Conception (The Wellingtons, #4) Read online

  Would she stay in Tennessee for me? Would I even ask? Would she be content married to a workaholic? Would that even be fair to her?

  All signs point to no, and the last one? It’s the one that stops me from going down that line of thinking. Because I know my future. I know my plans. I know my goals. And if I’m going to be as successful as I plan on being, there’s no room for a woman. Even if I may have already met the one woman who’d be worth sacrificing it all for.

  I’m all in at my job. This summer, I’m all in on Amelia. I’m just not sure how to make the two coexist.

  Her voice breaks through my thoughts. “I don’t know, Knox. I’m not like you. I didn’t grow up wanting to be a meteorologist like Dad. I didn’t even pick up photography until after my parents died. I still don’t know if I’ll be able to earn a living doing it. And I’m okay with that. I have some money stored away from their estate that I can live on while I roam the world. I just want to go everywhere my mom dreamed of but never had the chance. Spend a couple of years abroad, and after that, I’ll figure something out.”

  I envision Amelia in exotic locations, her camera pressed against her face, her eyes focused on getting the perfect shot. I think of her alone, traveling the world, meeting all sorts of people—men—and something inside me twists into knots.

  “Well, damn,” I mutter.

  She takes a quick snap from the Polaroid camera she brought along on today’s hike. “I don’t know what expression I just captured,” she says, “but I think calling it ‘brooding male’ wouldn’t be far off the mark. What’s on your mind?”

  “The two of us. We’re so damn compatible, but our futures couldn’t be more different. Mine’s static. Rigid. Like you said, already planned. Yours is fluid. Ever changing. Carefree.”

  A smile creeps onto her face, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She bends over to pick up a stick then draws a couple of perpendicular lines in the dirt, labeling one K and the other A. She traces a circle around the middle, where they meet. “This is us. Two intersecting lines that met when they’re supposed to and then never again. They continue on their paths that were set out for them. That’s why this works. We both know it, no surprises. And we’ll always have fond memories to look back on in the years ahead.”

  She says it so matter-of-factly. But… What if that’s not what I want anymore? What if I allow Amelia in, with hopes of a future beyond this summer?

  I thought I had it all planned out. I thought I knew what I wanted. I thought so many things, yet in one summer, Amelia’s shown me that I’m more than just a son. I’m more than just a businessman. Or I could be. I want to be.

  But hell, she’s right. We want different things. We don’t fit into each other’s lives beyond what we have now.

  And that fucking blows.

  “But who knows, Knox?” she adds, bringing me out of my head. Cherry-red lips curve into a smile aimed in my direction. “Maybe I’ll become some hotshot photographer, you’ll take your dad’s business to the next level, and we’ll wind up at some swanky cocktail party in New York City or art gallery in Chicago where I might use my feminine wiles to entice you to buy some of my work.”

  “Or we could make plans to meet at the top of the Empire State Building in ten years, New Year’s Eve, stroke of midnight.”

  Amelia stops short, lowing her camera to look at me. “All this time and you haven’t let on that you’re a romantic at heart.”

  I place my hand over my heart. “I’m my mother’s son. Which makes me a sucker for a good Cary Grant movie.”

  Her laughter sounds like wind chimes making the most beautiful melody. “Ten years is an awfully long time. Plus, that goes against our code of not looking beyond this summer.”

  That was before I knew her, I want to protest, but I don’t. Instead, I skip another rock across the small creek. “Then I guess we’ll just have to leave it up to chance. But I promise you, if we run into each other in the future, I’ll welcome all feminine wiles.”

  She laughs, utterly unfazed. “It’s a nice thought. And who knows where either of us will be after graduation next spring. Well, we know where you’ll be, big shot. And hopefully I’ll be halfway around the world. But hey, we’ll always have Crystal Cove,” she says wistfully, hammering the final nail in the coffin with her Casablanca reference.

  I fucking hate that movie. I hate it even more now that she’s likening our romance fling to it.

  Except that’s the wrong word. Just like that movie, this was never supposed to be a romance. For the first time in my life, something isn’t going according to plan.

  I don’t tell her I’m starting to rethink our plan. I don’t tell her that my heart’s becoming more involved than I ever thought possible. I don’t tell her that, with each passing day spent together, it grows increasingly harder to imagine saying goodbye to her at the end of the summer or how brutal I already know it’ll be to leave her bed for the last time.

  I don’t tell her any of it.

  Because Amelia made me promise not to make her fall in love with me.

  How could I have known I’d be the one falling?

  Guess I should’ve warned her, too.

  BETWEEN OUR TRIPS OUT INTO nature and working on Knox’s place, the summer flies by far too quickly. Before I know it, it’s August. Each day that passes is one closer to Knox’s leaving my life forever. Each day that passes, I fall harder for the brute. Each day that passes, I add another brick to the wall around the heart, praying like hell the fortress will be complete before he can topple it to the ground.

  As if I didn’t need another sign of our impending split, today we’re putting the finishing touches on the house his parents bought for him. What once was a 1920s abhorrent fishing cottage is now a pretty groovy, modern lake house anyone with sense and style would kill to live in. Not that we’ve done much living here. We still spend every night in my bed.

  Stevie Wonder accompanies me on the radio while I deep clean the kitchen. Every so often, banging and cursing come from the bathroom, where Knox is repairing a leaky toilet—the very last thing he has to fix on the place before he can call it complete. As I’m not one to wield a screwdriver, I opted to clean while he did the down-and-dirty work.

  Halfway through “Superstitious,” my mouth starts watering and sweat breaks out on my brow. Not in a holy-shit-Knox-just-walked-out-in-nothing-but-his-toolbelt kinda way. More of the oh-my-gosh-get-to-the-sink-before-you-barf-all-over-the-kitchen type.

  I barely make it to the sink before my body rids itself of last night’s dinner and this morning’s coffee.

  And just in time for the man of my affections to call out for me.

  When I don’t answer, Knox wanders out of the bathroom and rushes to my side when he spots me pressed up against the kitchen sink.

  “Babe, what the hell? You okay?”

  With a shaky hand, I twist the knob on the sink and rinse my mouth with water. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re pale as hell and sweatin’ like crazy. What happened in the five minutes it took me to take apart the toilet?”

  My stomach roils and I curse myself for eating so much of that crayfish last night. “Could be a combination of the heat and the fumes from the cleaning supplies. But I’m thinking last night’s dinner choice wasn’t the best idea.”

  Knox chuckles as his hand runs circles on my back. “Told you you should’ve opted for the brisket.” He grabs a cloth from a drawer next to the sink, dampens it, and presses it against my face. The coolness brings instant relief. “Go home. I’ll finish up here then run and grab you some soup and ginger ale. We can spend the night lounging in your bed, watching movies. After all the work we put in today, I’m beat anyway.”

  “Are you sure? We’re so close to being done.”

  “Babe, fixing that toilet’s the last big thing to do. Now, it’s just cleanin’ everything up and giving the kitchen and bathroom a good wipe-down. It won’t take me all that long. Plus,” he teases, “wouldn’t be very
logical to go cleaning and then havin’ you throw up right behind me.”

  The acid in my stomach burns at the thought. “You’re probably right about that. Okay, I’ll go home and rest until you get home. Don’t take long.”

  He gives me a small pat on the ass. “I’ll be there before you know it.”

  The shrill sound of the phone ringing breaks my concentration. Figuring it’s Amelia letting me know she’s back at the house, I snatch up the handle and hold the receiver to my ear.

  “Feelin’ better, babe?”

  There’s a pause and then a throat clearing. “Um, dear, it’s me. Mom.”

  Thank Christ I didn’t say anything else. “Hey, Mom. I was just about to head out. What’s up?”

  Another pause. “I don’t want you to panic…”

  “Shouldn’t lead with that, then. Everything okay?”

  “Your father’s had a heart attack.”

  The receiver slips from my hand, crashing onto the tile floor. I hear Mom calling my name as I struggle to retrieve it.

  “Is he okay?” I ask.

  “Yes, the doctors believe he’s going to be fine. But he’s going to have to take some time off work to recover…”

  Cold dread twists in my chest. Not just for my dad. Selfishly, it’s for me.

  Well before I’m ready, my summer with Amelia is at an end. The tightness in my chest makes it difficult to breathe, and I wonder how in the hell I’m going to say goodbye.

  I push the thought from my mind. My family needs me and I have to focus on that. “I’ll pack my things and hit the road as soon as I can.”

  “No, Knox. Don’t do that. You can leave Crystal Cove in the morning.”

  “Mom—”

  “It’d be late by the time you got here and there are severe thunderstorm warnings all over Tennessee tonight. Dad’s resting, so there’s nothing that can’t wait for tomorrow.” She pauses yet again. “Clay told me about your…friend. I imagine you’ll want some time to, uh, wrap that up as well.”

  I wonder how much Clay told Mom about Amelia, because from her tone, it’s apparent she knows something.

  Amelia.

  Hell.

  It hits me again like one of those cartoon anvils, that our summer is ending, far sooner than we expected. Wanted. I’m fucking crushed.

  I’ve never been more torn in my life. I have to leave. How can I go?

  It’s a battle I can’t wage right now.

  “All right. I won’t argue. Sure you’ll be okay?”

  “You’re sweet to ask, honey. I’ll be fine. Your brother and Maria are here. We’ll probably head to the house to eat and sleep. We’ll come back to the hospital in the morning.”

  “I’ll leave at sunup and meet y’all at the hospital.”

  “Sounds good. See you then. Love you, honey.”

  “Love you, too, Mom.” I place the receiver back on the cradle, my chest heavy.

  I dart my gaze around the kitchen and memories flood through me. Pressing Amelia up against the new countertops we installed together, insisting we christen them. Laying her out across the dining table she helped me pick out—a table I’ll never be able to look at without picturing her hair fanned out while I devoured her. Her on her knees on the tile, sucking me dry.

  This house project isn’t just mine. It’s hers. I just don’t know how to make that permanent. I thought I had more time.

  I walk through each room of the place, packing up my stuff so I can leave straight from Amelia’s tomorrow.

  The thought hits me like a gut-punch.

  Leave.

  Even though I knew this day would come, we should still have a few more weeks.

  A few more weeks to reel her in. Get her comfortable with maybe exploring the idea of extending our fling beyond the summer. Of transforming our fling into something more…permanent.

  Instead, I have one last night. One last night to be with her, and I hope with all my might I can leave a lasting impression that will make her want more. Of this. Of me.

  One. Last. Night.

  Until it’s all over.

  When I get to Amelia’s an hour later, she’s curled up on the couch, watching What A Way To Go! She lifts up from a pillow when she hears me lob the keys onto the kitchen table.

  “You know, if you’d grow a beard, you’d definitely look like Paul,” she says, gesturing towards the television, where a bearded Paul Newman speaks French while chomping on a carrot. “He’s so dreamy.”

  “Are you saying I need a beard to be dreamy?” I tease.

  She pauses the video home system and then strolls into the kitchen, slinging her arms around my neck and grinning up at me. “You’re absolutely dreamy. I’m just saying that, with a little facial hair, you could be Paul-Newman-almost-showing-his-goods-on-film kinda dreamy. It also makes me wish we had a bathtub we could both fit in.”

  The image of naked, wet Amelia straddling my waist in a bathtub awakens my cock.

  “Well, the bathroom was done,” I say, tossing her a grin. “You could’ve told me before I decided on a normal-sized bathtub.”

  Amelia rolls her eyes. “It wasn’t meant to be. Kinda like Larry and Louisa anyway.”

  I place my hand over my heart at the memory of Paul Newman’s character being brutally murdered by his mechanical creation. “Technology. It’ll be the death of us all.”

  She grins. “The world is a strange place.” The color’s back in her cheeks, and she seems in better spirits.

  “How’re you feeling? I ran into Sunny at the grocery store and she insisted I swing by her grandma’s place for her therapeutic chicken noodle soup.”

  Amelia’s eyes light up. “Mrs. Mayfield’s chicken noodle soup is to die for. I’m half tempted to tell you I’m still ill so I can keep it all to myself. But really, I’m feeling so much better. I think I was right. Just a touch of food poisoning.” She crosses to the fridge and leans in. “I’m grabbing a drink to go along with my soup. Want anything?”

  I want to stay.

  I want her.

  I want…everything.

  “Wellington.”

  The one word slipped out before I could stop myself. I want her to know my last name. I need her to know it.

  “What?” she asks distractedly as she continues to rummage around in the fridge.

  “Uh, Wellington. And tonight… It’s my last night here. I have to leave.”

  Amelia stands up so quickly that she hits her head on the inside of the fridge. “Ouch! Dammit,” she cries, and as much as I want to cross to her, take her into my arms, and soothe away the pain, I root myself to the linoleum tile.

  “You okay?” I ask, hoping my voice sounds more casual than I’m feeling.

  She gently rubs the top of her head. “Yeah, sorry. I’m such a klutz. Umm, what did you say?” she asks absentmindedly as she opens her soda and takes a swig.

  It’s a blow, knowing she isn’t affected at the likelihood that this is our last night together, not the way that I am. Part of me wants to brush it off, forget it, enjoy one last fuck before hitting the road. The other part is screaming at me to tell her this isn’t over. It’ll never be over. But the way she continues seemingly without a care of the world causes me to hesitate. I’m not changing the game on her. Not this late into it. I can’t force this on her. Not when I’m leaving. That wouldn’t be fair, would it?

  Fuck fair.

  I force myself to push the sentiment out of my head. Like a fucking coward.

  With a deep exhale, I decide to just rip off the bandage. “After you left, I got a call from my mom. My dad suffered a heart attack earlier this afternoon.”

  Amelia’s eyes widen, and I rush to continue.

  “He’s okay. Or, well, he’s going to be. But…he’s going to be laid up for a while. He needs me to go back to Nashville to help with the business while he’s recovering.”

  I study her reaction, hoping, praying she’ll give me some kind of signal that she’s not ready for this to end.
<
br />   She gives me nothing save empathy and somber eyes. “Knox, of course you have to go. Is there anything I can do? Anything you need?”

  You.

  Tell her.

  I shake my head, not sure if the action’s more for her or myself. “All that’s left to do is give the place a good clean. I’ll hire someone.”

  “I’ll do it,” she offers.

  “I can’t ask that of you. Especially not with you getting sick there today.”

  “I want to. I insist.”

  I don’t have the energy to argue with her over this. “If you’re sure. You know where the extra key is. Just use that.”

  “Is there anything else I can do?”

  I swallow hard. “I’ve already packed. I’ll leave straight from here first thing in the morning.”

  The words hang in the air between us for what feels like an eternity. I’m grateful when she breaks the uneasy silence.

  “And the other part? Wellington?” she asks, scrunching her nose.

  I’m not sure if it’s in confusion or if she’s trying to stop the tears on the brims of her eyes from spilling onto her cheeks. Tears that I’m hoping are because she’s already feeling the loss like I am.

  “Knox Wellington. It’s my full name.” I swallow hard. “I just thought…if this is it, you should know. Yeah, you know, in case you’re ever in the city and bored and wanna look me up for an afternoon quickie. Or maybe when you become a famous photographer and I come across you in some hotshot New York gallery, I can offer you a drink without you blowing me off like I’m some kinda groupie. Not that I’d know it’s you. Guess I’ll just have to stalk every photographer named Amelia.”

  I’m doing something I’ve never done. I’m nervous-rambling and I fucking hate it. Seeing as how I’ve never felt like this. I fucking hate that, too. The thing is, I’m giving her an opening to give me her last name.

  Will she take it?

  She eyes me warily but doesn’t respond. Though I want to, I’m not about to fall to my knees and bed the girl I’ve been fucking, the girl I fell in love with—whoa.