Chapter Nine

Jenna

Walking into my parents' house always did feel like walking into a grand ballroom at a wedding venue. It was a Tuscan-style mansion that they bought for just under a couple million when I was in high school.

It had more bedrooms than we ever needed and nearly just as many bathrooms. Then there was the wine cellar, Dad's office, and Mother's gym, where her personal trainer met her every morning at six a.m. on the dot to make sure she was in tip-top shape. Except on the weekends when she went to yoga with her friends. And, of course, there was the sprawling backyard patio where she hosted so many DAR meetings, I'd lost count. Nothing about their lives had changed since I was in high school, and I didn't seeing it changing anytime soon.

With marble flooring and bright white walls, the entire house had a timeless feel to it that I appreciated. My favorite room, though, had always been the living room, where Mother insisted on a gold-leaf ceiling, which she got.

Then there were the stairs. Oh, how many times I ran up and down that staircase. It was a luxurious double staircase that made the place look intimidating to even the most affluent of guests. And that was, I thought, my mother's intention. Life in my mother's world was far from simple and she made sure that the lives of those around her were just as complicated, if not miserable, too. There was this one memory that haunted me as I stood in my last childhood home, if you could even call this place that. It was the first time I brought Deacon home with me, hoping for a casual study-slash-make-out session, but she had other ideas.

"Just what exactly do you think you're doing?" My mother's voice was stern, like she demanded to be heard. And she was.

Deacon looked back, dropped my hand, and looked out the corner of his eye toward me. It was his first time in my house, but not the first time he'd met my mother. No, that had happened when he drove me home from school one day in his dad's Jaguar.

Unrelenting, my mother repeated herself because she didn't like to be ignored. "Did you not hear me? I asked what you think you're doing."

"Deacon and I were just going to study upstairs."

"You two aren't even in the same school." She crossed her arms. "Just how naive do you think I am?"

I think he could tell I wasn't getting anywhere fast, so he tried to help me out. "Ma'am, we really do plan on studying. Jenna was going to help me with some history dates I have to memorize."

"You can do that in the living room where you can be seen." What she didn't say was we'd most likely be seen by our housekeeper, the third one we had this month. My mother never could keep a housekeeper longer than a week.

I rolled my eyes and resisted the urge to stomp my foot on the stairs. Being a petulant teenager was never the right move in this house. I was expected to act like a lady and I knew it. So while I wanted to shout, "I hate you!" instead I simply nodded and laid my books on the coffee table.

"Ma'am." A woman's voice brought me out of my reverie. When I blinked rapidly, but didn't answer, only looked at her, she repeated what I suppose was her earlier question, "Would you like me to take your stuff?"

I passed her my shawl and purse. "Yes, thank you, Greta." Greta was the current housekeeper. Who knew how much longer she'd last, but I still made a point of learning her name just as I'd done with all the ones who came before her and would of all the ones who came after her.

So distracted by my memories, I'd almost forgotten why I was here. I had to see my father about some drama circling the law firm that had been dropped in my lap. Apparently, one of our associates didn't feel comfortable talking to human resources, so she came to me with some problems she'd been having with a senior partner.

Before walking away, Greta asked, "Would you like me to let Mr. McAllister know you've arrived?"

I happened to know my mother wasn't home right now. She was having a luncheon with her friends. Another reason why I came now, so I only had to deal with one of my parents. That was usually all it took for my hairs to stand on end. I definitely didn't need to see two of them at once.

I shook my head, acknowledging her question. "No, Greta, that's quite all right. I think I'll just go see him myself. Is he in his office?"

"Yes," she answered. "Are you sure you wouldn't like me to check if he's on the phone?"

"Don't worry about it."

She merely nodded and walked away with my stuff. When she was out of sight, I walked in the opposite direction to my father's study.

I knocked before entering and when I heard him grumble, "Come in," I opened the door and walked in, pushing it closed behind me.

He motioned for me to sit in one of the leather seats in front of his desk, so I did. "You wanted to see me?" he asked, removing his reading glasses and shutting the lid on his laptop.

Right down to it, I should've guessed. My father never was one for chit-chat. He always said time was money, so every second counted.

I pushed my hair behind my ear and told him what was going on at the office. "I'll take care of it," was all he said once I was done reciting what I'd heard.

My mouth fell open. "That's it? Aren't you going to tell me what you're going to do about it?"

He shook his head. "No, I am not." He slid his reading glasses back on and opened the laptop back up. "Please let Greta know I've been waiting for my lunch for the past thirty minutes. I'm starved."

I rolled my eyes and stood up. "Unbelievable," I pushed back on the chair, before tucking it back in where it belonged.

He peered up for a second and looked at me. "It would behoove you to remember whose law firm it is that you work at."

"How can I forget?" I crossed my arms over my chest and sighed. "You remind me every chance you get that it's yours."

"And it will be until the day I decide to hand things over to you, but until then, stay in line. I don't have much tolerance for people who step out of line."

See, the thing was, I wasn't people. I was his daughter. The funny thing was, he was the one who practically forced me into working for him, insisted it would never do if I worked anywhere else. Frustrated, I blew bubbles and rubbed my forehead. Before saying anything I'd regret, I fixed the hem on my dress and turned around to leave.

"Close the door behind you, please," he ordered.

"Of course, Father. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

Once I was outside his office, I leaned my back on a wall nearby and sighed. I didn't know why I expected anything more from these people. My parents were the least bit caring. They were ruthless and passionate about only a few things in this world—status, money, and power, and in that order.

I headed to the kitchen to tell Greta about his lunch and grab my stuff so I could hightail it out of here. This house was as toxic as they came and I couldn't take it for longer than I had to.

It wasn't Greta that was in the kitchen, though. It was my mother. She was holding the fridge open, her head inside, searching for something. I was just about to turn on my heel as quietly as possible so she didn't hear me when she closed the fridge, mumbled something under her breath, and turned around. Her eyes met mine. It was clear she was wearing her usual cloak of disgust.

"Oh, Jenna, didn't anyone teach you it's not nice to sneak up on people like that?"

"Sorry, Mother." I apologized way too much to my own parents.

She arched a brow and folded her arms over her chest. "Why are you here, Jenna?" Every time she said my name chills ran down my spine, like I was a little girl in trouble.

"Dad wants his lunch," I blurted out. "I was looking for Greta to let her know and to get my stuff." That reminded me. "I was just on my way out." Thankfully.

"Not so fast," she said as I turned on my heel.

I didn't look back, just stayed still where I was. She came around to where I was and stood in front of me, eyeing me up and down. "Where did you get this dress?"

I looked down and cleared my throat. "What's wrong with it?"

She tilted her head. "It's so," she paused, as if she couldn't quite put her finger on it, "juvenile. You wear this to the office?"

"Yes."

She gave me a pointed look. "Why don't we go shopping? We can get you a new wardrobe? Clearly we need to get you back on track."

Those words "back on track" had my skin crawling. It reminded me of the last time my mother had said those words to me. I'd just lost my baby and she insisted she'd help me get my life back on track by controlling me and my every move. And sadly, I'd let her for far longer than I should have.

It all come with a high price and I paid it. Until Deacon returned. In the few short days he'd been back, as much as I knew it was a mistake, I was finally happy again, even confident and calm. Too bad he'd be nothing more than a desire to me now, one that I could never give into.

Deciding to stick it to her, I blurted out, "He's back, you know?"

"Who?" she questioned, positively confused by my outburst.

I grinned, smugly. "Deacon, Mother." Then I repeated it for good measure. "Deacon's back."

For the first time since I got here, I felt good. Really good. I did what I never thought I'd do—bring his name up to my mother again. And look at that, the world around us didn't collapse. I felt like superwoman.

"How nice," she only said, surprising me to no end.

I wondered, that was it? No threats? No insults? Nothing?

That was when I saw the gleam in her eyes as she cracked open a bottle of Pellegrino on the counter.

Maybe it wasn't going to happen now, but it was coming, that was for sure.

She wasn't going to let this one go easily.

* * *

I had plenty of regrets in my life, but my latest one was trying to stick it to my mother, telling her about Deacon being back. That had to be the dumbest decision of my life and I'd been kicking myself almost the whole afternoon over it. Hell, I could barely concentrate on work to get anything done, so once six o'clock hit, I bolted with the clock-punchers and didn't look back.

Driving up to my house, I saw a motorcycle outside—Deacon. What was he doing here? Was he ever going to give up?

I didn't know how much longer I could do this for, though. The more I saw him, the harder it was becoming to lie to him, to myself. But the secret about our baby still hung over my head like a storm cloud and I wasn't ready to tell him about it. Mostly, I was scared how he'd react, what he'd say. Would he blame me?

"Jenna," my name in his mouth made me want to melt into a puddle right there.

This was quite possibly the worst time to be around him because I was so vulnerable from being with my parents. The only thing I wanted was to put my head on his shoulder and let him make everything better, just like he always did.

I couldn't succumb to it, though. So I mustered up all the anger I had for my parents and pushed past him, sticking my key in the lock and opening my door. "I'm not in the mood, Deacon," I said, entering my house.

I left the door open because I think on some level I wanted him to follow me in. I threw my purse down on the kitchen counter and turned to him, crossing one foot over the other. "What do you want?" I asked him.

He stroked his jawline that had a shadow of stubble on it. "What's going on here?"

My shoulders fell as I took in his words. "What do you mean?"

He walked closer to me, trying to close the gap, but I backed up. "Come on, Jenna, it's me. You can tell me anything."

I shook my head. "So you came here to accuse me of keeping something from you?"

"No," he said matter-of-factly. "I came here to apologize for last night and offer to cook you dinner tonight to make it up to you."

I closed my eyes and tried to come up with a good reason as to why I couldn't possibly let him do that. But I came up short. All I needed was one reason. What was wrong with me? Oh, that's right, I didn't want to fend him off anymore, I didn't want to resist him at every turn. I wanted him, dammit.

When I opened my eyes, he stood right before me and gripped my shoulders, nudging me to turn around for a shoulder rub. He dropped his head and whispered in my ear, "It's just dinner, princess. Say yes."

I cleared my throat. "Yes."

"Yes?"

I shook my head in the affirmative. "The kitchen's all yours." Then I spun around and slipped away from his reach. "I'll just be upstairs, taking a shower." A really cold one.

I was halfway up the stairs when I heard him clanking around with pots and pans. "Hey," he called, and I looked over my shoulder. "This would go a lot easier if you'd let me in."

I knew he was right, but that could never happen because then any relationship, even a friendship, with him wouldn't be a possibility. There was no way we could come back from something like that.

As I undressed, my mind wandered back in time to the moment in time where I knew everything changed. Any possibility of us ever getting back together was completely obliterated.

Why, oh why, did I make the idiotic decision to be overly ambitious and mount bar prep right on top of studying for my last semester of law school classes? I was barely seeing the light of day, except for running to and from classes these last few weeks. Clearly that was a very bad idea because I hadn't been feeling well lately, so I must have made myself run down and sick. Great. The strength it took to just drag myself out of my apartment was incredible. It was quite unlike me, but I was tired, so very tired, all the time.

I thought things couldn't get much worse, but then the vomiting started and if there was anything I hated more than being sick, it was throwing up. Even thinking about it was turning my stomach—ironic, wasn't it? It had been weeks now and I wasn't feeling any better. I would have gone to the doctor except for the fact that I detested the doctor's office. It almost always smelt too sterile and there was just a certain feeling that always hung in the air—dread, illness, I wasn't sure which.

That was why I decided to drive to the drugstore. There had to be something there that could help whatever bug I caught. I looked up at the aisle signs and headed in the direction of the one I needed, but was distracted by a little girl holding a caramel apple and angling it in the air. The potent smell hit my nose immediately and I thought I was going to be sick. Dammit, I mused, it was like my nose was better at picking up scents than a hound dog. Whatever I had was deadly, that was for sure, because smells that never bothered me before were making me want to puke.

I had given up on adding maple syrup to my pancakes at the start of this virus for that very reason. As soon as I brought the fork to my mouth the smell had me running to the bathroom.

I slowly backed up from the offending smell, but couldn't help eavesdropping on her mother's conversation. She was mere inches away from me, heavy in thought. "So many choices," she said to herself. "I just want to know if I'm pregnant."

I cleared my throat, suddenly nervous. That was when she noticed me standing there. I knew it was rude, but I realized I was staring. I just couldn't help myself. Between her little girl and her annoyance, well she sort of reminded me of myself—the annoyed part anyway.

"Sorry," she said.

I stifled a laugh. "I should apologize, I didn't mean to be so rude."

"Please, what's rude is all these companies. Can't they just make one pregnancy test for crying out loud? They all do the same thing. I pee on a stick and get an answer. Why so many choices?"

I shook my head. "I couldn't tell you, but that should make picking easier, I'd think," I rationalized.

"Well, which one are you buying?" she pushed.

That was when it hit me. It was like a truck came right through the aisle and slammed right into me causing me to go off balance. I could hardly stand. I held on to the shelf as I digested what she just asked me.

"Hey, are you okay? You look a little faint."

I looked up at her and nearly threw up right there. I needed a paper bag. "I, uh," I started but could seem to form a coherent sentence.

She pulled her daughter close and looked at me closely. "I didn't mean— I just assumed—"

"It's okay," I said, "I just never gave it any thought."

"Oh," she said, looking apologetic. "You came down this aisle."

I looked at all the shelves of pregnancy tests and nearly groaned. How could I be so stupid? "Your daughter caught my eye, she's adorable. Hey, are you nauseous?" I asked suddenly.

She nodded. "All the time." She rolled her eyes. "My husband was so in the mood this morning to, you know, but I couldn't do it. I had to run to the bathroom and hurl." Then she leaned over and grabbed my arm. "Oh, and the smell of fish. I mean, I used to like fish, but now I'm thinking I'll become a vegetarian."

I started thinking aloud, my head spinning. "I've been busy and stressed, so I thought that was why I wasn't getting my period." Then I looked down at the floor and prayed there was another answer, but there wasn't, was there?

"Sweetie, it sounds like you might be pregnant."

"But I haven't had sex in weeks!" I put a hand over my mouth at the sudden outburst and then whispered, "It can't be. I mean, he's not even here."

"Where is he?"

"Serving in the military."

She nodded. "I understand why you don't want this to be the case, then."

"What?"

"You don't want him to miss out on this beautiful time."

"No, I mean we're not ready to have a baby. We're not even together." That was it, I really needed that paper bag. Practically hyperventilating, I ran a hand through my hair and began taking deep breaths so as not to pass out in the drugstore. "I thought I was sick. That I had the flu," I told her. Why was I spilling my guts to a complete stranger?

She looked at me with sympathy in her eyes. "Try this one." She handed me a pink box with a pregnancy test in it. "This is the one I'm buying," she said as if the decision was finally obvious to her.

I nodded. "Thank you," I said.

She smiled. "You're welcome, sweetie, and best of luck. Everything will work out like it's supposed to."

"You, too. I hope you are pregnant, if that's what you and your husband want."

"It is."

As she walked out of the aisle, I couldn't help but wonder, was that what Deacon and I wanted? I shook my head, though. How could we possibly want that? Especially now.

I decided it was easier for me to continue to be in denial until I got home and took the test. There was no point in worrying or even thinking about all of this before I knew for sure.

When I got home, I looked at the bag as if a snake was in it, getting progressively more sick to my stomach. I barely made it in the door before having to run to the bathroom to throw up again.

Having taken the bag with me, I washed up and decided it was as good of a time as any to see if there was any chance I was in fact pregnant, so I ripped the box open and went about taking the test.

Waiting the requisite amount of time felt like torture, my mind spinning with the possibility that Deacon and I could have made a child that night. What would I do? Would I be a good mother? How would he react? That was the question that plagued me most, but once the timer went off on my phone, I looked down and knew that my life was going to change forever. I was pregnant, and I decided that I already knew how Deacon would react. He would be as happy as I was.

We were going to have a baby.

I was going to be a mom.

Until I wasn't. A lone tear ran down my face at the memory and the hard truth that I lived with everyday.

"Red or white wine?" I heard Deacon shout from the kitchen.

"Red!" I yelled back, wiping my cheek.

I stared at my naked body in the mirror and closed my eyes, bringing a hand to my stomach. I was pretty sure there was nothing worse than losing a child.