“Oh.” Brady gestured him forward. “Let me see if her truck’s open.” He figured he could always pick the lock if he had to. But, no, it was open. He frowned at that fact as he wrestled the car seat from the seat belt. Babies really ought to come with instructions.
Finally, Will and Claire were gone. He returned to Joss’s place and debated what to do. He settled on leaving her a note and headed to the kitchen to look for a pen and some paper. First thing he saw when he walked in was the dinner mess. Ten minutes later, he had that all cleaned up, and then he spied a notepad and pen in a basket by the phone.
He scrawled out a note and took it upstairs. For a long moment, he stared down at Joss. A strand of pink curled onto her cheek. Brady pushed it back and stroked her face, her neck.
In that moment, what he wanted more than anything was to shut out the light, crawl into bed with her, and pull her back against his front. And just sleep. In the morning, well, they could act out some other fantasies, too…
Maybe—and it was a big damn maybe—after he had it out with his father, he’d consider letting himself act on thoughts like that. But, for now, he was in no position to take care of anyone else until he started taking care of himself.
Chapter Eleven
Knock on the wall if you need me.
Joss held Brady’s note in her hand and read the words over and over again.
If only it were that simple.
She flopped onto her back and lay thinking so long the room brightened with early morning sun. Finally, she flipped the covers off her body, lifted her T-shirt, and stared down at her flat belly.
Pregnant. She’d always dreamed of having children of her own. But in those dreams, she’d never been a single parent.
Last night, Brady had totally covered her butt. Even though he’d been awkward and uncomfortable handling Claire, he’d still done a great job stepping in and helping out. But that in no way meant he’d be enthusiastic about having a baby of his own.
After all, he didn’t even want the baby’s mother.
On a sigh, Joss pushed herself out of bed. A strange sensation of vertigo made her head swim for a moment, but at least she wasn’t nauseous. She treated herself to a long shower, threw her hair into a ponytail, and got dressed.
Maybe she could get in to the doctor’s for a pregnancy test today. Even though she had a trio of 99.9-percent-accurate results telling her she was now eating for two, she didn’t even want to broach the subject with Brady until she’d gotten final confirmation from her doctor.
She made the call and got approval to go to the lab for the urine and blood tests, but would have to wait until Wednesday before she could see the doctor. Fine. She could wait. It wasn’t like she didn’t already know the answer.
In the kitchen, she stopped short as her brain tried to determine what was out of place. That was it. Nothing was out of place. The counters were clean. The dishes were washed.
Brady.
Her heart squeezed in her chest.
She chanced two pieces of toast for breakfast and reveled in her still-settled tummy.
Before she left for the lab, there was one thing she needed to do—she retrieved Brady’s note from her nightstand and wrote a quick note of her own on the back:
Thanks for all your help last night. I really appreciated it. ~J
There. Short. Sweet. To the point.
Outside, she found his truck gone and was glad for it. The last thing she was up for was another round with Brady—of fighting or anything else. She slipped the note into his mail slot and headed out to pee in a cup. Joy.
Afterward, she called Christina and asked her to come over. She didn’t want to say anything to Brady yet, but she sure as hell needed to get some of this off her chest before she exploded. Some serious girl time was in order.
An hour later, Christina arrived with sustenance in hand—a large pepperoni pizza and two pints of Ben & Jerry’s.
“You are my favorite person ever,” Joss said as she unburdened Christina of some of her load.
“Of course I am.”
They placed everything on the coffee table, and then retrieved drinks, plates, napkins, and the all-important spoons from the kitchen. Christina settled onto one end of the couch. Joss took the other.
Christina turned to her with an expectant gaze. “So, are you going to spill whatever’s bothering you? Or are we going to eat and spend two hours watching a movie before you work yourself up to it?”
“No stalling. Not this time. I need to talk.” Joss reached for the spoon and her pint of chocolate chip cookie dough.
“Oh, my. We’re going dessert first?” She retrieved her tub of chocolate fudge brownie. “This must be serious.”
Joss savored the sweet creaminess of her favorite ice cream. “It is,” she finally said. Her stomach flip-flopped at the idea of giving voice to her predicament, and threatening tears stung the back of her eyes. She blinked, refusing to start out a blubbering mess or else she’d never get the words out.
“Oh, honey, you can tell me,” Christina said, scooting closer. She sat cross-legged right next to Joss.
Joss took a long breath, and let the words fly. “I’m pregnant.”
Christina’s eyes went wide and her jaw dropped open. “What? How? I mean…what? I mean…” She shook her head, bewilderment pouring off her. “Who?”
Making that admission had been easier than she’d expected. “That guy I met Labor Day weekend.”
Her friend’s eyes went wider yet and she waved her hand to continue. “The one-night-stand guy?”
She swallowed a bite of cookie dough. “Yes.”
“Holy crap, Joss. I… We might need more ice cream. Or wine. Well, wine for me.”
She chuckled at Christina’s deer-in-the-headlights expression. It wasn’t like she was the one who was pregnant. Yet, how good laughing felt right now.
“Well, okay, let’s take this all apart,” Christina said. “First, are you okay? Emotionally? Physically? Have you seen a doctor? How far along are you?”
“Whoa. Slow down.” Joss steeled herself with another bite of ice cream. “I think I’m five weeks along. I went to the lab this morning and I see the doctor on Wednesday. I was sick as a dog last night, which is what finally clued me in. With feeling so crappy all week, I hadn’t realized how late I was until I actually counted it out.” She shoved in another spoonful. It was like each bite gave her more and more courage. “Emotionally…I don’t know. I’m all over the place.”
“You’re still processing all this.”
“Yeah.”
Christina pointed her spoon at Joss. “Does the guy…uh—”
“Brady.”
“Brady. Right. Does he know yet?”
Joss frowned. “No. I wanted to wait until the doctor confirmed it, which I know she will. But I’m not expecting Brady to be happy about this, so…” She poked at her ice cream.
“Have you talked to him since that morning?”
Talked…and other things. “A few times, yeah. I thought he was interested for a while, but then…” Joss shrugged. “He made it clear he’s not.”
“And, are you interested in him? I mean, beyond the couple of times you guys…you know…”
Joss fell back against the couch and sighed.
“Oh.” Christina set her ice cream aside and grasped one of Joss’s hands. “Maybe he’ll come around, you know?”
Joss gave her fingers a squeeze. “I don’t know. Maybe,” she said, even though in her heart of hearts, she didn’t think so. On top of everything else, a baby didn’t fit in well with his career. Especially an unplanned one. Joss set her ice cream on the table. “You know, growing up like I did, I’ve always wanted children, a big family, the whole Norman Rockwell thing. This just isn’t what I expected. It isn’t how I thought it would be.”
Christina gave her a small smile and wrapped her arms around Joss’s shoulders. Foreheads touching, she said, “Sometimes the best things never are.”
…
Brady arrived home on Wednesday evening feeling better about his latest visit to his therapist than he ever had before. Not that he liked talking about this shit, because he didn’t—he hated it. But there was at least a little satisfaction in the doc’s comment that his willingness to consider he might’ve been victimized, too, represented real progress. The idea still settled in Brady’s stomach like a pile of nails rolled in crushed glass, but he could find his way to understanding how someone might look at his past and come to that conclusion. For once, Brady came away from the appointment feeling like it hadn’t been a complete waste of time.
He shuffled through the bills and junk mail and tossed the pile to the kitchen counter, then headed upstairs to get changed for a run. Joss’s thank-you note lay crinkled on his nightstand. He picked it up and turned it around in his hands. The only time he’d seen her after Friday night was last night after work. She’d arrived home when he was heading out for a run. And it was clear from her one-word answers and lack of eye contact that, despite the undeclared truce between them when she’d taken sick, Joss hadn’t forgiven him for being such a dick.
And why should she?
He hadn’t forgiven himself.
One thing at a time. Maybe after he’d had it out with his father, he could… He didn’t even know. But hope slinked through his brain, tempting him, drawing him out. Such a damn dangerous emotion. Brady had never before put any stock in hopes and dreams. His feet were planted squarely on the ground. Always had been. And the ground was often littered with the ugly, brutal truth of real life.
Still, between the memory of how much Joss had comforted him before he’d gone and ruined everything that morning and the therapist’s encouragement, giving into even a little hope was damn near irresistible.
Brady dropped the note back on his nightstand, changed for his run, and made a pit stop in the bathroom.
A knock sounded at his front door.
He flushed and washed his hands as whoever was at the door knocked again, louder this time. “Keep your pants on,” he muttered, then double-timed it down the steps.
Maybe it was Joss…
He pulled the door open.
Alyssa and Marco stood on the other side, Marco holding the screen door open with his back. Alyssa looked…
“What’s wrong?” Brady asked, ushering them in.
He shook hands with Marco, and the seriousness in the guy’s blue eyes sank like a rock in Brady’s gut.
“Al—”
“Brady,” Alyssa said in a thin voice. She stepped right up to him and slipped her small hands into both of his. “Marco’s mom called us a couple hours ago.” She traded glances with Marco, who cupped the nape of her neck and squeezed.
“Aw, shit, man. Is it your dad?” Brady asked. Dread filled his chest like black ink. Nick Vieri was a damn good man and stepped in willingly and unconditionally to help him and Alyssa, especially Alyssa.
Marco’s lips pressed into a tight line as he shook his head.
Brady frowned. “Well, then—”
“It’s ours,” Alyssa said.
“What?” A hum, like white noise on speed, buzzed in Brady’s ears.
Tears pooled in Aly’s red-rimmed eyes. “They’re not sure when it happened, but—”
He tugged his hands free and retreated a step. His heart rate took off at a sprint. “When what happened?”
Alyssa reached for his hand, but Brady yanked it away. He needed to hear the words. He needed her to say the words. “Dad…died,” she said, her voice cracking.
“No.” Brady shook his head. “No.”
“They’re doing an autopsy to determine—”
“No,” he roared. “That fucking son of a bitch!”
Tears dropped down Alyssa’s cheeks. “I know—”
“No you fucking don’t!” Aw, Jesus. Aw, God. It was all ruined now.
Marco stepped in front of Alyssa and placed a hand on Brady’s chest. “Brady—”
His skin was so tight, the contact was like being electrocuted. His sight went red and he shoved Marco’s arm away, clipping him in the face. Marco stumbled. Alyssa screamed. Marco shouted…words he couldn’t make out.
Brady’s headed pounded. Now he couldn’t… Now he would never be able to… He crashed into something, into Marco. Fucking son of a bitch would even die to hurt me.
Arm twisted behind his back, his face met the wall. A deep throb set into his cheekbone.
“Brady! Dammit, Brady!” Marco’s voice was sharp as steel and sliced through the fog in Brady’s brain.
“Get off me,” he rasped. “Get the fuck off me.”
Marco released him and stepped back, eyes wary, shoulders tense. Blood oozed from his busted bottom lip.
Breathing hard, Brady fell back against the wall and braced his hands on his knees. He wrestled the frenzied emotion back into a box and locked it tight. The extrication felt like a surgery that hadn’t healed. That never would. He used the raw ache to center himself.
Finally, he raised his gaze to Marco, whose eyes held no reproach, no censure, only an understanding born of a lifetime of being on the front lines of Brady’s life. Marco nodded and his body relaxed.
“Fuck,” Brady bit out, the flash fire of his fight extinguished. He glanced around. Aly was gone. Oh, God, Alyssa.
Marco’s big hand landed on his shoulder. “She’s fine. She’s in the car. You have to know she knows you well enough to expect you to take it bad. It’s why we’re here. Why she didn’t just call.”
Brady scrubbed his hands over his head and mentally battened down all his emotional hatches. Tight again, he let it all just roll off, just roll the fuck off. Just like always. “How is she?”
Marco shrugged. “Sad. Pissed. Relieved. The whole gamut. She’s tough, though. She’ll be okay.”
“Yeah.” Brady blew out a breath. “I should apologize to her. She doesn’t need this shit.”
Marco nodded and led the way onto the front porch. Brady stepped out behind him. His gaze settled on Alyssa, leaning against the hood of Betty, Marco’s affectionate name for the black ’67 Mustang his grandfather had left him years ago.
The moment she saw him, she was in motion. Alyssa hit his chest running full force, and Brady caught and held her tight.
“I’m sorry I’m such a hothead,” he rasped against her hair. “I’m just like him.”
She gasped and yanked back. “No. No, you’re not. Don’t you ever say that again.”
“Okay,” he said. “Okay.” He stroked her dark hair.
She buried her face against him and the tears poured out of her, wetting his T-shirt and soaking through to his skin. He would bear it. He would bear anything for his sister. She was the only thing he’d ever done right.
He looked up at Marco, standing with his arms crossed, his expression tight, and his eyes on Alyssa.
Brady kissed Aly’s hair. “Shit, what a pair we are, huh?”
Alyssa sobbed-laughed. “Yeah.”
He pulled back and cupped her face, his thumbs catching her tears, wiping them away. “We’re okay, Aly. You know? It’s over,” he said, giving her the words she needed to hear. “It’s over now. And you have a clean slate.”
She nodded, more tears falling.
He caught those, too. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She heaved a shuddering breath and fisted her tears away. Alyssa’s stomach growled, then growled again.
Brady cocked an eyebrow, earning a small smile from his sister.
She shrugged. “We came here as soon as we got off the phone, so we haven’t eaten.”
“You want something? We could order Chinese.” Brady glanced between Alyssa and Marco.
“Sure,” she said.
Marco nodded. “I could eat.”
“Okay,” Brady said, arm around his sister’s shoulders. “Let’s get some food and figure out what we have to do next.”
Chapter Twelve
Joss got home late Wednesday night afte
r having dinner with Christina. She’d promised to fill her in on all the details from her doctor’s appointment, so after work they went to their favorite Mexican restaurant and had their usuals—minus the margaritas.
Given what she’d eaten, Joss really hoped this wasn’t a bad night for her stomach. She’d only had one other day as miserable as Friday, so clearly she wasn’t going to escape having at least some morning sickness. Although, seriously, if that name wasn’t some false advertising she didn’t know what was.
She got out of her truck and made her way up the sidewalk, then hesitated. It was pushing ten o’clock, but the lights were still on at Brady’s place. Anticipation of when she’d tell him and what she’d say and how he’d react had been driving her crazy all week. It wasn’t like there was some perfect time to break this news, was it? The sooner she told him, the sooner she could stop worrying about it.
And Christina was right. Even if Brady was upset and refused to take any part in the baby’s life, Joss would still have something she’d wanted forever—a family.
Right? Right. So… Okay.
She followed the sidewalk to Brady’s front door. A herd of butterflies tore through her stomach.
Her fist shook when she raised it to knock.
Brady answered almost right away, beer bottle in hand. His brown eyes were flat as they stared at her. “Joss,” he finally said.
“Hey. Um.” This is going great already. Maybe I should—
“Did you want to come in?” he asked, turning away.
“Uh, sure.” She stepped in behind him. “Wow. What a difference your new furniture makes.” A rich brown leather sofa and chair nearly matched in color the two end tables and coffee table that filled the space. In the dining room sat a small rectangular table with two chairs.
“Yeah. I guess,” Brady said and held up his beer. “Want one?”
“Oh. No, thanks.” He stared at her, his face so…expressionless. Something was wrong. “Is everything okay, Brady?”
He set the bottle down and chuffed out a humorless laugh. “Couldn’t be better.”
“You know what? I’ll come back—”