The memory of it all made her shudder. Their unexpected reunion today was so unfair, yet she couldn’t tell Tate the truth. Not now. He might decide to—
“Oh, there you are, Gemma.” A female voice a few feet away from them made Gemma suck in a quick, sharp breath. She turned to look at the nurse from the recovery room. Oh, God, she’d almost forgotten.
“He’s fine, love,” Deirdre said before Gemma could ask. “And out of recovery now.”
“Thank God!” Gemma forgot about Tate as intense relief washed over her. They’d said it would be a minor operation, but there were always risks with these things.
Deirdre’s gaze dropped to Tate’s hand on Gemma’s arm, and she frowned slightly. Gemma knew she had to act quickly. From the depths of her being, she dragged up a reassuring smile. She didn’t want any issues here. The sooner she got away from Tate, the better. “I’m coming now, Deirdre. Thank you.”
The nurse paused a second longer, before seeming to accept there wasn’t a problem. “I’ll go tell Nathan that Mommy’s coming then.” She headed back to the recovery room.
Gemma didn’t need Tate’s tightening grip to feel the increased tension emanating from him. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears as she gathered the nerve to look into his eyes, torn between running to Nathan and staying here and standing guard.
“You have a son?”
Her heart quailed. How could she deny it now? “Yes.”
His head went back, as if from a blow. Then, without warning, his expression changed, turned suspicious. “And his name is Nathan?”
She gave a quick nod.
“My grandfather’s name was Nathaniel.”
“It’s a common enough name,” she said, finding her voice, kicking herself now for allowing herself that one weakness.
All at once, he swore. Then he dropped her arm and strode past her.
Like a mother bear, Gemma jumped in front of him, putting herself between him and her son. “He’s only ten months old, Tate,” she lied.
He stopped. “He’s not Drake’s, is he?”
“No!” He’d never believed her innocent where his best friend had been concerned. Drake Fulton had made her uneasy, always being too friendly whenever Tate left them alone together, making it more than clear he wanted her. In the end he hadn’t gotten her, but he’d made damn sure Tate hadn’t held on to her either.
“So your son belongs to another man.”
She dropped her hand. “Yes.”
Him.
She prayed Tate would turn and walk away. Instead, he surprised her and moved ahead. She quickly caught up to him, frantic with worry. “Wh-where are you going?”#p#分页标题#e#
He continued toward the recovery room, purpose in every step. “You’ve lied to me before.”
“I didn’t. I—” She sidestepped a young couple walking down the middle of the corridor, then caught up to him again.
He ignored her as he hit a button outside the recovery room to open the electronic doors. She went with him as he entered the room, watched his gaze slice down the row of occupied beds. Past Deirdre now attending to one of the patients…past the nurse at her station…until he came to the crib set slightly away from the rest of the beds.
Time was suspended in the air.
Then, almost in sync, they both started forward, stopping only when they reached the small blond boy playing with his teddy bear. Nathan looked up, and Gemma held her breath.
Tate couldn’t know.
He just couldn’t…
And then Tate turned to look at her, his face white. His eyes skinned her alive.
She was going to pay dearly for this.
Tate felt the blood drain from his face the minute the infant looked up and caught him by the heart. Caught and grabbed and would never let go.
For just a moment, Tate almost wished that the boy wasn’t his, that he could turn and walk away and never have to see Gemma again. He didn’t want her in his life again.
But one look and he knew.
This was his son.
And Tate wasn’t going anywhere.
Just then, the boy saw his mother. He dropped his teddy bear and threw his arms out to her with a cry, and Gemma gave a small sob as she ran to the crib and lifted him up and over the side. “Sh, darling, Mommy’s here,” she murmured, hugging him and soothing him.
Mommy.
Daddy.
His.
She leaned back to check the boy. It would have been touching if Tate hadn’t suddenly realized something.
“What’s wrong with him?” he heard himself ask in a croaky voice, not sure if he could bear knowing.
Gemma lifted her head—and her chin. “What do you mean? He’s perfect.”