Brenda Harlen - Extreme Measures

“Then you and Nikki argued about it,” Shaun guessed.

He nodded.

“And you walked out.”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“I can imagine how upset you must have been, but you’re going to have to talk to her if you want to work out a schedule for visitation.”

“I don’t want visitation,” Colin said, cringing at the implications of the word.

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He didn’t know anything about being a father, but he knew that he wanted to be a father—not just someone who passed in and out of his child’s life.

His brother shook his head. “That’s typical, isn’t it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You never think things through, Colin. I know you’re pissed that Nikki didn’t tell you about Carly, but can you blame her?”

“Yes! I had a right to know that she was carrying my child.”

“And she had a right to expect that you’d honor the vows you’d made.”

“I did honor those vows. I never cheated on Nikki. I never even thought about another woman while we were together.”

“You weren’t even married a year.”

That was true, but what Shaun didn’t know was that it had been a long time after the divorce was final before Colin looked at another woman. Even then, it had been part of a conscious effort to forget about Nikki. A futile effort, he realized now. Because he hadn’t stopped thinking about her. Dreaming of her. Missing her.

He’d actually looked forward to receiving the final divorce papers, as if those pages could somehow eradicate his feelings for Nikki. Unfortunately, they’d failed to do so. Nothing had helped him get over his ex-wife.

The minute he’d seen Nikki striding across the parking lot, he’d known his feelings hadn’t dissolved with their marriage—they’d only been buried. It had taken just one glance to bring them back to the surface, one touch to have them churned up again. And when he’d kissed her, it was as if the five years apart had never happened, as if nothing had changed.

Except that everything had changed.

“I understand that you’re angry,” Shaun relented, “but—”

“I don’t think you can understand any of this. You didn’t just find out that you had a four-and-a-half year-old daughter.” Colin slammed his empty bottle down on the table. “Why would she keep something like this from me? Did she really think I would turn my back on my own child?”

“Nikki didn’t find out she was pregnant until after you’d told her your marriage was over.”

“I still had a right to know.”

Shaun sighed. “Why do you think I tried so hard to get you to come back here? Why do you think I made those outrageous demands in the settlement negotiations with your lawyer?”

“Because you were acting on your client’s instructions,” Colin guessed.

“Nikki didn’t want anything from you,” Shaun told him. “But I thought—I’d hoped—that you’d come back here and demand to know why she was being unreasonable. Then she would have had to tell you about the baby she was expecting.”

Colin shook his head, only now beginning to understand what he’d previously seen as his brother’s betrayal. “My lawyer told me not to sign that agreement. But the money didn’t matter to me, and I figured it was the least I could do to compensate Nikki for messing up her life.” In fact, he would have paid ten times as much in the hope that the financial settlement might assuage his guilt. It hadn’t.

“She’s never touched a dime of it,” Shaun confided. “It all went into a trust account for Carly.”

This revelation didn’t change the basic facts of the situation; it didn’t absolve his brother of culpability. Shaun had been a party to Nikki’s deception for the past five years—the two people he’d been closest to had betrayed him.

“How could you keep this from me?” he wondered aloud. “How could you not tell me I had a child?”

“It wasn’t my place to tell you. And Nikki was my client—”

“I’m your brother.”

“I couldn’t disclose information provided to me in my capacity as legal—”

“Spare me the speech on attorney-client privilege. You haven’t billed Nikki for every conversation you’ve had over the past five years.”

Shaun sighed. “I know she wanted to tell you.”

Colin raked his hands through his hair again. He’d been back in Fairweather less than forty-eight hours, and already his life bore little resemblance to the one he’d left behind in Texas.

It had been Detective Brock’s suggestion that he get away, and Colin had been grateful to do so. He was tired of always looking over his shoulder, always wondering what might be around the next corner. He’d come back to Fairweather for some downtime, to talk to his ex-wife. His plans had been simple.

Now that he was here, it seemed he’d only exchanged one set of complications for another. Nothing was simple anymore.

“What’s she like?” he asked after a long pause. Then, to clarify—and to try the name out, “Carly.”

His brother smiled. “She has your eyes, and all of the famous McIver charm.”

Colin smiled, pleased to know there was something of himself in his daughter.

“Is she…is she happy?”

“She’s an incredibly happy and well-adjusted child.”

Colin cleared his throat, to ease the sudden tightness. “Maybe she doesn’t need a father,” he said. “Not a father like me, anyway.”

“What does that mean—a father like you?”

He pushed himself up from the chair. “Just that I don’t know anything about being a father. I know nothing—less than nothing, even—about kids.”

“Most fathers are novices the first time around.”

“But…God, I’ve never even thought about having kids.”

“Well, you’d better start thinking about it,” his brother said practically. “Because you’ve got one now.”

“Did you…” Colin hesitated, almost afraid to finish the question. “Did you tell her not to tell me…about the baby?”

“No.” Shaun grinned. “In fact, I advised her to go after you for child support.”

The worst thing about prison, Duncan Parnell decided, was the bed. If the narrow mattress on the steel frame bolted to the concrete floor could even be called a bed. He rolled slowly onto his back and stretched out, concentrating on his breathing as he tried to force his muscles to relax. Perspiration beaded on his forehead as he gritted his teeth against the stabbing pain.

He wished he had some of his pills, just to take the edge off. Even one pill. One pill would at least reduce the agony to a dull ache.

The guard had given him an aspirin, as if that would make a difference. He closed his eyes as the pain struck again, exhaled slowly. It was a good thing he wasn’t going to be here very long.

And when he got out, he’d make Jonesy pay for ratting him out. He didn’t doubt for a minute that it had been Jonesy who had turned on him.

McIver had picked Jonesy up from Detroit on a mid-season trade. He’d scored seven goals in his first ten games with the Tornadoes, and after Duncan’s accident, he’d been moved up to Duncan’s line to fill the vacant position. It was supposed to have been a temporary move, just until Duncan was back.

But McIver kept Jonesy in the starting line. As the team neared play-offs, Jonesy was getting at least twice the ice time Duncan got.

He’d made the mistake of shooting off his mouth in The Thirsty Duck one night after their play-off run had ended. Not to Jonesy—he and the pretty boy from Michigan weren’t that close. But Jonesy had been there, and Duncan had been furious enough to rant indiscriminately about his intention to make McIver pay.