Kelley Armstrong - Broken

“Really, you don’t need to do this. I’m being silly, and what I need is a swift kick in the rear, not comfort food.”

“What you need is baby furniture,” he said, handing me the platter. “Plus a nursery to put it in, but I thought we’d start with the furniture and choose the decor from there. I’m sure Syracuse has fine stores, but I propose a trip to New York. We’ll spend a couple of days, stay with Antonio and Nick, make a trip out of it. We’ll leave today.”

I shook my head. “I’m not ready, Jer.”

“We’ll go whenever you are. We have to wait for Clay anyway, although if we’re lucky, we’ll be able to leave him with Nick while we go into the city and shop.”

“I don’t mean-I’m not ready for a nursery. If something went wrong-I’m not ready.”

Jeremy laid down the ham and looked at me. “That’s why this is exactly what you need. Everything is going fine, and the best way for you to recognize and accept that is to keep moving forward, making plans and preparing.” A quarter-smile. “At the rate you’re progressing, we’d better get cracking, or we may end up with a baby and no place to put him. We’ll be fashioning diapers out of dishcloths.”

I tried to return the smile, but my lips wouldn’t budge. I looked away. “I can’t. Soon, I promise. Just…not yet.”

The kitchen door opened before I got to it. Clay popped his head in.

“Look who smelled breakfast,” I said.

As I brushed past him, I dipped my hand to his and squeezed it. An awkward apology for last night.

“I’ll take that ham,” he said to Jeremy.

I didn’t turn, but I knew more than the platter passed between them. After I’d fallen asleep again last night, they’d probably snuck downstairs to devise “distract Elena” plans. Option one: baby shopping in New York. Jeremy would have signaled Clay that the idea had been torpedoed, so they’d have to find a way to segue to option two over breakfast.

I turned into the sunroom and put the pancake platter down, then reached for the coffee urn and started filling mugs.

“We should invite Paige up,” Clay said as he rounded the doorway. “For a visit.”

“No segue required,” I murmured. “Silly me.”

I exchanged his ham platter for a steaming mug of coffee, and sat down to fix my own. Decaf of course. Every bit of coffee in the house was decaf. I tried telling the guys, really, you can drink regular coffee in front of me, but they were having none of it. If I sacrificed, they sacrificed. A communal pregnancy. It was starting to drive me a little bonkers.

“Invite Paige here? Your desperation is showing.”

He shrugged and slid into his seat. “We’ve had her up before.”

“At my invitation. With you gritting your teeth the whole time.”

“I was never gritting my teeth. I’m fine with Paige. And if Lucas can make it…All the better. Maybe they’ll be working on a case, something to get your mind-Something to talk about.”

I’d rather take a trip to Portland to visit them, but I knew that was out of the question. Having Paige here would be nice, and if Lucas came along, Clay would enjoy the distraction just as much as I did.

Lucas had filled a space in Clay’s life that I’d never realized had been empty. Logan used to tell me how, when he’d first joined the Pack, Clay would drive him nuts with “lessons,” always showing him how to fight better, train better, Change better. He’d figured it was just Clay’s way of reminding Logan that he was the newest and youngest member, keeping him in his place.

When I saw Clay with Lucas, I realized there had been more to it than that. Clay had genuinely wanted to teach Logan, to assume the role of mentor to a younger werewolf. Maybe that was the wolf in him, instinctively wanting to pass on his life experience to the next generation. In the Pack, though, there was no next generation…not yet. With Lucas, Clay had found a substitute after Logan ’s death-if not a werewolf, at least an intelligent, thoughtful young man who not only accepted Clay’s counsel, but sought it out.

Most of Clay’s ideas for dealing with problem mutts weren’t the kind of thing Lucas would ever use on rogue sorcerers. He didn’t have the personality-or the stomach-for that. Yet he was astute enough to take Clay’s teachings and pick out the principles that worked for him. In seeing them together, I’d realized that Clay’s desire for a child had to do with more than pleasing me. For the first time, I’d seen him in the role of father…and not been scared shitless by the image.

After breakfast, I waited until it was a reasonable time to call Oregon. Then I phoned Paige. As I listened to her answering machine, my hopes plummeted. I didn’t bother leaving a message. The one on her machine told me Paige was off on an investigation with Lucas. Of course, the message didn’t say that, but it was one she used to let her fellow council members and supernatural friends know she was out of town, and they should call her cell phone instead.

“We’ll try again next week,” Clay said. “She’s never away long. Not with Savannah in school…or, I guess, Savannah isn’t in school right now, is she?”

“Summer break,” I mumbled.

That reminded me that this was the first summer in four years that Savannah wouldn’t be spending a week with us. We’d planned on it, but then my nightmares started, and I’d been afraid of spooking her. The last thing any teenage girl needs is to see something like that-might scare her off having kids herself someday. Savannah had been understanding, and we’d promised to make it up to her at Christmas, but I knew she’d been disappointed, which only made me feel guiltier, as I screwed up another person’s summer…

“Jaime,” Clay said.

“Invite Jaime? I’m sure she’s too busy-”

“What about that documentary work you two were talking about? Not really your type of writing, but you seemed interested when she brought it up.”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. Work. That’d be good. Something new might be just what I need.”

I grabbed the phone book from the drawer, opened it and dialed. Again I got an answering machine. This time I left a message, just a vague “give me a shout when you get a chance.” I suspected it would be days before I heard back-Jaime spent most of her year touring, a few days here, a week there. God only knew when she’d get the message.

“She might have just stepped out,” Clay said.

“Sure. Maybe.”

“You want to give Nick a try?”

I shook my head, murmured a “maybe later” and slid from the room.

THE PHONE RANG EARLY THE NEXT MORNING.

“I’ll get it!” I said.

I rocketed from the table so fast that I temporarily forgot my new center of gravity and nearly landed face-first on the floor.

“You expecting someone?” Clay called after me, as I righted myself and hurried to the study.

“Work,” I said. “A…job assignment.”

Like I ever moved so fast to get work. The sad truth was that I wasn’t expecting a call-I just wanted contact with the outside world. Any contact. At this point, a vacuum cleaner salesperson would do.

Just last week, when our tenacious local Avon lady had dropped a catalogue in our mailbox, as she’d done for the last four years without ever getting an order from me, there had been a moment when I’d thought, “Huh, maybe I should give her a call, get a makeup consultation.” It didn’t matter that I hadn’t bought new makeup since the nineties. Even when I recalled Jeremy’s story about the last Avon lady that showed up at Stonehaven, I wasn’t deterred. After all, Clay had been only seven or eight years old, and even if he did terrorize the Avon lady again, as bad as I would feel about that, it certainly would liven up an afternoon.