‘Merry Christmas, Nixon.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
EMMA GRINNED. A WIDE, excited grin that tightened his gut with apprehension. ‘Hey, Nixon, we’re having a baby. How awesome is that?’ She was grinning and dancing around ED as if she’d won the lottery. To her she probably had.
Not to him. He didn’t need a lottery of any sort. ‘A b-baby?’ Nixon stuttered. ‘Really?’ Not true. She was teasing. He watched her, and heat filled his veins. He wanted her. Despite her bombshell he wanted to get close and hold her lithe body against his, to make love slowly and tenderly. To look into her eyes as she came and fall into the depths of their togetherness. She couldn’t be pregnant. Not when they hadn’t discussed this or anything about their future.
Now Emma moved closer and closer, her hands rubbing her stomach—her swollen, pregnant stomach. Those small hands spread across the taut cloth of her scrubs, gently holding her belly. ‘Hey, put your hand on here,’ she whispered. ‘You can feel him kicking.’
Nixon stepped back, his butt coming up against the desk. ‘You’ve had a test?’
Her eyes rolled. ‘Do you think we need one?’
He thought they were not having a baby between them. Not yet. Probably never. He wasn’t ready to be a dad.
Clapping filled the department, banged in his ears, slammed around his skull.
‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ Emma persisted.
Nixon shot up on the couch, sweat covering his skin, his heart pounding so hard his ribs were about to snap. The sheet was tangled around his feet, his pillow on the floor.
‘Santa’s been,’ shouted Thomas. ‘Get up, Uncle Nixon. We’ve got presents.’
Nixon gulped and stared at the two boys in their pyjamas and dragging laden pillowcases through the room. What the hell? He was in his cousin’s lounge. There was a Christmas tree in the corner. Voices were coming from down the hall. His watch said five-ten. The sun was barely up.
‘Look what we found on our beds, Uncle Nixon.’ Mathew brought his goodies over to be inspected.
Nixon’s feet hit the floor and he pushed himself to standing. He needed out of here, fresh air and solitude: not excited kids with their Christmas bounty. Emma and a baby? It was a bloody dream. Dream? Nightmare more like. He shivered despite the early sunlight coming through the windows. ‘Em?’ he croaked. It was a dream, man. Yeah, but what he wouldn’t do to have her wrap her arms around him and say it was only a stupid nightmare.
‘Some tea wouldn’t go amiss about now.’ Henry strolled into the room looking unfazed at the early hour.
‘Be right with you,’ Nixon managed as he pushed past to go to the bathroom, where he snapped the shower on and stood under an icy blast of water. Tried to blot out the image of Emma’s hands gliding over her belly. Over their baby. It had been a nightmare. It would fade. He could not ruin Christmas day thinking about what it meant. His life had been turning around; he’d been so happy being with Emma and her girl. But a baby? Not this side of the next century. That was going too far. He wouldn’t know how to cope, how to love the child, how to be the parent he’d missed and wanted all his life.
The shower didn’t work. The dream remained at the forefront of his mind.
Watching the boys unwrapping presents and squealing with excitement pushed Emma aside briefly, but she returned the moment the family sat down for brunch. The laughter and chatter, the mountain of delicious food, champagne—his family. Despite the dream, he accepted their warmth and involvement with him. The kids were great, and he was getting to know them better. But one of his own? He had not moved that far forward.
It wasn’t for real.
The dream was a warning to go slowly, be careful. A reminder of how life went belly up when he stepped outside his parameters.
His phone rang. Emma. He couldn’t talk to her right now. He didn’t know what to say, doubted he could talk without fear clogging his throat. Fear of losing her. Fear of having it all: Emma, Rosie, a home, more kids. He wasn’t going there. He was the wrong man for her. He was a mess.
The ringing stopped, was quickly followed by a text. ‘Call us when you’re free.’
Next Christmas?
*
Nearly two hours later Nixon stared at the excited scene on his screen. ‘I see the puppy’s a hit.’
Em laughed softly. ‘Rosie hasn’t let her out of sight all morning.’
‘Nixon, have you seen Bella? She’s gorgeous. I love her. Mummy says I have to teach her about going to the toilet outside.’
‘That’ll be interesting,’ he quipped around a huge lump blocking his windpipe. If only he could be with Emma today. And Rosie. If only he hadn’t had that dream and didn’t feel a deep trepidation. He’d had a wake-up call, could no longer continue seeing Emma if he felt so stressed over the thought of having children. He glanced at the woman inadvertently causing him anguish. ‘How’re you feeling today?’
Em’s smile appeared forced. ‘Great. Had a massive breakfast as only Mum knows how to make. She’s already busy in the kitchen working on Christmas dinner. I’d help but turns out Daniel’s girlfriend loves cooking so I got shunted out, told to put my feet up. How about you? Having a good time with your family?’
Yesterday’s dark shadows under her eyes hadn’t disappeared overnight. Say what she liked, she hadn’t fully recovered yet. ‘We were woken just after five by two lads who’d discovered Santa’s presents on their beds, and nothing quietened down until a few minutes ago when everyone except Henry disappeared to the beach with some of the toys.’
Emma’s soft laughter warmed him when he needed to be strong and stepping aside. ‘You’re glad you’re with them?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I am.’ The loud, loving greeting from everyone when he’d walked in the door of his cousin’s house last night had stunned him. His family cared about him, had probably always loved him. Today, when he wasn’t denying Emma and what they could have together if he could deal with the gremlins, he’d begun giving it back, cautiously sure, but he was stepping into new territory—and enjoying it.
‘Nixon, look what my puppy does.’ No peace when Rosie was around.
The dog was licking Rosie’s face. ‘Yukky.’ He chuckled, happy to be a part of this child’s life. At the moment. For how long was up to him and Emma. Once he’d worked his way through all his hang-ups. If he got through them.
‘Here comes the gang,’ Emma warned. ‘Hope you’re wearing your armour.’
The screen was taken over by her family, full of good cheer and a load of cheeky questions. By the time he hit ‘end’ Nixon felt as tired as Emma looked. Her family were full on—just like his, he realised. He’d noticed the easy care and love in her family before he had in his. They’d got him thinking about his past in ways he’d never considered before. They? Or Emma? Definitely Emma. She was becoming special. Becoming? Emma was the most important person in his life. Did he love her? Was it possible? Why not? She was beautiful, loyal, strong, generous to a fault. What wasn’t to love about her?
‘They sound like a great bunch.’ Henry handed him a coffee. ‘Emma someone special?’
Had he been listening to the whole conversation? Avoiding the loaded question, Nixon sipped the coffee and went with one of his own. ‘Did I shut down immediately that day? Or did it take some time?’ Then he clarified. ‘We’ve never talked about it. Neither of us like talking about the deep and personal, but lately I find I need to know what makes me tick.’
‘You withdrew the moment you were told about the accident.’ Henry studied him for a long time. ‘I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time. Sorry, lad, I should’ve found a way to bring it up but…’ he shrugged ‘…I’m the one who never talks about our losses and unfortunately you learnt from me. Not the best role model you could’ve had.’
‘I could’ve done a lot worse.’ Nixon took another mouthful of coffee. Strong but not hitting the places that needed it. ‘Any of that champagne left over from brunch?’
‘Help
yourself, and pour me one while you’re at it.’ Henry sat down at the outdoor table and stared out over the lawn.
Nixon was in charge of roasting the turkey so he poked the massive bird with a fork, adjusted the oven temperature and took two full glasses outside.
They sat relaxed in each other’s company. Nixon couldn’t remember a time when he’d done this before. His visits were usually focused, busy and followed a standard formula. Check how everyone was, see that Henry didn’t need anything, have a meal to celebrate whatever occasion had brought him here, and then head away relieved it was over until the next time. This time he’d come for two nights, not the usual one, and for once he had no desire to hit the road back to Queenstown in a hurry.
Yet he did because Emma was there. Despite his fright over a baby he still wanted to see her, hold that sensational body and breathe her in, listen to her happy voice. She hadn’t been happy yesterday. Downright sad because of Grace not being hers. She’d have loved the dream. His gut twisted tight. Dream for her, nightmare for him. Hopefully after a good night’s sleep Emma realised her hormones had been at play, nothing else. This morning that sadness still lingered, so who knew what she felt about babies today? As much as he couldn’t wait to see her, the brakes were clamping down on his feelings, making him hesitate. He wanted her in all facets of his life. And at the same time, he didn’t. What if he didn’t love her enough and hurt her accidentally? What if he did love her enough and got hurt himself?
‘Don’t make the same mistakes I did,’ Henry intoned. Talking about himself would be as normal as a worm flying past.
Nixon didn’t move a muscle, afraid he’d distract his uncle and that’d be the end of this odd conversation. Just because Henry had admitted to being closed, didn’t mean he intended talking about everything from the past.
‘Being older, my kids knew me way better than you and didn’t let me get away with a thing. But it was easy to stay aloof from you. You shut down, held in all the pain, the fear, the uncertainty. I knew what was going on in your head.’