Miracle Under The Mistletoe (The Foster Brothers #1) Page 3

  The room was simple and basic, containing only a bed, a dresser, one nightstand and a lamp. Other than a few pictures of Cody and one of her, the room was bare of any decorative embellishments. She remembered that the rest of the apartment was the same: functional, but without any of the extras that created a home. Not so much a bachelor pad as a place to get by, one day at a time, until something better came along.

  And knowing her husband the way she did, that meant waiting for her. Waiting for the day that he could move back into their home to take up where they’d left off.

  Olivia brought her knees tight to her chest and wrapped her arms around them in an effort to find her balance. This was bad. Monumentally bad, even. She heard movement from beyond the bedroom, along with a cacophony of banging and clanking. Grady was in the kitchen, probably making her breakfast. Her husband’s humming hit her ears next. Humming!

  She groaned. Now what? She’d finally found the strength to ask for a divorce, and then she’d followed up with a roll in the hay? What kind of a woman did that—and enjoyed it, no less? Okay, huge understatement. She’d more than enjoyed it. She’d basked in their lovemaking. Images of him touching her, of her touching him, rushed in. Red-hot heat licked into her limbs. Last night wasn’t Grady’s fault. She’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. Physically, anyway. And for what? To feel normal?

  The humming in the next room changed to whistling. She tried to relax, but her muscles bunched into tighter knots. Her eyes drifted to a photo of Cody and another round of panic hit her squarely in her chest. What had she been thinking? Stupid question. She hadn’t thought. No, what she had done was react—to Grady’s voice, his touches…his kisses.

  “Calm down,” Olivia murmured. “Think this through.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she allowed herself a moment to relive their lovemaking. Warmth and tenderness exploded inside as the memories wove through her. Dear God, she’d missed him. Last night was like coming home. “This is good,” she whispered. “Keep going.”

  She envisioned walking into the kitchen and laying a kiss on her husband, on the image of his arms circling her and holding her tight, of her telling him that she wanted to move forward. Or, at least, try to move forward. A slow buzz trickled over her, further easing the weight on her shoulders. Maybe last night hadn’t been a mistake, but rather, a twist of fate to stop her from divorcing Grady. Was that possible?

  Maybe. If she were to believe in signs, then this—having sex with her husband the night she’d asked for a divorce—was a huge one. Opening her eyes, she breathed in deeply and let the idea simmer. The panicky feeling was still there, but for maybe the first time in years, a tiny speck of hope existed. Why? What had changed? Maybe…maybe she’d needed nothing more than to take a step toward Grady, instead of pushing him away?

  Her gaze found Cody’s picture again. Her beautiful boy’s face, forever captured in a photograph, made her heart flutter in a saccharine-sweet reminder. His mischievous smile and the light in his eyes turned the flutter into a stabbing sensation. Cody was still gone. A fresh wave of agony pulled a sob from her throat. How could she feel happy, even for a minute, without him? She couldn’t. So, no. Nothing had changed.

  The walls closed in and suffocating pressure enveloped her. Last night, no matter how wondrous, was a mistake. Now she had to explain that to Grady. But first, she had to get out of his bed and put some clothes on. Sitting here naked while he cooked her breakfast wasn’t the way to fix anything.

  That thought galvanized her into action. She scrambled off the bed and grabbed her clothes. Bra…check. Panties…check. She slipped her dress on over her head. The whistling from the next room grew louder…closer.

  Crap! Where were her shoes? She scanned the floor and then dropped to her knees and peered under the bed. No shoes. Think, Olivia! Where did you leave them?

  The door opened while she still had half of her body stuck under the bed. She jumped and hit her head on the bed frame. A curse that would redden a sailor’s cheeks flew from her lips.

  “Checking for monsters?” Grady’s warm tenor was filled with forced humor. “Or just seeing what I store under my bed?”

  “Neither.” She rubbed the back of her head while pulling herself upright. “I…um…was trying to find my shoes.”

  “In the living room.” He gave her a quick once-over. “Are you okay?”

  Olivia nodded, struck speechless by the sight of her husband. He stood by the door in navy flannel pajama bottoms and a black T-shirt that fit him like a second skin. She had a moment’s relief that he even wore a shirt, but that didn’t dispel the need swirling inside.

  The tray in his hands held plates with bacon and eggs, along with a couple of mugs filled with coffee. “You…didn’t have to make me breakfast,” she said.

  “I wanted to,” he said simply. “I figured you’d be ravenous after—”

  “Right. Well…um…thank you, but I’m actually not h-hungry.” Her stomach growled, belying her words. Damn him for knowing her so well, anyway. “I’m not that hungry,” she corrected. “And I should probably be getting home. For Jasper.”

  “Jasper will be fine for a little longer.” Grady nodded toward the tray. “I had this grand idea of breakfast in bed, but now that you’re up, we might as well eat in the kitchen.” Before leaving the room, he tossed her one of his sexy-as-sin grins. “Come on. Before everything gets cold.”

  She eyed the door he stepped through and considered her options. She wanted—needed—to leave and go home where she felt safe. Where she could be alone and think about everything that had gone on here, and then—after she felt whatever she was going to feel—she could tuck it all away and work on forgetting. As if none of it had ever happened.

  Yes. That was the plan she wanted to proceed with. But jeez, he’d made her breakfast! How in the world was she supposed to ignore that? She tried to imagine strolling out of the bedroom, finding her shoes, telling Grady, “Thanks, but no thanks,” while he sat at his kitchen table with food he’d prepared for her.

  A sigh slipped out. She couldn’t do that. He deserved so much more than that. Okay, then, they’d eat. She could give him that much. But somehow, before she left this apartment, she’d have to dig deep and find the strength to tell him that last night hadn’t altered her decision.

  “Olly? You okay in there?” Grady called out. “Should I bring the tray back in?”

  “No! I’m coming.” As bad as this was, eating in the bedroom would be ten times worse. Straightening her spine, she plastered a smile on and exited the room. Her stomach growled again when she sat down at his minuscule kitchen table, a reminder that Grady knew her far better than she knew herself. And for whatever reason, that annoyed her.

  “Hi,” she said. “I…I was looking for a hairbrush.”

  “Hi, yourself. The brush is in the bathroom, but you don’t need it. I like the mussed morning-after look on you.” He gave her a closer look. “Actually, you’re a little pale. How hard did you hit your head?”

  “I’m okay. A bit of a headache, maybe.” Just that fast, her annoyance fled. It wasn’t his fault that he knew her so well, and his concern touched her. It also made her feel like a heel. He was still watching her, so she said, “And I think I’m hungrier than I realized.”

  “Dig in. I’m going to grab you something for that headache.” He reached over and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “We’ll have you feeling better in no time.”

  She nodded and tried to focus on her meal. Even though he’d cooked everything just as she liked it—the bacon was crisp without falling apart, the coffee was strong and hot and the scrambled eggs had the exact right amount of cheddar cheese melted on top—it all tasted flat. She might as well have been eating cardboard.

  Grady returned and handed her a couple of capsules. “Ibuprofen. You don’t have a lump, do you?”

  She swallowed the pills with a gulp of coffee. “Lump?”

  “On your head. From hitting it?” H
e took the chair across from her. “Do you need some ice?”

  “Oh!” She reached up and felt the back of her head. “Nope. No lump.”

  An odd expression darted over his face, but he nodded. “Good.”

  The next several minutes were filled with silence as they ate. She managed to clear about a third of her plate before giving up the pretense. With a sigh, she pushed her plate back and picked up her coffee. “Thanks again. This was really good.”

  He eyed her doubtfully. “You’re welcome. You didn’t eat that much, and I think that’s the third time you’ve thanked me this morning. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m feeling much better.” Liar! her mind screamed. “But Grady, I need to tell you…I mean to say…” Setting her cup down, she twisted her fingers together. “We should probably talk—”

  He gave her a long, searching look. “I know you’re uncomfortable about last night, but there isn’t any reason to put it under a magnifying glass.” He pushed a lock of black hair off of his forehead. “We don’t have to talk about last night, Olly. I’m just glad you’re here.”

  “We don’t?” Her mind zeroed in to the first part of his statement and a good amount of tension evaporated. Oh, thank God for small favors. Maybe last night had been nothing more than goodbye sex. A last hurrah of sorts. She could live with that—couldn’t she? “Well, good. I—I guess I should get home to Jasper.”

  She started to push back from the table, knowing she should say more, knowing she should clarify that his statement meant what she thought it meant, but not sure how to get it out without sounding like an idiot, when Grady said, “Don’t leave. Please? I want to spend the day with you.” His husky tone poured into her like a salve. God, she loved his voice. “I was thinking we could get an early start on Christmas shopping. Maybe even—”

  “It isn’t even Thanksgiving yet. I haven’t thought about buying gifts.” And she certainly hadn’t considered shopping with Grady. The last time they’d gone Christmas shopping together was forever ago. Before… Well, just before. “I don’t know. It probably isn’t a good idea.”

  “Well,” he said slowly, his gaze level with hers. “I…I have an idea. Something I would like to share with you, but I’m not sure how you’ll respond.”

  Warning signals bleeped in her brain. “Respond to what?”

  “I thought we could shop for Cody…for presents that are appropriate for eight-year-old boys. We could think about him, what he’d be like at this age, what he might like, and then we could give anything we buy to Toys for Tots in his name.”

  She stared at him without speaking. This was a nightmare. She was dreaming or something, because she couldn’t see Grady being so cruel as to suggest this. “Wh-what?”

  “Don’t get upset. Just hear me out.” He wrapped his hand around his coffee mug and squeezed so hard that his knuckles turned white. “I miss him so much. We—” His voice caught. He coughed to clear his throat and then swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “We never talk about him. I miss talking about him with you. We were his parents and we never talk about our son. It’s killing me, Olivia.”

  “And you think shopping for Christmas presents will help?” Everything inside went cold. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. “Why would we do that? How can that help anything? Why would you ask me to do that?”

  “To remember our son, Olivia. To do something together with him in mind. To feel close to him around Christmas.” Grady let go of the mug and grasped her hand. “He loved Christmas, sweetheart. Do you remember?”

  “All kids love Christmas,” she fired back. “And of course I remember.”

  “I want to share this with you. Will you trust me enough to give this a chance? One hour,” Grady pleaded. “Give it one hour, and if it’s too much, we’ll stop.”

  Emotions clogged her throat, tightened her chest. She shook her head blindly, barely able to see beyond the tears filling her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “No way.”

  “Just listen,” he begged. “I’ve done this for the past two years. I’m not going to lie…it was tough the year after we lost him. It will be tough for you. But sweetheart, I found that doing this gives me a lot of joy. I want you to feel that joy.”

  “Lost him? We didn’t lose him, Grady. Our son died! He’s not hiding somewhere waiting for us to find him.” Her anger shot out before she could edit her words. “He’s gone and no amount of thinking about him or shopping with him in mind will change that fact.”

  Grady winced as if she’d struck him. “I know he died. Do you really think I’m capable of forgetting that?” His Adam’s apple bobbed with a heavy swallow. “Look, I know this is a lot to ask, but if you try, if you go along with me on this, it might be—”

  “Might be what? Painful? Yes! Sad? Yes!” Overwhelming and scary and way, way more than she could handle? Oh, God, yes. Another round of despair pressed in, reinforcing her surety that being with Grady was impossible. “I can’t choose gifts with Cody in mind and give them to someone else! I can’t think about how he would be at this age, or what he would want for Christmas…or…or…”

  She bit her lip harder, willing the tears to recede. Grady continued to hold her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. A million and one heartbreaking minutes passed before he said, “Okay, I get it. You’re not ready for this. I’m sorry I brought it up.” His shoulders lifted in a heavy shrug. “I thought it might help. I hoped… Hell, it doesn’t matter. We can do something else.”

  “No. We can’t do something else. I need to go home.” She tried to yank her hand out of his grip, but couldn’t. “Let go of me,” she said between clenched teeth, trying to hold back the gush of tears she felt coming.

  “Please stay,” he said again. “We don’t have to discuss Cody or what happened last night, but I don’t want you to leave when you’re this upset. Let’s spend the day together. We can go see a movie or visit my folks. They’re always asking about you.”

  She shook her head, not trusting herself enough to talk.

  “If you leave, it’s like we’re taking one step forward and two steps backward. Let’s not do that. Let’s keep moving forward.” Grady’s voice was even and calm, but each word held the strength of his love, of his conviction that they should be together.

  She held her eyes wide open, refusing to blink. The heavy weight of anger dissipated, changing to fear. Not of Grady. Never of him. But of what he wanted. Of what she couldn’t give him. “We are as far back as we can get. There is no moving forward, Grady. I…I haven’t changed my mind about the divorce. I’m sorry for leading you on—” her voice caught as an unwanted sob emerged “—I didn’t mean to lead you on, but I still want a divorce.”

  Grady sat so still, she wasn’t sure if he was breathing. But then, “You didn’t act like we were making a mistake last night. You had plenty of opportunity to slam on the brakes.” Frustration deepened his voice. “Don’t do this.”

  “I have to.” She tugged her hand, and he let go. “I don’t regret last night, Grady. It was wonderful in…in so many ways. I regret confusing the situation between us…but that’s my fault. My mistake. I’m sorry you thought last night meant—”

  “I didn’t know what it meant! But I sure as hell didn’t think it meant nothing.”

  “I know. My fault,” she repeated. She hated hurting him, but didn’t see a way around it. “It meant something. Of course it did! Just not what you’d like. I really am sorry. So sorry.”

  “Is this really it, Olly? No turning back here.” He held himself stiff and straight, as if pulling all of his strength together to shield himself from her. “You want a divorce?”

  Olivia drew in a breath and fastened her eyes on his. “Yes, Grady. I do.”

  “You’re sure?” he demanded. “Be very sure, Olivia.”

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’m sure.”

  His shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes for a millisecond. With a weary, defeated-sounding sigh, he said, “Fine. I c
an’t keep fighting you on this. I’ll find an attorney.”

  More shocked than relieved to hear his agreement,

  Olivia said, “You will?”

  “I will.” He looked away. In a lower tone, he said, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For driving the car our son died in.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she said thickly. He didn’t respond, just pointed his gaze toward the door, his message clear. He wanted her to leave. Who could blame him?

  She found her shoes and fumbled, nearly falling when she put them on. Opening the door to his apartment seemed to take far more strength than it should. Or, at least, far more strength than she had. Just before stepping outside, she whispered, “I don’t blame you, Grady. I blame me. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  “I can’t hear you, Olivia. What did you say?” Grady said.

  “I said…goodbye. Just goodbye.” She pushed herself out, letting the door slam behind her. The air outside was colder than she expected. So cold, she wouldn’t have been surprised if her tears froze on their path down her cheeks.

  “So that’s it, huh?” Grady’s younger-by-two-years brother, Jace, asked from his seat across from Grady. They were eating an early dinner at a local fifties-style diner. Well, Jace was doing most of the eating. Grady was mostly brooding. “Whatever happened to your not-all-alternatives-have-been-exhausted argument?”

  “They haven’t. But I can’t force Olivia to try.” Grady shrugged in a vain attempt to appear unaffected by the last twenty-four hours. “So yeah, that’s it.”

  Jace stuffed a few French fries into his mouth, then washed them down with a swig of soda before replying, “That sucks. But I can’t say that I’m surprised.”

  Grady stared at his brother in mild annoyance. “That’s some empathy you’ve got going there. You should quit your job at the paper and become a talk-show host.”

  “What are you talking about?” To give him credit, Jace looked truly bewildered. “I said it sucks. It does.”