The Best Man's Baby Read online

  “So I went into my closet with the flashlight and sat in the corner, flipping through the pages until I found that word. I remember shaking so hard and when I read the definition I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the violence of it, of what it meant. What it meant for my mother. What it meant about me. Why they hated me. All I figured out was that something or some evil man hurt my mom, and she was mad at me for it. And then I looked up abortion and uh, I again struggled to get it,” he said hoarsely and the muscles in his powerful back tensed as he gripped the mantel tighter.

  “I cried and I cried that night, and I didn’t come out of my closet until Quinn found me the next morning. And I looked at my mom that morning and I was so damn confused. I thought maybe I was wrong, but when I looked at her she did what she always did, she smiled and looked away quickly. And I knew. I knew that somehow I was bad and they didn’t want me. They never reported the rape to the police. They felt it would be too traumatic for the family. But it was shame. I know it was shame that stopped them. They went to your father. Your father convinced them not to, uh, terminate the pregnancy. And so they raised me without ever telling anyone else.

  “They hated me. I thought I could get her to love me if I tried hard enough. I would do things at first, you know? I was looking for a sign that she loved me. But it was always there—who I was. I was the living example of the most violent act. And I wanted to say I was sorry, but whenever I’d start, she’d just cut me off, like she knew. Maybe that’s when I first figured out that she was incapable of loving me.” He placed his hands in his pockets and then turned around to look her. And it was as though he was that child for a moment, big eyes, messy hair, and a face so vulnerable that she wanted nothing more than to hold him. She could feel him looking for censure, for a reaction other than acceptance. She couldn’t hide the tears that were pouring from her eyes, or the trembling in her body as she tried desperately to maintain the space he needed.

  “When I was sixteen and in so much damn trouble I knew I had no way out of the hell I was living in, I went to see your dad. The week before, I had totaled my dad’s car—I had been drinking and driving. I was hanging out with the wrong crowd and it was all so stupid, but I couldn’t find a way out. My mother would cry every night and my dad was so…” Jake shrugged, his eyes dark and distant. “I had been drinking and I remember feeling like the scum of the earth when I walked into your dad’s church. I swore at him and yelled at him, and he stood there, letting me get it all out, and then I remember…” Jake paused, rubbing his hands down his face. “I remember asking him why the hell he had told my parents to keep me. I told him they should have aborted me, and then I fell to his feet and I cried. I cried like a baby.”

  Jake looked at her and everything he ever was flashed in his eyes, and he didn’t hide the emotion in them, he didn’t hide the wetness making his eyes glitter brightly.

  “And your father knelt down and put his arms around me and showed me compassion for the first time in my life. We sat in the middle of the church and he held me like a father would hold a son. And I felt love for the first time. I would not be standing here today if it weren’t for him,” he said, staring at her, his eyes holding her perfectly still.

  “I started going to see your dad almost every day. We started walking at night. He saved me. He saved me from my own hell, from wrecking my life. When my parents died, I took off. I couldn’t grieve with Quinn and Evan. They were sad these wonderful people were gone and I couldn’t share their grief. I remember standing at the cemetery, watching Quinn and Evan, feeling like a hypocrite. All I felt was relief they were gone. My secret had been buried with them. No one would ever know. I couldn’t stay with my brothers and not tell them what really happened.” He took a deep breath, shifting from one foot to the other.

  “So, I left Quinn to deal with everything and I just ran. I rode around the country, taking odd jobs, living in different towns and cities. I had already promised my father I wouldn’t ever claim part of the business, so I didn’t think there was any point in me hanging around. But I had no idea that when I left, the company was next to bankruptcy and Quinn was left to deal with it on his own. That’s my biggest regret, bailing on him when he needed me. They see me as the screwup, the perpetual troublemaker. A part of me would rather that because if they knew…” He clenched his fists tightly and took a deep breath. “If they knew what had happened to my mother and that I was…” He stopped speaking, as though he couldn’t go on.

  Claire walked across the empty room, her shoes echoing on the hardwood floor until she was an inch from him. For a second she didn’t know what to do, and then she just did what felt right—she slipped her arms around him, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest. She felt him stiffen at her touch and she wondered if he was going to pull away. But then the man she once thought was so tough, and so solitary, so invincible, wrapped his arms around her and buried his head in her hair. She felt his plea, his need for comfort. And she gave him everything she had. She wished every ounce of love she had for him could seep through her and into him, and heal the little boy who grew up knowing he was conceived from an act of brutal violence. She felt his hands run through her hair, gently grasping a bunch of strands in his fist, holding her head to him. She listened to the rapid beating of his heart, hammering against his strong chest. She wanted to say so many things, to ask so many questions, but she was scared he would shut down.

  “Jake,” she whispered, against his neck, kissing his hot skin, wishing she could erase the anguish. So much made sense to her now. He was nothing like the man she thought he was. He was much, much more. She stared into the blue eyes that normally sparkled with playfulness or desire, and wished that was what she was seeing right now, but the pain in them was raw and real. Claire didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what he needed to hear.

  She felt as though the Jake she thought she knew, the Jake he presented to the world, crumbled piece by piece to reveal the man he was inside. And then she knew. She knew what he needed to hear, what she needed to admit aloud.

  Her hands climbed the strong planes of his chest, her eyes holding his captive.

  “I love you,” she whispered, feeling his hard muscles tense beneath her hands. She placed her mouth on the hot skin at the base of his neck. “I love you,” she repeated as her tongue followed her lips. She heard his groan. His hands clasped the back of her head. Thunder crashed somewhere in the distance and darkness enveloped them.

  “Claire,” he rasped as his lips poured kisses over her face, her collarbone. She felt the tears he shed. She felt them on her face, felt them in her heart.

  His hands moved over her feverishly and he kissed her with a hunger and urgency she’d never felt before. She pulled off his sweater, running her fingers down his body, over his shoulders, his arms. The dense muscles in his powerful arms and chest made her ache with an insatiable need as her hands worked their way down to the heat of him, hard and filling her hands.

  “Claire,” he said, her name sounding like a tortured plea, as he braced her against the wall, pulling off her clothes with a frenzied gentleness. He made a feast of flesh, her breasts, his breath hot against her skin.

  “You deserve so much more,” he said as she stroked him. She gasped as he bent his head and took her nipple in his mouth.

  “Come inside.”

  She heard him swear under his breath, and in one fluid motion he was there, inside, filling her with everything she needed, taking what he needed. She looked into his eyes, the sweat glistening on his brow as he reached for something she wanted desperately to give him. She heard him growl against her, finally relinquishing his hold on his self-control as he took them both over the edge, to a place Claire hoped they’d be together.

  …

  Jake’s hands fumbled with Claire’s blouse. He’d never had a problem with the buttons on a woman’s blouse. Or maybe that was because he was used to undoing them, not buttoning them up.
Or maybe it was because he’d never really given a damn about the woman wearing the blouse. He avoided eye contact with her, even though he could feel her eyes on him. He stepped away from her, watching as she tucked her shirt into her skirt, fighting the urge to walk away.

  She’d said she loved him.

  She knew everything about him and she loved him. He felt exposed, raw and naked. And scared. He hadn’t been prepared to tell her everything. There would be no more hiding. Would she still see him as a man worthy enough to be a husband? She loved him, but did she see him as the right father to their baby?

  “Jake,” she began in that voice that always seemed to seep through him like warm honey. “Thank you for telling me everything. I know how hard it is to open up to someone.”

  He shrugged, telling himself to say something. Tell her what she needs to hear. Repeat the words to her. Tell her you love her.

  “Are you okay? I wasn’t too rough?”

  She shook her head.

  He nodded, taking her hand. “I don’t know how to say this, except to be completely straight with you,” he said, clenching his teeth, physically trying to stop himself from hurting her. He saw her concerned frown, the vulnerability as it crept into her eyes. “I need a bit of time to sort things out. I, uh.” He struggled to find the words that would justify what he was asking. “I need to figure things out,” he said.

  Claire nodded slowly; her hand slipped from his grasp.

  She stared at him with accusation and hurt. He wanted her to yell at him. Hit him. Tell him she never wanted to see him again. But she didn’t.

  “I told you that I wasn’t selling my business. I’m not selling because I believed in you. I turned it down because I believed in everything you told me the last few weeks. I believed in us. I believed maybe we would be able to start a future together.” Her brown eyes held his prisoner. He stood unmoving. He was incapable of defending himself, because there was no excuse for what he was about to do. He walked over to extinguish the fire, not saying a word.

  After a few seconds he heard her sigh, and then she walked past him to the front of the house, her heels echoing on the wood floor. He stared at the ashes, waiting for something. Waiting for something to save him.

  It didn’t happen.

  “Drive me home, Jake.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “No, I’m sorry. You’re going to have to call Quinn with this, I don’t work at Manning Construction anymore,” Jake said into his iPhone. He ended the call and shoved it into his back pocket. He resumed the sanding of the mantelpiece with extra fervor. This was the third call he’d fielded for his brother today. Hadn’t Quinn told anyone?

  He stepped back to examine his handiwork. Of course, if his brothers had been speaking to him, they’d be here right now. Quinn would be helping him, and Evan would be making smart-ass comments, and maybe Ella and Holly would be here. And if he weren’t such a wimp, Claire would be here, probably be telling him he wasn’t sanding the fireplace properly. This was their house, and Claire should be here with him. He’d screwed things up again.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket again. He yanked it out and read the display-—another call for Quinn. He let out loud a string of curses to relieve some tension.

  “Jacob.”

  Jake stopped moving. He slowly turned in the direction of the doorway and came face-to-face with Claire’s father. Normally he’d be concerned that the minister had just heard him talking to himself, in the foulest language he could come up with. But, considering he’d just gotten the man’s daughter pregnant, he was pretty sure his cursing was the least of Reverend Holbrook’s concerns.

  He stared across the room at the man he owed so much to. He looked for traces of anger, disgust, and betrayal. Instead, Reverend Holbrook walked forward, kind brown eyes unwavering, brown eyes that were almost identical to Claire’s.

  “Hi, Reverend Holbrook.”

  “This is a nice place you’ve got here,” he said, folding his thin arms in front of him. There wasn’t a twinkle in his eye. His mouth was pulled into a straight line. He was unshaven, white beard standing out against his tanned skin. God only knew what the man was thinking.

  Jake nodded slowly. “I bought it. For Claire and me.”

  “And the baby.”

  Jake’s chest tightened. “Yes.”

  “My wife called me, in Africa, distraught because our daughter was pregnant. Thankfully I was already finishing up my work and was able to get back home a week early. I need you to explain how this happened, Jacob.”

  Jake took a deep breath. He’d been dreading this day since the moment Claire had told him she was pregnant. How could he look this man in the face and explain that he’d betrayed him? The only thing he had left was to explain that he was in love with her, that he wanted to marry her and raise a family with her. “I take full responsibility. It’s my fault.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Is it?”

  Jake nodded. Reverend Holbrook had always had that uncanny ability to make him question his perception of the truth. He’d tried so many times to convince Jake that what had happened to his mother was not his fault, despite the blame his father placed on him. “I never should have, uh…” How the hell was he going to explain this?

  “My daughter is a grown woman,” he said with a sigh. “I imagine she had her own part in this.”

  Reverend Holbrook walked over to the fireplace, running his hand along the mantel that Jake had just finished sanding. “Do you love her?” he asked, turning to look at Jake in the eye.

  “I do.” His throat tightened with emotion and he stared into his eyes.

  “You want to marry her?”

  “Yes. There’s a little problem with that, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Claire doesn’t want to marry me.”

  Her father gave a slight nod. “That sounds like my girl.”

  “I can appreciate where she gets her conviction from,” Jake said, a smile tugging at his mouth when he thought of her. And he had thought of her, every damn second of every hour since he’d dropped her off at home.

  “You could use some of that conviction, son.” His hand came up to grip Jake’s shoulder, as it had so many years ago. “She doesn’t know I’m home. I needed to hear from you. I need to know that I can count on you.”

  “Always.”

  “When you came into my church all those years ago, I didn’t know what to make of you. I knew you were in trouble and I knew you’d lost your way. But when you finally let me help you, I prayed that you’d find the strength to love yourself, to finally rid yourself of a shame that you did nothing to deserve. The man you have become is one I’m very proud of, but you need to own it. You need to believe it. You can’t go into a marriage, into fatherhood, broken.”

  Jake stood still. His throat was clogged with emotion. He nodded, searching for the words. “Thank you” was all he could muster up.

  “You need to tell your family, Jacob.”

  He ran his hands through his hair roughly. “I told Claire everything.”

  “And?”

  Jake’s eyes darted over to the place in the living room where he and Claire had made love the other night. He needed to get her father out of this room. “Let’s go sit on the porch,” he said, ushering him away from the wall.

  “When I said family, I was thinking of your brothers. I’m glad you thought I was talking about Claire.”

  He paused in the doorway. “She is family. She didn’t look at me differently. She accepted me.”

  Reverend Holbrook smiled. “You know, as much as this isn’t the order in which I’d want things to go for you and Claire, I’m glad it’s you.”

  Jake stared down at the floorboards for a moment, before looking up at him. “That means a lot to me.”

  “Marriage means a lot of sacrifice and needs a heck of a lot of love. I haven’t been the perfect husband or the perfect father. I’ve often neglected issues in my own house, putting the needs of
my church and community before my wife and daughter’s. But I have faith that you and Claire are both stubborn enough to make it work.”

  “Thank you,” Jake said, opening the front door for Reverend Holbrook to walk though.

  “I’m happy to welcome you into my family, Jacob.”

  …

  Claire cut another white tulip in her garden. They had almost finished for the season. She sat on the damp grass, crossing her legs as she added the last stem to the bunch in her lap

  The low hum of a car engine approaching made her stop. She gathered her bouquet and stood, turning to look at the driveway, hoping maybe it was Jake. She was surprised to see her mother’s car. And there was someone in the passenger seat. Claire’s stomach dropped as the car came to a stop.

  She ran over to the car, and her father enveloped her in his arms. “Dad,” she whispered against his chest. The need to cry engulfed her. He was the very person she needed to see right now. Her father smoothed her hair and leaned back to look at her.

  “Is it really selfish of me to say I’m so happy you’re home?”

  He shook his head and smiled at her, the creases around his mouth deepening. “I think you’re allowed, given everything that’s happened around here.”

  “Hello, Claire,” her mother called out. She turned around slowly, cautiously. Her mother was holding a white box with string tied in a knot on the top.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  Her mother patted her hair and stood a little taller. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay,” she said, squinting against the bright sunlight.

  “We were hoping maybe we could sit and talk.”

  Claire’s stomach tightened. She had been dreading this moment. And now it was even tenser because she was also going to have to deal with her father. She saw the insecurity in her mother, the way she was standing, the hesitancy in her voice. “Sure, why don’t you come in?”