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None, that was who.
She tossed off the covers and came to her feet, chilly in the faded tank top and plaid flannel boxer shorts she wore to bed. She headed to the kitchen for a drink of water.
There was no way she could marry TJ and move to Whiskey Bay—even if he did have what was probably the greatest house in the world. It wasn’t an idea that was even worth considering. This wasn’t 1955. People didn’t get married because they had a child.
They made agreements, arrangements. They figured out logical systems that would make it work for everyone. Eli would just…
She retrieved a glass from the cupboard and turned on the faucet.
As she filled the glass, she tried to imagine what Eli would do. Take a bus back and forth between Seattle and Whiskey Bay? Then she pictured the helicopter and gave a fatalistic chuckle. Yeah, Eli’s daddy wouldn’t let his son ride the bus.
Eli’s daddy. It was another phrase to rattle around in her head.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t known. She’d known all along. What she hadn’t known was anything about TJ beyond the little she’d learned in high school. To say the least, he was a formidable man. He was determined. And he was strong. And he was…
She suddenly felt hot instead of cool.
Then a noise startled her. It sounded like glass smashing on the sidewalk, maybe a bottle—possibly soda but probably liquor.
It wasn’t the first time it had happened. There would be a mess in the morning for her landlord, Hank, to clean up.
Her phone pinged with an incoming text.
Her first thought was the hospital, and she rushed back to the bedside, picking up the glowing screen.
It was from TJ.
Sorry was all it said.
She sat down, holding it in both hands. Sorry for what? Sorry he’d dragged her to Whiskey Bay? Sorry he’d pressured her to move there? Sorry he’d proposed? Sorry he’d behaved like a lunatic?
She typed back: It’s okay. She realized all of those things were okay.
He deserved a little latitude. Okay, more than a little latitude. She’d blindsided him with the knowledge of Eli, and since then he’d stepped up at every turn. He was desperate to forge a relationship with his son. Maybe he was grasping at straws. But at least he wasn’t threatening to take her to court.
She sobered at that thought. She’d be completely outgunned if he took her to court. He could out-lawyer her a hundred to one. He could end up with joint custody. Eli could be forced to spend a whole lot of time, likely weekends, summers and holidays, in Whiskey Bay. TJ could play hardball if he chose.
Her phone rang in her hand, startling her.
It was TJ.
She accepted the call and put the phone to her ear. “Hi.”
“You’re awake.”
“I was thirsty.” There was no way she was telling him the real reason for her wakefulness.
“Me too,” he said.
She found herself smiling. “I’m starting to be able to tell when you’re lying.”
“You caught me.” There was a chuckle in his tone. “I was on a call to Australia.”
The gulf between them seemed to widen. “Oh. Well. Yeah, I guess…”
“It sounds stupidly pretentious. That’s why I said thirsty instead.”
“If you’ve got business in Australia, you’ve got business in Australia.”
“Forgive me?” he asked.
Before she could answer, another bottle smashed outside. This one was loud, much closer.
“What was that?” TJ asked.
“Glass breaking.”
“Are you barefoot?”
“Not me. It was outside.”
Concern ratcheted up in his voice. “What’s going on? Who’s out there?”
“I haven’t looked out. It’s probably kids. I’m sure they’re making a mess.”
There was a pause before he spoke. “Does that happen often?”
“Not really. Occasionally. It is Saturday night.”
There was a sudden banging on her door.
“What the hell was that?” TJ demanded.
Reflexive fear shot through her and she took a step backward. “There’s someone knocking on the door.”
“Don’t answer it.”
“I’m not going to answer it.” Did he think she was foolish?
“I’m coming over.”
“Don’t be silly. The door’s locked. They’ll go away.”
“Are you calling the police?”
“And telling them what?” Sage couldn’t imagine the police would respond to someone knocking on her door.
The banging came again, three times, slow and low-pitched like somebody was using the end of their fist.
“Calista?” called a drunken voice. “Honey, let me in.”
“They have the wrong house,” Sage said to TJ.
