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“There’s an off-season storm gathering steam in the Pacific. If you can believe the weather forecasts—and you can’t, half the time, but that’s another issue—it’s going to hit the islands later this week.”
Shane leaned over the desk and tapped his laptop to bring up the latest radar. Then he took another second to squint at the screen. “I don’t know. Looks like a big, disorganized swirl right now. I don’t see how anyone’s extrapolating a path from this.”
“You have talents I respect, but predicting the weather isn’t one of them. Even if it was, we have a world-class hotel chain entrusting us with their emergency planning, and they’ve got a brand-new, five-star property on the tip of Kauai bracing for the first real test of their disaster readiness. As the architect of those plans, they want you there. This is where we put skin in the game, Shane. I can’t tell them we think the forecasts are bullshit. That’s not going to fly.”
No, he was. And that had to change. He wanted to build a home, a life, and most importantly, a future with Sinclair. He wanted predictability in his schedule, and he couldn’t get it while being the first guy on speed dial whenever a client needed a hand to hold. That wasn’t going to work for him anymore. And the Seattle project still loomed in his future. He had to have a conversation with Haggerty…just as soon as he carried this project over the finish line. “I’ve got the meeting tomorrow. I can’t leave until Friday, at the earliest.” Sinclair flew out Sunday for New York. If he was right about the weather, he’d be back by the time she returned from her convention.
“That works. I’ll let the resort know. Expect a text from Barb with the flight details. As long as the forecast holds, plan on a weekend in Hawaii.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sinclair stared at the small pink plus sign for a full sixty seconds. Then she scrambled for the box sitting on the bathroom counter, accidentally knocking it into the sink in her haste to reach it. When finally got her hands on it, she didn’t need to bother digging for the instructional insert. The picture on the front of the packaging couldn’t be clearer, just in case anything had changed since the last time she’d taken one of these tests. Plus meant pregnant. She glanced back at the result window on the wand. Definitely plus. She shook it—why, she didn’t know—and looked again. Still plus.
Holy crap. Miracles did happen. The room spun a little as she got swept up onto a carousel of emotions. A dizzying and completely ludicrous whirl of joy took her first, followed immediately by panic. Would Shane think it was a miracle? Did his version of a second chance include a kid? Now?
Then all the questions careening around her head slammed up against a cold, hard wall of reality. Was this pregnancy even viable? Maybe a fragile little bundle of cells sat lodged in her tube, just like last time. The box and the wand clattered onto the counter as she covered her stomach with her shaking hands.
After a moment, she raised her gaze to come face-to-face with her reflection in the bathroom mirror and saw the vestiges of an overwhelmed sixteen-year-old in her eyes.
“Hey, kiddo. Everything okay?”
She turned to find her father hovering in the doorway and rushed to retrieve the pregnancy test and box from where they sat in plain view by the sink. “Oh my God, Dad.” Shoving the wand into the box, she faced him.
“Sorry.” The stiffness in his voice told her she hadn’t moved fast enough. “I stopped to drop off some mail that came to the house. I, uh, saw your car in the drive. I knocked, and I called out, but when you didn’t answer, I got worried, so I came in.” His gaze dropped to her hands and then bounced up to her face. “Anything you want to tell me?”
So much for hiding the evidence. Hey, Dad. I’m knocked up. Again. It had taken so long to restore their relationship last time. She didn’t think she could handle him putting that wall of anger and disappointment between them again. A salty burn stung her eyes at the thought, but she shrugged and tried for levity. “Um…no?”
One corner of his mouth lifted a notch. “Oh, come on, kiddo. Let’s both try to do better this time around. Start by confiding in me, all right?” He leaned against the doorframe, a Land’s End–catalogue shot of casual, no-pressure Dad in his untucked chambray shirt and khakis—but the little smile disappeared. “I know I let you down before, and I’m probably not the first person you’d choose to open up to now, but I’m here. And I love you.”
The burning eyes came back with a vengeance. “I love you, too, Daddy.” She put the test kit on the counter and walked over to hug her father. Her throat tightened when his arms enfolded her and pulled her close. With her face buried in his shirt, inhaling the reassuringly familiar scents of dryer sheets and Zest soap, she said, “You didn’t let me down. You’ve got it turned around, actually. I let you down.” A painfully hard sob accompanied the admission, followed by scorching tears.
He drew back and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “How about this? Let’s go downstairs, have some coffee—er, scratch that—some orange juice, and get things straight.”
She let him guide her downstairs while she swiped at her watering eyes and running nose. Stop crying, for Christ’s sake. No matter what nickname your dad calls you, you’re not a kid anymore. Dredge up some dignity. Sound advice, but her tear ducts disagreed.
Her dad deposited her in a kitchen chair. She used the sleeve of her oversize black sweater to wipe her face while he puttered around her kitchen—finding glasses, digging in the fridge, pouring OJ. He placed one in front of her and then sat down in the adjacent chair with his own glass.
She took an unsteady breath and then sobbed out, “I’m s-sorry.”
“That’s my line. You’ve never let me down, Sinclair. Never. And I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like you did. Ten years ago, you needed support, and understanding, but I was so determined to do what I thought was my duty—and would assuage my anger at some unknown boy who I felt deserved to suffer some consequences—I put us at odds. I yelled at you, and threatened you, and instead of getting the information I demanded, all I managed to do was push you away when you needed me most. What I should have told you a while ago is, in retrospect, I admired your strength for not caving in and giving me the scapegoat I wanted. Then again, I’ve always been in awe of your strength.”
“Well, you know”—she sniffed loudly and hiccupped over another sob—“nothing shakes my steely resolve.”
Her father’s chuckle told him the incongruence of the moment wasn’t lost on him. “You can handle anything life throws your way. I know this, because I’ve seen you do it. You might think Savannah is more like your mother, but when it comes to steely resolve and utter fearlessness, trust me, Sinclair, you are your mother’s daughter. Take that as a compliment, because I mean it as one.” He drew in a deep breath before continuing. “You want me to call her? I won’t take offense if she’s the one you prefer to talk to about the rest of it.”
&n
bsp; He wouldn’t take offense, but he would never be sure he’d said the right thing. And he had. She’d needed a reminder that she’d handled a lot worse, with a lot less life experience behind her. “No.” The pressure of fresh sobs building in her chest subsided. Her tears slowed. “No. Actually Dad, you’re exactly who I need.” She wiped her face and then looked him in the eye, so hopefully he’d know she meant that.
He put down his OJ and rested his forearms on his knees. “So…you’re pregnant?”
“Preliminary results say so.”
“I didn’t think that could happen, without, you know…some science and whatnot.”
“Me, neither.”
“Shane?”
