A Valentine Kiss. Christy McKellen

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      ‘WHERE ARE WE GOING?’

      They were in the car and supposed to be heading home from the school. But after spending the entire day with Mila, Jordan didn’t want it to end.

      Yes, they lived together at the moment—he kept waiting for her to tell him she would be leaving—but as soon as they walked through the front door of his father’s house Jordan knew that Mila would erect a fence between them. He would be able to see glimpses of her, but he wouldn’t be able to get near her, and the thought of that disturbed him.

      He didn’t think about why—he didn’t need to defend himself for the time he spent with the woman who had once been his everything, did he?—but he couldn’t bear being kept at a distance any more. Not after he’d seen parts of her today that he hadn’t known existed during their marriage.

      And now he knew what he had been missing.

      ‘Did you know the Gerbers?’

      ‘The old couple who used to live behind us?’

      Mila turned to him, her brows drawn together in a frown, and Jordan’s hand itched to reach out and smooth it over. But he tightened his hands on the steering wheel. Just as he had tightened them into fists in his pockets to keep himself from taking her hand again that afternoon.

      He had done that by mistake, but it had felt so right that he hadn’t let go even though his mind had told him to. And then she had done it instead, and disappointment had hit him like water from a burst pipe. He blamed that desire to touch her on that hug she’d sprung on him after making it down those stairs.

      His body awoke just at the thought of it.

      ‘Yeah...’ He forced himself to speak, forced his body to calm down. ‘Did you ever speak to them? Get a look around their property?’

      ‘I... No,’ she said, confusion clear in her voice. ‘What’s going on, Jordan? Where are you taking me?’

      He had wanted to keep it a surprise, but he didn’t want her to worry. ‘I’m taking you to our house.’

      ‘What?’

      Was that panic her heard in her voice?

      He frowned. ‘Is something wrong?’

      ‘No, no,’ she replied quickly—too quickly—and looked out of the window. Her hands were clasped so tightly together in her lap that he reached over with one of his.

      ‘What’s going on, Mila?’

      She blew out a shaky breath and he felt the deliberate relaxation of her hands under his. Taking it as a sign that she didn’t want to be touched, Jordan moved his hand away. Even that slight loss of contact made him feel empty.

      ‘It’s nothing.’

      ‘Mila...’ Again, he found himself pleading.

      She sighed. ‘I just haven’t been there since...since you left.’

      ‘And going back now is...worrying for you?’

      She didn’t answer, and he glanced over to see her deliberately relaxing again. It made him wonder about why she was reacting this way to something as simple as going back to the house they’d shared. He felt a slight stir in his brain and frowned. He was missing something.

      ‘A reminder of the past,’ she finally said softly, and when he looked at her again he saw that she was still looking out of the window. ‘Going back to the house we lived in... Going back together... It’s just a reminder of a life that seems worlds away.’

      ‘We were planning to go anyway, weren’t we? I have to help you get the stuff out so that you can leave.’ Even saying the words sent a flash of pain through his heart.

      ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ she said, again more quickly than he thought she needed to, and again he wondered what he was missing.

      There had to be something... The stirring in his brain seemed like a distant memory, but he couldn’t recall it to verify whether that was the truth, and he didn’t know if it had anything to do with what was currently happening between them. But it must—why else did he feel as if he was having a conversation without knowing all the facts?

      ‘It’s probably because this is unplanned,’ she continued. ‘Why are we going there now?’

      ‘I have something to show you,’ he replied, forcing himself to ignore the dull thud of unrecalled memories and focus on what his intention had been from the beginning. ‘Did you ever see that pathway in the backyard, just next to that huge tree we planned to turn into a tree house for the little grape?’

      He heard her sharp intake of breath before he realised he had used the pet name they had given their child after finding out they were having a boy. They had been so happy, he thought, pain tainting the memory. It had been the first time they had considered names for the baby, and he had teased her, calling him ‘the little grape’ since their child would one day have to take over the vineyard.

      Mila had protested, of course, and with each objection had come a splutter of laughter that had warmed Jordan’s insides so much that the name had stuck. They’d had a list of real names, of course, but they had never got the chance to decide on what they would call him.

      ‘Yes, I remember,’ she said hoarsely, and he reached for her hand, not caring about the unspoken rules that meant he shouldn’t.

      ‘I’m sorry, Mila, I didn’t mean to—’

      ‘It’s okay.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘I think it’s time we weren’t afraid to refer to our son.’

      He tightened his hand on hers and then let go, unable to keep the contact. His son was always in his thoughts—and always would be. He couldn’t escape the way it had felt to hold his dying son in his arms when he’d been barely big enough to fit in Jordan’s hands.

      But she was right—he had been afraid to speak about him. And there was a lot more to it than just the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. No, admitting to Mila earlier that he’d been scared when they’d found out she was pregnant was only the tip of the iceberg. It hadn’t fully left his mind since their conversation, and he’d realised that, as he’d initially thought, he had been scared he would turn out to be the same as his father. And that was part of the reason he’d left for Johannesburg.

      Jordan knew Greg had loved him, but his childhood had been tainted by his father’s grief. Grief that had made Greg into a bitter and sometimes angry man. The years after his mother had died had been filled with tension for Jordan—he’d sometimes felt as if he was walking on eggshells when he was around Greg. As a child, Jordan hadn’t understood why his father would never look at him in the eye, or why Greg had spoken at him instead of to him. If he’d ever spoken to Jordan at all.

      He had started behaving badly because of it, which had strained his relationship with Greg even more. It had also led to the night that would be burned in his memory for ever. The night that had changed Jordan—and his father—with only a few words.

      Jordan vaguely remembered a time when laughing had been easy for his father. When there had been СКАЧАТЬ