Kade looked at the familiar signature in the bottom corner and waited for the flood of resentment and the bite of pain that usually accompanied it. When neither arrived, he took a step back and cocked his head, wondering what had changed. His father was his father and his childhood hadn’t been a barrel of laughs, but it was, thank God, long over. Being his father’s son had taught him resilience, how to be tough, that nothing came to people who didn’t work their asses off. James’s success was proof of that. He’d been consumed by his art and had thrown everything he had into it and, judging by the fact that this painting was on sale for seventy-five thousand dollars, sacrificing a relationship with his son had been worth it.
Kade blew out his breath, finding it strange not to feel bitter. He really didn’t, not anymore. His father was his father, selfish and obsessive. Nothing was important to his father but his art. That there was no hint of the child who explored the country with him in any of the paintings exhibited was a pretty big clue he wouldn’t care that he was about to become a grandfather.
Art was all that mattered.
Kade had felt like that about his career until Brodie dropped back into his life. Suddenly he had to—wanted to—think about someone else. He couldn’t work fourteen-or sixteen-hour days anymore. He needed to find a balance between work and home, especially when the baby arrived. Besides, he didn’t want to spend so much time at work. He enjoyed Brodie’s company and he wanted to spend time with his child. He would not be his father’s son.
Kade turned away from the painting, finally at peace with the fact that he would never have a relationship with James. He’d lost his father a long time ago, if he’d ever really had him. Kade could finally put these particular demons to rest.
With a considerably lighter heart Kade left the gallery. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, he felt his cell vibrate. He read the incoming message from Wren and clicked on the link she provided.
A reporter had gotten Brodie to open up—through subterfuge, but still. Worse, he’d gotten her to talk about how she was feeling, something Kade had difficulty doing. Strange that it should hurt so much. She could talk to strangers but not to him?
And then there was what she’d said to the blogger, scumbag that he was. Her words had Kade feeling like a clawed hand was ripping his heart apart. She didn’t believe in love, didn’t want it in her life and didn’t believe Kade could provide it.
Despite everything they’d gone through, she still thought he was playing games, that he would bail. He might no longer think he was his father’s son but Brodie certainly did, judging by the fact that she’d publicly stated she was expecting him to leave.
Man, that hurt. Even more painful than the hunger, the fear, the uncertainty he’d experienced as a kid. To have the woman in his life thinking so little of him...it felt as if she’d used his heart as a hockey puck.
Why? Kade stared down at his screen, unable to get his feet to move. Why did he care so damn much?
Because he loved her.
Crap, dammit, hell.
Because, like he’d always been with his father, Kade was desperate for her to love him. Because, again like his father had been, Brodie was Kade’s world. And, like James, Kade wasn’t hers.
How the hell had he let this happen?
Kade started to walk. He needed to move or else he would scream. He was in love with her, she didn’t love him. What did he do now? He could walk away, break it off. In a couple of months he could sic his lawyers on her, demanding custody rights, and they could communicate that way. He didn’t have to talk to her again if he didn’t want to.
He didn’t want to; he felt too raw.
Or he could go to her, give her a chance to explain. See if there was anything they could salvage out of this train wreck of a relationship. No, not a relationship; Brodie didn’t believe in those... He should just let the lawyers deal with it, with her, but his feet didn’t agree. They just kept walking in the direction of Brodie’s office.
They might, if he was really lucky, let him walk right on past her building.
* * *
It was after eight in the evening and Brodie was exhausted. She couldn’t wait to go home, maybe sink into the spa bath, preferably naked, with Kade. Pushing her chair back from her desk, she stood up and winced when the button of her black pants pushed into her stomach. She was going to have to buy some bigger clothes. Her tummy was growing at an alarming rate and, unfortunately, she suspected her bottom was following the trend.
Maybe Kade could show her some exercises she could safely do to keep her butt from spreading. Her tummy was on its own.
Brodie opened her lower drawer to pull out her bag and sighed when her computer signaled the arrival of a new email. She’d never been able to ignore a ringing phone or a new message so she clicked the mouse.