Until You Loved Me

5

The next seven weeks were every bit as difficult as Ellie had feared. Initially, Don had been penitent enough to smile or try to speak to her as a friend might when they passed in the halls or had to interact at work, but he quickly grew resentful that she wasn’t doing more to help his family adapt to his new lifestyle. Apparently they were still having a problem with his sexual orientation or they didn’t like Leo or something. But Ellie wasn’t trying to subvert him. She didn’t feel it was her place to get involved. She had her own problems, was struggling to get over the rejection and adjust to a very different future than the one she’d planned.

Sadly, Don and Leo didn’t see it that way. They shot her pouty, sullen looks whenever they were in the same meeting together, and they were in a lot of meetings since the entire staff gathered often to go over recent progress, set current priorities and discuss the merits of outside projects. Others in the room could feel the tension between them and would shift nervously—or worse, begin to whisper. Ellie always felt as though they were talking about her, because they probably were. Poor Dr. Fisher. Can you imagine what it would be like to find your fiancé in bed with another man?

To make matters worse, with her parents away, she had nothing to do in the evenings. She was used to spending most of her leisure time with Don, Don’s family or his cat (if he was “golfing” with Leo), and now all those people, as well as his pet, were out of her life. Although Amy invited her to go clubbing almost every weekend, so far she’d refused. She’d enjoyed that night at Envy—probably too much—but she wasn’t looking for a repeat. She wasn’t really the kind of person who did things like that, and she didn’t want to leave herself vulnerable to what could go wrong if something similar were to happen again. She knew she was unlikely to enjoy another fairy-tale ending like the last one.

Instead, she tried to ignore the emptiness of her personal life by chasing her dream of finding a safe and reliable method to protect transplanted insulin-producing islet cells, so no one else would have to suffer the way her aunt had. As it stood now, without harsh immunosuppressant drugs, the immune system saw the cells as foreign and destroyed them. Finding a way around that was important if transplantation was ever to become a routine solution for diabetics.

So she told herself she didn’t mind spending longer and longer hours at the lab. Not only did the challenge keep her focused, it gave her a purpose.

But on a Saturday evening at the end of October, she hit a wall. Too exhausted to continue, she forced herself to knock off at six. She was planning to treat herself to a grilled cheese sandwich and some chocolate-chip cookies while watching the first season of Outlander. Diane DeVry, who headed up the fund-raising entity that supported the BDC, had brought in the first two seasons to share with her. And if Outlander didn’t “sweep her away” as Diane promised it would, she had several medical journals she’d been meaning to read.

Content with her plans, she almost didn’t answer the phone when Amy called as she was driving home. She was afraid her friend would once again try to press her into going to a club, and she wasn’t interested.

She let it ring four times before she knocked over her purse trying to catch the call. She figured she’d be a fool to alienate Amy. Amy was the only friend she had left—other than her colleagues at the BDC, almost all of whom had families they went home to at night, worked the same crazy hours she did or sided with Don.

She turned into the driveway of her rental house as she answered.

“What are you doing tonight?” Amy asked.

Ellie thought it was terribly nice of her friend to continue to reach out. She probably would’ve given up by now were she in Amy’s shoes. But Amy was far more persistent than she was. Thank goodness. Even if she didn’t see Amy often, hearing from her brought Ellie some comfort. “You wouldn’t approve,” she said.

“You’re still at work.”

She pressed the button that activated her garage door. “It isn’t quite as bad as that. Just got home.”

“Wonderful. At least you can’t tell me you’re too busy saving the world to go out tonight.”

“I don’t want to go to a club, Amy.”

“I was going to suggest a movie.”

“You’d miss dressing up for Halloween to go to a movie?”

“I’ll celebrate Halloween tomorrow night. Since it’s on a Sunday, this is kind of a weird year, anyway.”

“Then how about an Outlander marathon at my place?”

“You have Outlander?”

“Someone at work lent it to me, promised I’d like it.”

“I’ve seen a few episodes and I’ve been meaning to watch the rest. It’s impossible not to fall in love with the actor who plays James Fraser.”

“That should be safe, then. I can’t get hurt by a fictional character, right? Why don’t you come over?”

A slight pause indicated that Amy was still trying to decide. “Do you have any food?”

“I’ll soon have homemade chocolate-chip cookies.”

“I’m in.”

Ellie laughed. If Amy joined her tonight, she wouldn’t be able to bail out and study, but she figured that was okay. She needed to at least try to stop her world from shrinking down to work and only work. “Great. What time will you get here?”

“Give me an hour.”

“See you then.”

Ellie turned off the engine, lowered the garage door and released her seat belt. Before she could go in, she needed to gather up everything that’d spilled onto the passenger seat when she knocked over her purse.

She picked up the pretty business card case her parents had given her when she landed her job at the BDC, as well as her keys to the lab, some lip gloss, a condom she had left over from the night she’d gone to Envy—she wasn’t sure why she was keeping that—and a couple of tampons.

After a quick search between the seat and the console to check that she’d gotten everything, she was about to step out of the car when the purpose for those tampons registered. She hadn’t used any feminine hygiene products in a while. Wasn’t she due for a period?

She remained in her car as she counted back the days. Her last period was...before Don had broken up with her! Could that be true?

No! Or...maybe.

Her heart began to thump. Yes, it was true. She was late. And not by a mere few days. Her period had just ended when she caught Don in her bed with Leo. Perhaps she would’ve noticed that it had been a long time had she not been so caught up in trying to adjust to the radical changes in her life...

But...what did late mean? It wasn’t so unusual, was it? Lots of things could cause a delay. Stress was one of them. Stress could wreak havoc on a body.

Except...it had never wreaked any havoc on hers. Not to the point that she’d skipped a period. She’d always been regular—so regular that she never paid much attention to her cycle. That part of her life was something she dealt with automatically. It wasn’t as though she ever got cramps or a headache or anything else that made menstruating more than a minor annoyance.

But seven weeks! That was a significant delay, which hinted at a problem beyond stress.

“Oh, God.” She broke into a cold sweat as the possibility of a pregnancy loomed in her mind.

She brought up the calendar on her smartphone. She’d learned about Don’s affair with Leo on September 7. The hair appointment she’d had that same day confirmed that she couldn’t have confused the date. She was staring at the notation for the appointment right now. Afterward, instead of heading straight back to the lab, she’d swung by her place to put a roast and some vegetables in the slow cooker. She’d thought it would be a nice surprise for Don if she had a hot meal ready when they got off work. But she’d come home to see Leo’s car in her driveway. If it had been Don’s car, she probably would’ve entered the condo calling out his name. Finding him here would’ve been unusual, since he was supposed to be at work, but not as unusual as seeing Leo’s vehicle. So, wondering what was going on, she’d entered without making any noise. A sickening unease in the pit of her stomach suggested she was about to find something she wouldn’t like, and that had proven true. Only moments after entering, she’d heard moaning—coming from her bedroom.

She cringed at the memory of how she’d slipped down the hall. Although she didn’t want to recall what she’d seen when she opened the door, it was that shocking incident that made it impossible to forget or confuse the date.

But...was she sure she hadn’t had a period since?

Positive. She’d gone off the Pill two months earlier because she’d started to suffer from nausea and headaches and her doctor had recommended stopping it, at least for a while. She and Don had been using condoms since then. But they hadn’t been together in that way for at least two weeks before she found him with Leo—well before her last period. She and Don had both been too intent on separate projects at work.

The only man she’d slept with after that was...Hudson.

Although her phone was going off again, she couldn’t bring herself to even reach into her purse. She sat there, frozen in terror, scarcely breathing as she stared blankly at the bare wood studs of the garage walls. Surely, after everything she’d been through, she wasn’t carrying a child. That wouldn’t be fair. She’d slept with only three men in her life, and she was nearly thirty! And she’d had just that one one-night stand. Even then she’d used birth control. Hudson had worn one of the condoms Leslie had given her every time.

She was shaking as she withdrew her phone so she could access the internet. “How reliable are condoms?” she typed into Google and nibbled on her bottom lip while waiting for the links to appear. One website said that “male condoms” were “82–98 percent” effective. Another rated their effectiveness at 85 percent.

“Eighty-five,” she mumbled, feeling shell-shocked. Eighty-five meant there was still a significant chance of pregnancy. Why didn’t more people talk about the failures? Why did everyone act as though a condom was sufficient?

Her phone rang while she held it, startling her since she was already so jumpy. Amy. The call she’d missed had also come from Amy. No doubt her friend couldn’t understand why she wasn’t picking up; they’d just talked.

Closing her eyes, Ellie leaned against the headrest as she answered. “Hello?” she said, but the word came out so softly, so breathy, she wasn’t sure Amy could hear her.

Amy paused before responding. “Hello?” she said, far more stridently than before. “Ellie? Is that you?”

“Yes, I’m here,” Ellie replied, but she was holding her stomach with one hand.

“I was going to ask if you’d like me to pick up some takeout on my way over. But...you sound strange. Is something wrong?”

Ellie considered lying. She wanted to lie—to herself, too. But what good would it do to hide from the truth? She was too practical for that. If she was pregnant, a swollen belly would soon make it apparent to everyone. “Yes.”

“Did you say yes?” she squawked.

“I—I’m afraid I’m about to throw up.”

“Why? What’s wrong? Do you think you might have the flu?”

“No. It’s not that.”

“Then what is it? You’re scaring me!”

“Could you bring a pregnancy test when you come?”

“A what?”

Ellie couldn’t repeat the request. She was beginning to hyperventilate, needed to focus on slowing her breathing. That’s it. Calm down. In and out. Everything will be okay...somehow.

Fortunately, Amy caught on, even though Ellie couldn’t clarify at the moment. “Holy shit! Did you say what I think you said?”

“Yeah, I did. Can you get one?”

“Of course. I’m on my way over right now.”

6

Hudson was as busy as always during football season. He had two flights a week, some longer than others depending on their schedule, regular team practices, meetings with the coaches and managers, periodic medical checkups and physical therapy to keep his body patched up so he could make it through the season. And then there was interview after interview with the sports media, photography sessions for his various endorsements—even a commercial for a new sports drink—and numerous appearances for charity. He also spent hours watching game film so he could be prepared for whatever opponent he’d face next. That didn’t leave him with a lot of free time, but he returned to Silver Springs as often as his schedule permitted, even if he could steal away only for a night and a day.

Fortunately, the doctors had adjusted Aaron’s treatment. The new chemicals weren’t as hard on his system, so he seemed okay for the time being. The more stable Aaron became, the better Hudson felt, and that seemed to be reflected in his game. Since Miami, the Devils hadn’t lost. Hudson couldn’t take all the credit. Some of his teammates had really stepped up—his front line in particular. They hadn’t allowed more than a handful of sacks in the past six weeks. But he was having a good personal season, too, and felt they might have another shot at the Super Bowl.

“So this is the new abode?”

Hudson had just let Bruiser in through the front door of his home in Silver Springs. Like Hudson and the rest of the team, for the most part Bruiser lived in LA, and he had a wife and two-year-old kid. But his wife had taken their little girl to visit her mother in New York and was gone for a few days, so Bruiser had accompanied Hudson from LA. Bruiser had expressed an interest in getting involved in the type of mentoring Hudson was doing at New Horizons, so first thing Monday morning, Hudson was taking him over to the school. They’d be addressing the student body and encouraging the boys to put in the work necessary to fulfill their dreams. He and Bruiser were even planning to show up at football practice later in the day and help the coaches by running a few drills.

“Not bad, huh?” Hudson said as he tossed his keys on the granite counter.

Bruiser frowned as he took in the wooden floors, the high ceilings, the wainscoting and the ceiling fan in the expansive living room of the ranch house. Hudson hadn’t bought the most expensive property in the area, but homes in the Ojai Valley weren’t cheap, especially when they sat on chunks of land the size of this one. He needed the space to protect his privacy. He’d spent nearly $9.5 million for this fifteen-acre, 10,663 square-foot, four-bedroom, five-bath home with its accompanying view of the surrounding Topatopa Mountains.

“You could afford a lot better,” Bruiser teased.

Hudson winked. “I love it here. You will, too. That’s why I’ve asked the real estate agent who sold me this to show you some properties while you’re in town.”

Bruiser put down his duffel bag. “You went to the trouble, did you?”

Hudson slapped his broad back. “I did, brother. We’re meeting her tomorrow.”

Bruiser fingered the Fu Manchu mustache he’d grown this season; he’d said he wouldn’t shave it off until they won the Super Bowl. “Not sure my wife’s gonna be willing to move out here. I told you that.”

“We’ll see,” he responded as if he wasn’t worried in the least.

His friend’s eyebrows rose. “You think you can convince her?”

“I do. Jacqueline’s a real softy. Once she meets some of the boys and realizes what a difference you could make in their lives, she’ll be all for spending the off-season here, at least for the next couple of years, until you have another baby or Brianne starts school.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged, relenting as easily as ever. Hudson had never met a nicer guy—not that he’d ever want to take Bruiser on when Bruiser was mad. Hudson had seen his friend pushed to that point only once, when a player from the opposing team nearly broke Hudson’s leg with a late hit. Bruiser went after the dude, and it was all the refs could do to pull him off. From that day forward, everyone in the NFL knew that no one messed with Hudson if Bruiser was around to guard him. Hudson was Bruiser’s quarterback, the man he defended, and he took that seriously. That was part of the reason they were doing so well this season. Hudson had been safe in the pocket, and that had resulted in a high percentage of completions.

“So...you got a beer?” Bruiser asked.

Maggie, the housekeeper Hudson had hired when he bought the house, kept the place clean and well-stocked. She lived in the guesthouse at the back corner of the property and made sure the gardeners did their job and the house was ready whenever Hudson decided to come home. Once he arrived, she stayed in her own place unless he was there for an extended visit and needed help with meals or laundry. He paid her a monthly salary whether she did much work at the main house or not, so she didn’t mind that he preferred his privacy to having her wait on him. “I’ve got a fridge filled with Bud Light, Heineken, Sam Adams, you name it,” he said. “Want to play a game of pool after we grab a cold one?”

“Only if you’re ready to get your ass kicked.”

Hudson grinned. He and Bruiser had never played before. Bruiser hadn’t been on the team that long. They’d just grown close very quickly. And Hudson didn’t have a table at his LA house. “Any chance you’d be willing to put your money where your mouth is?”

He could see Bruiser contemplating the possibilities. “Come on,” Hudson said. “You’re a betting man.”

“Yeah, but I’d never bet against you,” Bruiser finally grumbled, his expression leery.

“Too bad. I suck at pool,” Hudson said and proved it by losing twice in a row.

“Shit,” Bruiser drawled. “I should’ve taken that bet. I could be fleecing you right now.”

Hudson rested his pool cue on the ground. “I’ll give you another chance. We could play a third game. Put a thousand bucks on it.”

Bruiser seemed tempted, then narrowed his eyes. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? Forget it. You’re not sharking me.”

Once Hudson started laughing, he almost couldn’t stop—especially when Bruiser beat him a third time. “You weren’t sharking me,” his friend complained. “You do suck at pool. You’re just damn good at mind games!”

Hudson cocked his head. “We could bet on a fourth match...”

“You little shit!” Although it took some effort, and they were both breathing heavily from the exertion of wrestling by the time it was over, Bruiser eventually managed to heft Hudson over one massive shoulder and carry him through the open doors of the game room to the patio beyond, where he proceeded to throw him in the pool.

“You were only able to do that because I let you,” Hudson called out, laughing and wiping the water from his face as he surfaced.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m getting another beer.” With a careless gesture, Bruiser went back inside. But he returned with a towel as well as two beers and sat on a nearby chair while Hudson dried off.

“It’s nice out here,” Bruiser said, gazing at the gold and lavender hues of the fading sun. “I could get used to this.”

“Quiet, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Glad we have a bye this week. I like getting away from the city, especially midseason, when we’re so busy. Sometimes, with all the traffic and the noise—everyone blathering on about their opinions, the phone ringing and the TV rattling the walls—it feels as if I can’t hear myself think. But this...this is almost as though we put LA on pause.”

Hudson dropped onto a lounge chair not far away. With an average high of eighty degrees in October, the weather was fairly mild in Silver Springs. But the temperature was dropping as night came on, and he was wet. Trying to conserve his body heat, he rubbed his head vigorously to dry his hair. He didn’t want to catch a cold, but he also didn’t want to go in. He, too, was enjoying sitting outdoors and watching the sunset. “You’re not getting tired of the game, are you?” he asked.

“I could never get tired of the game,” Bruiser replied. “But all the stuff that goes with it? Yeah. And I don’t have to do half the shit you do. Don’t know how you keep your sanity.”

After wrapping the towel around his shoulders, Hudson popped the top off the beer Bruiser had brought out for him. “Other than New Horizons, work’s all I’ve got. I prefer to stay busy.”

Bruiser rested his elbows on his spread knees. “Any word from that private detective you hired a few weeks ago?”

Hudson wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about this, wasn’t sure why he’d ever confided in Bruiser about it. He was so conflicted about the whole thing, he hadn’t told anyone else, and it’d taken him years to make the decision. He’d been hoping Bruiser would talk him out of it, he supposed, show him how useless it was. But his friend hadn’t even tried. He’d been as hopeful as Hudson was sometimes tempted to be—and quietly supportive, like always.

“Not yet,” Hudson said. “I might call him off, to be honest. Drop the whole thing.”

“Why? You searched and searched the internet for the ideal guy. He has all those great reviews on his website, right? What can it hurt to let him do his job? See what he finds?”

“Chances are he won’t find anything. The police never could.”

“Then you’ll have to live with the past, but at least you tried.”

“What if it goes the other way? What if he solves it, comes up with an answer?”

Leaning back, Bruiser crossed his ankles. “You don’t have to act on the information unless you choose to.”

Hudson took a long pull on his beer. “Will I be able to stop myself? Sometimes it’s safer not to know.”

“The reality can’t be any worse than what you’re imagining.”

“Who says? It could be like Pandora’s box—better not to open it.” That was what had kept him from searching before. “Even if I track down whoever abandoned me, what will I say? ‘Thanks for nothing’? And because of my fame—and money—how will I know they’re being sincere if they say they’d like to be part of my life? I’m at the peak of my career. Almost everyone wants a piece of me.” But not always for the right reasons. That was why he missed the woman he’d met at Envy. He’d tried dating since but had been disappointed by his options. The brief flashes of attraction he’d experienced had been with women who hadn’t come off as half as honest.

Bruiser’s dark eyes blazed. “You have plenty to offer without the money and without the fame,” he said as if he was angry Hudson would suggest otherwise.

“Maybe so. But we’re talking about someone who left me to die under a hedge. What do you expect that type of person will want? Help paying the bills? A new car? Or connecting on a meaningful level?”

“Listen, I’m the last guy who’d ever want to see you get hurt.”

Hudson grimaced. “I’m not saying I could get hurt, exactly.”

“Oh, cut the macho bullshit,” Bruiser said, waving him off. “It’s me you’re talking to. What you’re after could be devastating, and I know it. That’s what you’re afraid of. Well, it’s my job to protect you, and that doesn’t disappear once we’re off the field. You’re like a brother to me. But you need to know what this PI might be able to tell you. You’ve needed to know for a long time—maybe always—to answer all the questions in your mind and put your issues to rest.”

Hudson challenged him with a pointed glance. “My issues?”

Unrepentant, Bruiser grinned. “Yeah. You’ve got more than a few.”

“That makes me feel better. Thanks.”

At the unmistakable sarcasm, Bruiser lifted his beer. “You can always count on me to be honest.”

“Now might be a good time to tell you I could’ve kicked your ass at billiards in at least three of those games. A guy doesn’t own a table without being able to play.”

Cursing and laughing at the same time, Bruiser shook his head. “I knew it. Least I didn’t fall for your act.”