Snowed In with Her Ex (5 page)

He picked up the house phone. No dial tone.

With a sigh, he went back into the living room and flopped down on the couch. It was nearly midnight now, but he couldn’t sleep. His brain was spinning and there was nothing to soothe it.

When he was younger, the music had helped. The doctors had diagnosed him with a hyperactivity disorder when he was a child, but his mother had refused the medicine. She had been determined to find a way for him to channel his energy. He’d played soccer for a while, but the real change had come with a chance encounter at a pawn shop.

He and his mother had gone there to pay off a debt she had against her mother’s wedding ring. They’d needed the money for rent. While they were there, a guitar had caught Ian’s eye. It had been way more expensive than he could afford. He had been only thirteen at the time. The man who ran the shop had offered to trade Ian the guitar for help on the weekends cleaning up the stockroom. He’d snapped up the opportunity and continued to work there after it was paid off to fund guitar lessons.

Music had changed Ian’s life. It had given him focus. It had helped him in school. Writing songs had come easier to him than any homework assignment. When he’d gotten to high school, he had joined the jazz ensemble. Some of the happiest days of his teen years had been spent holding the very same guitar that was in the closet right now.

Ian felt a pang of guilt for handling it the way he had. It wasn’t the guitar’s fault that the person playing it wasn’t any good. He sprung up from the couch, walked to the closet and turned on the light. The guitar was haphazardly lying on the ground, a flutter of loose Monopoly money on top of it. Apparently, he’d knocked the game off the shelf when he’d flung the guitar inside.

Reaching down, he picked up the instrument and carried it back into the living room. A quick inspection proved he hadn’t damaged it, thankfully. Ian sat down on the couch and cradled the weight of the guitar in his lap. It seemed like forever since he’d touched a guitar. He’d quit his music cold turkey. If he didn’t have what it took to succeed, he hadn’t wanted to waste another minute of his life on it.

Now his fingers itched to brush the strings. What could it hurt? Bree was asleep upstairs. If he played quietly enough, just one song to soothe his curiosity, no one needed to know.

He turned the guitar and gripped it. The first few notes were off, so he took a moment to adjust and tune it. His first solid chord sent a shiver down his spine. It was like his soul had reconnected with its true passion again. He began a quiet, mellow song—one of his coffee-shop favorites—to test himself. He wasn’t as rusty as he thought he’d be. The music flowed smoothly, the chord changes, second nature.

When that song was done, he tried another, this time singing along. That song seemed to fly by. He remembered how easily the time would pass when he played. The same happened with his work now; he lost himself in it. This was a lot more enjoyable, though.

With a happy sigh, he looked down at the guitar and the carving on the back. One last song.

He started playing his acoustic cover of “Hello” by Lionel Richie. He remembered that he’d serenaded Bree in the coffee shop with that song the first night they’d met. He’d noticed her earlier watching him play and he’d found himself looking up at her again and again. She had looked beautiful and so intense in the way she studied him. When he’d gotten to this song in his set, he’d stood up, walked through the shop and sang the last chorus directly to her. Then he’d asked her out. When she accepted, the audience cheered.

Playing this wasn’t the smartest thing to do considering he was trapped in this house with her, but he was going to finish what he started. Closing his eyes, he let the music flow from him. He easily connected with the emotion of the song and the memory of the first moment he’d laid eyes on Bree. As he reached the last few notes, sadness washed over him.

It was done. Both his music and his time with Bree. The guitar and the memories needed to go back into the closet.

“That was always one of my favorites.”

Ian leaped off the couch, his heart shooting into his throat. He spun to find Bree at the bottom of the stairs. How long had she been listening? He felt an uncharacteristic flush of embarrassment rise to his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I wake you up?”

“No. I couldn’t sleep so I was reading my book. I was coming downstairs for a drink when I heard the music. I didn’t dare interrupt you.”

Ian shrugged. “You should have. I let it go on too long.”

Bree walked across the room to stand beside him. Her long blond hair was pulled up into a messy knot on the top of her head. She was wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt. On anyone else, he imagined it would be like a splash of cold water on his libido, but on Bree it was anything but.

The plaid pants rode low on her hips, showing a scant inch of skin when she moved and her shirt rode up. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He could make out the full, round curves of her breasts and the tantalizing result the cold air had on them. He had to shift the guitar down a touch to save himself additional embarrassment.

“Play another one. Play
my
song.”

Ian stiffened. He wasn’t sure he could do that. Or that he should. There were way too many emotions wrapped up in the song he’d written for her. “I don’t know, Bree.”

“Please.” She took his hand and led him back to the couch. Her wide blue eyes pleaded with him in a way he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

He followed her because he couldn’t help himself. Her touch was magnetic, the tingling draw of positive and negative coming together and refusing to part. Before he knew it, he was back on the couch again and Bree was beside him, waiting with nervous anticipation to hear him play her song.

There was no getting out of it without being rude. No matter what, he didn’t want to be unnecessarily mean to Bree. He could play the song. It was just one song. It didn’t have to mean anything. He just had to make sure he focused one hundred percent on the guitar and the song and not on her. Sitting this close, he could smell the scented lotion she’d always put on before bed. Touching her hand was enough for him to know how smooth and soft every inch of her skin would be.

Closing his eyes to block out those thoughts, he concentrated on the music and the lyrics he’d gone so long without bringing to life. About halfway through, he opened his eyes again. It was so quiet in the room he wondered for a moment if she had left.

But she hadn’t. She was there, listening intently with glassy tears shimmering in her pale blue eyes.

Without meaning to, he stopped playing. The sight of her tears had made his chest suddenly too tight to keep singing. “Are you okay? I—”

In an instant, Bree leaned in and kissed him. Her lips met his with the force and emotion that only nine years apart could create. Ian was startled by the sudden attack, but he couldn’t pull away from it. Right or wrong, he still wanted Bree. His brain and his body refused to get on the same page when she was touching him.

It was a mistake, but he was going to enjoy every moment while he could. Bree’s kisses were an experience to cherish. Her lips were soft and tasted like the peppermint tea she’d drank earlier. She made soft noises against his mouth, her hands caressing the stubble of his jaw. It aroused a primal instinct deep inside Ian.

The surge of need shot down his spine. Every nerve ending awakened with a desire he hadn’t felt in a really long time. He cursed the guitar between them. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her tight to his body until those full, perky breasts crushed against his chest.

“Bree,” he whispered in a half groan against her lips.

The sudden sound seemed to snap her out of the haze. In a flash, Bree had flattened her back against the other side of the couch. Her wide eyes flickered with emotions that Ian couldn’t interpret. Then her hand flew to her mouth and smothered an
“ohmygod”
before she leaped to her feet and ran up the stairs to her room.

Five

N
ormally, Ian popped out of bed at six in the morning. It didn’t matter if he was at the office or working on his laptop into the wee hours of the morning. Every day his eyes would open to a room dimly lit by early-morning sun, and he would immediately check his phone.

This morning, Ian rolled over and reached for the phone, but it was nowhere to be found. Then he remembered. It was charging in the kitchen. Opening his eyes, he was surprised to see how bright the light was coming in the windows. It must be the sun reflecting off all that snow.

Ian sat up and looked at the clock on the bedside stand. It was nine-fifty in the morning. He rubbed his eyes, expecting the digits to shift, but they remained stubbornly in place. He’d slept until nearly ten.

He threw back the blankets and slipped out of the bed. The wooden floors were cold against his bare feet, but he didn’t care. He needed to get his phone.

His phone without service.

His fuzzy morning brain finally put the pieces together. He could go out there and check it, but considering he was wearing only boxer shorts, that was probably a bad idea. At this late morning hour, Bree was no doubt awake and roaming around the house. Last night, she had fled the room like her hair was on fire. Parading around half-naked wouldn’t make matters better for either of them.

A shower, he decided. That way he could go out dressed and presentable, and his phone would have thirty minutes or so more time to get back to functionality.

Climbing into the large tile enclosure, he turned the knobs that activated the multiple showerheads and body sprays. The scalding-hot shower felt wonderful as it pummeled his body from all angles. Ian was warm-blooded, always flinging back the blankets and going without a coat, but even he was getting chilly with all this snow. He dried off quickly and slipped into casual clothes. A pair of jeans and a sweater seemed appropriate attire for being snowed in at a mountain cabin.

He laced up his boots so he could go outside later. He needed to bring in more firewood and, if he could, shovel a path to the road.

Finally, he emerged from his room and found the house still and quiet. A pot of coffee had been brewed, so he poured a cup and glanced out the window over the sink.

The snow had stopped and the sun was out. That wasn’t saying much. The massive piles of white fluff were hip high in some places. He couldn’t tell his front porch from his driveway from the road. It was just white in every direction. Maybe shoveling was a pointless venture.

A soft chirp distracted him from his investigation. He ignored it for a moment, then realized the significance of the sound. It was his cell phone. It was working!

Lunging across the countertop, he snatched up his phone and hit the button to activate the screen. Five beautiful bars and 4G data. He had never been quite so happy to see these old friends.

He had missed a lot. His screen was crowded with pop-ups about missed calls and texts and a hundred unread emails. That was more than even he had been expecting. What the hell happened last night?

A noise from behind him in the dining room forced Ian to look up from his phone. Bree was coming in through the glass door that led out to the covered, wraparound porch. She was bundled up in a quilted blue coat that must have been in her luggage. It was almost the same color as her eyes. Her long blond hair was in a thick braid over her shoulder, a knit cap tugged over her head. She was red-cheeked from the cold but smiling. She had her camera with her. She must have gone outside to take pictures.

“You’re up,” she noted. “I was beginning to worry that old guitar had sucked out your soul. That, or I’d made such an ass of myself last night, you were afraid to come out of your room for fear I might throw myself at you.”

“Neither,” he said. Truthfully, if he thought she would throw herself at him again, he’d have slept on the couch to catch her the minute she woke up. But they were both adults and knew the kiss they’d shared last night was a mistake. He wouldn’t even have mentioned it happened if she hadn’t. Ian didn’t want things to be more uncomfortable than they already were.

“I guess without my phone chirping and beeping at me, I slept later than usual. It’s working again,” he added cheerfully, holding it up with a triumphant smile.

“Oh, good. The balance is restored to the Force.”

Ian chuckled. “I think so. But it seems that everything went crazy while it was down. I have twenty-five missed calls, ten voice mail messages, fifteen missed texts and a hundred emails.”

Bree set her camera on the granite bar and walked over to make herself a cup of coffee. “You’re more important than I gave you credit for.”

“Not really. Most of it is from Missy. That’s weird. She’s not the best at keeping in touch. Besides, she knows I’m stuck up here in bad weather. I’m not sure what she expects me to do about whatever is happening.”

“You don’t think she found out you’re up here with me, do you?”

Ian shook his head. “No. She wouldn’t know who you were, anyway.”

Bree pouted. “You mean you’ve never told her about your college romance?”

He shrugged. “We don’t really talk about me.”

Bree’s eyes widened at him for a moment, but she didn’t respond. She just turned back to sweetening her coffee. Ian was relieved. He didn’t really want to explore that topic so early today.

Thumbing through his screen, he saw a phone message from his label’s talent manager, Keith. He would listen to that first. Business before Missy’s drama.

“Ian! Call me the instant you get this message. I’ve got press crawling all over the studio. I had to hire some private security to patrol the parking lot. This mess has totally blown up. I wish to God you weren’t trapped in the mountains.”

Ian’s heart started racing. His fingers fumbled for a moment as he tried to hit the buttons to call Keith back, but he finally connected and it starting ringing.

“Is everything okay?” Bree looked concerned.

He shook his head. “I don’t know yet.” Keith finally answered. “Keith! What the hell is going on? My phone has been out since yesterday afternoon so I’ve been out of touch.”

There was a painfully long silence. Ian expected Keith to start spilling the information, so the quiet was even more disconcerting. “Have you spoken to anyone?” Keith finally asked.

“No. You’re the first person I called. I have a million messages, though.”

“Oh, Christ.” Keith sighed on the phone.

“What is it? Is everything okay?”

In an instant, the worst possible scenario popped into his mind. The frantic calls and texts from Missy. The press swarming the studio. Keith’s dismayed tone. Something had happened to the baby. The dull ache of dread pooled in his stomach and tears welled up in his eyes. Not that. Anything but that. He could barely form the words to ask. “Is the baby okay, Keith?”

Keith groaned. “Ian, I swear to you that no one is dead or injured. Your mom, your stepdad, everyone is okay. But there’s something I’ve got to tell you, man. Are you sitting down?”

“Yes,” Ian lied. He took bad news better standing up so he could pace across the floor and burn off all the nervous energy. At the very least he knew his family was okay. The baby was okay. He could deal with anything else.

“A story about Missy hit the tabloids yesterday. It’s all over the place—television, magazines, blogs. Apparently a woman in Nashville has come forward claiming that she sold Missy a positive pregnancy test on Craigslist.”

With only a few sips of coffee under his belt, it took a moment for Ian to process what his friend was telling him. Missy had bought a used pregnancy test. A
positive
one. That meant...

“There is no baby, Ian. There never was.”

“So she’s not really pregnant? It was all just a ruse to...” To what? Mess with his head? Trick him into marrying her? Keep him from dropping her from his label?

Yes, yes and yes.

He’d always known Missy was ruthless when it came to getting what she wanted. But he’d never thought even someone like Missy would stoop
that
low.

“That’s what they’re saying. The evidence is pretty damning. The woman who sold it to Missy was no fool. When she realized who she was talking to, she knew there was a bigger payday than just the hundred bucks she’d make selling the test. She kept screenshots of her email conversations with Missy and took a photo of her Jaguar leaving the parking lot where they met. Personalized plates and all. It’s all online if you want to look.”

Ian wished he had taken Keith’s advice and sat down. He stumbled over to one of the tall bar stools and leaned against it with one hip to steady himself. Missy wasn’t pregnant.
Not pregnant.
Could it really be true? It sounded like a pretty credible case against his fiancée, but Ian wouldn’t let himself completely believe the story until he spoke with Missy directly. More convincing lies had been printed in the tabloids.

Yet, it
felt
true.

He’d been meticulous in protecting himself over the years. There hadn’t been so much as a late period scare with a girl he’d dated since he lost his virginity. He never wanted to make the same mistake his father had made by creating a child he had no interest in. If and when he had a child, he was going to be dedicated to it, no matter what.

Missy showing up with that pregnancy test had thrown him for a loop, but he’d recovered. He’d tried to make the best of it and stay involved, but Missy seemed determined to keep the baby stuff at arm’s length from him. She had refused to let him come to the doctor’s appointment with her. He’d wanted to hear the heartbeat, but she’d said it was too early. When she hadn’t come home with one of those grainy pictures, she’d told him the sonogram machine was broken. Her flat belly hadn’t budged. No morning sickness. No sign whatsoever that she was having his child.

She’d lied to him about the whole thing. He felt sick. Lightheaded. Foolish. But the strongest feeling sweeping over him was that of utter and complete relief. A moment ago, he’d been devastated that he might have lost his unborn child. Now, the child had never existed, was nothing but the manipulative imaginings of its would-be mother. He felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rising in his chest that he absolutely couldn’t let out. Keith and Bree would confuse the sound for one of happiness, and that wasn’t an accurate description of the maelstrom swirling inside him.

“Ian? Are you okay?” Keith’s voice had more concern in it than Ian had ever heard before.

Ian cleared his throat, swallowing the emotions inside of him before his manager panicked. “Yeah. Thanks for telling me, Keith. It’s better I heard it from you.”

“What shall I do about the reporters?”

“Tell them that SpinTrax does not comment on the personal lives of their artists or employees. Then send them to Missy’s house.”

* * *

Bree was afraid to speak. Afraid to move. She was trapped in the kitchen, bearing witness to an uncomfortable situation she had no business in. She had only heard one side of the phone conversation, but that was enough. Judging by Ian’s suddenly pale complexion and unsteadiness, she knew whatever Keith told him was bad.

She waited patiently for Ian to turn off his phone so she could see if he needed anything. In a moment like this, there wasn’t much she could do, but she knew enough to offer. It was the sentiment that was important. If he preferred to be alone, she would go downstairs to give him some privacy. There, she could turn on the television so she couldn’t hear his voice upstairs.

“Ian?”

He looked up from the phone. He seemed shaken but, at the same time, eerily calm. She knew from experience that wasn’t good. He was thinking. Processing. Preparing. Fighting with Ian had always been frustrating for her because the majority of the fight seemed to go on silently in his head. She would say something and just sit back and watch the wheels turn in his mind while, outwardly, it appeared he was ignoring her. Eventually, she would just stomp away and he would throw himself into his music. Or his work. This wasn’t a problem he could ignore, though.

“Yes?” he answered softly.

“Can I do anything? Get you anything?”

“No,” he said with a slow shake of his head. It made Bree wonder if maybe he was in shock over the whole thing. She supposed that whether the baby was ever real or not, it had been real to him. He was still losing the idea of a child and the future he was planning with it.

“I need to call Missy here in a minute. You might not...” His voice trailed off.

Bree nodded. She wouldn’t want anyone else around when she had a hard conversation like that, either. “I’ll give you your privacy. Let me know if you need me.” Bree reached out and put her hand over his. She gave him a reassuring squeeze and a weak smile before heading downstairs.

When she reached the lower level of the cabin, she walked over to the leather couch and scooped up the remote. She put the television on a loud action movie with lots of gunfire and explosions. But even that couldn’t muffle everything.

The calm from a moment before was gone. She couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, but Ian was yelling. Bree turned up the volume and wished she had packed some earplugs in her bag. She considered taking a shower. Or a walk. Or crawling under some blankets and covering her head with a pillow.

She felt awful for Ian. She knew he wasn’t happy, but he had been making the best of things for the child’s sake. He had always told her how important being a good father was to him. In her young, girlish fantasies, she’d imagined what Ian would be like with their children. She’d thought he would be a hands-on dad. She’d had fantasies of him singing them to sleep with lullabies he wrote especially for them.

To think that Missy had taken that loyalty and dedication in Ian and used it against him... It made Bree feel sick.

Despite the fact that Bree had broken up with Ian in college, she’d never wanted to hurt him. She’d tried to help him, but when that had failed, she had to err on the side of self-preservation. She couldn’t have sat back and watched his downward spiral any longer. Not when she’d loved him so much.