Love on the Edge of Reason Page 3

  He did a three-point turn in front of the house, backing in his truck to point straight at the causeway, then turned off the engine. It had rumbled loud and long enough to clearly announce his arrival. But even as his cab grew cold, he didn’t move.

  The adrenaline of going to see her yesterday, finding her apartment empty, and then tracking her down had carried him this far. But he didn’t know what was going to happen when he knocked on that door.

  Except he wasn’t going to need to knock. She’d heard him arrive. Watched him sit in his truck like a coward, clearly, because now she was standing in the open doorway, hand on her hip.

  He grabbed the Thermos of coffee and hopped out of the truck, stopping at the back to grab the box of gift-wrapped presents that were his excuse for coming to see her.

  “What are you doing here?” she called out.

  He could ask her the same question. If she wanted to leave, why didn’t she go very far?

  He stopped just shy of the threshold and stomped his feet lightly, brushing off the snow. “I came to make sure you were all right.” His gaze dropped to her midsection, and her hand followed.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You disappeared.”

  She took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

  “Can I come in?”

  She hesitated a beat, then stepped out of the way, letting him in.

  It was hard to step close to her and not lean all the way in and kiss her, but he’d messed this up, and that wasn’t an option. But she wasn’t a stranger to him, either. Why was she so hard to read? “Good morning. I should have led with that.”

  Her response was a soft whisper. “Good morning.”

  Damn it, why was this so awkward? Because you were an ass when she told you she was pregnant. He set down the box of gifts and unzipped his coat, inviting himself to stay awhile. “Merry Christmas.”

  “I’m not celebrating this year.”

  “Then Happy Regular December Twenty-Fifth to you. I brought hot coffee. Pre-made as double-double.” Two cream, two sugar. Which was how she took her coffee, and not at all how he took his.

  Of course, this gesture required her to know that he knew how she took her coffee, which maybe she didn’t. Maybe he’d been the only one watching carefully every time they were in adjacent booths at Mac’s Diner. Maybe she really had been studiously ignoring him instead of it being a pretence like he’d hoped.

  “You made coffee?”

  “Yeah.”

  “For me?” She looked at him suspiciously.

  “Ideally, for us to share.”

  It was tempting to snatch the Thermos and point him back out the door. Nope, she wasn’t ready to talk. Wasn’t ready to deal with the rioting feelings inside her that only got worse when Tom was close.

  But on the other hand, he’d brought her coffee. Her kind of coffee, not his. And he hadn’t asked her if she could have caffeine because of the bundle of cells inside her. She was pretty sure she’d toss him into the nearest snowbank if he did, because yesterday she’d thought it a grand plan to only bring hot chocolate with her.

  This morning she’d regretted that choice—and then Tom had shown up with sweet, sweet coffee.

  A sly move if ever there was one.

  “Thank you,” she said, and she meant it. For all the complicated mess that stood between them, she was grateful for his presence. Sharing would be a bit of a problem, though. “I have a mug, but you’re going to have to use the Thermos lid.”

  He gave her a confused look. “Okay…”

  “I’m not being petty,” she told him, leading the way to the Vances’ kitchen. The completely empty kitchen. She filled her mug that was sitting next to the kettle and gestured around. “They cleared this place out at Thanksgiving. It’s being gutted in the spring for renovations, so…no mugs. Terrible hospitality, I realize. If you don’t want to stay long, that’s fine.”

  He looked alarmed. “The entire house is empty?”

  She shrugged. “There’s a couch and a bed. I brought hot chocolate and books. It’s fine. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  He threw his arm out wide, pointing at the window. “Do you have any idea how much snow has accumulated over night? I had a hell of a time getting across the causeway in my truck. I don’t think your car is going anywhere until we can get it plowed.”

  Chloe frowned and took a sip of coffee, ignoring the new twist of worry in her gut. “The forecast said—”

  “Forecasts mean nothing on the lake.”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He was always so safety conscious. “Then I’ll wait until it stops snowing, and I’ll get plowed out.”

  His jaw clenched.

  “I know a thing or two about this town,” she reminded him. “Everyone and their brother has a plow hitch. There’s no need to be dramatic.”

  Instead of answering, he gestured to the fridge. “Is that thing empty, too?”

  Not technically. She’d brought milk for her hot cocoa.

  He gave her an incredulous look when she didn’t reply. “What are you eating, then?”

  “Crackers,” she admitted. It was so cliched, but they felt good on her tummy. As did coffee, so she took another sip.

  His face shifted from concerned to understanding. “Speaking of crackers…I think we should talk about it.”

  “It.”

  “I want to talk about it.”

  Again, she played dumb. “It?”

  And understanding morphed immediately to visible frustration. “The fact that you’re pregnant.”

  She nodded sagely, not at all feeling nearly that cool on the inside. “Oh. That. No, we’re not going to talk about that. Not until after coffee.”

  He rocked his jaw back and forth, half-smiling, half-glowering. “Sure. We’ve probably got tons of time, anyway.”

  She shook her head. “You have a giant truck. You can leave after you’ve said whatever it is you came here to say.”

  “You just said you didn’t want to talk yet.”

  That tripped her up.

  “But when I go, I think I should take you with me. It’s not safe for you to stay here without any food or a functional winterized vehicle.”

  “You aren’t taking me anywhere.”

  “Then I guess we’re staying here.”

  “We are not staying here. I’m staying here. You can—”

  He put his Thermos lid down on the counter. “I’m staying. Either in here or in the cab of my truck. Your choice.”

  “That’s a terrible choice,” she exclaimed. She was mad at him, but she wasn’t evil. “I’d feel bad if you froze to death.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Go home, Tom.”

  His voice lowered, softened, and his gaze went extra-solemn. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I need to make this right. I’ve messed up, and there’s a lot we need to talk about, and I’m worried about you.”

  There it was. All the things one should say when one has pissed off one’s pregnant…girlfriend. Person? Buddy?

  Because she wasn’t his girlfriend. She wasn’t his anything—admittedly, by her own foolhardy, terrible-in-hindsight choice.

  Sharp, agonized longing stabbed in her chest. She wanted him to be this guy, for real and not out of some misguided sense of righteousness. But he was a thirty-three-year-old man who had never shown a whiff of interest in a wife and kid before this week. He’d loved the casual, no-strings sex she’d offered him because it was all he’d ever really wanted.

  Chloe knew what everyone else thought of Tom. Mr. Responsibility, not a player. But she’d seen another side of him, one that came alive when offered the chance to sneak around. And as soon as she told him she was pregnant, he blew up and went radio silent. Even if she wanted more, deep down, he wasn’t able to follow through on that kind of commitment. Beca

  None of this was the right thing for him. He was going to sacrifice himself on the mantle of masculinity because h
e thought that’s what she wanted.

  It wasn’t.

  “There’s nothing to make right here,” she said tightly. “We do need to talk. I just haven’t had a chance to gather my thoughts yet, and I don’t want to say the wrong thing.” Fingers shaking, she refilled her mug, and then stalked back into the living room in search of her crackers.

  Tom followed.

  She didn’t offer him any saltines.

  “So…crackers and hot chocolate and a stack of books. That’s what you have here?”

  She gestured at the unlit logs she’d carefully stacked in the fireplace the night before. “It was all supposed to be in front of a roaring fire, but I forgot matches.”

  “I’ve got a lighter in the truck.”

  She wanted to decline the offer. The company. All of it. Go away, her hormones raged.

  But she also wanted a fire. And he was right, they needed to talk.

  “Chloe?”

  “What?”

  “Can I light the fire for you?”

  She exhaled roughly. “Yes. Please. Thank you.”

  He nodded, his gaze unreadable. “I’ll be right back.”

  She followed him to the door, and when he opened it, she groaned. A squall had blown up outside.

  Tom raised his eyebrows at her. “What did you say? There’s no need to be dramatic?”

  “Where is this all coming from?”

  Tom looked up at the sky, thick with clouds dropping even more snow on them. “The goddess of being snowed in with your favourite person?”

  There was something in how he said it that made her squirm. Something familiar that pricked at her resolve. “I am not your favourite person.”

  He gave her a hard, lingering stare. “Yeah, you are.” Then he zipped up his coat and dashed down the steps before she could reply.

  She stayed at the door and watched him jog through the silent blanket of snow now falling heavily. She couldn’t even see the lake on either side of the causeway.

  The question of whether or not he should stay was moot. Now he would have to stay until it stopped. Merry Christmas, you doofus, she told herself. This felt like an awful trap she’d set for herself, because what did she expect Tom to do? Just leave her be?

  Yes. That would have been nice.

  Ugh, except there had been that wee pulse of happiness when he’d shown up. It was a week late, but it was something.

  When she heard the rumble of his truck, she’d jumped up, knowing it was him, and before she remembered she was mad at him, it had made her day. That was only natural, of course. He’d been a person who’d brought her a lot of happiness over the last year. Usually in the form of orgasms, but sometimes just laughs. Sometimes company.

  Mostly orgasms.

  Because she’d artificially held the line at orgasms, telling herself they didn’t have much in common other than sex. She’d kicked herself out of his place pretty soon after, every single time.

  She hadn’t even bought him any Christmas presents. She glared at the box he’d brought in on arrival.

  That just wasn’t their deal. How dare he pretend otherwise?

  She grabbed the box and moved it out of the way, pushing it against the staircase as reckless outrage surged inside her. She felt like she was on an emotional rollercoaster the likes of which she’d never experienced before. It wasn’t fair to be outraged. Tom hadn’t asked for this situation any more than she had. He was trying to make the best of it in the only way he knew how—it just wasn’t the way that would work for her. Tell him that. Breathe. Calm down.

  Easier said than done.

  Especially when Tom returned from his truck, and he didn’t just have a lighter. He had a full gym bag over his shoulder and a canvas shopping bag in his hand.

  “What’s all that?”

  He gave her a tight smile as he stepped in the cabin. “Supplies.”

  For what? But he turned away before she could ask him that question. And besides, she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

  Tom shrugged out of his coat, hung it on a hook on the wall, then crouched in front of the fireplace.

  She closed the door and lifted her voice. “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t look away from his task. “I’m lighting the fire for you.”

  So he was being literal about this. Fine. She’d meant in general. With the supplies. This tracking-her-down business. She watched the muscles play on his back, the soft cotton of his shirt bunching as he flexed effortlessly beneath it. “Are you rearranging the logs?”

  He paused. “Nope. They were perfect the way they were.”

  She craned her neck. He was totally fixing her log set-up.

  With a final adjustment, Tom lit the fire, then stood and turned around. “Can I make you something more substantial than crackers? I brought bacon and orange juice.” Behind him, the kindling popped and sizzled as the flames grew.

  Maybe it would go out. It wouldn’t, but a girl could hope the park ranger would have an off day.

  She glared at him. “Why are you being so nice?”

  “Because I wasn’t nice before and I have to make up for that. So how about some bacon?”

  Chapter Four

  Tom knew he was skating on thin ice with Chloe. Somehow, somewhere, they’d gone wrong, and it wasn’t when she’d realized he wasn’t prepared to hear she was pregnant. It was long before that.

  He needed to figure out where that point was and bring her back to that fork in the road. He wanted to surge forward and find another path, but right now, that seemed like an impossible fantasy.

  So he was cooking bacon. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  He’d found a baking sheet in the warming tray under the oven, and when he’d packed up, he’d thrown his winter camping gear in the truck just in case she’d refused to let him stay inside—so he had a frying pan, too. Score one for the outdoorsy pack rat. He used that to keep the bacon warm while he made toast in the oven.

  As he was buttering the last slice of that toast, Chloe came into the kitchen. She wiggled her now empty mug. “I’ve had coffee now, if you want to talk over breakfast.”

  He nodded slowly. “Sure. Yeah. Thanks.”

  She moved around him, grabbing his empty Thermos lid on her way to the sink. After she rinsed them out, she poured them both orange juice from the carton he’d had in his fridge at home. “So… I’m pregnant. And you’re the father, by the way, but since you’re here, I assume you’ve got that figured out already.”

  A stab of guilt cut him deeply. She didn’t know what he’d yelled after her last week, but he did, and he regretted it to his core. “I’ve been thinking about nothing else for the last week.”

  “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “I just didn’t hear from you. Must have been some silent thinking.”

  He gave her an exasperated look. He couldn’t help it. “Isn’t thinking usually silent?” Then he realized how that sounded and sighed. “I could have thought faster. I admit that. But, like you, I wanted to be sure of what I was going to say. When I said the wrong thing, you took off on me. Fairly, of course. I own that. I didn’t respond well.”

  She lifted her chin. “And now?”

  “Now I’m sorry about how I reacted, and I’m grateful to be here to talk about this news, however you want to talk about it.”

  She grimaced and took a big sip of juice.

  That expression sliced through his gut as the worst possibility seemed to loom true. He took a deep breath. “This isn’t good news for you.”

  She shrugged, her gaze guarded. “It’s…complicated.”

  “That’s understandable.” And it was. Goddamn it, it was. He swallowed any other response he might have because nothing mattered more than acknowledging how much her life had just changed.

  Her eyes shifted back and forth as she searched his face. “You come from a big family.”

  “I also come from a complicated family. The two adjectives go hand in hand som
etimes. I can understand messy feelings.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m already attached to the idea of a baby. And I’m really surprised at that, I have to be honest. I’d never wanted kids.” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her hand to her belly. “But I want this baby now.”

  Inside, he sagged in relief. He hadn’t ruined her life. “Good. That’s great.”

  “It’s not great.”

  “No, of course not.” Fuck, it was hard to keep up. “Can you give me a chance here to say the right thing? I support you, whatever you want to do.”

  She took a deep breath. “There isn’t a right thing to say, though. This is an awkward accident with big consequences. Well, consequences I’m choosing, I acknowledge that. All I want is for you to be real with me. This is terrifying. I can only imagine what it’s like to have it dumped on you. I’d much rather you admit that than go radio-silent while you figure out the ‘right’ thing to say.”

  He swore under his breath. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

  “I know.” She shook her head. “Like I said, it’s messy. And if I’m being honest, I don’t think either of us was truly real with the other, and I bear as much responsibility for that as you do. What we had was a lot of fun, but we were playing with fire.”

  His jaw flexed, a hard, painful twitch.

  She didn’t blink, and she didn’t look away.

  She wasn’t wrong, but damn it, she was wrong.

  The look on her face said it all, though. He needed to accept this was her perspective right now. She was looking back at their relationship and judging it harshly. He understood that. Their choices had led to her current situation, and she felt alone. Unsupported.

  He took a deep breath and tried again. Why did this feel so clumsy? He was a grown-up. “If there are other options you want to explore…”

  She shook her head. “I don’t.”

  “Okay.” His heart pounded in his chest. Her life would be forever altered if she had a child. He couldn’t imagine being in her shoes right now. “Just know that I would hold your hand.”

  Silence stretched between them.