Whatever It Takes (5 page)

He stopped at a small slip of countertop beside the doorway. “I want you to do something else for me.”

She sighed. “What?”

He retrieved his wallet from a small basket on the counter. His back to her and his head bent, he dug through it a moment before palming something, then tossed his wallet into the basket and returned to her.

“Go shopping.” His expression blank and unreadable, he opened his fist.

She blinked at the object seated in his palm. The green-and-white plastic mocked the pain swelling in her chest. Money? After everything this morning, he threw money at her? Okay, so he was right. She and Allie needed things. She’d need everything. Dishes. Silverware. Clothing. Basic necessities she’d taken for granted once. Like clean underwear. And he had more than enough money to buy her a new house and everything to fill it. But what she wanted . . . was him to show a measure of care. Instead, he was attempting to fix everything with money. Like always.

She turned her back on him and marched to the fridge. “No thanks.”

“No thanks? What do you mean, no thanks? I thought every woman loved to shop.”

As she pulled out the carton of eggs, the sound of his bare feet on the floor moved closer. She quickly shut the door and turned but came up short. Jackson, as expected, stood right there. Ignoring the demand written in the lines of his face, she stepped to the left, attempting to go around him and cross to the stove, but he moved in front of her, blocking her path. He had the nerve to take the carton of eggs from her and put the credit card in its place.

She shoved the card back and glared at him. “I do not need your help. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and our daughter.”

“Everybody needs someone sometimes, Beck.” His eyes dared her to acknowledge the truthfulness of his statement.

Oh, now that wasn’t fair. This time she wasn’t backing down.

“You don’t.” She folded her arms and arched a brow, tossing the challenge back at him.

A wistful smile played at the corners of his mouth, his deep blue eyes smoldering, soft yet intense.

“Once upon a time, I might have agreed with you, but I’ve had a lot of time to ponder that.” He aimlessly stroked her cheek, leaving her skin tingling in its wake and her breath halting in her lungs. “And I’m afraid you’re wrong.”

Jarred from her intense reaction to his touch, Becca blinked. Denial raced through her mind like the quickening of her pulse. Surely he wasn’t implying he needed
her
?

A heartbeat later, he dropped his hand and his gaze snapped to hers, those eyes focused and intent. Once again in control and leaving her off-balance. Whatever emotion she thought she saw in his eyes or heard in his voice disappeared, replaced by an infuriating calm. Jackson had a knack for keeping his head in an emergency. He used to awe her. Until she realized this was his way of shutting out his emotions and he had no intention of letting her in.

“You have needs. Basic needs. Clothing, for one.” He arched a brow, lowering his voice. “Unless you plan to run around the house naked. Which would be perfectly fine with me, but I don’t think it’s appropriate in front of our daughter.”

Once again he’d flipped emotions on her, reeling her in, and once again her body responded. The heat in his eyes had the same desirous warmth seeping through her.

Unable to stand his taunting any longer, she latched onto the one emotion she felt safe with—anger. She could either allow the anger to surface or stand there and cry. So she threw her hands in the air. “God, I can’t believe you. How one man can be so clueless is beyond me.”

Shooting him a pointed glare, she snatched back the eggs and marched across the room. She dropped the carton onto the stove a little too harshly and moved to a set of cabinets to her left.

“Money doesn’t magically make everything all better.” She lifted onto her tiptoes and stretched an arm up over her head, swiping at a bowl out of her reach. “It doesn’t work that way. I lost more than my clothing last night. I lost everything. Things I can’t replace.”

Memories she didn’t even know she missed until they were gone. Her entire karate portfolio and years of training notes. Their daughter’s first everything. Even pictures of him, of them, sealed in a box in the recesses of her bedroom closet because she couldn’t bring herself to toss them.

“You’re right, you did, and I’m sorry as hell for that, but the way I see it, sweetheart, everything irreplaceable is currently in
this
house.”

Becca froze, stunned to her toes. Surely she’d heard him wrong. The Jackson Kade she knew would never have uttered words like those. He always worried more about money than anything.

She jerked her head around, shooting a confused frown over her shoulder. For the second time, the center of his chest was right there. She’d been too busy yelling at him to notice he crossed the room.

“The only important thing is you and Allie weren’t inside when it caught fire.” His entire length brushed against her as he reached over her head to retrieve the bowl she needed. “You can buy new clothes and a new house.”

She swallowed hard in a vain attempt to wet her desert-dry throat. A little voice in the back of her mind screamed to jab him in the ribs, run like the wind, and not stop until she’d locked herself in her room on the other side of the house. He’d taken a liberty she shouldn’t allow.

Except she couldn’t move because every inch of him pressed against her back, from his broad chest to his long, lean thighs. His scent enveloped her and went to her head in a heady rush. Her entire body tingled with an electrified awareness.

“But we can’t make a new Becca, and we can’t make a new Allie, either.” His soft breaths teased the hairs on the back of her neck as he set the bowl on the counter in front of her.

Apparently he wasn’t done torturing her, for one hand slid over the curve of her hip and into the right front pocket of his robe. Before she could think to protest, he slid his hands onto her shoulders and turned her.

“Go take a shower.” He steered her around the center island and across the kitchen. “Go raid my drawers again. I have sweats in there, bottom drawer if I’m not mistaken, that might be a bit big on you, but I’m sure they’ll work in a pinch. When we’re finished with breakfast, we’ll drop Allie off with Malia and the girls for a few hours. She’s tiny, like you. She might have something you could borrow until we can go shopping. She called last night, after you fell asleep, and she said she’d watch Allie while you and I go over the wreckage. Together. She said to tell you she’s glad you’re all right and not to worry. She wanted me to remind you that you’re not alone, and if you need her, to call her.”

She planted her feet, stopping them several feet from the entrance, and shot a frown over her shoulder. “Together?”

Yeah, she hadn’t missed that.

“Mmm. I’ll be going with you, because I don’t think you should do that alone.” He released her shoulders, then swatted her backside, like she was an insolent child making a nuisance of herself. “Now go shower, because after breakfast, I’m going to want one, too. If you’ll excuse me, it’s six fifty-eight. Allie gets up at seven o’clock on the nose, and she and I always make breakfast together on Saturdays.”

Although the light sound of his footsteps moved away from her, Becca remained frozen to her spot. The wooden floor cool and smooth beneath her bare feet, she stared at the white wall opposite her. It was all she could do. Stand and process. One minute she wanted to drop the man for being . . . well, Jackson. The next he was kicking her out of the kitchen, showing her sides of himself she would have sworn only a few months ago didn’t exist.

She drew her brows together and glanced back over her shoulder. He now stood in front of the stove, cracking eggs into the bowl he’d gotten down for her. “Since when can you cook?”

The man couldn’t cook to save his life. He’d always hired someone to do it for him. When they first met, he had a personal chef who filled his freezer once a week with individual meals he could microwave.

A low chuckle rumbled as he began to beat the eggs with a wire whisk. “I can’t. Allie taught me how to make the eggs.” He shook his head. “She has to make the toast, though, ’cause I always burn it.”

A bubble of laughter escaped her, and she pressed her lips together. Jackson’s head snapped in her direction, his eyes searching hers with a mixture of delight and confusion. Yeah, she couldn’t remember the last time he made her laugh, either.

Unease churned in her stomach. Twelve hours back in this house and already he’d gotten to her, seeping under her skin when she least expected it.
I am so doomed.

***

Two hours later, Becca stood in the remains of what used to be her beautiful little kitchen. After dropping Allie off with Malia, who’d hugged the stuffing out of her then given her enough clean clothing for a week, they’d come straight here. Firemen had been on scene when she and Jackson arrived. Apparently, they kept a close eye on the place for the first twenty-four hours, and insisted on escorting her and Jackson onto the premises. Safety first. He stood politely behind her, in what used to be her hallway.

“Is there something specific you’re looking for, ma’am?” he asked.

His voice was full of compassion and he didn’t press for an answer, for which she was grateful, because she wasn’t sure she could actually speak. She was too busy trying not to cry, not to drop to her knees and sob like a child.

She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been what she’d found. Thanks to their efforts, the firefighters managed to keep the fire from spreading to the surrounding houses, but hers . . . was little more than a burned-out shell. They’d had to cut holes in the roof in order to contain the fire, and what was left of it had collapsed. If she lifted her gaze, she could peer up at the sky. There was nothing above her but a blanket of cold, gray clouds.

She swallowed, managing to force the words past the lump in her throat, and wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “Nothing specific. I just wanted to see it, see if there was anything here at all.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much. Fire burned pretty hot. It’s lucky you and your daughter weren’t in here when it started.”

Becca could only nod. One step inside what was left of her house and a vise had closed around her chest and hadn’t released since. All around, the neighborhood was filled with signs of activity, sounds of people living normal lives. Cars moving down the street. Children laughing as they played outside. There were several dogs somewhere close by. Their ping-pong barking almost resembled a conversation.

Yet here she was, standing in the remains of her life. Out of all the rooms in the house, she’d loved the kitchen the most. It always caught the morning sun. She’d taken this house in large part because it reminded her of the one she’d shared with Jackson. The breakfast nook in their place—
his
place, she firmly reminded herself—had always been bright and open, flooding the room with light. And she missed it. She’d taken one look at this place and had fallen in love. Now, the house no longer resembled the quaint little home she’d fallen in love with when she’d first seen it a year ago.

The sound of footsteps approaching caught her attention and she turned. Jackson appeared beside the fireman. His hands were empty, and the dejection written on his face answered the question before it could leave her mouth, but her heart drummed a hopeful beat anyway.

“Anything?” She turned to fully face him and clasped her shaking hands together. Something, even a small trinket, was better than nothing. She was hoping for things like Allie’s baby books. The belts she’d earned over the years. At least some of her pictures. . . .

But Jackson shook his head, remorse rising in his eyes. “I’m afraid he’s right, darlin’. There’s nothing left.”

She nodded again and bit her wobbling lower lip, determined not to allow the tears burning behind her eyes to fall. She wasn’t a crier, damn it. Crying didn’t solve anything. But looking at this place, her heart just broke. She’d loved this little house. Had been so proud of the life she’d built for herself and Allie. Her whole life was in this house, but now it was all little more than a pile of ash.

Seeming to understand what she was feeling, Jackson closed the space between them. He hesitated, then draped his arm around her shoulders. She wanted, needed, to pull away, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. His arm around her was support, and she ought to be angry with him, because he was doing it again. Unseating her. He was kind and caring and it occurred to her again to wonder why.

Except he did what he did best—he took charge when she didn’t have the strength. He’d kept her focused for a while.

At least until she’d stepped into what was left of her kitchen.

“It’s a shock, sweetheart, I know, but all this”—he waved his free hand in the air, indicating the room around them—“is just stuff. I know you don’t see it that way right now, but that’s all this is. Stuff. Seeing this place scares the hell out of me, Beck. To think y’all could have been in here? That Allie could have been in her bedroom alone . . . Christ.”

She wanted to argue with him, to try to explain, again, how wrong he was. This wasn’t just
stuff
. This was her life. But he dragged a hand through his hair, and out the corner of her eye, she caught the tremor in his fingers as he dropped his arm to his side again. That this place scared him, of all people, got to her, and the dam broke. The pain welled up and over, an unstoppable river, and she buried her face in her hands, unable to hold back the sob that rose in her throat.

“Hey.” Calm and cool, Jackson took her by the shoulders, turned her and pulled her into him.

She went, because she couldn’t keep herself up anymore, and because he was there, warm and solid and soothing. She buried her face in the familiar warmth of his chest, and he crushed her to him.

He kissed the top of her head, then rested his cheek there. “It’ll be all right, sweetheart. I’ll fix this. I promise.”

Ten minutes later they were seated in his Mercedes, parked at the curb. She’d gone numb. It was all she could do. She was essentially homeless and she had . . . nothing. Not even a scrap of clothing, save her bra, a single pair of panties, and her karate uniform. Allie at least had the essentials. She had her toothbrush and toothpaste, her pajamas, and enough clothing to get her through Sunday night, but Becca had nothing. Nothing but memories.