Easing out from under his hand, she padded into her room. She came back with a throw that she draped over him. The couch was a sinful luxury—he’d sleep well enough. At the last minute, she couldn’t resist. She touched a hand to one lock of hair that hung over his forehead. She tucked it back and put a light kiss on that spot.
Heading to her room, she undressed and slipped into bed.
She dreamed of knights and dragons—but Slade featured as Strider, as Aragorn, the king returned to claim his heritage. She woke with a start, the dreams clinging to her. Brushing at her curly hair, she knew she didn’t fit in the role of the ethereal elf princess—she was not much of a match for any king. She shook her head, padded into the bathroom to pee and shower.
When she got out, she could hear Slade and Jason in the living room. The warm aroma of coffee was tempting, but she needed clothes. She dressed in a loose cotton peasant blouse and shorts—the day was already warm. Heading into the living room, she stopped in the hall doorway.
Jason sat cross-legged on the couch, and Slade sat next to him, both were leaning forward slightly, both of their expressions were intent, and both were utterly focused. She could hear the noise of a crowd from the TV. A bat cracked on a ball—ah, another game. The crowd let out a shout. So did Slade…and Jason. The two guys swapped a high five and matching grins—and the resemblance hit her like a train.
Air rushed from her chest. She turned, headed back to the bathroom, had to splash cold water on her pale face.
It couldn’t be—but she’d just seen it. Hadn’t she?
But…no. Tayra, and…no, just no.
Shaking inside, she headed for the main room. She glanced at Slade, caught his eye, and asked, “Can we have a word?” She walked into the kitchen, poured herself a coffee, and stood there holding it black, unable to move.
Slade walked in. He glanced at her, stopped where he was, and asked, “What’s up?”
She pulled in a breath and let it out. Putting down her coffee mug, she asked, “When were you going to tell me that Jason’s your son?”
Chapter 10
Slade lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t know that he is.”
“Is that why you wanted a DNA test? To be sure?” She groaned, turned to the counter, and put both hands on it. “That’s why Tayra didn’t want Brock to know—why she couldn’t tell him he had a son. He didn’t. You did.” She turned and faced him, her cheeks stung red. “Is that why she walked out on Brock—she was having an affair with you?”
Slade’s head jerked up. The air went out of him as if she’d punched him. “I wasn’t. I didn’t. Tayra never cheated—not that I know of.”
“Then how…” She let the words trail off. She waved a hand towards the living room, where Jason was still watching the game. Dropping her voice to a low hiss, she asked, “How do you explain that Jason looks nothing like Brock, and just like you?” She put her hands over her face. “God, I should have seen it sooner. The way you both hold yourselves, the same expressions, the same ear shape and face, and…that’s why you came. To claim your son?”
He stepped over to her, pulled her hands down, and kept hold of her wrists. “We do need to talk. But you need to eat first. Go sit down.” She started to shake her head, but Slade lifted her hands and pulled her with him to the table. “Sit. You like your eggs scrambled or over easy?”
“I get a choice?”
“We always get choices.” Heading back to the kitchen, he put cream and sugar into her coffee and brought it to her. She stared at the mug. Slade wanted to put a hand on her, to tell her it would be okay, but he had no idea if it would be. She’d shaken him with her blunt statement. He’d suspected, but she’d made it all too real—before he was ready for it. He could admit that now.
He’d suspected. The timing fit. But he hadn’t been certain. He also hadn’t wanted Brock here until he knew for certain.
Heading back into the kitchen, he got busy with the eggs. He’d bought bacon yesterday, too, so he fired up some strips. The smell pulled Jason in from the TV, so Slade fried up more bacon, more eggs, and put toast in to brown.
Once they’d eaten—or rather, Jason had eaten; Bethany had picked at her food, and Slade had shoved down mouthfuls without tasting anything because he knew his body needed fuel—Slade told Jason, “Hey, buddy, why don’t you go outside to play? I think someone set up a basketball hoop over the garage.”
Jason’s eyes lit up and he bolted for the door, his short leg barely noticeable from the speed he was using.
Slade turned to Bethany. “Okay, here’s the deal; I’m saying this once, and just once. Then it’s over. I’m not talking about it again. I’m not answering questions; got it?”
Her lips parted and Slade could see the questions in her eyes, but she pressed her mouth closed tightly and nodded.
Slade got up, poured more coffee for himself—she’d barely touched hers—and sat down again. “After Tayra sent Brock his ‘Dear John’ letter, breaking it off, Brock was…well, he didn’t do so well with the divorce. I watched it eat into the man and I was damn scared he might just get himself killed. Not suicide, just going into a bad situation and being careless. It took me way too long to track Tayra down. It wasn’t that she was hiding; but she was using cash, didn’t have any credit cards, and obviously didn’t want to see Brock or any of his buddies.”
“She stayed with me for a time,” Bethany said, her tone flat.
Slade nodded. “I know. It was after she moved up here that I found her—had to be six months after the divorce was final. I wanted to talk her into going back to Brock—giving it another chance.” He flashed a smile. “Big joke, that. I found her working in a bar, and it was keep a drink in front of me or get tossed out on my ass, so I nursed a few beers. She kept pouring and I kept drinking.”
Bethany stiffened. She lifted her stare from her cold coffee and put it on him. “That’s your excuse for—?” She broke off, waving a hand.
“No, it’s not an excuse; and I told you, no questions. After work, I walked Tayra home. We sat up most of the night talking about everything except Brock. She wouldn’t talk about him, wouldn’t say why she’d left him. She just said she was done—done worrying, and if she was going to be alone, she’d be alone. I told her she didn’t have to be. I told her a lot of things. She was just so damn beautiful. About dawn, she started crying. That did it. I couldn’t leave her like that, in tears. I held her. She kissed me. We ended up in her bed. I left that morning. I made sure she knew how to get ahold of me—or Brock. Left her a note saying if she ever needed anything, she should call one of us. I never saw her again.” He pushed out a breath and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t an affair. Hell, I don’t know what it was. Comfort for the both of us. I was afraid Brock was taking too many risks. I knew she wasn’t coming back to him—not ever. So…” He trailed off.