From Heiress to Mom, page 2
In truth, he’d been figuring out his answers. First for himself; then what he would give her. She wouldn’t like them, despite the different ways he’d tried to phrase them in his mind. He’d spent too long trying to figure out what to tell her in the end, desperate for her not to have a low opinion of him.
But it had happened anyway, rightfully so. Just as it was happening now.
He could see it. In the tightness around her eyes. In the crease between her brows. More than that, he felt her disappointment, sharp and acute. Felt sharp and acute pangs in his chest as well. So he supposed he hadn’t got used to it after all.
But no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t say what she needed to hear: that he wanted to have a family with her. He couldn’t. The desires she’d expressed when they’d been together had reminded him of how families broke. How siblings got sick. How losing them felt like losing everything in the world.
Each person involved in a family would get hurt. Would be irrevocably changed—or worse. He’d seen it with his own parents. With his own sister. He had no desire to put himself in a situation to feel that way again. Let alone with a woman he genuinely cared for.
And yet the first thing he’d done after their break-up was forget his responsible nature and get a woman pregnant. Then he’d come to her, to the woman he cared about, to tell her that their break-up had resulted in the very thing she’d wanted and he hadn’t: a child.
The thing he now had and she didn’t. What painful irony.
‘Autumn,’ he said when the silence extended long enough that even he, who was at home in silence, felt uncomfortable. ‘Say something.’
Her lips parted, and for a split second Hunter remembered that they did that just before he would kiss her. But that memory was unwelcome, untimely. How could he think about kissing her when he’d just told her he was a father? When he’d just discovered he was a father?
He was a father.
Bile rose in his stomach. It was the same thing that happened whenever he thought about his own father. The man who’d put his feelings above his dying daughter’s.
‘Autumn,’ Hunter said again, more insistently.
Autumn’s eyes met his, and his breath did something strange at the gold that flickered in their brown depths.
‘Are you okay?’
Her eyelashes fluttered. ‘I—Yes.’ She straightened. ‘I’m okay.’
Her voice sounded strange too, as if someone had taken a hold of her voice box and were squeezing tightly.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, because he needed to.
She closed her eyes, and he wanted to reach out. To brush a finger over the line where her dark lashes lay against the brown of her skin. To smooth the lines at her forehead.
Her eyes opened right then and before he could avert his own, their gazes locked. His heart stumbled in his chest, resulting in an uncomfortable beat against his chest bone. The thump-thump of his heart sounded in his ears, except he heard it as laughter, a mocking ha-ha at what he’d given up to ensure that what he’d told her tonight would never happen.
He forced his eyes away, onto the night lights of Cape Town. It used to comfort him once upon a time. Now it mocked him.
‘You found out tonight?’ she asked after some time had passed.
He nodded. Still, he couldn’t look at her.
A voice in his head called him a coward.
‘Grace, the woman I—’ He stopped before he said something stupid. ‘The mother of the child. She showed up at my place.’
‘You didn’t know before that?’
He shook his head.
‘How old is the... How old?’
‘Three months.’
She pursed her lips, though he’d caught the trembling long before she’d done it.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, eyes resting on her face now. She nodded.
‘You’re here because you’re surprised.’
It wasn’t a question.
‘I’m here because—’ he hesitated ‘—it’s the first place I wanted to go. I needed to see you.’
Her tongue darted out, wet her lips.
‘Why?’
He took a breath. ‘You’re my friend.’
‘Not your only one.’ She pushed back at some of the curls exploding over the silk band she wore. ‘Certainly not the best one to deal with this.’
‘No,’ he agreed, but didn’t say anything else. Couldn’t. Because she was right.
She wasn’t his only friend; not that he had many more. In fact, he had one more: his second-in-command, Ted. Most of his peak making-friends time—school, university—had been focused on other things.
Most of his school life he’d spent helping his parents take care of Janie, his baby sister, who’d had cystic fibrosis. Ha! a voice in his brain immediately said. He hadn’t helped his parents take care of Janie; he’d helped his mother take care of Janie. His father had tapped out of her care early on, pronouncing himself too clumsy to help.
Hunter supposed he could understand that when it came to helping clear Janie’s lungs of the mucus. The airway clearance therapy could have posed a problem for someone who was clumsy. But he didn’t know how that prevented his father from helping to get Janie to her doctor’s appointments. Or helping to keep her active. Getting her diet right. Doing anything, really, that would make Janie’s life easier. Or make her feel as if she weren’t a burden for the man who should have loved her unconditionally.
She was a bright kid who’d picked up on things without much encouragement. She’d noticed their father’s lack of interest. Hunter had done everything he could to make up for it.
When she’d passed away, he hadn’t wanted friends to know how much his life had changed. How his heart ached, all the time. How alone he felt. How...broken. He hadn’t been able to tell his parents about it when they’d been fighting, all the time. So he’d stuck his head into books, reading about technology and then, after his parents’ divorce, renewable energy. It had distracted him enough to survive. To thrive, even, if he thought about the tech business he’d started ten years ago during university.
But that had meant he’d spent his entire university career studying or working. And when his business had taken off, he’d spent his time making sure it stayed in the air. He’d hired Ted to help with that. He hadn’t even thought about Ted when it came to this, though.
When he’d first seen Grace. When she’d told him about the baby. When she’d showed him pictures, and he’d seen a face that looked so much like Janie’s his heart had flipped over in his chest. When she’d asked Hunter to help take care of the child.
No, for that, he’d immediately thought about Autumn.
‘You’re the only person who knows why this is...’ He trailed off. He hoped she’d interrupt him. That she’d finished his sentence for him. She didn’t. ‘You’re the only person who knows about my family.’
He didn’t let her speak when she opened her mouth. Too late, he thought. Because if he didn’t continue, he’d lose his courage.
‘You have to help me take care of him.’
‘What?’
‘You... You have to help me. She wants me—needs me—to take care of him while she’s finishing her articles at a law firm in Gauteng for the next three months.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. A rasp. A sacrifice. ‘I... I don’t know how. Please, Autumn. Please, help me.’
* * *
Hunter’s gaze felt like lasers pointed straight at her heart.
‘I... I need a moment,’ she said, and rose unsteadily to her feet. ‘Coffee?’
He angled his head, looked down, and she chose to interpret the gesture as a yes. Though in all honesty, he could have shaken his head for no and she’d still have made him one. She was barely paying attention to him. She was only focusing on getting away from him.
She strode by him, through the glass sliding doors and past the stone-coloured furniture and yellow pillows she’d chosen because they made her happy. It had been the same reason she’d chosen the bright paintings on the walls, and why she’d stacked the bookshelves beneath them with romance novels.
Her kitchen looked much the same: splashes of colour that made her feel bright. Light. But the appliances were sleek and top of the range; the cupboards meticulously arranged for optimum usage; the pantry filled with every ingredient she needed for when she experimented with cakes or biscuits or cupcakes or desserts or, really, anything that tickled her fancy.
With unsteady fingers, she popped a pod in the espresso machine, put a mug where it was needed, pressed buttons and let the machine do its work. She frothed the milk while she waited, keeping her hands busy, avoiding the thoughts speeding through her mind. She placed the second mug in the machine with a new pod, added milk to the first, then did the same for the second when it finished. She set them both on a tray, fixed a plate of cookies she’d baked before she’d left for her parents’ anniversary weekend, and set that on the tray.
She was ready to go out. Except she couldn’t. She...didn’t want to. Not yet. She braced her hands on her kitchen counter, lifting her head so she could see out of the window. She’d insisted the window be included when she’d been fixing up the house. Had insisted on the same thing when she’d built the bakery.
Usually, she’d take her coffee there in the mornings, about an hour before she’d have to be at the bakery, which was about the time the sun rose in summer. She’d watch the golden orb appear from over the hills in the distance; she’d see the faint blue of the river that ran along the edge of the Bouw Estate; and her eyes would rest on the fields of flowers she refused to cut, giving the estate a wild feeling she genuinely enjoyed.
Now, all she saw was blue-black darkness. It seemed like an appropriate representation of what was going on in her mind.
The rope that had been keeping her together since their break-up felt dangerously frayed. Which was in itself a danger, as pretending everything was fine was the only way she kept her insecurities at bay. The voices that told her it wasn’t that Hunter didn’t want a future, a family; it was that he didn’t want one with her.
Look at how he spoke about his sister, the voice said. With such emotion. Respect, fondness, love. How could a man with so much to give not want to share that in a family?
She’d managed to dismiss it with Hunter’s words. The truth, he’d assured her, was that he couldn’t bear to repeat the painful experiences of his childhood. His sister had been sick, then died; his father had been physically present, but emotionally absent; and his parents had eventually divorced after Janie’s death. How could she argue with that?
But she had. In silence, with herself, her insecurities making damning arguments. Convincing arguments. Hunter’s news made those arguments hard not to believe.
As she thought of it—that he had a child—a fresh bomb of pain went off inside her. She closed her eyes, held her breath, hoping it would stop the devastation. But it didn’t, and she felt her insides be destroyed. Felt them crumble and lie disintegrated inside her.
As she let air into her lungs, she took the tray outside. Hunter sat exactly as she’d left him—stiff, staring out over the city—and she put the tray down in front of him.
She settled in with her coffee, but since her back was towards the city she was forced to look at Hunter. She sipped thoughtfully, waiting for him to look at her, ignoring the throbbing in her chest as she did. When he finally met her eyes, she tilted her head.
‘How did it go?’ she asked quietly. ‘When she told you.’
He stared at her for a moment, then picked up his coffee.
‘I...struggled.’
‘So you were perfectly stoic, but freaking out inside.’
His mouth lifted. ‘Pretty much.’
‘You don’t think she’s lying?’
‘No.’
The answer was quick and immediate, his voice hard. He was defending the woman, Autumn realised, though she didn’t understand why the woman needed defending. She was only asking a question. But then, this was Hunter. Protecting what was his. And the woman was his now.
Her stomach twisted.
‘She has no reason to lie,’ he continued. ‘And she showed me a picture. He looks...exactly like Janie did when she was a baby.’
‘Oh.’
It was all she said; it was all the pain allowed her to say. All the other words that came to mind were selfish.
We could have had a child who looked like Janie. We could have done this together, and you wouldn’t have had to ask for help.
‘Is he sick?’ she asked.
The cup he’d lifted crashed against the table as he set it back down. ‘I... I don’t know.’
‘You didn’t ask?’
‘No.’
‘Hunter, why the hell wouldn’t you ask if your baby was sick?’
He didn’t answer her, only looked stricken. Her heart softened, though she refused to allow herself to show it. Beneath the softness was a pain she hadn’t known she could feel.
He’d told her it was probably good he wouldn’t have children when he was a carrier of the CF gene. There were zero chances then that he’d pass it down—the disease or the gene. Now she was supposed to believe he’d forgotten about it?
‘She would have told me if he was sick,’ he said.
Autumn set her mug down, her own fingers trembling too much for her to hold it.
‘How would she have known? Newborns aren’t tested for CF here unless it’s specifically requested. What?’ she asked defensively when he looked at her. ‘I did the research.’
She continued so neither of them would dwell on why she’d done it.
‘Besides, Hunter, what do you know about this woman?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘You met her twice. Once the night you two had sex, and tonight. Now she’s asking you to take care of your child?’
‘It’s fair,’ he said in a back-off voice.
‘Of course it’s fair,’ she said, gritting her teeth. ‘But you don’t know her. You have no idea what she would have told you.’ She paused. Saw his face. Sat back slowly. ‘You’ve already realised that.’ There was barely a second before she said, ‘And you know you didn’t ask because you don’t want to know whether he’s sick.’
Time passed. Seconds, minutes, she wasn’t sure.
‘You’re right,’ he said quietly. ‘But I’ll find out tomorrow.’
Tired now, she sighed. ‘What’s happening tomorrow?’
‘She’s dropping him off.’ He picked up his coffee again, brought it to his mouth. When he was done, he looked her dead in the eye. ‘Be there with me.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE SITUATION REMINDED him of his father.
Calvin Lee had expected Hunter to fill in where he’d lacked with Janie. Hunter knew it because his father would call him whenever he was expected to care for Janie on his own. Now, Hunter could see himself doing the same to Autumn. Treating her with that same selfishness. But he couldn’t stop. Was urged forward by something he didn’t understand.
‘Hunter,’ she said quietly, ‘I can’t see what either of us could possibly gain from me being there with you.’
Hunter thought about the hug she’d given him when he’d first arrived. He remembered the steadiness of her gaze, despite the news he’d told her. He could hear the concern in her voice, and, beneath it, a strength he desperately needed.
That was why he was here. He’d known she’d offer comfort, steadiness, strength. Because she was his friend. She cared about him. Even though he’d broken her heart by being unable to say yes to the family she wanted. Even though he’d seen some of the light in her eyes go out that day.
It had been part of what had spurred him to the bar the next night.
Her casual talks of a future and a family had forced him to face memories he’d been running from. Of him curling up to Janie as their parents argued in loud whispers outside Janie’s door. Of distracting her when the arguments turned louder. Of almost being relieved that she hadn’t been there any more when the arguments graduated into shouting.
And then, of the silence.
He couldn’t imagine putting a kid through it. Through what Janie had suffered with her illness. Through what he’d suffered with his parents’ marriage. Through what it felt like to have the possibility of carrying the cystic fibrosis gene hover like a noose around their necks. Or through having to make the hardest decision in his life about having a family because of it.
Now he was being forced to imagine it. He was being forced to face the fears.
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, over his face.
‘I need you there,’ he rasped, shame straining his voice. ‘I don’t know if I can do it.’
‘Of course you can,’ she said. ‘You took care of Janie.’
The feeling he couldn’t explain swelled, compelling him to beg.
‘Please.’
The skin around her eyes crinkled in tension. She gave a curt nod. ‘Fine. If it’s that important to you, I’ll go.’
‘Thank you.’
He wanted to tell her she shouldn’t have agreed. That she was being too nice to him; that he didn’t deserve it. Neither did she. She deserved more than her ex-boyfriend and pseudo-friend asking this from her.
He left it at thank you.
‘She obviously knew your name if she knew how to find you,’ Autumn noted slowly, almost carefully after a bit. ‘Or did you...?’ She cleared her throat. ‘Did you go back to your place?’
