All the Way (13 page)

The vise around her heart squeezed a notch. “What are you talking about?”

“The wall,” he muttered. He studied her defensive stance with hard eyes. “What are your views on children, Red?”

She lowered her voice. “Why do you suddenly want to know? Sleeping with me doesn’t give you the right to judge my choices about children. Since marriage was never an option between us, I don’t think we have anything to discuss.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. Over six feet of masculine fury towered over her. “I’ll let that remark pass since we’ve had a hell of a night.”

Her lower lip trembled. “I don’t want children.”

He jerked back as if struck. Miranda wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. A strange mixture of grief and disbelief shimmered in stormy blue depths. “Why?”

Miranda hesitated, then broke eye contact. He was getting too close, and she needed to shut down the conversation. She spoke the words carefully. “I’ve changed, Gavin. When a woman has a child, she doesn’t belong to herself anymore. For the rest of her life, she’s responsible for another human being. I don’t want that.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “No messy emotions, huh? The same requirements you demand from your relationships now?”

Fury and regret tightened every muscle in her body, but she refused to give in. Not here. Not now. It was so much better to forget. “Leave me alone. I’ve had enough.”

She pivoted on her heel and walked out of the waiting room.

Chapter Nine

Gavin studied her profile in the flicker of headlights. She leaned her head wearily against the side window and stared out into the night. Her clip loosened, and strands tumbled over her shoulder, shielding her from view. He listened to Daughtry sing about coming home, and allowed the thought he’d pushed away all evening to surface.

She hadn’t cried.

His gut twisted. Miranda Storme used to be a woman who burst into tears at Hallmark commercials. Sad songs on the radio. Old movies. Operas. She’d taught him it wasn’t weak to cry, because she’d been the strongest woman he’d known.

They’d spent most of the night waiting for the final word and helping her friends cope. When the doctor finally came in to tell them Stephen was out of danger, Elaine lost it and jumped into her husband’s arms. Andy caught her with trembling hands, obviously fighting back his own tears.

Miranda collapsed on the seat with relief and closed her eyes. A variety of emotions passed over her face, but when she re-opened her eyes, she’d been back in control.

He’d caught glimmers of that woman this past week. In moments of passion, she seemed to surrender. She yelled at him now, and laughed too loud. But tonight, she’d calmly informed him she didn’t want children, and remained tearless after an emotionally draining evening.

Gavin let out a humorless laugh.

Karma was a bitch.

He pulled in the lot and turned to her. He waited for a response, but her words were like a polite stranger’s. “Would you like to come up?”

He needed to finish this. Dig deeper and find out if there was any way to save their relationship. “Sure. Maybe we can have some of that designer tea you drink.”

She looked at him strangely, as if trying to read his thoughts, then rummaged through her purse for her keys. They walked inside and flicked on the lights. “How about some Sleepytime?” she called from the kitchen.

He paused by the window. “You actually have a tea called Sleepytime?”

“Yep.”

“Sure, what the hell. Tea always made me nervous. It reminds me of a witches brew. You never know what you’re really drinking.”

Her laughter floated through the room. “You’re a coffee man at heart. Coffee drinkers never get along with tea drinkers.”

He pulled back the chic linen curtains and studied the rows of blinking lights outlining the bridge. The Hudson River snaked along in the background and gleamed silver in the moonlight. Stars streaked a blue-black sky and mocked his sudden gloomy thoughts. He wondered if she drank cappuccino anymore. They’d spent many nights in small cafes, chairs pulled close together, talking and laughing as they sipped from an array of espresso and cafe latte.

Now she drank tea.

Gavin shook his head in disgust. He was acting ridiculous. His mood had nothing to do with her drinking tea. The root of his worry lay in the knowledge she’d never be able to surrender her entire self, because she’d lost the ability to trust. At least with him. Maybe the final wall would never be broken.

“Tea’s ready.”

Her silky voice ruffled his nerve endings. The familiar scent of strawberry and cream teased his nostrils, and he knew that in her own way, she’d achieved the ultimate revenge. Even if he walked away, she’d ruined him for any other woman. Gavin fought the rage of emotions that shook through his body and tried to keep his voice even. “Thanks. I’ll be right in.”

“What’s the matter?”

He turned from the window. Slowly, he reached out and ran one finger down her cheek, traced the lush curve of her lower lip, pressed his thumb into the thundering pulse point at the base of her neck.

“You didn’t cry.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to have this discussion about children again.”

He shook his head. “I admit you surprised me, and yes, I’m upset. But it’s more than that, Miranda. You didn’t shed one tear the entire evening. When the doctor told us Stephen would be okay, I saw your face. You wanted to cry—hell, you needed to cry—but you couldn’t. Same thing after Pagliacci. You practically shook with the need to let go. You’ve shut down your emotions to such an extent that I don’t know what to do anymore to break through.”

She stepped back, looking like a trapped wild animal. “So I didn’t cry. I still feel things. I’m not a cold human being who can’t experience emotions. There are many people who don’t cry.”

“Baby, you know what I’m talking about,” he said softly. “You hold back. It’s as if something else happened to you. Something you won’t share.”

She sucked in her breath. Closed her eyes. Clenched her fists and trembled.

The words came out in a rush. “There was a baby, Gavin. Our baby.”

…

Miranda spoke the words and a bone-deep relief rushed through her body. How many times had she dreamed about telling him? Wished he’d hold her in his arms and they could mourn the loss together? She tried to protect him from the truth since it was too late, but realized now she owed him everything. He had a right to know what happened after he left. The lock on her carefully cultivated control crashed open and left her with a writhing, snarling monster mess.

He stiffened. Slowly turned around. Shock widened his eyes and he staggered over to the couch to grasp the edge. “What did you say?” he whispered.

The naked vulnerability and wild hope on his face sliced at her flesh like knives. “I never wanted you to know,” she whispered. “Not when it was too late.”

His olive skin turned bone white as he processed her response. “Tell me. Everything.”

Miranda gave a jerky nod. Her skin grew clammy and cold, and her stomach churned. Maybe he’d finally understand why she’d never be the woman he walked away from.

She recited the story with no emotion, as if relaying someone else’s experience. “After you left me, I got sick. I went to the doctor and he told me I was pregnant.”

“You were on the pill.”

“Yes, but remember when I got food poisoning on those oysters? I threw up for almost three days. I never thought I wouldn’t be protected, just kept continuing to take my pill. But I was stupid, so stupid, and I paid for that mistake.”

“Did you plan on telling me?”

She lifted her chin. “No. That was the day I got your email.” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Obviously, you weren’t ready to be a daddy, let alone have a committed relationship. I decided to keep the baby and do it myself.”

He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, as if trying to wake up from a bad dream. “What happened to the baby, Miranda?”

She finished the story dry-eyed. “I kept my pregnancy a secret and planned. I figured I’d work mostly from home and we’d be fine.”

He choked and murmured something under his breath but she pushed on.

“I was twelve weeks when I miscarried. I was waiting to get to that mark, you see, because all the books say you have the biggest chance of miscarriage within the first twelve weeks. I almost made it. But I started bleeding heavily in the middle of the night, and I didn’t know what to do. I called 911 and they rushed me to the hospital. I lost the baby a few hours later.”

She stared sightlessly past him, seeing the pale green hospital walls, the scurry of nurses back and forth, the soft voice of the therapist lecturing her about grief and postpartum. She remembered leaving without her baby. Without anything but a cold, empty space she knew would never be filled again.

The silence pulsed with unspoken demons and broken promises. “Now you know why I don’t want children. I never want that type of grief again. If you want to punish me for my lack of bravery, go ahead. But you’re not the one who had to do it all alone.”

His shattered expression punched through her chest and squeezed her heart. He moved toward her and then she was in his arms. His grip was so tight it became almost painful, but she hung on to his warmth in a desperate attempt to save the last of her soul. They clung to one another for endless minutes, and for the first time, some of the aching loneliness seeped away in his embrace.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.” He kissed her temple, stroked her hair, rocking her gently. “I didn’t know. Jesus, please forgive me, I didn’t know.”

She let him hold her until the last of the anger dissipated. He was finally here, back in her arms. All of those fantasies night after night of him coming back and stating he made a terrible mistake finally came true.

When he released her, tear tracks streaked his cheeks. She wiped them away with her fingers, but when he looked into her eyes, a cold, hard ball of lead settled in the pit of her stomach. She glimpsed grief. Pain. Regret.

The worst was the grim resolution on his face.

“I understand now,” he said.

Panic nipped at her and she suddenly realized her confession had broken something fragile between them.

“No wonder you’ve changed. I left you all alone to deal with a baby, and treated you like someone disposable.” A choking sound came from his throat. “All this time I thought you were too afraid to open yourself up. But how could you ever trust me again? I abandoned you.”

She stepped toward him. “No, Gavin, it’s not like that.” Self-disgust curled his sensual lips. She watched as her lover drifted further away, caught up in a raw guilt she didn’t know how to heal. “Please listen to me. I don’t blame you anymore. It was my choice not to track you down. My choice to keep the baby and do it alone. I never gave you an opportunity to take any action, and that’s not your fault.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t give you a chance to tell me. I only cared about myself. My dreams. I walked away from something good and pure. I thought I could win you back. Prove myself. Instead, I dredged up the past and hurt you even more. I’m so stupid.” Moisture shown in his eyes and he blinked it away. “I was sure I’d convince you to go with me. I had this fucking happy-ever-after ending in my head, where I tell you I love you, and you jump on the plane.”

He loved her
. Did she believe it was enough this time? Why was the image of following him suddenly so vivid? Why did it fill her up with raw need instead of scorn? Reality twisted before her until she didn’t know her true North anymore.

A dozen responses stuck in her throat. Her feet froze to the floor.

He drew himself up to full height. Determination and resolve flickered in those aqua blue eyes. Her heart thrummed madly in her chest.

“I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for what I did to you. God knows, I understand why you can’t. But I love you. I will do anything you need to prove myself and make up for the past. I won’t leave you again.”

Her palms grew damp. The breath came choppy from her throat. “You only have a few weeks left.”

“I’ll stay.”

The words tore her flesh like bullets. She squeezed her eyes shut in pure agony. He’d stay. For her. But at what sacrifice? So he could resent her forever for not going after his real dream? For trapping him into a relationship because of his guilt over the baby? No, not like this. “I don’t want you to stay,” she forced out.

“Then I’ll take you with me. We’ll work it out. All you have to do is take a leap of faith. I swear to God, Miranda, I’ll never give you another reason to distrust me again.”

Silence fell. He waited for her answer and she clenched her fingers into fists. She was close. So close to jumping in his arms and taking another chance. They’d make the relationship work somehow. He wouldn’t hurt her again. Wouldn’t leave her behind.

Her mother left for the bottle.

Gavin left for his career.

Eventually, didn’t everyone leave her behind? And what type of life could they possibly have together? Days spent alone in some strange hotel overseas. Waiting for him to get home and entertain her. Waiting for the day he realized it wasn’t going to work and left her again.

No. She wasn’t ready to trust him with her soul.

Maybe she’d never be able to get there again.

Her lack of response gave him the answer. He pushed his hands through his hair and bowed his head. “You’re never going to trust me again, are you?”

Her eyes remained mercilessly dry, though the tears wept for release. “I’m so sorry, Gavin. I can’t do this.”

Emotion ravaged his face. Slowly, he nodded and fumbled for the door. “I’ll let you go. I can’t fight for both of us, not if you don’t want to try. And I’m sorry, too. For everything.”

He shut the door behind him.

Miranda stood alone in the living room, in silence. Alone. She slumped down to the ground as her muscles lost all their function and buried her face in her hands. For the first time in years, she let herself feel the storm of emotions wreck her. This time, she surrendered. She cried nonstop—for herself, for Gavin, and for what could have been.

…

The knock on the door barely registered, so she ignored it. Miranda snuggled under her blanket and stared sightlessly at the television. Since most of the soap operas had been canceled, her choices were weepy Lifetime movies or talk shows. A reality star celebrity chirpily chatted about the latest gossip so she decided to take a nap. Again.

The pounding grew louder. She groaned and raised her head. “Go away!”

“Miranda, open the door. Now.”

She cursed under her breath, yanked the blanket away, and stumbled to the door. “I’m sick, Andy. You shouldn’t come in.”

“Open the door.”

She released the chain and let him in. His eyes widened when he caught sight of her appearance. She wondered briefly how bad it had gotten. Pretty bad, if the look on his face was any indication. Miranda ignored it and climbed back to her new home on the couch.

“What the hell is going on? You won’t answer your cell, you haven’t been to work, and you look like something that crawled out of the swamp.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Ah, geez, and you smell.” He glanced around the cluttered apartment, where the remote lay amidst empty bags of potato chips, half eaten Ben & Jerry’s ice cream pints, and an array of wine bottles. “Gross, you’ve been on the break-up diet. What happened with Gavin? I can’t believe you didn’t call me.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “I told him the truth. And he did the honorable thing, of course. He left me. Again.”