Some kind of wonderful (28 page)

The impulse to say those words to Carol, to watch her eyes as he took the chance, wasn't new. It had been building for days now. Maybe longer. But he hadn't said anything. Hadn't even really allowed himself to think it. And if he tried now, she wouldn't believe him and he couldn't blame her.

Besides, love didn't change anything. He'd loved before and it hadn't been enough to keep his world from unraveling.

Then she was speaking again and the moment was lost, anyway.

"Robert—that was his name—said marriage was a natural progression. The next logical step in our relationship."

"And you knocked my proposal?" he said, irritation flickering hot and wild inside him—not just at himself, but for the long-absent Robert.

She slanted him a look that told him to back off while he still could. "Robert said that we were compatible. That we would do well together. I wanted children." She stopped, inhaled deeply, then sighed the air out again. "And oh, God, I wanted to be needed."

"Needed?"

"You don't get that, do you?" she demanded, turning on him again with a speed that made a striking rattlesnake look like a snail. "What did you say about love? That it was a billT Disgusted, she shook her head again. "So to you, being needed is just another way of being trapped, right?"

She didn't wait for him to answer. Instead, she charged on, her words picking up speed, her voice picking up an odd little hitch that made him want to hold her, soothe her, somehow erase the pain he'd brought her. The fire in her eyes kept him quiet. She was furious. Too angry to be calmed by him and too determined to have her say to be quiet now.

"You've always been loved. You had your family." She waved her arms, silently encompassing Christmas and everything in it. "This town. This place. You knew where you fit in. Where you belonged. I didn't."

"I know," he said, his voice more gentle now as he watched old pain mingle with new in the shimmer of her eyes. Everything in him wanted to offer comfort. To pull

her into his arms and hold her until the ugly memories faded.

"No you don't," she said. "You couldn't possibly. You don't know what it's like to never have the family you always dream about." Her eyes narrowed on him. "You have no idea what it feels like to be trotted out for prospective adoptive parents. To dress up and smile and hope that maybe these people will choose you. You learn to slouch a little, too, so maybe people will think you're younger, because everybody knows that only the young ones get adopted. Then, when you're never chosen, you make do. You resign yourself to the state home. Not a home, really, but the closest one you've got."

"Jesus, Carol."

"You don't know what it's like," she continued, refusing to be stopped. "To not have a home to run back to when your world collapses around you. To know that people there will love you and welcome you no matter what and do whatever they can to help you."

He started to speak, but she held one hand up like a five-fingered stop sign.

"You don't know what it's like to make a friend and have them disappear into a different foster home." She stepped in closer. "You don't know what it's like to wish, from the bottom of your heart, to be like everybody else. To have a birthday party. Or a picnic. Or a real Christmas—the kind you see in movies—with snow and a tree and presents. You can't know. You never once in your life did without any of those things, did you?"

Jack took her accusations and felt each one of them hit him with the force of a slap. He looked down into those whiskey eyes of hers and found his heart aching for the child she'd been. For the pretty little girl with no one to call her own. And at last, he stopped feeling sorry

for himself long enough to be more concerned for someone else. For Carol. She might think she'd gotten past those old hurts and disappointments, but they were all still there, curled up inside her ready to explode and knock her to her knees. As they had now.

She deserved better—from him, from everyone. She hadn't complained about the crappy hand she'd been dealt. She hadn't curled up in a damn ball and clutched her wounds and pain close, shutting out everything else. Instead, she'd beaten back early disappointments and set out to make the life she'd always wanted.

Life had never been good for Carol, but she'd survived. . . triumphed. Shame reached for him and grabbed hold. He'd had everything—had taken it for granted, that love, that security—and then he'd allowed one hideous night to wipe it all away. To destroy not only his past, but his future.

Now he looked into her eyes and found it hard to meet her gaze. "No," he said, "I don't know what that's like."

"Well, you were lucky." Those words came a little sharper. A little stronger, with less pain, thank God.

He'd rather face her fury than her tears.

"Yeah, I guess so." He glanced down at the dog who followed Carol's every step with a guarded gaze. Jack knew just how the animal felt. And she wasn't finished yet.

"When Robert proposed, I said yes. Because I wanted all those things," she said, staring up at him and locking her gaze with his. "I wanted to be loved. I wanted children. A family."

That twinge around his heart sharpened as he realized that she'd been disappointed to find out she wasn't pregnant. He tried not to hate the long-gone Robert—as well as himself. "So why didn't you get 'em?"

"A couple of reasons."

"Like ... ?"

"Well," she said with a sigh of disgust, "there was the bimbo down the hall from him."

"Great guy."

"But the capper was, Robert went out and got a vasectomy."

Jack winced.

"Of course, he didn't bother to tell me about his decision until after it was a done deal." • "Nice."

"Oh, charming," she agreed, pacing again as if she couldn't bear to stand still. Her footsteps pounded against the damp grass and the ever-present wind tousled her hair and carried her scent to him.

Jack swiveled his head to keep up with her progress as she made a wide circle around him. Her hands flew, gesturing as she spoke, and emotions rippled across her features, changing so fast he could hardly keep up.

"He said children would be a mistake. That we got on well together. We would do better as a childless couple."

"Nice guy." Okay, Robert was an asshole. Neither one of them had done right by Carol, but so far, Robert was winning the jerk award.

"I'm not finished," Carol said quickly and he swore he saw lightning, jagged and bright, flash across her eyes as she paused long enough to shake her index finger at him with so much vigor he could only be grateful she wasn't holding a baseball bat.

"His cheating was hard to take, I admit. But the vasectomy tore at me, because he'd known how much I wanted children. So, I pressed him, wanting to know exactly why he'd had himself sterilized."

That wince again. Jack couldn't help it. Any man's nuts would squeeze up tight at the thought.

"Finally, he admitted that as I was a foster child, we couldn't be sure of my background and it was better not to take chances on procreation."

"Christ." Jack just stared at her. And because he was watching her so closely, he saw the fury pulse back into her eyes and was glad to see it. Anything was better than seeing her hurt. Even if it did mean he was about to get reamed because the weasel Robert wasn't handy.

"I handed him his ring and walked out."

"Good for you."

"It wasn't so hard," she said with a shrug that belied the expression in her eyes.

"He was an asshole."

"Yes, he was," she said, "but at least he was honest."

"Honest?" The word burst from Jack's mouth before he could hold it in. "He slept with a bimbo while engaged to you and then he sneaked off and got himself fixed without telling you and that's honest?'

"No, but his reasons were honest. And that at least was something."

"Meaning..."

"Meaning, he told me how he really felt."

"Damn if I'll be compared to that jerk and come out the loser." Jack felt his own fury rise to match the raging sea he saw in her eyes.

"You proposed—and I use the word loosely—because you thought you had to." She tipped her head even farther back and met him glare for glare. "Robert did it because he too thought he should."

"And then hacked off his nuts." He shoved both hands through his hair in frustration.

Her fists balled at her sides, and once again, Jack was struck by the urge to hunt for cover. A furious woman was nothing to be sneezed at.

"I said yes to Robert because I wanted to be loved. I wanted the fairy tale—but I realized that marriage without love would be a lot lonelier than being by myself." She pulled in a breath and held it before releasing it on a rush. "I didn't marry him because he didn't really love me. Who I am."

"Good call."

She ignored that. "He only wanted to do what he thought was right."

"I think I just landed back in Robert's boat."

"Damn straight. And I wouldn't have married you for the sake of a baby," she added quickly. "I want love. Jack. I want the whole package. To love and be loved. I want kids. I want 'permanent.'"

Jack just looked at her. His insides twisted with regret and pain and shame, dammit. Fine. He'd screwed this up royally. In trying to do the right thing, he'd only insulted her. Hurt her.

He did belong in Robert's boat.

Jack watched her, in the weird half-light thrown by the Nativity scene and then dappled by the shadows around them. He felt the tremors coursing through her body as clearly as though he were holding her to him. And suddenly, his arms ached to do just that

A huge stab of pain sliced at his heart and he almost reached for his chest to massage it away. True, he'd been living with a throbbing ache in his heart for two long, miserable years. But this was so much more. So much deeper. This pain he'd brought on himself. And there was no one else to blame for it.

She lifted her chin and her hair, driven by the wind,

danced around her head in a blond halo. Her shoulders were squared, her eyes tear-free, and her bottom lip was firm. She faced him proudly and her strength humbled him. She wasn't going to cry again and for that he was grateful.

But she also wasn't going to waste any more time on him. And for that, he was sorry. Hell, he was even sorry there was no baby. And he hadn't expected that. He shouldn't have been anything but relieved. But there was a twist of disappointment squeezing his insides that told him nothing was simple.

A part of him grieved for a child who had never existed, just as he mourned the loss of what Carol might have been in his life.

'Tonight," she said, dragging his attention back to her, "when Lacey told me about the boy who'd made her pregnant, she said that he'd told her he loved her. That she was special..." Her voice broke on that last word and she had to pause for breath before continuing. "I understood. God help me, I knew just what she meant. Just how much those words could mean to ears hungry to hear them." Her gaze locked with his again and the raw power in those golden eyes slammed him hard. "I need to hear them, too, Jack. I need to hear those words said and to be meant. And I won't settle for anything less."

"I'm not asking you to," he argued, though even he wasn't on his side anymore. "I told you—I was just trying to do the right thing."

"You want to do what's right?" Her voice was a challenge and her eyes fired sparks at him that should have singed him. "Well, you know what's right, Jack? Loving when you get the chance. And living every minute of every day." She bit down hard on her bottom lip, then

swept right on, clearly on a roll. "But you can't see that. You're too busy beating yourself up for surviving to actually live the life you could have. So don't tell me you know what's right, Jack." She shook her head slowly. "Because you don't have a clue."

It stung. All of it. Standing there listening when he wanted to argue but knew he didn't have any ammunition. Years of being a martyr had only brought him pain. Only alienated him from everyone he'd ever cared for. He'd locked himself into a small chamber of misery and snapped like a tiger at anyone who'd tried to free him. He'd hugged his agonies close and used them as a shield to keep the world at bay. But he'd told himself he'd been doing it to protect those around him as much as himself. That excuse didn't really fly now, though. Did it?

"Dammit, Carol," he finally said, when she paused long enough for him to jump in. "You think I want it to be like this?"

Impatiently, she scooped her hair back. "If you wanted it to be different," she said, "it could have been." Then she stepped in close to him, looked way up, to lock her gaze with his, and delivered that killing blow a second time. "I love you."

His heartbeat staggered slightly and he had to fight against every instinct that clawed at him, making him want to grab her and hold on.

"I'm not afraid to say it," she said, and her tone taunted him. "But you don't have to worry. I'm sure I'll get over it."

Moments ticked past, measured in soft breaths and Quinn's pitiful whine. The wind picked up and danced through the limbs of the trees, sounding like a whispering crowd offering comments on the scene being played

out in front of them. From a block or two away came the muffled sound of a dog barking and under it all was the ever-steady rhythm of the sea, rushing in to shore.

Everything had changed for him in the last few weeks, Jack thought. He'd stumbled across Carol and she and Liz had dragged him back into the world of the living. But did he belong there? At best, he was alive only because of a whim of fate—at worst, because he'd allowed his partner— his friend —to die, instead.

And if Will had died because of him, did he have the right to live happily? He shook his head, tumbling those dark thoughts back into a corner of his mind where they'd fester a while before leaping out at him again.

"Do you want me to move out of the apartment?" he asked, steeling himself for her answer.

Now it was her turn to wince. And that slight stab of pain hit him as hard as it had hit her.