The Road to Rose Bend, Naima Simone [jenna bush book club .TXT] 📗

there was ever a man who embodied the definition of unattainable, it was Coltrane Dennison. She needed to keep that reminder front and center and stop staring at the man like he’d transformed into 75%-off chocolate the day after Valentine’s Day.

Especially when he was dismissing her from his office.

Clearing her throat, she wiped her damp palms down her denim-covered legs, then silently cursed herself for the telltale betrayal of nerves.

“Of course.” She summoned up a smile, but her lips barely moved. Confusion and embarrassment streamed through her. “I’ll just get out of your hair. Thank you, though.” She tried for the smile again. Failed again. “I really appreciate your advice and help.”

“No problem, Sydney,” he said, standing behind his desk, his hands deep in the front pockets of his pants. The stoic expression belied his words and increased her need to escape.

Escape before she questioned him about what she’d done or said to catapult him back to the place where darkness claimed his golden gaze. A wall had shot up between them that she couldn’t scale.

Didn’t think she should scale.

With a last nod at him, she turned and exited, closing the office door behind her. The relief he’d given her still lingered, but more emotion crowded in. Hurt and bewilderment at the abrupt change in his demeanor. The kindling of anger for the same reason.

And then the persistent residue of that damn desire. A desire she wanted no part of.

As she pulled the door open to the law office and stepped back out into the summer sunshine, she paused on the top step and swept a hand down her belly.

“It’s me and you,” she whispered. “And that’s more than enough.”

It would have to be.

CHAPTER SIX

COLE GRIPPED THE steel bar with eighty-five pounds of weights on each side of it. Exhaling, he bent his elbows and deliberately lifted the equipment from the rest and pressed it toward his garage ceiling.

I’m waiting until I see his or her face when they’re born to determine their name.

He paused, muscles straining, holding the weight aloft. Then slowly lowered it.

I’m waiting until I see his or her face when they’re born to determine their name.

The bar clanged against the rest, but he didn’t stop. After several moments, he repeated the exercise. And then again. Trying to exorcise Sydney’s voice and her love-softened words from his head with pain and exhaustion.

Two hours of slamming his fists into the punching bag, jumping rope, running on the treadmill and lifting weights hadn’t worked so far. But he wasn’t a quitter.

For the last time, he set the weights down and levered off the bench. His arms were jelly, the muscles trembling in protest. They might be screaming “What the hell did we do to you?” but his mind, whirling with snatches of his conversation with Sydney at his office earlier that day, assured him they had this. Keep going. Don’t stop until nothing works. Not his body. Not his brain. Not his fucking heart.

His breathing sawed out of his chest, a rough, labored sound that reverberated against the cement walls. He closed his eyes and immediately an image of Sydney’s face snapped into vivid detail. The shocked hurt. The confusion. He’d caused that by leaping away from her like she’d contracted a disease. Guilt pounded away at him, aching and relentless.

Sydney couldn’t have known how her innocent declaration would be a sucker punch to his chest. Couldn’t have known that panic had seized him in its razor-sharp teeth.

...when they’re born...when they’re born...

He’d felt his son move in his wife’s belly. Had shared the joy and awe when that life they’d created brushed and rolled. And then, when his child was born, he should’ve rejoiced in each wave of his tiny foot and fist, should’ve delighted in his enraged cry. Instead he’d held a devastatingly still baby. Heard nothing but silence.

In that moment, with his hand on Sydney’s belly, with her words echoing in his head, fear had ripped through him. What if he became attached to this baby that grazed a caress under his palm? What if he grew to care for them...love them?

And what if he lost them as he’d lost his own boy?

No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

Yes, he’d shot to his feet, backed away from that new life and his or her mother. But it hadn’t been about disgust. It’d been pure self-preservation.

But trapped in the grip of the past, of his own personal terror, he hadn’t been able to assure Sydney he wasn’t an asshole who ran hot and cold. He hadn’t meant to ruin what should’ve been a sweet, memorable moment for her as a mother.

He was just a scared man who couldn’t stop his bruised heart from beating.

“Mijo?”

Cole jerked his head up and glanced toward the door that led from the garage into the tiny mudroom off the kitchen. As his gaze settled on the petite, older woman standing in the entrance, he rose. A warm glow settled in his chest. Love only tinged a little by sadness. Because looking at his mother-in-law, Valeria Narvaez, was like peering into the future and seeing how his wife would’ve appeared if she’d lived another twenty years.

“Bendiciones, Mamá,” he greeted, smiling and crossing the small garage in several steps. “What are you doing here?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Making sure you’re alive, what else? You haven’t been by to see me and Ramon in a few days, so I know your refrigerator is probably lonely and pathetic.” She shook her head, tsking. “Bony is not sexy, mijo. Why do you think I keep feeding Ramon? A woman needs something to grab a hold of and keep her warm at night.”

He groaned, swiping up his towel off the top of the dryer and scrubbing it over his face and head. “Please, stop. My tender ears can’t stand any more of that. And I’m fresh outta bleach to cleanse my mind.”

“Ay dios mio, when did you become so sensitive?” She snorted. “Get in here so I can feed