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“And you did?”
He laughed. “Sure. At eighteen, I had all the answers. I married her without telling my parents, because I knew they’d freak, and moved her into the off-campus, one-bedroom apartment they were paying for. I tried to juggle the most challenging academic load I’d ever carried with doctors’ appointments, childbirth classes, and a bored, unhappy new wife who hated our cramped apartment, hated that I refused to come clean to my parents, and resented the time I dedicated to school.”
“I’m sorry. The whole situation sounds like a nightmare.”
A waking nightmare, kind of like now, because he hadn’t meant to dump every miserable detail on her. But the words just kept tumbling out. “We argued constantly. As you do when you’re in way over your heads, and ready to turn on each other over every perceived injustice life throws at you. One night, Natalie got mad or jealous or…something, because I stayed late at school for a study group, so she called my parents, introduced herself as their pregnant daughter-in-law, and told them I was missing. I walked into my apartment at midnight to discover my crying mama, livid daddy, and hysterical wife arguing about why Nat hadn’t filed a missing person report—which of course she hadn’t done because she knew damn well I wasn’t missing. Needless to say, that was the last time I ever left my house without my cell phone.”
“Your poor parents—”
“I thought they were going to disown me, which I definitely deserved.”
Her hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. “You were trying to do the right thing. Surely they were proud of that?”
“Proud is not the word I’d use. Shocked? Angry? Betrayed? Absolutely. All of the above. To that we can add disappointed, because the story only gets more pathetic from here.”
The hand on his s
houlder tightened. “Something happened to the baby…?”
He shook his head. “A couple weeks before finals, Natalie gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Seven pounds, ten ounces of clearly not mine.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Yeah. That was my reaction, too. I’m not proud to admit relief factored in as well. I was done. Game over. But it took a little while to completely unwind the whole cluster-fuck, during which time I failed all my finals and flunked out of school. I celebrated my nineteenth birthday as a divorced college washout, with a mama who couldn’t look at him without tearing up and a daddy who barely spoke to him. I’d screwed up on every front. It was not my finest milestone.”
“But somehow you pulled your life together.” She rubbed his shoulder then withdrew her hand. “I admire that.”
She worried she wouldn’t be able to do the same. He heard the uncertainty behind her words and wished he knew her well enough to offer convincing reassurances rather than generic platitudes. Instead, he focused on what had worked for him. “I found an alternate path. My sister actually suggested it to me. She knew I wanted a career that offered me the opportunity to deliver babies by the roadside, but I didn’t have the heart, drive, or the funds for another run at med school. She took me in and lent me the money to give the EMT thing a shot, and”—he shrugged—“so far, so good.”
Her self-conscious smile filled his rearview. “I guess I owe your sister a thank-you…oh goodness.” She yawned and then rested her head against the seat and smiled again. “Excuse me.”
Another five minutes, he estimated, and Joy wouldn’t be the only one snoozing.
The smile faded. “Did your parents come ’round, eventually?”
“My mom, yes. I think she respects the choices I’ve made. My dad?” Familiar regret dropped anchor in his stomach. “He’s never really gotten over the disappointment of me flunking out of med school. I fell short. I let him down.”
More importantly than his dad’s feelings on the matter, though, Hunter wasn’t sure he’d ever gotten over the disappointment, and that, rather than anything he saw in his father’s face, had compelled him to complete his pre-med studies and earn his bachelor’s degree in his spare time. It had compelled him to take the MCAT again, after almost ten years, and submit applications to medical schools. And if any of the secondary applications he’d received turned into an acceptance letter, he’d start medical school in the fall—to prove to himself he could, and to satisfy his own career goals. This time around he wouldn’t allow any complications. He wouldn’t lose his focus. He wouldn’t set himself up to fail.
He flicked a glance at the rearview mirror. Madison had fallen asleep with her hand on the baby and a slight frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.
…
Madison sifted powder-soft white sand through her fingers and soaked up the heat of the sun on her bare limbs. The beach was every bit as peaceful as she’d always imagined, and it felt so good to simply lie still and do nothing. She couldn’t say why she’d never before discovered the path through Grandma’s backyard led to this perfect, tropical paradise, but she didn’t question the magic. She intended to enjoy herself. Especially since… Wow. Her body looked amazing in this tiny white bikini. Tanned cleavage and a smooth, flat stomach. Something wasn’t quite right about that. Even as the thought occurred to her, a baby started to cry nearby. Poor thing. Someone ought to do something. Seemed the baby agreed, because the cries got louder.
Madison blinked her eyes open and stared down at the pink-faced infant beside her in a car seat. Competing waves of love and terror slammed into her at once—a sensation she was almost getting used to—and she shook the last vestiges of the dream out of her head.
She was the “someone” who ought to do “something.” She fumbled for the pacifier tucked somewhere in the diaper bag.
“We’ll be at my place in a minute.” Hunter’s voice came from the front of the car. “Then you can take her out of there and see what she needs.”
Disorientation left her brain moving slow. “Um…okay.” She found the bright pink pacifier and popped it into Joy’s mouth. The baby looked dumbstruck for a second but then she started sucking away.
Madison glanced out the window and took in the quiet, tree-lined street flanked by established, well cared for homes. They boasted fresh paint, trimmed lawns, and shiny, late-model cars in the driveways. The moon sat low in the sky, its silver beams breaking through the filmy edges of lead-bottomed clouds piled up along the hilltops in the distance. “How long was I asleep?”
“About an hour. I took the roundabout way since that little girl back there enjoyed the ride so much. But”—he broke off and made a left turn into a driveway—“we’re here.”
Behind a couple of winter-bare maples sat a single-story house on a stacked stone base. It wasn’t much bigger than her grandma’s house but loads fancier. Handcrafted instead of handmade. Back in her part of ’Bama they’d have called it a cabin, but in this area people probably called it a cottage or a bungalow. Real wood shingles covered the facade, instead of aluminum siding. The generous porch extended in a graceful slant over the front door, rather than sagging like a tired visitor. Original, multi-paned windows faced the street.
