Embraced

CHAPTER ONE

SHE DIDN’T KNOW whether to laugh or cry. So Sarah did what she always did when she had the choice—threw back her head and laughed herself silly. Then dived for the shut-off valve at the base of the toilet that was currently overflowing onto the crimson tile floor she had laid herself a year ago.

Once the water flow was cut off—and the floor mopped up—she turned to Johnny, the oldest of her five-year-old twins. “Does someone want to explain to me what happened this time?”

“Pirate Jack was a bad, bad pirate, Mommy,” Johnny said in his earnest little boy voice, his blue eyes wide with sincerity. “He had to walk the plank.”

“Yeah,” Justin said. “He’s a criminal, Mommy. He deserves a terrible pun-pun-pu—”

“Punishment.” Johnny rolled his eyes with all the annoyance of a big brother—as if far more than five minutes separated the two of them.

“Walked the plank?” Sarah shook her head in amazement. “Into the toilet? Again? I thought we talked about this.” Over and over and over again, they had talked until she felt like a broken record. Or worse, a useless one.

“That’s where Jasper went when he died, Mommy. Remember? We gave him a hero’s funeral.”

Of course she remembered. Her brother—her wonderful, irresponsible, fun-loving brother—had been babysitting the twins when the fish had died and, for whatever reason, had decided to give the goldfish a “proper” funeral. Complete with a burial at sea, accomplished by flushing him down the guest bathroom toilet.

Too bad Tad hadn’t thought to warn the twins that not everything that went into the toilet actually made it down the pipes and out to sea. It might have saved her budget—not to mention what little sanity she had left.

For the past three months, she—and her trusty plumber—had rescued everything from superheroes and toy soldiers to the baby’s rattle and hair bows from the toilet and the pipes below it. But Pirate Jack, he was a new one. It was definitely his first trip down the flusher.

Turning back to the toilet, she tried to locate some part of the toy still sticking into the bowl—an arm, a leg, a head, she wasn’t picky. But alas, Jack had made it all the way into the pipes before getting stuck.

“Which Pirate Jack was it?” she asked, feeling the need to clarify as the boys had about twenty variations on the pirate theme. Please don’t let it be the big one her brother—

“The one Uncle Tad got us.”

Of course it had to be that one. That one was larger than her fist and had hard plastic arms and legs shooting off in all directions. She was shocked the thing had actually made it out of the bowl.

With a sigh, Sarah headed downstairs to get the plunger out of the garage. Not that she had a hope of getting the stupid toy out—as big as it was, she was almost positive it was well and truly lodged in the pipe. Which meant calling Vince the plumber. She sighed. Which meant at least two hundred dollars she couldn’t afford to spend this month, not with the two visits Vince had already paid to their house on top of the unexpected car repairs she’d had to deal with last week. The new transmission had eaten up most of her discretionary income for the month. She really hated to dip into her savings, but it wasn’t like she had a choice. Unless, by some miracle, the plunger actually worked.

After wrestling with the plunger for fifteen minutes, Sarah gave up. It was time to call Vince. She reached for the phone—what did it say about her life that he was number two on her speed dial?

“Boys,” she said softly as she checked on them. They were playing in their room, building blocks into huge towers then knocking them down with their trucks. “I’m going to be on the phone for a few minutes. Keep it down, okay? The baby’s sleeping.”

“Okay, Mommy,” Justin said sweetly, even as his brother rolled his eyes.

“She’s always asleep,” complained Johnny.

“That’s what two-month-old babies do, sweetie. They sleep a—” She cut off in midsentence as Angie, Vince’s full-time receptionist, answered the phone. And how sick was it that she knew the other woman’s name?

“Hi, Angie. It’s Sarah Martin. My toilet’s clogged again.”

“What’d the boys flush this time?” Angie asked, laughter evident in her voice.

“Their favorite pirate toy had to walk the plank.” Despite the drain on her finances, she had a hard time keeping the amusement out of her voice, as well. Really, who on earth—besides five-year-old boys—would ever think to do such a thing?

“Nice one. Give me a second and I’ll see if Vince can get over there this morning.”

“No problem. I’ll be home all—”

The smoke alarm in the kitchen went off. “Oh, no! The cookies!”

Sarah ran down the stairs, her first thought to stop the screeching before it woke the baby. But as soon as she hit the first floor, she realized that was easier said than done. The entire downstairs was thick with smoke as she’d left the cookies in—she glanced at the clock—nearly twenty minutes longer than she should have.

Opening the back door and various windows on her way to the kitchen, she waved frantically at the smoke detector in the hallway, trying to clear the smoke from beneath it.

“The cookies are burnded?” asked Justin, lower lip quivering, as she rushed into the kitchen and pulled the blackened treats from the oven.

“Burnded doesn’t quite cover it,” she muttered to herself. They were so blackened she feared they’d burst into flames any second. With a sigh she dumped them— tray and all—into the sink and ran water over them. It was the second batch she’d massacred that week.

“Not again,” wailed Johnny over the scream of the smoke detector. “Mommy, you promised we’d have cookies today.”

“And we will. I—”

“Sarah?” Angie came back on the line.

“Shh.” She turned a stern look on her boys, who ignored it and continued to whine about the lack of chocolate-chip cookies in their lives. “Yes, Angie?” she said, straining to hear the receptionist.

“Vince can be there around two o’clock. Is that okay?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“It sounds like you’ve got your hands full there.”

“What?”

“It sounds like—never mind.” Angie laughed. “I’ll talk to you later, Sarah.”

“What?”

The phone went dead in her hand as Sarah realized that not all of the noise lambasting her ears was from the boys and the smoke alarm. Some of the screams were coming from her baby girl who was now wide-awake, despite the fact that she should have slept for at least another hour.

“Coming, Rose,” she called as she headed up the stairs, the boys trailing behind her. Their tears had turned to shouts of delight the second they heard their sister’s cries. The rule was that as soon as Rose woke up from her nap, quiet time was over. Silence was definitely not their natural state.

Sarah burst into her daughter’s room, and scooped Rose from the crib, holding the small, trembling body to her chest. “It’s okay, baby. Nothing to be scared of. Mama’s here.”

The baby continued to wail despite Sarah’s presence, her cries getting louder with each high-pitched scream from the smoke detector. Would the stupid alarm never go off? To protect Rose’s delicate hearing, Sarah covered the ear not pressed to her chest with her hand.

Murmuring to the baby, she went downstairs. She wasn’t sure if Rose was hungry yet, but the comfort of a pacifier would do a lot to calm her.

Sarah barely cleared the bottom step when the doorbell rang. Vince must have been able to get away earlier than expected. Before she reached the door the boys rushed past her, their voices raised in war whoops of celebration. They loved watching Vince work, and she was beginning to suspect that they were breaking the toilet on purpose—a sneaky ploy to see the plumber again and again. Sarah had just enough time to register that Justin’s face was streaked with red lines while Johnny’s was covered with black ones, before they swung open the door.

Her boys paused in mid-war whoop. Vince wasn’t standing on the other side of the threshold.

Reece Sandler was.

She’d never seen her best friend’s husband look more uncomfortable, despite his carelessly styled brown hair and the designer clothes that showed off his six-foot-four-inch frame to its best advantage.

On the bright side, the sudden influx of hot September air must have been just what the smoke detector needed as it finally stopped shrieking.

Blessed silence filled the room and Sarah took a moment to compose herself. But a moment wasn’t long enough to combat the six and a half months’ worth of fury seething inside her.

A better woman might have bitten her tongue before making a comment. A good woman would certainly have made things easier on the man. But Sarah had never claimed to be trying for sainthood, and she had a lifetime of anger and hurt stored up inside of her.

* * *

AW, SHIT, was all Reece could think as his gaze collided with the baby he’d spent the past few months pretending didn’t exist. First, he’d abandoned Sarah for the last half of her pregnancy. Then he hadn’t made it to the hospital when the baby was born. And now, over two months had passed and, despite Sarah’s insistent phone calls, he’d yet to visit it.

Her, he reminded himself. Not it. The baby was a girl.

His baby was a girl.

Shame ate at him, warring with the anger and guilt and sorrow that had taken up residence in his soul two hundred and nine days ago. This baby was his responsibility—his alone—yet he’d abandoned Sarah to deal with Rose. The fact that he hadn’t wanted her to begin with—and still didn’t have a clue what to do with her—was no excuse.

“To what do we owe this honor?” Sarah’s hostile tone—so at odds with her normally sunny disposition— wasn’t totally unexpected. Yet it still hurt in a way he was completely unprepared for. This was Van’s best friend and what she thought of him mattered. That she had every right to think of him as a total rat didn’t make her disgust any easier to bear.

“Well, are you going to answer me?”

“You haven’t—” His voice gave out and Reece had to clear his throat several times before he was able to continue. “You haven’t cashed the checks I sent.”

“That’s why you’re here? Because of the money?”

He pulled his gaze away from the pink-and-purple-clad baby in her arms and met Sarah’s. Her blue eyes were filled with rage, brimming with the stuff until he couldn’t help thinking it was a miracle he hadn’t been struck dead on her doorstep.

“Look, can I come in?” he asked, discomfort giving way to annoyance. He knew he had a lot to apologize for and he was man enough to do it. But he’d be damned if he’d do it in front of the entire neighborhood.

Those indigo eyes darkened even as they narrowed, and he was sure she would slam the door in his face. But finally, when he was really starting to sweat, she shrugged and opened the door wider. Then turned and walked away without so much as a backward glance.

“Uncle Reece, Uncle Reece!” Justin grabbed his hand and yanked—at least he thought it was Justin. It had been a long time since he’d seen the twins and with all that paint on their faces, it was difficult to tell them apart. “We missed you.”

Guilt hit him again, hard. Before Van’s death, he’d spent a lot of time with the boys. Their father—Sarah’s husband—had walked out when they were babies and Reece had been the closest thing to a father figure they had. When Van had died, he hadn’t just cut himself off from Sarah and his baby, but also from the boys he’d considered his nephews.

“I missed you guys, too.” He ran a hand over each little blond head.

“Did you bring us something?” Johnny asked. There was a time when he and Van would never have considered dropping by without some small present for the boys—a couple Matchbox cars, packs of gum, new balls. Yet another tradition that had died with his wife.

“I’m sorry, guys. I forgot. But I promise I’ll bring something with me the next time.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Sarah was back, probably wondering what was taking him so long.

“I plan on keeping that promise.” He found himself reluctant to leave the boys—they were a bit of normalcy in a world turned violently upside down.

Her snort was not encouraging.

“Look, Sarah—”

“Boys, go on upstairs and wash the makeup off your faces.”

“But, Mom, we’re Indians.”

“Still?” She raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Yeah!”

“Then you’d better go be Indians before Rose needs another nap.”

“Aww, Mom! Already?”

“Not yet, but soon. Her nap was cut short, remember.”

“Yes.” Johnny sighed, hanging his head dejectedly. He looked for all the world like a kid who’d just found out that Santa Claus didn’t exist. Then Justin came up behind him and hit him on the head with a makeshift tomahawk. That’s all it took to send the two of them running up the stairs, laughing and hollering for all they were worth.

Reece watched them go. Otherwise he would have to look at Sarah. Or worse, the baby.

As he avoided her gaze, he realized the house was trashed. Toys were scattered everywhere, along with sippy cups and baby paraphernalia. Stacks of clean clothes sat at the bottom of the stairs while a pile of clean diapers and a box of wipes graced Sarah’s normally immaculate dining-room table.

He cleared his throat, searched for something to say. “Is it always like this around here?”

“Like what?”

“So…crazy?” As soon as the word was out, he knew he’d made a vital mistake.

“I’m a single mom with twin boys, a home business and a baby I had no intention of having to care for after her birth.” Sarah’s voice turned virulent. “So, yeah, it’s pretty much always like this.”

The bitterness made him feel even lower—something he hadn’t thought was possible. Taking a deep, bracing breath he turned to really look at Sarah. And tried to ignore the wholly inappropriate jolt he felt when her gaze met his.

It was the same jolt he’d felt every time she’d looked at him for the past eight years. The same one he’d tried desperately to ignore—to pretend didn’t exist. And his tactics didn’t work any better today than they had in years past.

Was it any wonder he’d run so far and fast when Vanessa died? Because he was a perverted bastard who, even while grieving for his wife, couldn’t get over his strange fascination with her best friend.

But as he looked at Sarah—really saw her—he realized that the woman he knew was nowhere to be found. The competent, in-control, perfectly groomed Sarah was gone. In her place was a woman he barely recognized. A woman who was sad, vulnerable, beaten down. A woman whose utter defenselessness somehow made her seem even more attractive.

She looked like hell—worse than he’d ever seen her, except right after Mike had taken off. She’d lost weight she couldn’t afford to lose, so much that a gentle breeze could blow her over. Her eyes were ringed with such dark circles it seemed like someone had punched her. Her skin was sallow and her hair hung in short, limp strands around her face.

He’d done this to her—with his selfishness and inability to deal with his issues. He’d turned her from the beautiful, self-confident woman he’d first met shortly after he’d started dating Vanessa into this washed-out—wrung-out—version of herself.

And, sick ass that he was, he was as attracted—maybe even more attracted—to this woman than he’d been to the savvy, perfectly coiffed businesswoman.

Burying his traitorous feelings as deeply as he could, he searched for a way to restart the conversation, to ease into the subject he’d been dreading for far too long. No easy way to do this, no way to absolve him of the mistakes he’d made.

“I’m sorry, Sarah.” The words burst from him. “I’m so very sorry.”

“For what?”

At first he thought she was asking what he had to be sorry for. Then he realized she wanted to know which of his many transgressions he was apologizing for.

“For everything. I let you down.”

Her lips twisted in a smirk that wasn’t even remotely amused. “I guess you could say that.”

The baby moved, her little arms flailing as she wailed. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s tired and hungry. She fell asleep without her bottle earlier.”

“Bottle? You’re not breast-feeding her?”

Sarah stiffened at the unintentional censure in his voice and Reece could have kicked himself.

“I started her on bottles right after she was born because I assumed that she would be going home from the hospital with her father. By the time I figured out that you really weren’t coming for her, it was too late. My milk never came in properly.”

She crossed the room, pulled a ready-made bottle out of the fridge and popped it into the microwave.

“I thought microwaves—” He refused to say one more word that could be taken as criticism by Sarah. He was in the wrong, not her.

She turned to him, that hard look in her eyes. “Oh, don’t stop now. Believe me, I’ve been wondering for quite a while what you’ve been thinking.”

Reece felt his back go up despite himself. He’d blown it—badly. Sarah had every right to be angry with him. But her words cut like knives, and he could feel himself beginning to bleed. It was too much when the wounds from losing Vanessa had barely scabbed over.

“Look, I said I was sorry. I couldn’t deal after Van—”

She pulled the bottle out of the microwave, shot him a scathing look. “Well, so sorry the world didn’t stop because Reece couldn’t deal.” She shook the bottle well, then squirted a few drops on her wrist before bringing it to the baby’s mouth. “It must be nice to have that option.”

It’s—her, he reminded himself. Her cries stopped and she latched on to the bottle like it had been years since she’d last had food.

“She was my wife.” He hated the need to justify himself.

“And she was my best friend. After Mike left, she was my only friend. Do you think you’re the only one grieving for her?”

“It’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not.” She pulled the bottle out of the baby’s mouth and pressed her to her shoulder, softly murmuring as she patted Rose’s back. When the baby burped, she lowered her to the cradle of her arm and gave her the bottle again.

“It’s not the same because I didn’t shirk every responsibility I had. I didn’t leave the woman carrying my child—as a favor to my wife and me—alone to deal with everything. I didn’t abandon my baby when it was born, leaving her to my wife’s best friend and surrogate to take care of. I didn’t write my child out of my life like she was a mistake I couldn’t face.

“So, you’re right, it’s not at all the same.”

“I sent a check every month!”

“And that makes it okay?” The baby finished her bottle, so Sarah shifted her to her shoulder and crossed the kitchen. She opened the drawer near the refrigerator—a junk drawer judging by its contents—and pulled out an envelope.

“Is this how you soothe your conscience late at night? Is this how you put Rose out of your mind?” She flung the envelope at him. “Take your blood money. Take it and get the hell out of my house. I don’t want it or anything else from you. Not now and definitely not in the future.”