Triplets Under the Tree

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I have to go. Please don’t contact me again. Our relationship, whatever it was, is over.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “It has been for more than a year. I mistakenly assumed we had a second chance this time. A real one. You were never going to divorce Vanessa, not with the baby on the way.”

That resonated. Divorce wasn’t something the man he knew he was deep inside would tolerate. “No, I wouldn’t have. And turns out there were three babies. Triplets.”

Her smile was small but genuine. “Congratulations. Didn’t see that coming. Vanessa was smarter than I would have given her credit for. That’s triple the amount of child support if you ever did divorce her. I wish I knew how she’d pulled that off.”

Child support. A fight with Vanessa where that term had been launched at him like a grenade... The details slammed through his head. Shayla’s name had come up. Vanessa was furious because he’d sworn he’d end things with “that woman,” but he apparently hadn’t. Then Vanessa had taunted him with the pregnancy, saying it was insurance. Against what?

He couldn’t remember that much of the conversation.

“The triplets were an accident,” he assured her. “A happy one.”

She nodded and he watched her walk away, then strode to the town car so the driver could take him home, where he would get some answers to the mysteries locked in his mind, once and for all.

Once he got into the house, he disappeared into the media room to queue up episodes of the TV show Vanessa had starred in. He should have done this weeks ago. Why hadn’t he?

He’d told himself it wouldn’t do any good. That his memories of Vanessa were so scattered and fragmented that seeing her wouldn’t help. It was a lie, one he’d convinced himself of for his own self-preservation.

Vanessa walked onto the sixty-inch screen as his pulse thundered in his throat. Slim, redheaded, with delicate features. The way she held herself, something about her demeanor, was horribly familiar...because she looked like a redheaded version of Caitlyn.

Pain knifed through his temples, throbbing in tandem with his pulse.

His memories of Shayla and Vanessa split instantly. Distinct and whole, the snippets of scenes and his interactions with each woman flooded his consciousness. He let them flow despite the enormous shock to his system, absorbing, reliving. And he didn’t like the realizations that followed.

Maybe he hadn’t wanted to remember either his wife or his mistress. Maybe he’d known subconsciously that he didn’t deserve someone as innocent as Caitlyn and he’d suppressed his memories on purpose to avoid facing the dark choices he’d made before the crash.

Grief clawed at his throat.

He had to tell Caitlyn. She should know what kind of man he’d been. What kind of man he still was. Amnesia hadn’t made him into someone different. Just someone who didn’t remember his sins.

He powered off the TV and sat on the plush couch in full darkness for an eternity, hating himself. Hating his choices, hating that he couldn’t remember why he’d made them. Because that was part of the key in moving toward the future—understanding the past.

The door to the media room opened and Caitlyn’s dark head poked through. “Hey, I didn’t know you were back, but I saw the car and—”

“Come in,” he commanded unevenly. “Please.”

She was here. Might as well lay it all on the line. The hordes of paparazzi hanging out at Falco had likely snapped a picture of his conversation with Shayla, and he’d rather Caitlyn hear about it from him.

She came into the room, reaching for the lamp switch. He caught her arm before she could turn it on. Dark was appropriate.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, concern coating her voice.

It was a painful, unintentional echo of Shayla’s question. Apparently, they could both read him well. Better than he could read himself. “I need to talk to you.”

How did you approach such a subject? He hadn’t dishonored her. But she’d likely be outraged on her sister’s behalf. Regardless, she had to know the truth.

“Sure.” She perched on the couch, her features barely discernible in the faint light from the still-open door. He could sense her, smell her light coconut shampoo, and his heart ached to bury himself in her, no talking, no specters of the past between them.

But he’d probably never touch her again. She deserved better than he was capable of giving her.

“I...ran into someone today. A woman. From before the crash. I...remembered her.”