Driving to You (Holland Springs #1.5)
Page 2“This girl’s got you all tied up, and not in a Fifty Shades kinda way either.” Hunter popped a handful of peanuts in his mouth. “I say it’s time to move on.”
“While I say it’s time for you to read How to Hold On to Your Mancards.”
“Please, Tiffany is all about some romance and I’m the beneficiary of it.” Hunter grinned, his white teeth flashing against his dark skin. “In fact, I bought her an e-reader for Christmas so she didn’t have to wait—”
“Oh, Jesus.” Finn scrubbed his face with his hand. “You don’t actually read those with her, do you?”
“Real men read romance, Finn.”
Finn chuckled. “You’re whipped.”
“Better than being alone.” Hunter pulled out his phone. “Text from my woman. Gotta go. She’s cooking chicken and dumplings tonight, with some sweet potato casserole on the side.”
Finn ticked up his chin. “See you online later?” He was in the mood to virtually blow up everything and then some.
“W.oW or Call of Duty?” Hunter asked as he paid his tab.
“Call of Duty.”
Hunter punched him on the shoulder as he strode away. “Get your shit worked out with her.”
“If only it were so easy,” Finn muttered at his empty glass.
He could use Kennedy Investigations’’ contacts to find her. Although, that would be rather underhanded. Then again, he didn’t give a shit. He wasn’t stalking the woman, just making sure she was okay. And if making sure she was okay led to him “accidentally” running into her, well, that wasn’t his fault.
Besides, was he supposed to just give up four months of amazing sex, because she said so? Jesus, he sounded like an asshole. It wasn’t the amazing sex, okay so the amazing sex was just that, but he was in love with April. He was completely in love with a bossy, pain in the ass woman who never missed an opportunity to tell him what she thought.
God, he missed her.
His vision blurred suddenly. Perhaps he shouldn’t have drunk that last pint. It was number eight or nine. He paid the tab and staggered to his feet. The walk home should be interesting. He stumbled across the bar and out the door. Cold January air hit him and he stood straighter.
Another blast of arctic wind hit him. “Holy shit.” That was it. He was texting his driver. Pulling out his phone, he made the arrangement. Ten minutes until arrival. He could wait out here that long. Real men didn’t read romance, but they sure as hell waited out in the freeze-your-nuts-off cold.
He could only imagine what April would be saying right now. “Go back inside, you idiot, before you freeze to death.” Such a considerate woman. His mouth kicked up at the corners.
Are you home? Shit, he just drunk-texted April.
Error Message: STOP TEXTING ME.
By the time his driver arrived, there was still no response from April. He nearly fell into the backseat, the driver shutting the door behind him. He blinked at his phone, then closed one eye in order to get the screen to come into focus. One last text and if she didn’t respond, then he was done.
Then he read what he’d sent to her. “Damn you, autocorrect!”
Now she’d never text him back. Hell, she might file a restraining order against him. He shoved his phone into his coat pocket, leaned against the leather seat and closed his eyes. Tomorrow, he’d try again, tomorrow.
April made a face at the screen on her cell. Finn missed her hot tits? He had to be drunk.
“Put down the damn phone,” Chad said, pounding a fist on his desk. A desk that was rumored to have been owned by General Robert E. Lee. “I’ve given you long enough to get over whatever snit you’re in. I have a major fundraising dinner in February that you’ll need to attend with me, and…”
She listened with half an ear as her dad droned on and on about family duty, constituents and campaigning coupled with her inability to not keep her head on straight when it came to outward appearances.
Same lecture, different day.
It didn’t matter if she were perfect or not, she’d never measure up to her dad’s standards. No one could. Maybe that was why her mother had run off and married the gardener. Last she heard, they were living it up in Acapulco.
She glanced around her dad’s office. Same dark woods, same wall of books and same smell of old leather and bullcrap. Lots of deal-making and hand shaking went on in this room.
And she was so tired of it. She wanted a normal life, without politics. Without the scrutiny and campaigns.
“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” Her dad downed his glass of rum and coke.
Looking Chad straight in the eye, she took a deep breath and said, “I’m almost four months pregnant.”
The nearly empty glass fell to the desk with a thud, ice and mixed drink going everywhere. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I can’t.”
“Who’s the father?” he asked and April blinked at him. “Do you even know?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He came from around his desk, advancing on her with a dark look on his face, and for the first time in her life, she was afraid of her dad. But she refused to cower.
“Why does it matter?” Besides, if he wanted to think she slept around…fine.
His jaw worked. “Why does it matter?” he repeated. “God Almighty, April.” He glanced around the room, then back at her. “Get rid of it.”
Get rid of it? Like it was an inconvenience to him? Like he had to the right to dictate to her? He’d lost his damn mind. “No.”
“No.” She stood, lifting her chin and gripping her phone tightly in her hand. “I’m keeping the baby and you’re going to have to deal with it. I’m sure your campaign manager will know how to spin it. Think of all the conservative women votes you have yet to capture.”
“It’s not going to reach Margo’s ears,” he said and she could see the gears turning in his head. One thing that every opponent could count on from her dad was his ability to think on his feet. He was a master at debate and could turn any rebuttal into a gaff. “If only you were still with that Ambrose boy. We could work with him. Nice kid but dumb as hell when it comes to politics.”
That had been what drew her to him. He couldn’t have cared less who her daddy was. “We were toxic together. I didn’t like the person I was with him.” Normally, she wouldn’t have admitted this to him, but the pregnancy made her vulnerable. It made her wish for a father that was concerned for her and would tell her things like: I support and love you, no matter what.
“Sugar, you can’t help it,” he said, almost absentmindedly. “Too much of your mother in you.”
Hurt slashed through her. She bit down on the inside of her cheek for so hard and so long that blood flooded her mouth. Bile rose in her throat and she had to close her eyes.
Breathe, she told herself, just breathe. Then she opened her eyes.
“Still, I wonder…” Suddenly, her dad smiled. Oh God. She knew that smile. “You’re still friendly with Leah Ambrose, aren’t you?”
“Carter’s mother…yes.”
“Go visit with her. Enlist her help in getting Carter back.”
“I don’t want him back.” She wanted Finn back, with all her heart. Stupid heart.
Chad wasn’t listening. “And to sweeten the pot.” He strode to his desk and opened the middle drawer. His checkbook. Did her dad really think he could buy Carter off? Wouldn’t happen in a million years. “Make it happen, April.”
Or else hung in the air, daring her to ask, “What if I don’t?”
“Then I’m cutting you off.” He held out the check. “Think about it, sugar. You don’t have a job, unless I say you do, which means no insurance, no salary, no pretty clothes and shoes. I’ll sell the car, sell the house—”
It galled her to think that her own father had narrowed down her focus in life to material things. Though in the past that might have been true. “I already sold the house and bought another one. In my name only this time.” She gave him a saccharine smile. “Didn’t your secretary tell you? Maybe you should start reading things before you sign them.” But she needed her job, if only for the medical insurance. No one would insure a pregnant woman after the fact.
God, she hated the corner she’d painted herself into. This was exactly why one never went into business with family.
“Fine. Keep the car. Good luck paying for maintenance, gas or insurance.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Thanks.”
The check crumpled in his hand at her mutinous expression. “Dammit, April. At least think of the baby.” He said the word as if it were a curse. “You’ll need transportation, food, a roof over your head and baby stuff. All of that costs a lot of money that you’ll no longer have. And do you really think all of your so-called friends will be there for you? Sure, they might come over and play with the baby, but honey, think about it…You’d be all alone, with a child that you can’t afford to raise.”
Biting down on the inside of her cheek again, she looked away. Tears threatened to fall. Slowly uncrossing her arms, she held out a hand. “I’ll do it.”
He set the check in her palm, closing her fingers around it. “You did the right thing, baby girl.” Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he gripped her chin and forced her to face him. “Do what needs to be done and if you can convince the son of a bitch it’s his, do it.”
April sank into the chair, check in one hand and phone in the other. She let the check fall to the floor. Tears flowed down her cheeks, but she refused to acknowledge them. She pressed that empty hand to her stomach. “For you…I’ll do anything for you.” Unlike her parents, she would put her family first.
Chapter Three
April was not used to losing and she hated coming in second to anything or anyone. Yet here she was, driving back to Charlotte in defeat, with a smile on her face. She hadn’t been able to convince Carter that they needed to get back together, and like she had predicted, the check from the governor hadn’t helped things.
However, she had taken it upon herself to purposefully sabotage the entire thing, though to be honest, as soon as she and Carter were in the same room together that familiar pattern of their toxic relationship reared its ugly head. Instead of whoring herself out, she lied to her ex by saying that she’d cheated on him while they were together, and became the biggest witch this side of the Mississippi to him and everyone else she came in contact with, except his mother.
However, that wasn’t too much of a stretch, especially now that she was becoming sick at the most odd times of day. No morning sickness for her. It was more like all day sickness.
Not that Carter would have cared. He wouldn’t have cared if she’d screwed every man in Holland Springs and uploaded videos of her sexcapades on YouTube. Nope, his attention was firmly fixed on his sister’s best friend. Too bad the dumbtail didn’t know he was in love with the girl. But April hadn’t been inclined to help either of them. Instead she managed get herself practically thrown out of the Ambrose’s house.
Something that her father couldn’t possibly blame on her, because he didn’t know the details while she knew that the Ambroses wouldn’t breathe a word about it. She’d always thought something had been a little off about that family. Maybe it was all those brothers and sisters, with two parents that not only loved their kids, but actually liked them.
Maybe she should have tried harder to be—she grimaced—nice after all, because she was back to square one: twenty-six years old, all alone, unmarried, pregnant by a no good lying asshole of a man and without a job.
Awesome.
Making a left on North Davidson Street, NoDa’s familiar landscape greeted her. All funky shops and eclectic eateries. Some even called the historic mill village SoHo’s little sister. She preferred to call it home.
Almost there, she thought with a little smile.
Her little bungalow, located on Thirty-Seventh Street, was the only place that had ever felt like home to her. It was cozy and comfortable, with a pretty little front yard and a great backyard, complete with a patio and a swing-set.
Placing a hand on her belly, she said, “I’ll play with you. Don’t worry.” No way would she raise her child like she’d been raised. On at all times, never able to show emotions about anything, not even when her mother had left her.
Blue and red lights flashed in her rear view mirror.
Glancing down, she checked her speed. Thirty-six in a thirty-five zone. “Oh, come on,” she muttered, pressing on the brakes and hitting the hazard lights. She pulled over to the right side of the street, put her car in park and rolled her window down. This was the last thing she needed. Jerking her purse out of the passenger side seat, she dug through it and found her wallet.
By the time the officer got to her window, she had her license out and was tapping it against the steering wheel. Only the officer wasn’t dressed like a cop. He wore black cargo pants, a black long-sleeved t-shirt and a black Kevlar vest.
“License, please,” a familiar voice said and her heart stopped. Finn Burke.
A flutter of anticipation slid through her, but she turned to him with the haughtiest look she could muster, letting him take the square piece of plastic. “Shouldn’t you be out arresting mobsters? Or at least sleeping with their daughters?”