what the doctors told her. And the counselors. She still didn’t totally believe it. If she’d been home, if Braden hadn’t pressured her to leave their son with a nanny so that he could have some one-on-one time with her and spend most of the night making love with her, she might have heard a change in his breathing on the baby monitor. Might have been able to get to him in time.
To do what, she didn’t know. At least she could have had a chance to breathe her own air into him.
To hold him.
Feeling herself sliding backward, she took a sip of wine. Four years of counseling, of recovery, and then she could so quickly be right back there.
“If you’d really believed we did nothing wrong by being gone that night,” he said, “you’d have been able to have sex with me in the months that followed.”
His softly spoken words hit her with a ferociousness she knew he hadn’t intended. She sat back, hands shaking, trying to get control of emotions that just didn’t die.
Her inability to want sex with him, even after the immediate blow of grief had worn off, had been a final nail in their marriage’s coffin.
Their lovemaking the night Tucker died had been incredible. She’d even admitted, sometime during it all, that Braden had been right to insist that they have that time alone together. She’d missed him so much. Had half forgotten how incredible he made her feel, how right it was to be locked body to body with him, riding the crazy crest together.
And afterward...
“I felt so guilty for being so into you that I’d actually forgotten about him, on and off, for those hours when we were together. I was having the orgasm of my life while he was dying.”
She could feel the tears pooling in her eyes and knew she’d gone too far.
She expected him to motion for the bill and almost reached for her purse.
“You aren’t supposed to think about your children in the middle of sex, Mal. Or be turned on when you’re thinking about them. It’s a God thing, I’m sure. A shut-off valve that’s embedded in us to keep the parent-child relationship sacred and on track.”
She stared at him. Had he just said that? Were they really having this conversation?
Now? After all this time?
“My current concerns don’t stem from anything to do with me,” he told her then, getting them back on topic.
She sat back, the threat of tears gone. “I’d like to hear them,” she told him honestly.
He cut a piece of steak, ate it. She broke off a piece of bread, played with it, making a pile of crumbs on her plate.
“I’m worried about you being alone and facing all of the things that could possibly go wrong.”
“You don’t think I’m strong enough to deal with life on my own?” That was a new one to her. She’d grown up in foster care, caring for foster children. She knew a hell of a lot about what could go wrong.
“I do. It’s just that when it comes to mothering, Mal, you’re so all in, and losing Tucker just about killed you. The idea of you having another baby... I figure it needs to happen for you, but are you sure you’re ready? And doing it alone. What if—”
She shook her head. “No what-ifs, Braden. Not unless you want me stuck with no life forever. There are always what-ifs. I’ve chosen to tackle them one by one as they come, if they come. As a part of living.”
He put down his fork, not quite through his steak. He’d barely touched the potato.
“You’ve really thought this through,” he said, meeting her gaze head on.
“For months,” she told him. “Remember last November I told you about Tamara referring that man to my daycare whose mother had died in prison giving birth, and he suddenly found himself with custody of a newborn without even knowing that his mother had been pregnant?” This was how she’d practiced telling him how she’d arrived at her decision.
This was what Braden would understand.
He nodded. “I kind of thought you and he would hook up.”
“Tamara tried her best to get me to think that way, for a minute or two. I knew all along she had a thing for the guy.”
Her friend had been unable to so much as hold a baby, however, which had definitely been a major roadblock for the couple. Still was, sometimes. But they were working on it. And there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Tamara loved that baby girl. Mallory could see it when Tamara came in to The Bouncing Ball, sometimes with Flint, sometimes not, to pick up little Diamond Rose after work.
“The thing is I’ve learned from seeing her courage, seeing how she forced herself to fight her way out of hell to give herself a chance to be happy, to make others happy. I have to do this, Braden. I can’t let the past prevent my future.”
Which was why she’d agreed to spend the previous Christmas on a yacht with some old friends from college instead of with Braden, as they’d done in the past. He’d gone home to North Carolina to be with his mom and sister, but up to the last minute had tried to get her to go with him. He’d been worried about her spending the holiday alone.
It hadn’t been her best Christmas, but she’d done just fine.
“Okay.” Hands on the table, he looked at her. Then loosened his tie and motioned for the check.
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, you’re going to do this.”
Her smile broke through with more of a rush than the tears. “And I have your support?”
“Of course. I told you the day we divorced that you’d always have that. It wasn’t conditional, Mal.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Thank you.” She nodded and left him sitting there, credit card in hand.
Because she knew that was the way he’d want it.
Holy hell, Mallory’s going to have a baby.
Up at one in the morning, walking naked to the kitchen of the upscale high-rise condo he’d purchased on the beach not far from the harbor, Braden couldn’t get the thought out of his brain.
He’d gone straight to his office after dinner to look over figures that had been coming in for a couple of days regarding his real estate interest north of L.A. He’d put out a contractor bid request and was going over every submission line by line. He’d put a call in to his architect, too, the same man who’d designed the complex where Braden Property Management had first begun and still resided. Some changes would be needed to suit the L.A. property, but the basic plan would be the same.
And it would bear the same name: Braden Property Management. Once upon a time he’d envisioned his second big venture to be titled a bit differently: Braden and Son Property Management. Once upon a time.
He hadn’t told Mallory about his move. Hadn’t even realized that he hadn’t told her until after the check had been paid and he was heading out to the parking lot.
Holy hell. Mallory’s going to have a baby. Alone.
He’d been prepared for her dating. Getting serious. Eventually marrying. All of which would have led to a very different future for her. Then he’d have prepared for her having another family. One that worked for her this time.
At thirty-three she was getting closer to her biological safety zone. She hadn’t brought up that point at dinner but he was certain it had been on her mind. She was a child-development guru and firmly believed that her best chances for conceiving a healthy and robust child were before she turned thirty-five.