but couldn’t find the right words.

“I told you I’d never leave you.”

Claire drew a long, shaky breath as she stared into his eyes. He had left his family at the table, but he hadn’t left her. He looked down, breaking her gaze.

“I’m glad,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist as she climbed onto his bike, feeling the rigidity in his body, the tension in his strong frame.

He didn’t answer as he pulled out of the driveway. She half expected him to speed off, but he drove carefully, and she knew it was because of her. He had a way of making her feel warm and safe. She had no idea where they were going when he turned right instead of taking the main road back toward town. Instead, they drove down some small, winding side roads as the wind picked up and the spring air became increasingly heavy with the threat of rain. She felt that he needed the drive to cool off, to gain some mental distance from what had happened.

“You cold?” Jake called out over his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she said, curious as the bike slowed and he pulled into a long, gravel-filled driveway that led to an old red-brick Victorian home that had been abandoned for as long as Claire could remember. She had always admired the house with its large windows and wraparound veranda. She had absolutely no idea what Jake was doing here, though. He helped her off the bike and they both removed their helmets.

“What’s this?”

“Come see,” he said, taking her hand in his. His hand was warm and secure, and caused ripples of pleasure to waft through her. She shivered as a gust of cool wind whipped around them. The clouds were gray with the dampness of the impending rain that had threatened all day. She walked beside him, the crunch of their shoes on the gravel the only sound on the vast property.

“I want to show you the view from the back,” Jake said, looking down at her as he led her around the side of the house. The yard was sprawling, and even though Claire had driven by a few times she had no idea what was behind the home. Her breath caught and they both stopped walking when the lot began to slope downward. There was a low, gradual hill, and then the river. The river view was unobstructed and spectacular. After today’s rainfall it was rushing, roaring, majestic.

“This is gorgeous,” she said, admiring the wild beauty.

“Come on, I’ll show you the inside,” he said, tugging her hand as they made their way back to the front. Her intuition was picking up on the fact that this whole scenario was much more than Jake showing her some house he liked. She felt a few raindrops on her head as they walked up the steps on the porch to the covered veranda.

He let go of her hand to fish for something in his pocket, and then he put a key into the lock on the door.

“You have keys to this house?” she asked, standing beside him, studying his profile.

“Yup.” He opened the door for her, waiting for her to walk in before him. She looked around the grand foyer. A large, dark-wood staircase was the first thing Claire noticed, along with the fact that it looked as though the old home had recently been cleaned. It smelled like lemons and wood. She turned to Jake, who was watching her closely.

“What is this place?”

He grinned, one of those rarely seen, vulnerable, almost boyish grins that made her heart swell and her mouth smile automatically.

“It’s ours,” he said with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

Claire felt the blood drain from her face. “What?”

“Do you like it?” he asked, and then not waiting for her answer walked into a living room. The arched doorway had wide trim and a large, ornate fireplace that immediately drew her in. He was kneeling in front of the fireplace and fiddling with the logs inside.

“Jake, I’m not following.” The sound of the match lighting was the only thing that could be heard. She waited as he took his time lighting the fire. What was he thinking?

He finally brushed off his hands and walked over to her. “I bought us this house. To live in.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little premature?” She stared at him. What was she supposed to say? Should she reveal that a part of her was overjoyed, completely ecstatic he had bought them this gorgeous home and that he wanted to be a real family? Or should she tell him he was delusional? Yeah, this past week they’d spent together had been a dream come true, but not once since she’d opened up about her eating disorder had he even attempted to tell her anything about his own past, and he evidently had quite a past.

“You don’t like it? I know I probably should have consulted you on it, but when I bought it we weren’t exactly on the best terms. But it reminded me of you. That night after we agreed to be in this together, I went for a long drive, trying to figure everything out, and for some reason I stopped here. I mean, I’ve driven by this old place so many times, but that night I turned up the driveway and looked around. And the second I got off my bike I pictured us here. It’s so you. It’s beautiful and warm and it felt like home. I know it needs to be renovated, but I had the entire placed cleaned so you could try to envision what it might be.”

Claire stared through watery eyes at the man she was growing to love more and more each day and wondered how she could have ever thought he was a jerk. Or cold.

“Well? There’s even a small room off the master bedroom that overlooks the river. I thought it would be perfect for a baby’s room.” His blue eyes sparkled, and that mouth she’d memorized and fantasized about for too long had a vulnerable, lopsided grin on it that made her heart swell.

She shook her head, her eyes going to the massive bay window overlooking the sprawling front lawn. She didn’t want to think of all the things that were wrong with this scenario. She wanted to live in this world he was creating for them, to pretend they were this perfect couple, expecting their first child, and no secrets or hurt existed between them.

“This is a Christmas house,” she whispered, her eyes still on the view outside.

“What?”

She smiled wistfully, looking from the window up to Jake. “It’s a Christmas house, right out of a Trisha Romance painting,” she said, walking up to the window. She saw snowflakes in her mind as she touched the cold windowpane. “I can picture twinkling white Christmas lights, and a snowman, right there in the middle of the lawn.” How could he have picked a more perfect place? He knew her. Jake
knew
her. And suddenly, despite all the distance between them, when Jake looked into her eyes she knew he understood.

“I see it too. I know what you mean. This is a Christmas house. And I know how to build a damn fine snowman,” he said with a half smile that made her heart skip forward with hope. She looked at her hand on the window. It felt cool and damp on her palm, the rain on the other side of the glass flowing around the imprint of her fingers. It also jarred her out of la-la land.

“Why do you look like you’re going to cry?”

She didn’t turn to look at him. She spoke to his reflection in the window. It was easier that way. “You just bought a company and told your brother you weren’t going to work for him anymore. Don’t you think that’s something you should have told me about? You’re the one who told me that I needed to be open, but you’re the one who has been holding back. You’re hiding.”

His jaw clenched and she waited for an answer.

Goose bumps formed on her arms as she waited for him to continue. The fire crackled as it warmed the room, as she waited for Jake to talk to her. He cleared his throat and when he finally started speaking again, his voice came out sounding harsh and ragged.

“Remember that night we had Greek food at your house and I told you there were things about me I wasn’t proud of, that no one else knew about?” He wasn’t looking at her, but as she studied his profile, she could practically trace the telltale lines of pain across his handsome features.

“I remember,” she said softly.

He exhaled roughly and ran his hands over his face. He was tormented, pained.

“Jake, whatever it is, you can tell me. Nothing could be that bad,” she said turning around to face him.

“I did this for us, for you and me, and our baby.”

And when his large, rough hands came up to cup her face so gently, she moved into him, knowing she needed more. She needed him to be who he really was.

“Tell me,” she urged, watching his lips thin into a harsh line.

“You asked me a while ago how well I knew your father,” he said, his eyes turning downward, his shoulders slumping forward slightly.

“I remember.”

“Your father is probably the only reason I’m alive.”

He backed away from her and Claire fought the urge to reach out to him. His unspoken need to do this alone, to have his space from her, was the only thing that kept her from following him to the window. He imposed a distance that alarmed her.

“When I was kid, I was afraid of my dad. When Quinn or Evan were around, things were okay, but whenever I was alone with him, he became a different guy. He hated me. Like the kind of hatred that makes you want to hide. I thought he was like this to Quinn and Evan too. One day Quinn and I were fishing and I must’ve been like eight or something and I asked him if he felt sad when Dad called him names. I could tell Quinn had no idea what I was talking about, and then I knew I should keep my mouth shut. I was embarrassed, like maybe I was doing something to make Dad hate me, but I asked Quinn what Dad said to him at night, in his room when he tucked him in. Quinn just shrugged and said, ‘You know, Jake, he says good night my boy, I love you.’”

Jake stopped speaking abruptly, the last words out of his mouth echoing around them. His ragged breathing made her heart throb as she waited for him to continue.

“And then I knew, I knew it was me because I had never heard those words,
I love you
. But I couldn’t figure it out, and I couldn’t tell anyone.”

Claire fought the tears she knew were threatening. She wrapped her arms around her waist, hoping to rein in some of the trembling.

“Then one day when I was ten, I was listening outside my parents’ door. They were arguing.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not my father’s son. I was never supposed to be born,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“What are you talking about?” She felt an icy wind steal her breath away despite the fire blazing in the hearth. She didn’t say anything, didn’t move, didn’t breathe. She was scared that if she did, Jake might stop speaking. She watched as he took a deep breath, the muscles in his broad shoulders rising and falling tensely.

“My mother was raped.”

His voice echoed through the room, through the hollow being carved out of her heart for him. His last sentence sounded as though it came from a place buried so deep inside him that it hurt to pull it out. Claire couldn’t move, the weight of his pain anchoring her feet to the ground.

“That was the first time I’d heard that word. I had no idea what it meant, but I knew it was bad and I knew it was my fault. I remember staring at my parents that night at dinner, trying to figure it out. After everyone went to bed, I went into the den and grabbed the dictionary and a flashlight. I was so damn scared about what I was going to find, but I had to know. I wanted more than anything to go and ask Quinn, I wanted my big brother, you know? But then I was scared that he’d hate me too.” Jake walked over to the fireplace, his hands bracing the wide mantel, his back to her.

“So I went into my closet with the flashlight and sat in the corner, flipping through the pages until I found that word. I remember shaking so hard and when I read the definition I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the violence of it, of what it meant. What it meant for my mother. What it meant about me. Why they hated me. All I figured out was that something or some evil man hurt my mom, and she was mad at me for it. And then I looked up abortion and uh, I again struggled to get it,” he said hoarsely and the muscles in his powerful back tensed as he gripped the mantel tighter.

“I cried and I cried that night, and I didn’t come out of my closet until Quinn found me the next morning. And I looked at my mom that morning and I was so damn confused. I thought maybe I was wrong, but when I looked at her she did what she always did, she smiled and looked away quickly. And I knew. I knew that somehow I was bad and they didn’t want me. They never reported the rape to the police. They felt it would be too traumatic for the family. But it was shame. I know it was shame that stopped them. They went to your father. Your father convinced them not to, uh, terminate the pregnancy. And so they raised me without ever telling anyone else.