The Millionaire Affair(47)

     



 

He tried to focus on Sadie, but she kept going out of focus. At one  point there were three of her. That wasn't good. He shoved his glass  aside. He wasn't quite pass-out-in-the-yard drunk, but he was close.

"You should tell her that, Landon." She rested her hand over his and, for the second time tonight, tears dammed his throat.

Lovely. The drunk cry. He'd experienced that once before-the night he  found out Rachel had the abortion. Ah, shit, here came the feelings from  back then, too. Great.

Pile it on, Life.

"Aiden, we should go in. Let Landon have a few minutes," Sadie said.  Then to Landon, "We'll check on you later, but you take all the time you  need, okay?"

He clenched his jaw and nodded. A tear tumbled out of one eye as Aiden  and Sadie turned to go inside. He heard Sadie mumble something and Angel  mumble something in return. Landon sniffed, sucked it up. Sitting here  and blubbering like a baby wasn't going to solve anything. Truth was,  he'd fucked up and he needed to fix it. He'd tried being compliant and  look where it'd gotten him. He'd agreed his way into a corner.

He pulled the phone out of his pocket. On the third try, he successfully  dialed Kimber's number. He'd have to apologize to Kenneth Winger and  Kim Schantz when he got back to the office for the drunk-dials at two  a.m. Ohio time.

Predictably, Kimber's voice mail picked up. He thought about hanging up.  There was at least one sober brain cell shouting about how this wasn't  the best time to leave a message, but he ignored it.

"Kimber," he started, his tongue tripping over her name. "Hi. It's  Landon." He let out a mirthless laugh. Yeah. This was going well  already. "I called because …  well, I shouldn't be calling. I know that.  But I've been drinking and scotch makes me brave. Or stupid. Or a  combination of brave and stupid. Anyway." He scrubbed his eyes under his  glasses. "I don't want an arrang …  a harrang …  a contract with you. I  want a life with you. And yes, I've had too much to drink, but the  reason I drank is because of you. Not that it's your fault, but I love  you. That probably is your fault. You're lovable." He stumbled over that  word, too. He licked his dry mouth and drank down another mouthful of  scotch.

"I love you and it's killing me to stay away from you," he admitted. "I  didn't want Rachel to have the abortion. It was finals week and I was  focused on school, and she was upset and ignoring me. I went to her,  Kimber, with a fucking baby name book and a bouquet of the ugliest  flowers in the world. I was going to make it work, become a family. She  took it away from me. She took that future away from me. I was too  late."

Hearing that his mother had been diagnosed with stage four cancer was  the only time he'd come close to feeling that helpless again. In  Rachel's dorm room that long ago night, he'd shaken his head over and  over, as if he could will away what she had told him; keep it from being  real. But the abortion had been real. She'd dug out the clinic bill  when he'd demanded proof. He'd cried all over that sheet of paper.

"Before you think that I'm trying to make up for what I lost, let me  assure you, I'm not. I have been avoiding-rather successfully, I might  add-relationships since that night. Until you. When I met you, Kimber,  everything changed. My heart changed. Because of you. Working down that  list-"

The voice mail beeped, signifying the end.

"Shit." His finger was hovering over the Call button when Angel appeared  in his peripheral. He turned and saw her saddened expression. She took  the phone from him and sank into the plastic lawn chair next to his.

"I didn't know about Rachel," she said.

He nodded. "It sucked."

"You never told any of us."

Aiden and Sadie crept out behind her. Landon wasn't sure how much they'd  heard, but he waved at the empty chairs, gesturing for them to sit.

"You were high school kids," he said to Angel and Aiden. "And it wasn't  the type of story I wanted to worry Mom and Dad with. I was trying to  make them proud." He shook his head.

"This explains so much," Angel said.

He pointed at his phone. "I think you came out here about two minutes  too late." What had he done? He ran his hands through his hair and  propped them on the back of his head, looking up at the star-pocked sky,  then back at his family. "She's going to hate me for that."

Sadie was the only one who spoke.

"I wouldn't if I was her," she said. "I'd love you for it."         

     



 





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Kimber dropped the box into the chute next to the serve-yourself  shipping center. She'd neglected getting the package in the mail over  the weekend, which was what had brought her here on Monday morning  before she headed in to work.

She'd hated missing Lyon's birthday party Saturday, but she wouldn't  miss the opportunity to send him a gift. In this case, a "real" Superman  costume complete with cape, and a replacement copy of Man of Steel. No  doubt he'd wear his DVD out soon enough.

Much as she'd wanted to be there for the party, the implications of  seeing Landon, his entire family, and discussing their awkward situation  were too great. Besides, she and Landon were supposed to be practicing  distance.

And she missed Lyon. She would have loved to see his face light up as he  opened his gifts, would have loved to watch him blow out the candles on  his Superman birthday cake. And she would have loved to see Landon  standing behind him, arms crossed over his impressive chest, a proud  smile on his face.

Picturing him made her mouth water. She could see him in a T-shirt  snuggled around his biceps, in shorts that cupped his rear end.

Wait. She wasn't supposed to be fantasizing about Landon.

Stupid pregnancy hormones. Yes, she was back to blaming them for her  every impulse. Speaking of, she was starving. She glanced at the clock  on her phone. Ten a.m. She'd eaten breakfast at eight. At this rate,  she'd gain a hundred pounds growing a seven-pound baby.

Not that she was eating her feelings or anything, she thought miserably,  walking a block to a café. An array of pastries: Bagels, scones,  muffins, and donuts were lined up beneath the glass case. Sinful,  tempting.

And buy-one-get-one-free. Bonus.

She ordered a donut and a muffin and told herself the latter would  cancel out the former. Liar. But then she'd gotten good at lying to  herself, hadn't she? She had almost convinced herself she was happy with  the arrangement she and Landon had made. And she was on her way to  believing she didn't miss laughing with him, talking to him, waking up  next to him, or making love to him on every piece of furniture in his  house. A few more months of delusion and she might also con herself into  believing she could survive natural childbirth.

She picked a table by the window and dunked the teabag into a mug of hot  water. Not the same as coffee. Not by a long shot. But even if it was  "okay" according to some websites (and her mother) for pregnant women to  have a cup of coffee a day, she didn't want to risk it. The life  growing inside of her had become real over the last several weeks.

Maybe because her apartment was now filled with baby furniture. Cramped,  but it had all fit. She'd expected to feel an overwhelming sense of  accomplishment after she'd stuffed her tiny space. She didn't. What she  felt mostly was bone-tired. Fatigue was the houseguest who wouldn't  leave, settling in and joining her at the least convenient times. She'd  fallen asleep in the storeroom yesterday, for Pete's sake. Ridiculous.

Kimber had never been the kind of girl to dream of being pregnant, but  she'd assumed that when and if she was, the father of the child would be  in her life. Landon had tried to be in her life, in the most demanding  way. At the time that'd upset her, but now …  now that she was dealing  with things alone …

If she had overreacted, it was too late to take back now. This wasn't  the kind of situation where she could conk herself on the head and say,  "Oops, my bad." Not that anyone said "my bad" anymore anyway.

The ugly truth was her apartment was too small. And he'd been right. The  stairs were inconvenient-had been since she'd moved in. Exhausted at  the end of a long day, the trek was like scaling the side of a mountain.  And Hobo Chic, the store she'd fought to keep on Meringue Avenue, the  store that had started out as her passion, her living, breathing dream,  had turned into something else. She enjoyed working there, but the place  wasn't the end-all-be-all it used to be.

The baby had taken the store's place …  along with the sketches she drew  on the nights she was unable to sleep. She'd been creating new clothing  designs and dreaming up a new venture in the process. Her own clothing  line. A store on Michigan Avenue.

It'd have to be a slow-build. Like, really slow. Maybe after she bought  Mick out she could increase her clientele at Hobo Chic, sell the store  at a profit …