Jeanie London - Then There Were Three

“I do.” Spinning on her heel, she took off in the direction of baggage claim.

What was wrong with her? She’d known this day would come, but right now all her rationality, all her carefully planned explanations didn’t seem so rational as she faced that guarded look in Nic’s eyes.

Betrayal?

He had every right to feel however he felt. Every right. She’d made all the choices. And he hadn’t known he should have had an equal say until their daughter had popped into his life out of the blue.

There was no way for Megan to sugarcoat her mistakes or the consequences, no way to miraculously avert this train wreck.

He was suddenly beside her, and she could practically feel him, a physical sensation. The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar, either, which surprised her. Fifteen years hadn’t diminished her awareness of him. It was ridiculous, the absolute last thing she needed to notice right now.

He was working hard to stay calm and controlled. It wasn’t obvious in his expression or in the way he strode silently at her side, so she wasn’t sure why she thought that. Maybe it was the silence. Heavy. Accusing. It didn’t matter that there was an entire airport filled with people, noise and chatter filtering through the place in tidal bursts. The silence between them was deafening. Or maybe she was projecting her anxiety.

Megan was relieved when they arrived at baggage claim and her flight number flashed on the overhead sign. She moved to plunge into the crowd, but Nic caught her arm. Nothing more than a light touch, but a touch that stopped her in midstride.

“What does your bag look like?”

“Lime-green. Can’t miss it.” She stopped obediently, not surprised. Nic, the boy she’d once known, had been equally attentive to details.

As he moved closer to the conveyor belt, the crowds parted to let him through. It might have been the uniform, but more likely it was the imposing figure he cut in the uniform.

Very imposing. Solemn, almost.

Megan hoped it was the circumstances. She didn’t like to think that the ultraresponsible teenager he’d once been had matured into a man who didn’t look like he smiled much.

Nic didn’t miss her bag. No one could miss a neon bag on the conveyor belt.

“We’ll need to pick up Violet’s before we leave, too,” he said after wheeling her suitcase over.

“She stored it?”

He nodded. “I’ve got the key. Want to grab a cup of coffee first? There’s a Starbucks.”

“Of course.”

Then Megan found herself on the concourse, standing on one side of a table facing Nic over two steaming cups of coffee. She could handle this. She’d known this day would come. And she wasn’t eighteen anymore. She was a woman who’d made choices and couldn’t take them back.

But as luck would have it the very first question Nic asked was one she hadn’t expected.

“Why didn’t you want our daughter to know me?”

NIC HOPED LIKE HELL THE shock of the situation would wear off soon. Otherwise, he was in real trouble, because it didn’t feel as though fifteen years had passed since he’d last seen Megan.

More like yesterday.

Every time he met her gaze, he felt punched in the gut. Even her turmoil tugged at him. It was all over her face, a face he shouldn’t be so familiar with. Not after so long. Not after she’d blown out of his life without a glance back.

But he was aware, all right. Of every soft intake of breath. Of the way her lashes fluttered over her eyes as if she might block out everything for an instant. Of how her face had settled in with age, as if she’d grown into so much beauty, the blue, blue eyes, the full, soft mouth. Of the way her fingers tightened on the cup as if she were bracing herself.

He could relate to the feeling.

But when she lifted that magnificent gaze to him, she faced him squarely. “I didn’t keep Violet from you because I didn’t want her to know you. That never even crossed my mind. Not once in all these years.”

He didn’t have words. If she had wanted him to know his daughter, then she would have told him she was pregnant. That much seemed obvious.

“Why?” It was all he could manage, giving her a chance to make sense of this for him. It didn’t. None of it. Not the way she’d run away. Not the way she’d hidden her pregnancy.

She took another deep, shuddering breath, visibly steeling herself. He could see it all over her, in the tense set of her mouth, the rigid way she stood. She should have been a stranger by now. She wasn’t.

“Quite honestly, Nic, I was completely unable to cope with the situation. I freaked. My parents freaked. I wasn’t in any position to raise a child, and I knew you weren’t, either. Abortion wasn’t an option, but adoption seemed like a good one. My mother found a private agency that handled everything from the medical care to the legalities. She took a leave from the university and we went to one of their maternity centers.” She paused briefly as if considering her next words. “At the last minute I couldn’t go through with it. That’s it. I know that doesn’t even begin to explain—”

“No, it doesn’t.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Last I heard there were laws that protected fathers from this sort of thing.”

She flinched, but held his gaze steadily. “There are.”

God, he was struggling. He’d promised himself not to feel anything until he had the facts, to treat this no differently than any case, buy himself some time to figure out how to feel.

The anger surprised him, and he was suddenly grateful they were standing in public, an external control that would help him keep the floodgates in check.

He was the one who’d been kept in the dark, who’d been sandbagged by the sudden appearance of a daughter he’d never known existed. He had every right to be pissed. For a hundred reasons. Every one of them valid.

“What did you do, Megan, lie?”

“Yes.”

Simple. Factual. How could he attack an admission like that? The fact that he wanted to warned he’d better get a lid on his reactions before he found his face plastered all over the front page of the Times-Picayune with the headline: New Police Chief Creates Scene at Airport.

This was Damon’s damned fault. If Nic had slept last night, he wouldn’t be standing here, raw-edged and ready to explode. He might have had self-control on his side when he’d opened the door to his office and stepped into a minefield.

Megan wasn’t helping. She waited, so stoic, as if she’d known she’d have to face the music and was determined to take whatever he dished out. As if she felt she deserved it.

And she did. Every damned bit.

“Did you think I wouldn’t help?” He wanted an answer. “Or did you think I wasn’t good enough for you?”

Good enough to sneak around with, but not good enough to stand beside when life got demanding.

“Neither, Nic. I wasn’t thinking,” she said simply. “Not for myself. That’s the point. There was never any question you’d do the honorable thing, none at all. I knew you’d help in any way I needed you. I thought you might even suggest marriage.”

Another sucker punch. “That wasn’t good enough.”

She shook her head, sending dark waves trailing over her shoulders. “What I wanted had nothing to do with it. You have every reason in the world not to believe me, but I’m being entirely honest when I say it wasn’t about you at all. I was in love with you. I knew how hard you worked. I respected you for it. You made me feel spoiled and selfish by comparison. But I also knew how much you wanted a future, a chance to go to college. You didn’t need another family to support.”

“That wasn’t your call to make.”