Loving You (24 page)

“He won't leave Mr. Wonderful.”

Nick. It always came back to Nick. Gritting her teeth, Tasha stretched, her fingertips scraping at the old blue Samsonite, but she didn't budge it. “Damn it.” She swatted the blasted thing, and still it didn't even topple. When Mimi stacked things, they stayed stacked. Nerves jangled inside Tasha and her brain skittered uneasily from thought to thought and couldn't seem to find a happy one to land on.

She rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers, but it didn't help. She'd hardly slept all night, thanks to the fantasies her imagination had continued to pump through her mind.

Served her right, she thought. She never should have
let him get that close. And she damn sure shouldn't let him do it again.

So why did she want him to so badly?

“Hello? Earth to Tasha.”

“I'm here,” she muttered, pushing thoughts of Nick and wild fantasies to a small dark corner of her mind where they would stay … until the next time she tried to sleep. “And I heard you. Jonas won't want to leave Nick.”

“Exactly.”

“Fine.” Tasha turned around, whipped her hair back from her face, and stared at Molly. “You're right. He probably won't want to go. But I'm still in charge. He'll do what I tell him to do.”

Molly pushed away from the doorjamb, walked slowly across the room, and then plopped onto Mimi's old four-poster. “And you want to tell him to pack up his little backpack and start hiding?”

Tasha winced at the image. “No.”

“Then don't.”

“Easy for you to say.” Tasha stepped away from the closet and walked across the glossy hardwood floor toward the wide window overlooking the backyard. Beyond the glass, the day was cloudy and gray. Cold wind shuffled through the leafless trees and rolled Jonas's football aimlessly across the brown lawn. Mimi's chrysanthemums were bedraggled now, past their prime, but still lending splotches of color to the otherwise drab day. Tasha's gaze locked onto the bright yellow and purple flowers as if they were a shining light of hope in a sea of misery.

The mattress creaked as Molly leaned back and propped her head on one elbow. “It's not too late to try
my
idea.”

“Which one is that?”

“You know, marry Nick and both of you have Jonas?”

“Marry him.” Tasha huffed out a breath. “Sure. I'll just make a note and take care of that this afternoon. I can already see the society column in the paper. ‘Millionaire Football Player Marries Runaway Beautician.'“ She gave a pretend sniff and touched an invisible hankie to her eye. “It's so beautiful.”

“Sarcasm isn't pretty.”

“Yeah,” Tasha said wryly, “but it gets the job done.”

Molly just looked at her. “Tash, you can't run.”

“Why not? I have before.”

“That's why not.”

Tasha shifted her gaze from Molly back to the windblown world beyond the glass and waited for her to continue. That she would was never in doubt.

“You're not that kid anymore, Tash. You've got a life here,” Molly pointed out. “A job. A house. People who depend on you. And you have
me
.”

At that, Tasha glanced at her friend again. Molly's grin tipped up one corner of her mouth. Her pixielike haircut framed her face in spiked tufts that gave her an impish look. That effect faded along with her smile as she said, “Seriously, Tash. You can't just take off and start over every time you're threatened.”

Tasha wrapped her arms around her middle and let Molly's words sink in. She knew her friend was right. But logic didn't have a damn thing to do with what she was feeling. Her emotions were swirling through her body, churning in the pit of her stomach, and short-circuiting what was left of her brain.

The one clear thought that kept pounding itself home was, Run. Take Jonas and run.

Turning her back on the window, she slumped down, perched on the edge of the windowsill, and braced her hands on her knees. Blowing out a breath, she looked at Molly. “How can I stay and lose Jonas?”

“Jeez, pessimist much?”

“Hello?” Tasha sat up straight, reached up, and scooped her hair back from her face. “Have you been paying attention? 'Cause if you've missed an episode or two, let me just bring you up-to-date.”

Pushing up from the windowsill, Tasha stalked toward the bed and didn't stop until her knees bumped into the mattress. Staring down at her best friend, she said, “You should have seen Jonas this morning. He almost
floated
out the door to go to his game. All he can talk about is this father-son camp-out.”

“So?” Molly said, rolling over and sitting up. “Why shouldn't he be excited? Tasha, he's never had this. Never been one of the guys. Never had a dad.”

“Don't you think I know that?” Tasha sat down and flopped back, letting Mimi's pillows catch her when she fell. She inhaled sharply and drew Mimi's scent deep within her. The soft floral perfume Mimi had preferred seemed to cling to this room, strong enough to haunt, faint enough to remind Tasha that the woman who once wore it was gone. What she wouldn't give to hear Mimi's laughter-shadowed voice telling her to get a grip. Tasha smiled to herself in spite of everything. Mimi's advice had always been short and to the point:
Do what you can and do it the best you can. Everything else will take care of itself
.

And right now, Tasha wished more than ever that Mimi was still here. That Jonas was safe. That Nick had never appeared in their lives.

And hell, as long as she was at it … wished for a million bucks. That had just as much chance of happening as any of the rest of it.

Her heart ached for Jonas, but he was too young to protect himself. That was her job. And not having a dad at all was
way
better than having a father who did nothing but break your heart. That much she knew all too well from experience. “He's counting on Nick. Counting on him too much.”

“You can't protect him from everything.”

“I can try.”

Molly reached out and laid her hand atop Tasha's. “You're not Wonder Woman, Tash. Life happens. People get hurt. Then they get better and they go on.” She paused a minute, then added, “
You
did.”

Tasha stared up at the water-stained ceiling. Too many years of a leaky roof had left permanent marks on the old wood. Just as too many years of neglect and abuse had left marks on Tasha's heart and soul that were still there, despite the time that had passed. A part of her wondered if old hurts ever really disappeared. Or were they just buried under new ones?

“He'll have you, Tash. One way or the other, he'll still have you.”

“Maybe.” Tasha turned her head on the ancient tapestry pillow to look at Molly. “Maybe he'll have me. But if Nick is his father, then I'll lose him. And if Nick
isn't
his father, I might still lose him. The only sure way I have of keeping Jonas safe is to run.”

Molly sat back, leaned against one of the thick pine posts at the foot of the bed, and stared at Tasha through narrowed, thoughtful eyes. “To keep him safe, or just to keep him?”

“What?”

Molly shrugged and picked at a loose thread in the old lace bedspread. “It's just that I keep hearing what
you
want for Jonas. I don't hear you wondering about what
Jonas
wants for Jonas.”

“He's a kid.”

“Who's had to grow up fast. Nobody should know that better than you.”

“My point exactly.”

“Tasha, think about it for a minute, okay?” Molly leaned forward, her gaze locked with Tasha's. “Remember what it was like when you ran away.”

“I remember,” she said, not needing the moment or two to dredge up the past. It was always with her, just one breath away. It haunted her when she least expected it. A scent, a sound, would awaken the memories, and in an instant she could find herself back in an alley, hiding in shadows.

The fears and hurts she kept under lock and key suddenly slipped from their cages to snake through her chest and wrap cold fingers around her heart. It had been terrifying. To be all alone. No one to turn to. No one to talk to. No one to trust. And still, it had been better than the home where she hadn't felt loved or safe.

“Now ask yourself,” Molly whispered. “Do you want Jonas to have those same memories? Do you really want him to be a runaway, too?”

“It wouldn't be the same. He wouldn't be alone.”

“He'd be running.”

“With me,” Tasha said tightly.

“And when do you stop running, Tash?”

She'd thought she had. She'd thought she'd found a
home. She'd thought this was her place. Here in the Victorian where she'd learned to trust again. To love again. But if keeping Jonas safe meant leaving it all behind, she would do it.

Did she want to take Jonas from the place he loved, from his friends, his home? Did she want to live under assumed names and keep skipping ahead of Social Services and nosy neighbors? Did she want to sentence him to the same kind of uncertainties she'd known until Mimi had turned her life around?

And was it really only Jonas she was worried about? If she couldn't be honest with Molly, the least she could do was admit the truth to herself. Nick scared her. Not just for Jonas's sake, but for her own. He made her nervous. He shook the foundations of her little world with the strength of a 6.0 earthquake. He made her want things she knew she couldn't have. And yet she couldn't stop the wanting.

But would running change that? she wondered. Wouldn't Nick's eyes, his smile, his touch, remain in her mind and haunt her no matter where she went?

She shifted a look at her friend. “How do I stop running, Molly?”

Molly smiled and shook her head. “I don't know. Maybe it's as simple as just taking a stand and refusing to move.”

Tasha flung one arm across her eyes. “I take a stand and I could lose everything.”

Molly flopped down onto her stomach and stretched out beside Tasha and lifted her friend's arm off her eyes. When their gazes met, she said, “Tash, the only way you could possibly lose that kid is if you deliberately try to keep him away from the man he thinks is his dad. Do that, and Jonas might never forgive you.”

*   *   *

“He's your
son
?” Paul set the letters down onto the table and stared at Nick through wide astonished eyes. “You have a
kid
?”

Nick huffed out a breath. Jesus, it was a relief that Paul knew what was going on. Sure, he could have talked to Carla, but he was pretty sure how she felt about this whole thing already. It was Paul's cool head he needed now.

“I don't know,” Nick finally said. “Maybe. Possibly. Probably. Damn it, I'm not sure.”

“The boy sounds sure.”

Nick slumped back in his chair and tented his fingers atop his chest. “Of course he's sure. He believes his mother.”

“What do you believe?”

“That's why I'm here, Paul. I don't know what to think. Or believe.” He scraped one hand across his face. “I saw a picture of his mom. I don't remember her.”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly. And I can't tell the kid that, can I?”

Paul winced. “Guess not. Have you had a DNA test done?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?” Paul's eyes flashed behind his glasses, and as if he suddenly felt as though they were blocking his view, he snatched them off and set them aside. “Christ, Nick. That should have been the first thing to do.”

“That's what Jackson said.”

“
He
knows?”

“He's a lawyer.”

“Yeah, but if Jackson knows, then Carla—”

“She knows, too.”

“Man.” Paul whistled low and long. “And she hasn't told Mama yet?”

“It's a miracle, I know.”

“One that can't last,” Paul warned him.

“Yeah, I know.”

“What're you doing about this?”

“I'm spending time with him.” Nick sighed. “Going to his football games.”

“He plays football?”

“Receiver,” Nick said, smiling, and he felt that ripple of pride that he'd become so accustomed to since meeting Jonas.

“Like father, like son?” Paul asked.

“Maybe.”

“So why not do the DNA test and have your answer?”

“What if it's the wrong answer?”

“Which one is the right one?”

“I don't know anymore,” Nick admitted, and could hardly believe it himself. When this had all started, he'd wanted it settled and to be on his way again. He'd thought only of placating Jonas long enough for the kid to back off. He hadn't wanted to even consider the possibility of being Jonas's father. Now, though, he didn't like the idea of
not
being his father, either. Yeah, he was great parent material. “At first all I could think about was my own ass. Getting it clear without the media getting wind of all this.”

“Yeah? What about now?” Paul's steady gaze locked on him.

“Now … damn it, you should see him, Paul.” Nick chuckled softly. “He even looks like me. And Christ, what an operator. He plays Tasha like we used to work Mama.”

“Tasha?” Paul's eyebrows lifted.

“Yeah. His foster mother—or not really his foster mother. She's off traveling somewhere, but Tasha takes care of him and she's…” He blew out a breath and reached for his beer again. “Driving me nuts.”

“This is getting interesting.”

Nick snorted a laugh. “Then I'm telling it wrong.”

“You?” Paul laughed shortly. “Woman troubles?”

“Jesus. She's got me all tied up in knots. I don't know whether to kiss her or tie her to a chair and gag her so she can't argue with me.”

“This is getting better and better.” Paul's grin flashed.