His passion was the boarding—but it needed ruthless confidence and no real distractions. If he was going to develop a few more final tricks, he needed to do them in the next year or so. Except now he had this to deal with. But at least he was in a better position than his dad—he had the money already to ensure Kelsi and the baby had the security they needed. He could give her the base that was important. It might not be everything, but it wasn’t bad. And he could still focus on his dreams, right? This wasn’t going to be the distraction that killed it all. Because he was sorting it so they’d be OK.
‘You didn’t want to climb?’ Kelsi was watching him. He wished he could read the expression in her eyes. Except all he could see when he looked at her was his own reflection.
‘It’s much more fun coming down than going up. Much faster.’ He half smiled. ‘I spent my childhood hanging round the mountains—getting my schoolwork done as soon as I could so I could pick up my board and go to it for a few hours. The best.’
‘You never went to normal school?’
‘Not really. I’d attend in the winter term back in New Zealand, had a tutor when we were on tour. But I went pro when I was in my teens.’ He’d done his final school exams by correspondence in the end.
Her frown surprised him. ‘What is it you want to do?’
And that was where he and his father differed—his father had wanted to conquer mountains. But most of all Jack wanted to conquer himself. ‘That first Olympic gold is mine. And I’ll win it with something no one else has ever done.’
Kelsi’s silver eyes widened and she leaned closer, asking him with a whisper that did nothing to soften the killer effect of her words, ‘And for how long will that satisfaction last, Jack?’
CHAPTER NINE
KELSI heard the knock on the door and hauled herself off the sofa, knowing it was Jack coming to cook dinner.
‘Oh, wow.’ She stared, her heart seizing. ‘Um…um…I…’
Yeah, words weren’t possible.
He stepped inside. ‘Not what you expected, huh?’
She leaned on the door and watched the back view as he walked into her kitchen. Jack was in a suit. Jack was in the most beautifully tailored tux she’d ever seen outside Oscar telecoverage. Jack was looking so out of this world her eyes watered.
‘You’re going to cook in that?’ she croaked.
‘Actually I prepared something last night. It’s in the fridge. Just needs heating. You have to heat it up really well, and let it cool, OK?’
Yeah, she got the stop-the-salmonella instruction. Did that mean he wasn’t dining with her tonight?
Of course he wasn’t. He was in a tux. He was going out. Her heart sank into the abyss. Did he have a hot date or something? With one of those uber-rich babe types who liked to stay at his lodge?
‘It’s a celebrate sports dinner thing tonight. The rugby guys and netball girls get the gongs.’ He winked. ‘But we go for the free food and the fans who win the tickets to sit at the table.’
OK, not a date. She breathed a fraction. But there’d be all those talented women there. And diehard fangirls.
And she was so pathetically jealous.
He was frowning as he looked around her room. Suddenly he turned to face her. ‘You want to come with me?’
Um. That would be a no.
‘I wasn’t going to go but the team knows I’m back in town and as half of the others are still overseas, I have to rep them.’
‘Of course.’
‘So you’ll come, too? It’s at the gallery. Be a big crowd, but it’ll be fun.’
‘Oh, no. Thanks.’ Could the earth open up and swallow her now. Please? ‘Why not?’
Because it was such a last-minute idea. He’d known he had this coming—he’d prepared food for her last night because he’d known he was going out. It was only now he was seeing her look so tragic and alone on a Friday night that he thought he’d better issue a sympathy invite.
‘I’m feeling really tired,’ she said. It was the perfect excuse—face-saving.
But he looked too concerned.
‘I’m fine,’ she assured him instantly. ‘I’ll just have an early night and sleep.’
His frown didn’t lighten. ‘You’ll eat something though, right? You want me to get it ready now?’
‘I can manage the microwave,’ she said, feeling sicker than she had this morning. ‘You go. Go.’ She opened the door. ‘You don’t want to be late.’
‘I don’t really want to go.’
He wasn’t walking out fast enough for her coping mechanism.
‘It’ll be fun.’ She pasted on her best smile. ‘Really good.’
Still he stood in the middle of her lounge, not moving. ‘You’re sure you’ll be OK?’
She wasn’t an invalid. But she held back her mounting upset and made herself beam. ‘Yes. Go.’
And thank heavens, he did.
She ran to the bathroom, her mouth filling with bitter spit. Then she spent five minutes brushing her teeth. Then she looked in the mirror.
She couldn’t help wondering about the baby—would it inherit her orange hair and skimmed milk complexion? She sure hoped not, she hoped it would have all of Jack’s genes and none of hers. Except that wasn’t quite possible.
Poor thing.
He was so handsome. Everything that was perfect. And she just wasn’t.
She stared at her reflection, bent forward and took the contacts out and then stood and stared even harder. She’d stopped bleaching her hair the minute she’d found out she was pregnant. So her natural orange was starting to show through already, her skin was paler than tissue paper and speckled all over.
She was what every kid in the playground had called her—a freak.
If she had a sparkling personality maybe that would cancel it out. But she wasn’t one of those really outgoing sort who could talk to anyone about anything. One-to-one conversation she could do, but a room full of party people?
No.
And while she might be a damn good web designer, that wasn’t exactly a talent that scored accolades.
But the father of her baby wasn’t just modelicious-looking, he was seriously monied and an international sporting star. He’d have a million beautiful women throwing themselves at him tonight. And why would he refuse them?
Why would he want her instead of them?
Short answer—he wouldn’t. He didn’t. He never would.
And that was when—for the first time all week—the tears finally fell.
She went back into her little lounge and curled up with a cushion, burying her face in it as she howled. Knowing damn well she was being pathetic. She was resigned to her looks, was content to make herself ‘quirky’ rather than cute. But sometimes, just sometimes, she wished she’d been born blonde and blue-eyed and pretty.
This was so one of those times. And where was a fairy godmother when you needed her?
Jack felt as if an army of ants was dancing up and down his spinal cord. He fidgeted as he walked towards the venue, his feet slowing as he saw it in the distance. He really didn’t want to go there. Not without Kelsi. He’d hoped she might say yes to coming with him. He knew she liked art and the function was being held in the city gallery. But she’d shied away from the invite. Even though he’d deliberately kept it casual, she’d still said no.
Hell, he should have said no, too. He didn’t feel like seeing the other guys. He just wanted to be with Kelsi. He was tired of fighting it. They had to get to some better arrangement—he had some feelings that were worsening, not lessening. Denial wasn’t doing it. He stopped in the middle of the path and thought for another split second.
And then he turned around. As the house came back into view he imagined it whole again, imagined it filled Kelsi-style—with that warm, welcoming chaos that somehow he’d gotten used to. There was security in all that stuff. She’d make it such a great home. A funny feeling splintered his chest and he realized something—his baby was lucky.
She didn’t answer when he knocked. But her door wasn’t locked and he couldn’t not check on her. Surely she couldn’t be asleep already—he’d been gone less than half an hour. He’d just peek and see.
She was on the sofa, tucked into the cushions. Maybe she was asleep. But then he saw her shoulders move.
‘Kelsi?’
She jerked up, swiftly turning away from him. ‘What are you doing back here?’
‘I didn’t—’ He broke off and saw her shoulders shudder again.
She was crying.
‘What’s wrong? Is something wrong?’ His heart pounded faster than the first time he’d attempted a 1080 and smashed down flat on his face.
‘Please go away,’ she mumbled.
‘No. You’re upset.’ This was worse than when he’d heard her being sick this morning. This was like watching someone swallowing broken glass and not being able to stop them.
‘Jack.’ She put her fists to her face, hiding the fast-flowing tears. ‘Can’t you leave?’
He went and found a flannel, ran it under cold water, and stalked back to the sofa. She hadn’t moved. He sat right next to her and forced her hands from her face, holding the flannel to her eyes—trying to be gentle.
Her half-sobs stopped, but she kept her eyes closed.