Loving You (34 page)

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“Coach is gonna retire.”

“No shit?” Tony leaned back in his chair and lifted his feet to cross them at the ankles on the edge of his desk. “Whoa. Does that make
him
old? Or
us
?”

“Oh,” Nick said, “him. Definitely.” Coach had even
looked
old. Lying in his hospital bed, surrounded by flowers and Get Well cards from his players. Old but not forgotten. The man had had a steady stream of visitors since being waylaid by a minor heart attack. The nurses at Chandler Community were working overtime just trying to keep a crowd out of the old man's room.

In the lobby, Nick had even run into a couple of the guys he used to play high school ball with. Word had spread about the coach, and it seemed everyone he'd ever had an impact on was turning out to make sure Mac knew how important he'd been in their lives. And during his visit with the coach, it had struck Nick hard that this one old man, working for peanuts in an obscure high school, had reached more people than Nick ever had with all of his celebrity.

Coach had made a difference.

Nick had made money.

“Good.” Tony grinned. “Just checking. Didn't want to be
old
,” he said. “Not with another baby coming.”

“You're kidding.” Nick turned around and stared at his older brother. Tony's daughter, Tina, was just over two years old and the apple of her daddy's eye.

“Nope.” Tony's grin got even wider as he unfolded his legs and stood up. “You're the first one to know in the family. Beth just told me this morning.”

Crossing to him in a few long strides, Nick grabbed his brother in a fierce hug and slapped him on the back. Another niece or nephew. The Candellanos were growing. “That's great. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Tony said, stepping back and moving for the coffee. “Beth's hoping for a boy. But me, I'd like another girl just like Tina.”

While his brother talked about babies and the future, Nick's mind wandered again. A family. Tony was a real family man. And Paul was on that road now, too. Soon enough, he and Stevie would be making babies. And as for Carla … Nick smiled to himself. When she heard about Beth being pregnant, his baby sister's competitive streak would show up and she'd be in a race for the maternity ward. And why not? She was a great mother to Reese, Jackson's daughter.

Six months ago, Nick would have been pleased for his brother but confused as hell about why anyone would want to have a family of his own. Freedom had been all-important then. Or at least, he'd thought so.

Now, though, it was different. He looked at Tony and the rest of the family and, hell.
Jealousy
was an ugly word, but it was the only one that fit. He envied Tony's happiness. Envied Paul and Stevie and Carla
and Jackson. He was the lame duck in the group now. No wife, no children … there was Jonas, though. And the kid had become more important to Nick than he'd ever thought possible.

As had Tasha.

Oh, just thinking of Tasha was enough to weaken his knees and tug at his heart.

Damn it.

Why wasn't anything simple?

Why didn't he know what to do anymore? He used to know. He used to have all the damn answers. Now he didn't even know the right questions. Could a man like him change? Could he make it work? What if he failed at being the kind of man Jonas and Tasha deserved? What if he couldn't be the kind of man he
wanted
to be?

Tony put on another pot of coffee and Nick wandered around the inside of the sheriff's office. Steps slow, mind racing, he studied framed photos hanging on the wall, trailed his fingers through the dust on top of the file cabinet, then stopped by the wide window overlooking Main Street. He stared out at Chandler, already gearing up for the winter carnival.

Once Thanksgiving was over, the Christmas decorations would go up on the streetlight poles and storefronts. Strings of tiny white lights would be draped up and down the length of the street, shining in the darkness like ropes of fallen stars. By the middle of December, the kiosks would be lining Main Street selling everything from real roasted chestnuts to handcrafted jewelry. Tourists would flock to the town every weekend, soaking up “old-fashioned small-town charm.”

He thought about bringing Tasha and Jonas to the carnival and how much he'd get a kick out of seeing
the kid enjoy the show as much as he used to. There'd be a Christmas tree to pick out and decorate. Presents to buy. Secrets to keep.

The smile on his face slowly faded away as he realized that there was no guarantee Jonas would be around in December. And if the DNA tests proved he wasn't Jonas's father … then what? Would Nick stand by and let the state take Jonas from his home?

From Tasha?

From
him
?

Nick's blood rushed hot through his veins. Since when did a blood test make family? Since when did a piece of paper decide who loved whom? That DNA test would tell him the truth.

But it couldn't tell him what he was feeling.

Only he could do that.

And it was long past time he made that call.

C
HAPTER
20

“You're sure he's spending the whole night.”

Tasha grinned. “All night. We've got hours.”

Hours, Nick thought. If he had
years
, he'd still want more time. He levered himself up on one elbow and stared down at Tasha. She ran her fingertips across his naked chest and he sucked in air through gritted teeth.

God. He couldn't get enough of her. For days they'd been meeting. Snatching stolen hours every morning, like teenagers hiding from their parents.

Until tonight.

Nick had spent the day with Jonas and Alex, dragging them all over the Saints stadium. Or rather,
being
dragged. The boys had inspected every square inch of the place, from the locker rooms to the luxury suites to the concession stands. Nick had visited with a few friends, bought the kids lunch, then dropped both boys off at the Medina house.

“And,” Tasha added, “Rose Medina always makes a huge breakfast on Sunday mornings, so Jonas won't be back home till almost noon.”

“How will we kill that much time?” Nick bent his head to kiss her, hungry for the taste of her again,
though his body had barely stopped buzzing. The brief brush of her mouth against his rekindled the embers within, startling him with their intensity. She was in his blood. In his soul. She'd touched him in ways he hadn't thought possible. Shone lights in all the dark, empty corners of his heart.

He couldn't lose her now. At least, not because he was too shit-scared to tell her how he felt. To take the leap. He'd thought of little else since leaving Tony's office the day before. Over and over again, he'd weighed the gains with the risks, and always the answer had come up the same.

Tasha.

Always, Tasha.

“What're you thinking?” she asked, reaching up to cup his cheek.

“About you,” he admitted. “About
us
.”

“Nick—”

“No, wait, Tasha.” God, he didn't want to blow this. He wanted to get this right. To have the right words. The setting couldn't be better. Moonlight and bare skin. But how to tell her everything he was feeling? Everything he wanted for her? For them? Finally, though, he realized it was just important to get the words
out
. “I love you.”

Her eyes clouded, her hand dropped from his cheek and she turned her head on the pillow. Staring toward the window and the night beyond, she said quietly, “Don't do this, Nick.”

Not the reaction he'd been hoping for. Or even expecting. “What?” His fingertips on her cheek turned her face back toward him.

“Don't spoil it.”

A curl of sheer panic spiraled through his guts. “Spoil it? Loving you is spoiling it?”

She inhaled sharply and pushing his hand aside, she slid off the edge of the bed, drawing the quilt along with her. The house was cold, as old houses were. Moonlight speared through the window and dazzled her in a silvery light that made her seem suddenly unapproachable. And Nick wanted to make a grab for her, just to reassure himself that she was still there. Still within reach. But she must have read his mind, because she took another step away from him.

Tasha shook her head and shoved one hand through her hair. Then swiveling her head, she looked at him. And her breath caught. Whatever she'd been about to say died unspoken. A man shouldn't be able to look
that
good. His dark brown hair tangled from her fingers, his eyes were hooded, still heavy with the passion shimmering in the air around them. His broad chest looked as if it had been sculpted from golden oak. The sheet pooled on his lap as he pushed himself up to stare at her in disbelief.

Oh God.

“What's wrong?” he asked, his voice a low rumble of sound that vibrated within her and set off small electrical charges in her bloodstream. “What's going on?”

Her stomach swirled with what felt like thousands of butterflies, all trying to take off at once. Nerves danced along her spine, and a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the house shook her to the bone. Mind racing, Tasha told herself to stay calm, but a part of her wanted to shout.

“You don't have to say that.”

“Say what?” he demanded. “‘I love you'?”

She winced and shook her head again. “Stop. You
don't mean it. Not really.” A stray tear coursed down her cheek and she reached up to impatiently swipe it away. “You're just saying what you think I want to hear. Well, I don't. I don't want to be lied to.”

“Now I'm lying to you?”

Tasha heard the anger in his voice, but she couldn't stop now. “Nick, I know you probably mean well, but—”

“Mean well. Thanks. That's great.”

“Don't you see?” She kept staring at him and felt herself weaken. She'd known all along that this wouldn't last forever. Right? She hadn't expected him to treat her like the other women who'd sailed across his bed. Giving her meaningless words just to make sure she stuck around for another tumble. And oh God, it wouldn't hurt nearly this bad if she didn't love him so much.

“I just don't want to be another one of the crowd.”

His eyes bugged out. “There's a crowd, now?”

She ignored that. “I want what we have. For as long as we have it.”

“And that's all.”

His voice was flat, but she wasn't fooled. Anger churned in his eyes, and even in the indistinct light, she had no trouble seeing it. “It's been enough, hasn't it?”

Actually, she thought, it had been more than she'd ever expected to find. And she wanted to cherish the memory—not ruin it by wishing it could have been something else. Something more.

“Nick,” she said, trying to make him understand, “I don't want promises you can't keep—or regrets when you leave. I don't expect anything from you.”
Just the pain when he was gone
.

His jaw worked, his eyes narrowed.

She breathed deep, blew it out in a rush, then said, “Just don't lie to me. I won't be lied to.”

“I
haven't
lied to you.”

She forced a smile that nearly cracked her face. Maybe he actually thought he'd meant the words. But sooner or later, day would dawn and he'd want to cut his own tongue out. “Let's just forget all of this, okay?”

“Forget it?” He grabbed the sheet and dragged it with him when he pushed off the bed. Wrapping it around his waist, he stood, feet planted wide apart, arms folded across that broad chest, and glared down at her. “I tell you I love you and you want to forget it?”

“It's best that way.” Please stop. Please stop saying it.

Nick laughed harshly. “This is some kind of karmic joke.”

“What?”

“On me.” Shaking his head, he reached up and scraped both palms over his face, then looked at her. “My whole damn life, I've avoided saying those words to anyone but my family.”

“Nick—”

“You had your say.
My
turn.” He walked past her, searching the moonlit room for his damn pants. So much for hours to play. The game was over and he'd ended it by wanting it to be more than a game. Perfect. “I was worried, ya know.” Muttering as he stalked around the room, he continued, “Worried about saying it all just right. Telling you how much you mean to me.”

He spotted his jeans. Dropping the damn sheet, he stalked naked across the room and snatched them off the floor. Turning around, he faced her while he tugged
them on. She was so damn beautiful it was all he could do to keep from going to her, yanking her to him, and
making
her hear him. “Those three words aren't a
chip
I play, Tasha. They mean something.”

She sighed. “You don't love me.”

“Really?” He snapped and zipped the jeans, then planted his hands on his hips. “What
do
I feel for you, Tasha?”

She shrugged and damn it, she looked too small wrapped up in that quilt. Fragile—as if she could be broken with a harsh word.

“I think you like me,” she said. “And you love Jonas.”

He stabbed his index finger at her. “No, you don't. Don't bring him into this. This is between you and me.”

“There
is
no you and me.”

“Why? Because you say so?”

“Because I'm not the kind of woman a man like you falls in love with.”

Nick's head snapped back as if she'd hit him. And that's how it felt. “Is that right?” He walked toward her slowly, because everything in him was calling for foot-stomping fury. “What kind of woman is
my
kind?”

She tipped her chin up and met his gaze squarely. Even if she was an idiot, she wasn't a coward. So much for thinking her fragile.

“Someone educated,” she said. “Someone with a career. Money. Style. Like those women in magazines.” She flipped her hair back from her face. “Rich men don't find love with beauticians. Men with strong families don't fall in love with nobodies.”