25. Twenty-Five

Twenty-Five

Nell had thought a room full of two dozen second graders was a handful. That was before she'd met Mrs. Nielsen's kindergarten class from hell. She'd only spent four days with the legion of adorable demon spawn and she was already tempted to take up day drinking. She was pretty sure that was what Mrs. Nielsen had done. No way she had shingles. She was on a beach somewhere, sipping margaritas and enjoying a much needed mental health break. And who could blame her? The few students who weren't possessed by creatures from the netherworld were possessed by feral cats. They didn't need a teacher, they needed an exorcist, but since Nell hadn't yet been able to find a permanent faculty position and was relying on subbing to pay the bills, she'd take what she could get. There was no way she was going to let a bunch of cute, conniving little monsters get the best of her. She was determined to find the inner sweetness that had to be lurking in there somewhere and drag it out of them before Mrs. Nielsen got back.

At least the daily battle provided Nell with a distraction from her crumbling life and shattered heart.

The subbing part of it was her own fault. If she'd simply swallowed her pride, it was possible—not probable, but possible— that she'd be back teaching at Bellwater. Her own classroom, her own kids. But instead, five minutes after her meeting with Frank Grantham had started, she'd walked right back out again. It had taken her less than half that time to realize Whit had been correct. Grantham was every inch the bully his nephew was, and he wouldn't be satisfied with an apology, no matter how sincerely meant. After the tumult of the past couple of weeks, Nell had developed a newfound sense of clarity, and as much as she had loved her job, it wasn't worth sacrificing her self-respect. If she hadn't been willing to give that up in order to be with Whit, there was no way she'd do it for the minor perk of a steady paycheck. There would be other jobs. Just as, she told herself, there would be other men.

Until then, she was taking it day by day. It wasn't a fresh start, but it was a fresh something . A new perspective. She needed a change, but doing anything dramatic to her hair felt too obvious, so she stripped all the polish from her toenails and dumped her favorite bottle of Cherry Apple red in the trash. Then she cut her hair anyway. No job meant no apartment, so she gave notice at her building; beginning in January, she would be staying with Paige—at least temporarily.

"Just like when you finished college!" Paige had said, like that was a good thing. Though it wouldn't be just like then, since the space was a bit more crowded these days. Paige had made up with Gabi, and this time, it seemed like it might actually stick, since they had decided to move in together.

Nell was genuinely happy for them, but the biggest surprise was that Paige had stood up to their grandmother about it. The news about the company's deceptive advertising had finally hit, and the imminent downfall (or at least stumble) of Forrester Cosmetics had given Paige the freedom to be herself. Rather than cut ties, she had taken control; instead of a fake relationship, she was going public with her real one. She was still working with Whit's publicist while riding out the scandal, but for the moment, it appeared that Paige Forrester had successfully reinvented herself.

Nell only wished she could do the same.

Nearly three weeks had passed since she'd last seen Whit, and she was no closer to moving on than she'd been when she'd left. Aside from her work, distractions hadn't helped. Paige had dragged her out of her apartment a couple of times, and she'd been out to dinner with friends, but somehow, everywhere she went, something reminded her of Whit. She wanted to turn back the clock, go back to when her life made sense and she didn't spend every moment feeling like some part of her was missing. Maybe she'd had a vague sense of dissatisfaction back then, a certain restlessness, but nothing she could describe or name. Now she could name it. Name him. Now the whole world felt empty without him. Colors didn't seem as vibrant. Winter in Chicago grew dreary, especially after the first snowfall turned to slush in the streets. And as awful as it was having herself named in a national tabloid, Whit's statement to the press only made the emptiness worse. How was she supposed to move on from a man who had bared his soul to save her career? She'd read his words so many times she had them memorized.

Ms. McLean was on her knees because I had unfairly demanded an apology for exposing the greatest shame of my career. The truth is, I should have been thanking her…

Thanking her for forcing him to confront his actions and accept his mistakes. Because it had made him a better man.

Nell had used up every tissue box in her apartment crying when she'd read that.

She'd wanted to reach out to him, but how could she after the way she'd left? It should be enough to know that he didn't totally despise her. Even if his words had been motivated by guilt, at least she had that knowledge to cling to. But she hadn't slept well since her return to Chicago, and the deep shadows that had taken up permanent residence under her eyes had Paige asking a constant stream of well-meaning questions that Nell didn't have the energy to answer.

She assumed that was what had prompted Paige's latest text. Gabi and I are going out of town for the weekend, but I left a surprise for you in the condo. Could you stop by after work?

Nell fought a sinking feeling in her stomach. Paige's most recent attempt at a distraction had involved a blind date ambush with an attractive med student who had taken Nell's awkward explanation that she wasn't looking for a relationship as an invitation to suggest a one-night stand. This time, Paige had probably hired a stripper .

She was tempted to ignore the text. A week of wrangling hell beasts hadn't left her in the mood to deal with anything more strenuous than a glass of wine and a bubble bath. But Paige would only keep pestering her about it, Gabi would back her up, and Nell didn't see any point in delaying the inevitable—especially since she needed to start moving her things over, anyway. The bubble bath would have to wait. After finishing up at school, she swung by her apartment to load up her car, made a quick pit stop to fuel up on coffee, and was at Paige's building by the time night fell. Gloom settled over her as she trudged down the lushly-carpeted hallway. The condo was on the eighth floor, and even with access to an elevator, she wasn't looking forward to an evening spent hauling in boxes. She sort of hoped there was a stripper in there. At least she could put his muscles to good use.

She was amusing herself with that thought when she stepped inside, balancing a box on one hip, and flicked on the overhead light.

Then she screamed.

Or rather squeaked. Most of the scream was swallowed the moment she recognized the large masculine form draped across the living room sofa. She had just enough time to register the fact that it was Whit before the box she'd been carrying tumbled from her grip and went crashing to the floor. The impact made a couple of light fixtures rattle, but Nell's pulse was thudding so loudly she never even heard it hit the ground.

Whit jolted into instant awareness. And then promptly fell face-first off the couch.

Nell squeaked again and rushed toward him, heart in her throat, box forgotten. He rolled to his side, lying sprawled on Paige's three thousand dollar rug, one hand on his chest, the other arm flung haphazardly across the glass coffee table he'd narrowly missed cracking his skull on. He blinked at her, looking dazed. "Jesus, Nell, you scared the shit out of me."

" I scared you ? I'm not the one lurking in the dark in someone else's apartment! "

"I wasn't lurking. I fell asleep. And it wasn't dark when I got here." He touched the bridge of his nose and winced. A thin flow of red oozed from one nostril toward his upper lip.

"Oh, god, you're bleeding." She gripped his arm and tugged at him. It was like trying to lift a concrete slab. "Tilt your head back or something. Paige will kill me if you bleed on her rug."

"Your sympathy is touching." He pushed himself upward with a grimace and stalked toward the nearest bathroom, where he grabbed a handful of tissues from the sink and crumpled them against his face. "Happy?"

Incredible how he could manage to sound sarcastic with a wad of tissues pressed under his nose. Nell might have laughed, if her emotions hadn't been thrown into turmoil the second she'd seen him. The best she could manage was a weak nod.

He glared at her from behind the tissues. "Yeah, this is exactly how I pictured this going."

She slipped past him, avoiding eye contact. "I think there's a first-aid kit in here somewhere." But after rummaging through the cupboards and medicine cabinet, all she came up with was a half-empty bag of cotton swabs and a box of tampons.

Whit took one look at them and actually growled. "No way. I'm not having this conversation with a tampon stuck up my nose. If I bleed on anything belonging to Paige, I'll replace it."

Nell hesitated, hugging her arms. "Maybe you should go to the hospital."

"It's probably not broken. Just ugly." He peered at himself in the mirror, withdrew the tissues, and winced again. "Good thing it's the off-season. I'd have a hell of a time explaining this one. Not the worst injury I've had, but definitely the stupidest. Except for the time you stabbed me in the ass."

"That was an accident," she said dully.

"And this wasn't?"

Nell retreated a step. She was starting to put the pieces together, and the picture they formed made it hard to draw breath. Paige. Paige had done this. Nell didn't know how, she didn't know why, but she did know that the only way Whit would have gotten into the condo was if Paige had invited him.

Surprise.

All he needed was a bow around his neck.

Her legs didn't seem to want to hold her up, so she sank onto the fuzzy pink toilet cover, wedging her hands between her knees. Ever since she'd seen Whit lying on the sofa, she'd been trying not to think. She'd resisted looking at him, really looking at him. Now she caught him in glances—the dark hair he'd clearly been running his fingers through, the slope of his jaw showing the faintest hint of a beard. Instead of his normal jeans and T-shirt ensemble, he was wearing charcoal trousers and a blue dress shirt rolled up at the elbows, where the pale crescent of his scar was just visible. She remembered trailing a path of kisses along that scar. Remembered the warm tang of his skin beneath her lips.

He was so achingly familiar, every part of him. She wanted to touch him, to curl her body into his and feel the rhythm of his heart against her, but she couldn't until she understood what was happening.

"What are you doing here, Whit?" she asked softly. Had Paige called him? Told him what a pathetic mess Nell had become? That would be the ultimate humiliation. Nell hadn't wanted Whit's guilt, and she wanted his pity even less. She felt a thread of anger and seized it. "And make it quick, because I have a date."

She was more than a little horrified by her own rudeness, but Whit saw right through it. He tossed the crumpled tissues into the wastebasket and turned toward her, folding his arms across his chest. "Nice try, McLean, but you're still a terrible liar."

Instead of apologizing, she doubled down. "Make it quick anyway."

"Can we do this somewhere else?"

"Not until you answer my question."

"Well, I'm not telling you I love you in a flippin' bathroom unless we're both in the shower and naked, so either take off your clothes or come with me."

He walked away without giving her time to answer .

Not that she could have answered. She couldn't even move. Her heart screamed at her to run after him, but her body wouldn't obey her. He didn't mean it. Couldn't mean it. The words they'd thrown at each other that morning at the farm were seared into her memory, as bitter and painful as they had been three weeks ago. And the statement he'd released to the press—he'd done that because it was the right thing, and whether he believed it or not, he was the kind of man who did what was right. Maybe not always, but when it counted.

But she wanted him to mean it. She wanted it so badly she couldn't breathe.

Whit must have realized she wasn't going to follow him. A moment later he reappeared, giving her a grumpy look as he set a slim gray duffel bag on top of the vanity. "Are we seriously doing this here?" he demanded. "Is this really the story you want us to tell our grandchildren?"

Grandchildren . Nell somehow forced her mouth to work. "Did you just say you loved me?"

"This whole thing was way more romantic in my head."

"Whit—"

"I have a lot I want to say to you, and I'd like you to hear me out before you make any decisions. I figure you owe me that much after the way you ran out on me. But first—this is for you." He unzipped the duffel bag and reached inside, withdrawing what appeared to be an old Little League trophy with the tiny, faded gold figure of a baseball player swinging a tiny, faded gold bat. He held it toward her.

She took it automatically, gazing up at him questioningly.

"It's the O'Rourke Family Trophy. Congratulations. You won."

"Uh, what did I win?"

"The Piss Off Dad Contest. He was really upset when you dumped me." Nell immediately started to argue, but Whit cut her off. "You were sleeping with me and now you're not. That counts as dumping."

A bubble of laughter rose in her chest. "So your dad is pissed off I'm no longer sleeping with you."

"I have to say I'm not really happy about it either." He reached into the bag again, this time pulling out a carefully folded jersey of gray and blue fabric that he laid in her lap. "That's for you, too. For around the house. We'll get you other game day gear."

Nell pressed her fingertips against the cloth. She didn't need to hold it up to know the gold lettering on the back would spell out O'Rourke.

"We can start there, if you're willing," Whit said quietly. "I don't think we're ready for marriage and babies just yet."

"That wasn't—"

"A proposal, I know. That's why I'm making one." He grabbed the chair from the vanity and seated himself across from her. "I want to be with you, Nell. Girlfriend, boyfriend, lovers, partners, whatever you want to call it. No deals. No expiration date."

This was exactly what she'd hoped for, everything she'd hoped for, but instead of throwing herself into his arms, she stuck her hands between her knees again to keep herself from touching him. "What about your realistic outlook about long-term relationships?"

"That was before I fell in love with you."

Her heart did an erratic little skip. "I thought normal people didn't fall in love in a week."

"Neither of us is exactly normal."

"That's not what you said at the farm."

"I'm not as in tune with my emotions as you are. It took me some time to catch up. And technically, we met more than four years ago. That's plenty of time to fall in love."

"You hated me four years ago!"

"Only because I was an idiot. And only for a little while. If I'd spent a week getting to know you, I'd have loved you back then. It's a good thing I didn't, since you'd have turned me down flat."

"Probably," she conceded. She could feel tears beginning to form and blinked them away.

Whit's smile was rueful. "I think I knew that night at the lake, and it scared the hell out of me, so I told myself it was better to just let you leave. But it wasn't better. I missed you so much I couldn't think. Couldn't sleep. I couldn't go back to who I'd been before I found you, and I don't want to." He rose to his feet, sliding the chair away, and reached into his pocket. Then he hesitated. "I have something else for you. It's not a ring, but… do you want me to get down on one knee? It's kinda cramped in here, but I'll do it."

She shook her head mutely.

"Here." Gently, he drew her to her feet, sliding his fingers along her arm until he found her hand. He brushed his thumb along her skin, making her shiver, then set the slim silver chain of his charm necklace into her open palm. "I love you, Eleanor Lacey McLean. I don't know the future, and I can't promise you forever any more than you can promise it to me. But I can promise you that you're the one I want to be with. I'm hoping you still want to be with me."

His hand was trembling, his beautiful dark eyes suspiciously damp. Nell would have wrapped her arms around him, but his troubled expression told her he wasn't finished yet.

His voice caught when he spoke again. "It won't be easy. You need to know that. As soon as spring training starts, you'll have to get on an airplane any time you want to actually see me. That's just the beginning. My life revolves around baseball, which means yours will, too. If we decide to move in together or get married, you'll have to leave Chicago—it will have to be you, not me. I'm locked into a contract for the next five years, and I have an obligation to my team. After that, we may end up moving, and god only knows where we'll end up. You might have to pack up and start over in a new city. More than once. If we have kids, you'll be spending a lot of time on your own with them. And there will be expectations placed on you. You'll have to participate in baseball activities, and it's more than just going to games."

"You don't think I'm up to that?" she asked softly.

"I know you are. You just need to decide if I'm worth it."

This time she couldn't blink back the tears. "Haven't you gotten that through your head yet? Of course you're worth it. I love you, too, Whit O'Rourke, and you're going to have to work a lot harder than that if you want to scare me away."

"Thank god." He dragged her into his arms. His strong, solid body pressed against hers, his warmth steadying her.

Nell smiled up at him. She was crying and she didn't care. "Grandchildren, huh?"

"I'm choosing to be optimistic." He bent to kiss her, then swore and drew back sharply when his nose bumped against hers.

"I still think you should go to the hospital," she said, pulling away reluctantly. "Or at least get an ice pack."

"I thought you hated hospitals."

"You'll note I said you ."

"What, you're going to send me off all by myself after I traveled four hundred miles to confess my love to you?"

"I'm willing to drive you there," Nell teased.

A wicked glint came into his eyes. "I've got a better idea."

That bubble of laughter rose again. God, she'd missed him. Even more than she'd wanted to admit. "Let me guess. It involves sex."

"Obviously. But not here. I've mentioned my penthouse, right?"

"Once or twice."

"It has these windows. Floor to ceiling. One-way glass. Overlooks the whole city."

"It must have a great view," she murmured.

The wicked glint turned straight up sinful. "Incredible. But that's not why I'm mentioning them."

"Should I be worried?"

"I've been having this fantasy of you. Pressed up against those windows. Bare ass naked."

"That sounds a little uncomfortable," she said, even as a delicious shiver shot up her spine.

"I'd settle for the naked part."

She laughed, looping her arms around his neck. "I'll indulge your fantasy, as long as you indulge mine of unloading my car."

"Deal."

With Whit's help, moving the boxes from her car to the spare bedroom Paige had set up for her use took less than half an hour. It wouldn't have even taken that long, except that Nell spent the first ten minutes of it arguing with Whit that she couldn't just move into his apartment. They had all the time in the world, and she had no intention of rushing things.

In between box loads, Whit told her how he'd devised his plan to—as he put it—win her over. Paige had been in on it, but only because Whit had called her first, just in case Nell had blocked his number. And then Paige had made him swear on his pitching arm, his Cy Young Award, and his immortal soul that he wouldn't break Nell's heart.

"Seems like she meant business," Nell said. She supposed she'd have to let Paige off the hook for barging in on them at the farm.

"So do I."

"You fell asleep waiting for me!"

"I was exhausted. I've been up for two days straight, and I haven't slept well for weeks."

"I know how that feels." She sucked in a breath. Since they were beginning a real relationship now, it would be best if they did it with a clean slate. "I have something to confess."

"If this is about Sawyer, I already know. We had a talk before I left town."

"And…?"

"And what? We're not miraculously best pals again. But… it went better than I expected."

"That's a start," she said gently.

"It's something, anyway."

Whit's apartment was only a ten minute drive, which would be convenient once Nell was officially living with Paige. But the moment she stepped inside, she felt a twinge of regret that she'd insisted on keeping her own place. She'd expected decadence, but realized quickly she should have known better—even sparsely furnished, the spacious condo with its warm tones and understated, wood-accent architecture felt more graceful than luxurious. And Whit hadn't been kidding about the view. To the east, Lake Michigan spread dark and endless, and everywhere else the Chicago skyline glittered with a thousand points of light, dappling the river in sparks so that the entire city seemed to glow. Incredible had been an understatement; breathtaking was more the word for it.

She turned to Whit, who stood watching her with a hungry, heavy-lidded look that made her heart flip over. She fought down a flutter of nerves. "I see why you haven't wanted to sell this place."

"At least now I have a reason to use it."

A trickle of sweat started to form between her breasts. "Maybe you should tell me more about this fantasy of yours."

He was across the room in three strides. "Why don't I show you instead?"

The faint worry that had been building inside her— what if it wasn't the same between them?— melted away the moment he reached her. They moved together hurriedly and then languidly, first against the windows and then in front of them, with the desperation of two bodies that had been starved for each other and the fierce joy of reunited lovers. When they finally made it to the bed, sated and spent, sheets tangled around them, Nell propped herself up on one elbow and traced a finger along his ribs, over his heart.

Whit watched her with a drowsy smile. "The angry sex was hot, but tonight was so much better."

"Any other fantasies I should know about?"

"This one is pretty good." He stroked her hair idly, then shifted his arm, drawing her against him. "You know, I keep wondering what would've happened if you hadn't run into me at the bar that night."

She'd wondered the same thing. If she'd arrived a minute earlier or a minute later… if her tire hadn't gone flat… "I still would've shown up at your house the next morning. I had an apology to make, remember?"

"You might have missed me. Or I'd have slammed the door in your face."

"I don't believe in fate, if that's where this is going."

"What would you call it then?"

"Good timing. Four years ago, we had bad timing. Maybe this is just… balancing the scales."

A low chuckle stirred in his chest. "So—fate. "

She wasn't willing to concede that just yet, even if she was thinking she might have to reconsider her opinions on destiny. "Coincidence. A very lucky coincidence."

"Best luck I ever had," Whit murmured.

She snuggled against him and closed her eyes. "Me too."