Page 39 of Hearts Don't Lie
No matter how tired he was, Hardin had no problem waking up. He was disciplined from years of training and playing. He would sleep later. No, that wasn’t accurate. He would crash.
He and Mac had stayed up most of the night. When they weren’t rediscovering one another or making love, they were talking. They had padded into her bathroom just as the sun broke the horizon, agreeing a shower was probably a good idea after hours of sex. Shimmying into her small shower was comical, but taking her once more, against the tight confines and slick walls with her legs wrapped around his hips, was a human engineering feat, one that had him straining and shaking as he emptied himself into her slick heat.
They had toweled off and literally fallen into bed. She snuggled next to him in the cooled room and began purring immediately. He pulled the sheet over them and closed his eyes, falling into a deep sleep until the need to fill his belly became unrelenting.
Hardin slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb her, watching Mac as he dressed. She lay on her belly, the lovely curves of her back and shoulders exposed, head turned toward him, a soft smile gracing her features. She looked so content. He hoped he was the reason for that expression. Thick lashes caressed her pink cheeks and those long locks of hers were all over the pillow—hair he had woven his hands into and played in while he moved in her. While they gazed into each other’s eyes.
He surveyed her room, seeing it more clearly in the morning light. She kept it neat. The chair, bed frame, and dresser appeared old, possibly refurbished. Had she done that? Photos topped her dresser. Curious, he moved closer to inspect them. They were all candids—her son hiking, fly-fishing, snowboarding, and more. The kid was obviously active. It was hard to make out the finer details of his features in the dim light and also because he wore sunglasses and a ball cap in all the photos.
His eyes teared up when looking at Mac holding him as an infant, the largest photo. The pride and love shining in her face made him ache and swallow hard. It should have been their infant. That had been their plan—their own soccer team. Whoever captured the moment was someone with the best timing. God, she glowed.
Something hung from the side of the photo, draped over the corner of the handmade wrought iron frame. His pulse quickened as his fingers touched and then held the thistle—the sterling necklace he had given her their last night. Hardin’s heart squeezed and thumped against his ribs; after all this time, Mac had kept it. He wondered if she ever wore it and glanced back at her. She’d noticed his Stowe tat, but not the thistles designed to appear as if they were woven throughout it.
Mac didn’t appear as if she’d be getting up anytime soon. Hardin smirked and nodded to himself. He’d worn her out good, and she had done the same to him in return.
Exploration of the kitchen turned up a coffee maker and filters, but so far, no coffee.What the hell?He went into another cabinet. Loose paperwork fell out and scattered over the counter and floor.Dammit. Nothing like disturbing her stuff.
Of their own accord, his eyes scanned the papers as he tried to organize them. Forms for enrollment. A medical form. Past education. She had homeschooled her son. Hardin’s pride in Mac only magnified. He placed the next paper on top. A birth certificate.
Stowe Ambrose Eliot.
Ambrose.
Hardin looked at the date and dropped the birth certificate on the counter, bracing himself, sucking in air as if he’d sprinted for his life. He rapidly blinked his eyes, not believing what he was seeing. The line for the father’s name was blank and the date of birth easily coincided with the timing of the failed condom the night before he left for college. He was dizzy from the shock, fear, anger, and elation assaulting his senses. He felt like he was going to fucking pass out.
“Hardin?”
His eyes met hers, not sure how he appeared. Distraught? Pissed off? Confused? She was beautiful and wild in her half-awake state, wearing an oversized shirt that barely covered her ass. The thought that she was probably naked underneath stirred him to attention despite what he was feeling.
Mac’s eyes flitted from him to the open cabinet, then to the papers under his hand. She sounded unsure when she spoke. “Hardin?”
He took a deep breath to fortify himself, to find his voice. “I was looking for coffee. Paperwork fell out.” He motioned to the open cabinet, then walked over to Mac, taking her hand and rotating it palm up and open, placing Stowe’s birth certificate in it.
He struggled to keep his voice even. “Is he ours?”
She looked at him, wide-eyed, appearing so frightened his heart ached for her. Mac’s voice trembled. “Yes.”
“Why, Mac?” He scrubbed at his face, then pushed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets to stanch the flow of tears, trying to absorb the news.
“You know why,” she said quietly. “We talked about all the whys when we were on our trip. Your parents. Their actions. Alicia.” She inhaled and exhaled loudly. “I was s-so… af-afraid,” she stuttered through her tears. “They might… they might have… taken him.” If anything, she cried harder. “He’s all I have,” she whispered, the tears running off her chin and splashing onto her feet and the hardwoods. She placed Stowe’s birth certificate on the counter, then wrapped her arms around herself and rocked. “He’s everything.”
“Come here, baby.” He gathered her into his arms. “No one is taking him from you.”
She began shaking so hard he thought she was going to come apart.
“Mac. Hey. Are you listening?”
“Y-yes.”
Christ, her teeth were chattering. “Babe, I’m not going to take him from you. Is that what has you scared out of your mind? Why you’ve been so secretive?”
She nodded and keened. His shirt was soaked. It was if a dam had busted loose.
Hardin kissed the top of Mac’s head and rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. As much as he was struggling, he couldn’t even imagine what it had taken to keep their son’s paternity a secret, to keep Stowe safe from his barracuda parents. After she quieted to sniffling, he said, “We’ve got to talk about him.”
She stared back at him with eyes that reminded him of a frightened animal.
“Please, Mac.”
