A Christmas to Believe In (36 page)

follow her into the front room. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

The restlessness of her feet, coupled with the constant

wringing of her hands, pitched his stomach upside down.

Whatever it was, not only had it turned her green around the

gills, but it also had her too worked up to sit still. She'd wept,

extensively. In the last few days he'd become accustomed to

her turning to him for comfort. That she hadn't, that she had

yet to say a single word, only intensified the chill that wafted

down his spine.

"Jesse." He caught her hand as she walked by and tugged

her to a stop. "Talk to me."

Her bright blue eyes welled with moisture. In that

moment, Clint knew this would not end well for him. The

sorrow that reflected in her gaze stabbed knives into his

heart. He withered under the pain that shone behind her

trembling eyes. Whatever had happened since she'd left this

house had broken her. And he didn't have to look far to

suspect the cause—Ethan.

He clung to the dim hope he could change her mind. That

he could listen to what she had to say and convince her to

give him a chance—a real chance—at winning Ethan over.

But damned if he would have his family hear him beg.

He stood up, grabbed his coat, and led Jesse outside. "Talk

to me."

She turned away and braced her hands on the front porch

railing. "Ethan's mom was a user," she began in a near-

whisper. "Addicted to Meth and alcohol. The files say she

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never knew who fathered Ethan. Evidently around that time

she'd been picked up for a short-term stint in prostitution."

Clint closed his eyes. The urge to go to Jesse, to fold her in

his arms and strip away her heartache pounded at his senses.

The woman who'd been strong and undefeatable this

morning, looked small and weak. Frail and helpless. And yet,

he knew she didn't want his comfort. She'd have sought his

embrace, put herself in his arms if she did. He leaned against

the wall, opened his eyes, and listened.

"She kept Ethan until he was four. Old enough he

remembers her. Old enough he remembers every bit of the

statement she gave to DFS when she marched him into their

offices and left him behind." Her long hair tumbled down her

back as she looked to the sky. "Short and succinct—
I'm

getting married and my fiance doesn't want kids. I don't want

this boy anymore.
"

Clint nearly doubled over as an invisible fist punched him

in the gut. Holy shit, no wonder Ethan hated him. He'd hate

him too.

Jesse's breathing hitched as she dragged in a deep gulp of

air. "Until he was eleven, he shifted through the system. Each

home he went into, inevitably terminated their agreement

when he couldn't get along with the husbands. No one took

the time to try. They laid down the law, expected him to

obey, and didn't care what drove him. He came to me

because I was a single woman."

Clint did go to her then. He stepped behind her, settled a

reassuring hand on her shoulder. Her body swayed towards

his, but she resisted the full contact.

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"His
Guardian ad Litem
phoned the day the judge

postponed our adoption hearing. Ethan's known since the day

after he caught us kissing. He thinks I had something to do

with it."

The nightmare opened up and swallowed him. Clint ground

his teeth together, clamping the tumult of emotion behind the

ineffective barrier. Ethan blamed her. Ethan blamed him. He

didn't need to hear more. All the happiness he'd carried

around in his heart since his conversation with his mother

blinked out with Jesse's choked sob.

"I can't get him to listen to me. He's called his caseworker.

Said he's leaving."

Clint tightened his fingers into her shoulder. "Let me talk

to him."

She shook her head, bowed it to her chest. Her shoulders

bent along with it, and she sagged her weight into the

banister. "No, Clint," she whispered. "You can't fix this. It's

not your fault, it's mine. I trusted Jonathan to get hold of

Cindy, and I should have called her myself. I should have told

Ethan. And now it's too late. He's locked himself up behind all

those walls again."

"Jesse, stop. You can't blame yourself. He's thirteen. He's

not stupid. If he hears the right words, he'll understand."

She shoved out of his grasp and stalked several feet away.

Her back turned, she hugged her arms around herself. "It

isn't that easy. It took me two years to get where we are. He

needs me. He's hurting. He's scared. And in his eyes, the only

home he's ever had just got yanked out from under him."

"Because of me," he gritted out.

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At her nod, frustration leapt through his veins. It rolled

through his blood, lit a spark of anger. "Give me a chance,

Jesse. A real chance. Let me talk to him when you aren't

around, so he doesn't have to think about what he says."

"Clint..." Slowly, she turned around. Tears trickled freely

down her cheeks, salty drops that fell like tiny hammers,

intent on breaking him into pieces. "I can't do this. I love you

so much, I can't even say the words in my head."

"Don't." Desperate to stop her before she could set them

free, he stalked to her and crushed her into his arms. "Don't,

Jesse. Don't shut me out. Don't walk away. I need you too,

sweetheart." And he hurt every bit as much as that confused

teenage boy. Hell, Jesse's words, the inevitable outcome he

knew he couldn't stop, splayed open his heart and left him

bleeding in the snow. The chill in his veins became

unbearable, the roiling of his stomach worse than any

seasickness.

"He's my son, Clint."

"And so I lose," he finished for her. Stiffening his spine

against the sudden, violent need to vomit, he summoned his

anger for strength. "You gave me your patience. I'm asking

you to accept mine. I'll wait however long it takes."

Her body shuddered. Against his chest, she shook her

head. She backed up a step, and with a broken whisper said,

"I can't. I won't put him through another minute of this."

He reached for her again, but Jesse evaded his fingers.

She flew down the steps, threw herself into her car. Before he

could make it to the drive, her car was already at the road.

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Clint bellowed in frustration. Rage, unlike anything he'd

ever known possessed him. Every last damn thing he cared

about had just slipped through his fingers, and like everything

else, he was helpless to it all.

He stormed into the house as tears threatened. He stalked

through the kitchen, heading for the stairs. At the table, he

fished his mother's wedding ring out of his pocket and

slammed it down in front of her. "This won't be necessary."

Evading her astonished expression, and Keeley's surprised

gasp, he shouldered through the entryway and mounted the

stairs. Behind the safety of his locked bedroom door, he

wilted into his chair, dropped his head into his hands, and

yielded to the crushing pain inside his chest. Tears fell

unchecked, ugly sobs wracked his shoulders. Gone. Less than

an hour ago, he'd seen the beauty of a life with her. Had

known it as clearly as he'd known his name. Now she was

gone. Just an illusion that wafted into his life, only to vanish

on a rising storm.

He'd thought he'd understood what it might feel like to

lose Jesse, but the reality was far more terrible. That hole

she'd filled opened up and swallowed him. One great, hollow

cavern that was cold and lifeless. Empty of light.

He grieved until he had nothing left to spend. When he

lifted his head, the room was dark. Yet images of he and

Jesse flashed on every surface, as bright as the moonlight on

the snow outside. He snatched at his keys, shoved out of his

chair. To hell with Alex's dinner—he couldn't stay here. Not in

this room, not in this house. Not until he managed to numb

the clawing that shredded his heart.

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Still in her clothes from the night before, Jesse forced

herself to leave her bed and go downstairs. Everything hurt.

Inside and outside. Standing in front of a firing squad

wouldn't produce the kind of holes that peppered through her

heart. That type of pain eased with death. This went on and

on. Eating at her. Slowly bleeding her dry.

She moved through the kitchen, turned on the coffee pot.

Crumbs scattered across the countertop evidenced Ethan's

attempt at toast sometime while she slept. Good. He'd eaten.

She wouldn't have to find the energy to cook. She could

collapse in the chair and stare at the Christmas tree until she

heard his footsteps on the stairs.

The ringing of the phone halted her retreat. Jesse looked

at it, debated whether to answer. When the shrill peals

ceased, and the answering machine picked up, she shuffled

back toward the couch. Maybe she'd lie down. Try to find the

sleep that had eluded her through the night.

The phone called out again. Muttering, Jesse snatched off

the cradle. "What?"

"Jesse?" Zoe's soft voice filled with hesitation.

"Oh. Zoe. Sorry." At once chagrined, Jesse cringed. She

set her mug down and pulled the nearby stool out to sit.

"You okay?"

No. Not in a million kinds of anything was she okay. She

wanted to die. Half of her had. The other half kept her going

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for Ethan's sake. She'd done what was necessary. A duty

reserved only to mothers. "I had a long night."

"I'm sorry if I woke you up, but I didn't know who else to

call."

A hint of urgency clung to Zoe's voice. Managing to push

aside her own selfish concerns, Jesse tuned in to the

conversation. "Is everything all right?"

"No. Yes." She paused, then in a near squeal, she gushed,

"I'm marrying Alex tonight. Again. At the house. I need a

bridesmaid. You're so close to the family, I'd like you to stand

with me."

Jesse's fingers slipped on the receiver. In a rush of

discombobulated thoughts, she saw the wedding, saw Alex in

his tux, his brothers at his elbows. She could hear the spoken

vows, see Clint's harsh features as he stood across the way

from her. Oh, hell, she'd have to be his date. He'd escort her

down the damn aisle. Like she'd fantasized about in the

formalwear shop, only this wouldn't come with the same rush

of swelling emotion. To walk down an aisle with him right now

would crush the little bit that remained of her heart.

She couldn't.

"Jesse, I know it's short notice. I understand if you can't.

It's Christmas Eve... I'm sure you and Ethan have plans."

She couldn't strand Zoe either. Or Amelia. They'd both

been too good to her, and especially Ethan, over the last few

years. Feeling every bit like a puppet on strings, her life

completely out of her control, she sighed heavily. "I'll be

there. I need to find something to wear. What do you want

me in?"

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"I really don't care. Something pretty. I'm not picky. Alex

pulled some strings at the courthouse, so it's small." She took

a deep breath, held it. "Oh, Jesse, I'm so happy. The girls will

have their father. I have Alex. This is like a dream come

true."

I left Clint, Zoe. It's killing me. Help.

It took every bit of Jesse's willpower to find a smile and

force cheer into her voice. This was Zoe's big day. The one

she should have had four years ago. Jesse refused to spoil it

because she'd done the grown up thing and put her son first.

"I'm happy for you. Really happy."

"The girls are bouncing off the walls. I've never seen them

so excited over something."

Jesse swallowed down the lump in the back of her throat.

Ethan should have reacted with the same enthusiasm. He

might have, if this whole court thing hadn't cropped up.

"That's great, Zoe."

"Are you sure you're okay? You sound...off."

"I'm fine," she lied. "But I need to get on the search for a

dress. I don't have anything here. What time do you want me

there?"

"Amelia said around four thirty. She's got a dinner planned

for the reception. She took everything out of my hands,

except for the food I'd already prepared. Oh! And she wanted

me to ask you if you'd still be willing to help with the cleanup.

She's going to keep the girls, and Alex and I are going back