Feel the Heat: A Contemporary Romance Anthology (59 page)

D
eacon turned
the ignition on the car and pulled out into the heavy traffic of the main strip. He didn’t have any choice but to pay attention to where he was going. To focus on the street signs and the lights. To the people around him.

Anything to block out the tears he’d heard in her voice.

The panic. God, so much panic and fear.

He wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel and made himself look around. Made himself take the left, then the right that lead to their cottage.

Their destination was right there. The cozy place with the solar lights and wrought iron fixtures. The large purple door and the stone. The sweet little place that was supposed to be their escape.

He pulled to a stop at the top of the driveway and let his hands fall to his lap. Harper’s forehead was tipped to the glass, her breathing regular. Had she fallen asleep?

Or was she just hiding?

Again.

He climbed out of the car and rounded the hood. When he opened her door, the dome light cast harsh shadows on her face. The bruises under her eyes and the streaks of makeup down her cheeks ripped at him.

Crouching in front of her, he smoothed a lock of hair out of her face. She instinctively moved into his touch, her eyelids twitched, but she didn’t stir. As much as he wanted to shake her awake and talk, part of him was happy she was asleep.

He didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know how to make this not become a fight. His hands trembled with anger and worry for her. For them.

After the word pregnant, the only thing he’d heard was
we’re not ready
.

Over and over again, she’d said it. In a dozen different ways.

His worst nightmare unfolding in front of his eyes.

A woman who may never want to have his child. That was closed off even to the thought of a child in their lives. But he didn’t know if she never wanted one, or if it was just because they were still so new.

And he couldn’t blame her for the thoughts. That was the part that hit him hardest. Because, no, this was so far from the best timing to have a baby.

But the idea of Harper being uninvolved with the baby if they did have it?

He lowered his head.

He’d never bring a child into that kind of life.

Harper had been an independent spirit since her early teens, but at least her parents had wanted her around. She’d created a family on the road with Mitch and her brother for those times that she needed it. She’d finally let him in.

He didn’t know his father. And his mother had only worried about what man would take them in, take care of her. He’d been an afterthought for as long as he could remember.

That would never be his kid’s life. He or she would never wonder if he was coming home, or if he’d remember to feed them.

Deacon slid his arm under her knees and gathered Harper into his chest. His heart squeezed when she wrapped around him. Her face turned into his hair, her warm breath on his neck. The solid weight of her was real and whole.

She murmured his name in her sleep, her arms tightening on his neck.

He’d loved her for only a few months, but the idea of her not in his life was so terrifying. Why did this have to come up now? Just when they’d finally found a little peace and they were starting to actually make this marriage thing work.

He skipped the front door, not wanting to jostle her awake to get to the lock and his keys. Instead, he followed the path to the back porch. The privacy of the beach and their little cottage let them grow complacent. Locking doors was a rarity. In fact, most of the time the door was open as were the windows to let the cool ocean air in.

Slipping inside, he set her down on the bed. She rolled into the pillows with a soft sigh. He slipped off her jewelry, drew down the straps of the dress, easing the material over her ribs and down her hips. Tanned skin glowed in the low light from the bedside lamp they’d left on. She tucked her knees up against her body and wrapped herself around a pillow.

God, she was so beautiful. Her hair a tangle of sunshine streaks over honey. His eyes drifted lower to the curve of her breast and hip. Flesh colored lace hugged her ass, luring him in. He needed to hold her.

Needed to hope that they could make this work.

Intellectually, he knew she’d been scared. She’d needed proof to start to process the thought of a baby in their lives. Or…not. Ultimately, it was her body. And he’d abide by her wishes.

But the idea of losing something they’d made together sliced him down the middle. They could have children later. Women had a choice for a reason. He believed in that choice.

But could he live with it?

He turned away from her. As much as he wanted to curl around her and tell her everything would be all right, he didn’t believe it.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

He crossed to the bathroom and shucked his clothes, stepping under the rain hood at the center of the shower. He closed his eyes and turned the water up as hot as he could stand. He reached out to the tiled wall and leaned forward, letting the water drill into his back. Until the muscles there would stop seizing up.

Behind his eyelids he couldn’t help but see a little girl with blonde hair and summer sky eyes. He fisted his hands in hair and squeezed his eyes tight.

The word
pregnant
was staggering and scared him shitless.

But the next word that screamed in his head was
mine
.

My baby.

Harper’s baby.

Their baby.

He slapped the controls to the shower off, stepped out, and toweled off. He returned to Harper, needing the scent of her around him. He slid in beside her, gathered her close, replacing himself with the pillow she held so tightly.

Like a vine, she slid her leg between his, plastered herself to his chest, and settled her nose into the crook of his neck. And still she didn’t wake.

Right now, he wished he could lose himself in the oblivion of sleep. But he stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows slide longer as the moon traveled through the sky. Heard the seagulls cry and the crash of the tide as night faded into day.

All the while, he tried to quiet the endless record of what-ifs that spun through his head.

What if they had the baby?

Could he support them?

Did they stay in the house with the band or get their own place?

If they didn’t have the baby—could he get past that?

When he couldn’t stand the noise in his head any longer, he detangled himself and dragged on his running gear. He stopped at the door to the back patio and turned to watch her. White sheets and sunshine. But under the sleep was a restless frown and white knuckled grip on the sheet.

They had to talk. But first he’d take his time, as she’d taken hers. He stretched out the stiffness from staying still, holding her for hours. Forced himself to walk just long enough to warm his muscles, and then he pounded sand.

Early morning sun, spray from the shore, and the endorphin rush mixed enough that he could turn everything off. Regulating his breathing, his heart rate, his stride, all of it centered him. He ran until his lungs screamed, then he ran faster, praying for an answer or at least the hope of one. He ran until he didn’t recognize the beach any longer.

Still it wasn’t enough.

He turned around, aimed himself at the cottage. Aimed himself at Harper. Aimed himself to the one thing that was his peace. When he spotted the hammock and the porch, he slowed.

Then he saw her there, leaning on the sturdy post of the pergola. Her hair was down and still wet from a shower and she was wearing one of his shirts. The white Led Zeppelin one.

The familiarity of her, of the little things that made her his Harper drew him forward. He climbed the small dune to the porch and went to her. Lifting her off her feet, he closed his mouth over hers.

He felt the tears, tasted them as she gripped his shoulders, her nails digging for purchase as she shuddered through a sob.

You need to talk to her.

He pushed the voice away. He needed to connect to her again. How was he supposed to have any hope of bringing this mess to any sort of conclusion if he felt like he was moored on the other side of a sea of confusion between them?

She seemed to feel the same way because her legs came up around his hips, her ankles crossed tight to his spine. He fisted his hand in her hair, tasting every part of her mouth, branding her with everything that was inside him.

He shouldered his way inside, kicked the door shut, and kneeled on the bed with her wrapped around him. She pushed at his shorts with the heels of her feet, drawing them down as her quick fingers grasped him tight. She knew how he liked her to touch him. He groaned, wishing for even an ounce of discipline when it came to Harper. But for once, he followed his body’s craving without remorse. They needed this.
He
needed this.

He dragged his teeth down her neck to her shoulder, biting the skin there until she trembled for him before he gently swiped his tongue over the same spot.

Dragging at the shirt—his shirt—he pushed and pulled until it was off and they were skin to skin. Then there were no barriers and he was there, inside of her. The heat of her welcoming body calmed pieces of him. Her hands bracketed his face and her eyes on his took him the rest of the way.

The intensity faded, and they became a slow thrust and retreat of slick flesh. She kissed him gently. Words of love and sorrow rolled between them, tripping on their tongues in between sighs of pleasure. He braced himself over her, his palm under her head to hold her close, his other hand drifting down to pull one knee up over his hip to get closer. Deeper.

Sweat coated both of them by the time he felt the first tremors of her coming for him. She curled around him until there was no room for air between them. He reared back and stared down at her as she arched up to keep the skin on skin connection.

Her eyes flew open and his name was a gasp of ragged breath. He shoved his arms under her, surrounding her as she surrounded him and buried himself deep. When her nails bit into his back, he finally let go.

When the roar in his brain stopped, he tried to move off her and she brought her legs up.

“Don’t go.”

“I—I don’t want to crush you or…” Could he hurt her?

She cupped his face. “I want you right here. This is where you belong.”

He touched his forehead to hers, moved the bulk of his weight off of her then slid down to rest his cheek against her chest. “Last night sucked.”

“I know. And I’m the reason for it. I’m sorry, big guy. I handled everything wrong.” She threaded her fingers through his hair with long strokes and just the tease of nails.

He couldn’t help the groan. They knew everything about each other’s bodies, but still hadn’t caught up with the important things like communication. He dragged the back of his knuckles up her arm, catching a glint of his wedding ring. They still had their marriage training wheels on.

“
We
handled everything wrong.” Unable to think about anything but crushing her or…Christ.
Baby. It’s a word. Say it, asshat.
He rolled them until she was splayed across him, their legs tangled.

“I got worried when I woke up and you were gone. I’m sorry I fell asleep last night. Before we…” She laced their fingers, squeezing tight. “Before we could talk.”

He brushed a kiss over her temple. “It probably worked out for the best. I wasn’t sure what to say last night. I’m still not sure how to feel.”

She propped her chin on his chest. “I don’t either. I haven’t even thought about having kids.”

His chest ached at her words. “Not even a passing thought?”

Harper smoothed her thumb over his brow. “I assumed we would later. You’d make an amazing father. I already know that much.” Her eyes were steady, and there was a world of truth there in her eyes. “Do you want kids?”

When her thumb curved down to his cheek and she cupped his face, he felt no shame in the blink of tears that formed. He’d always wanted a family. “You know I came from a shitty home life.”

She nodded. “You don’t talk about your family much. When you told me your mom wasn’t coming to the wedding, I didn’t want to push too hard. I should have.”

He shrugged. “I wish there was something to tell. She was just…absent. We moved from guy to guy, you knew that much.”

“Yeah, you told me in the truck during one of our food heart to hearts.”

He swiped his free hand down her back. “I don’t ever want to do that to a kid. Make him or her feel less than completely wanted.” He stared up at the canopy over their four poster bed. “There were times when she forgot about me for days. Left me behind in the apartment while she partied and trolled for the next guy.”

Harper angled his face back down to hers. Her eyes were white hot with a sheen of tears. “That will never be us. Ever.”

“Isn’t it?” He cleared his throat. “Right now, this baby isn’t being celebrated.” He huffed out a strangled breath. “Do you think he or she knows? Even now?”

H
arper rolled away from him
. “Oh, God.” She grabbed the t-shirt that had landed on the corner of the bed and crossed the room, holding onto her middle.

“Harper, wait.”

She shook her head and reached blindly for the small island in the kitchen. Who could ever leave behind someone like Deacon? It explained so much. Why he was such a caretaker to all of them. Why he loved so big and so very hard.

But to think about that with
them
. With this little nebulous piece inside of her. They were so twisted up about it. There was no way she wanted him to take this on. That level of guilt.

He came up behind her, his arms folding around her gently. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, babe.”

Would it have been better to just take care of it on her own? To have never told him? She wasn’t sure she’d ever get that look out of her mind. The soul deep sadness in his eyes at the thought of her—them—not wanting this baby.

The unfairness of it rolled over her.

She couldn’t do this to him.

She turned in his arms, her cheek pressed into his chest as she held on tight. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. Numb feet and the soft sway of them together gave her a clue that it was probably far longer than the minute it felt like.

“Part of me wishes I hadn’t told you.”

She heard the broken glass tone of her own voice. She stared out the window to the swaying hammock and the ocean forever rolling up the beach.

“Harper.”

She could hear—
feel
the disappointment in his voice. But this was the time for honesty. “It’s early into the pregnancy. There’s things that can be done.”

She heard him swallow, felt the race of his heart.

“You researched it already? Without talking to me?”

“No. It was DJ. She’s done it.” She held him tighter. “God, she made it sound so easy. And all I could think was…Deacon is just about to explode on the scene. A new album. I’m going to ruin everything.”

His arms came around her tighter. “Babe.” He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “How could you think that way?”

“It’s not all selfless. I’m just starting my business, too. But if there was a crappier time, then I don’t know when it could be. And then…just.” She curled into him tighter. “God, I’m scared,” she whispered into his skin. The reassuring warmth of him right there and she couldn’t hold on tight enough.

“Tell me.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “Does the idea of a child—our child—seem so out of the realm of possibility?”

“No.” She swallowed down the rocks that were currently residing in her throat. “No, Deacon. But nothing with us has ever been allowed to be planned. I met you and my entire world went into warp speed. I feel like I’m constantly running to catch up.”

“I—” He cleared his throat. “Do you feel like I’m forcing you to move faster than you want to?”

“Sometimes.” He stiffened in her arms. She held on when she felt him trying to retreat. “It’s just because you’re so sure all the time. You look at me with this complete calmness. I wish I knew how to find that as easily as you do.”

He drew back so he could look down at her. “Because you are my peace. It’s how it’s always been. And it’s something I’ve never had before in my life.” He tipped his head down until their foreheads touched. “Maybe that’s why I pushed so hard to get this ring on your finger.” He pulled up her left hand and set it against his chest, covering it with his left. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you not in my life forever.”

“You might have pushed for a quick wedding, but I wouldn’t have let you if I hadn’t wanted it too.” It was everything else on fast forward that made her uneasy. Sweet & Savory, her catering business, was doing well. Even with the advanced timetable, she and Annie were making something together. So much so, that she was honestly thinking about making Annie an offer to be a full partner instead of just her employee.

She was barely holding on to take care of herself and Deacon.

“What if I fuck it all up?”

“It’s not just you. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

If there were pictures in Wikipedia of strong, sure, capable men, Deacon would be top ten, easily. Hell, top five. But with Oblivion going on the road again within the next year, how would she be able to make it all work?

God, were the walls closing in?

She pulled away from him and rounded the island to the fridge. She pulled out the pitcher of water and opened doors. Glasses. Cups. Fucking juice glasses. Something.

Deacon came up behind her and covered her hand on the knob of the cupboard. He opened it again and pulled down two tall glasses. He gently eased the pitcher away from her and poured.

The rocks in her throat surely had to be suffocating her. Filling up her lungs. She took a deep breath, then another and swallowed more than half the glass. Rushing gulps that came out with a choke.

“I need to walk. I gotta get out of here. Outside.”

Deacon pulled open the storm shutters. Clouds had come in as they were talking. The sky was steel gray and ominous. Perfect. She didn’t want sun. She wanted the slap of the wind on her face. Without a word, she went for their duffel bag and unearthed her bulky fisherman’s sweater and shorts.

She paused, then pulled out one of Deacon’s sweatshirts. “Come with me?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. There had been too many words, hurtful and too truthful between them. As usual, Deacon seemed to know that now wasn’t the time to talk.

When she was dressed, he took her hand and led her out the back to the water. The roiling waves were churning with a storm to come. She didn’t bother with shoes. Needing the sand and the water on her skin, if only her toes.

With linked fingers, they walked. They passed houses and hotels, one of the many piers that reached out into the ocean and groaned under the force of the gales coming in. Some of them were stone, some weather-worn wood in all different shades. Seagulls squawked and cried out as they coasted on the updrafts.

Not a soul around them.

December was off season at the best of times in Galveston, but on a day like today there was no reason to visit the beach. She was glad for it. She didn’t want to exchange pleasant smiles with strangers. She didn’t want Deacon to have to fend off fans today.

“We should turn back,” Deacon said quietly.

She peered up at him, his hair wet ropes around his angular face. Even under the beard that tried to soften his face, there was no mistaking those cheekbones. She bumped into his solid warmth, letting him wrap an arm around her shoulders and lead her back the way they came.

By the time they reached the house, she couldn’t feel her toes and Deacon, who never had a cold moment in his life, had a tinge of blue to his lips. They both stripped on the way in and headed right for the shower. She turned the glass enclosure into a ball of steam, and they both washed the sea film off of their skin. There were looks between them, but neither of them seemed inclined to touch.

When the suds from shampoo and conditioner, her body wash, and the ever perfect scent of Deacon’s woodsy scent circled the drain, they both surrendered to the pull that was always between them. Deacon enveloped her with his arms and a bath sheet, bundling her close before sweeping her up and out into the living space. He dropped into one of the over-sized chairs with her in his lap. He tucked his chin on her shoulder. “We need to eat something.”

Food had always been a staple in her life. She enjoyed it as much as she enjoyed sharing her recipes. Now, she gave half a damn about eating at all. She pressed her cheek against his. “So far, cheese has been the only thing that doesn’t taste like all of the wrongs in the world.”

“We might be in luck. When I went to the store yesterday, I got the fixings for pizza.”

“Your idea of fixings, or mine?”

He huffed out a half-laugh. “Top shelf olive oil, fresh dough, and good mozzarella. Oh, and mushrooms.”

“You’re learning, Mr. McCoy.”

“I have a good teacher, Mrs. McCoy.”

The sound of that still startled her. But it was more that it sounded so right. So natural. Harper McCoy. For twenty-three years she’d been Pruitt, and she’d thought she’d be one of those women that held onto her name. But she’d wanted his name. Nothing had felt as right as writing his name after her own.

She tried to lever herself off of him, but Deacon held her there. “We’re going to figure this out.”

She closed her eyes and let him hug her before she stood and headed into the kitchen.

This was her domain. The cool granite top on the island cupboard steadied her like a tumbler lock being reset inside of her. She gathered the ingredients from the fridge and found a few dried spices over the stove as well as flour in a canister. Five minutes later, she had the oven pre-heating and dough stretching on the flour-sprinkled granite top. Deacon had wandered out onto the porch as she worked, the dim light from his phone lighting his face in the growing dark.

A pizza stone was too much to hope for, but she made do with a cookie sheet. When the scents of oregano and the sauce she’d doctored didn’t roil her stomach, she had hope that she’d actually be able to eat something.

She washed her hands and went for her own phone. Answered a few texts from Annie and her mom. The urge to talk to her mom hit her low and hard.

But the idea of disappointing her if she decided not to go through with the pregnancy held her back. She and her mom weren’t exactly the closest of people, but her mom was as traditional as apple pie when it came to having children.

It was in direct opposition to their lifestyle, but then again…what wasn’t odd in her life? She’d snuck into a costume steamer trunk at twelve just to run away with her dad. That wasn’t the action of a well-adjusted child.

Adventure had been her middle name for so long. When had that changed? When she’d gotten her heart broken by Jesse at seventeen? When she’d gotten tired of climbing lighting rigs?

She set her phone down and put the pizza in the oven. When a twitter notification popped up, she flicked her phone alive again.

C
ome see
me and Simon at the Triage Room in downtown LA Sat night. We’re guest jamming with The Purge. xoxo Jazz

G
uess Jazz was getting
antsy waiting at home for them to figure out studio time. She tapped her phone, staring at Jazz’s name on her screen.

No.

She shouldn’t burden Jazz with this kind of news.

She wouldn’t be able to tell the rest of the band. It was unfair to ask her to keep a secret. Especially when secrets had done such a royal fuck-job on the band this past summer.

Harper turned off the phone and tucked it back into her bag. She put the thought out of her mind and started cleaning up the kitchen.