A couple of the people at work already knew what was going on with her. Partially because she’d been sick at work. And because a doctor on the ward—Jason—knew. She walked Jason into her office.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He wants to help where he can.”

“Are you getting back together?”

“No!” When she heard the sharpness of her response, she tempered it with a softer one. “We aren’t getting back together. I told you, it was a one-night thing,” she said. Adding that she’d had her first appointment and that everything was fine.

“So...I guess this is kind of strange, but...would you be willing to have dinner with me sometime?”

Her mouth fell open. “I’m pregnant, Jason.”

“I know. I was there.” He blushed. And grinned. “When you found out, that is.”

“You don’t want children.”

He shrugged. “There is that.”

So what was he doing?

“The thing is I want you in my life.”

“I’m pregnant.” She repeated the obvious, but only because he didn’t seem to be getting it. Or she wasn’t.

“Yeah, and I’m not as appalled by that idea as I’d thought I would be.”

Really.

A small flower bloomed inside Ella. Right alongside the baby that was growing there. She was wanted. Her baby wasn’t appalling.

That concept shouldn’t be so unfamiliar to her.

But it was. And in that moment, standing there, Ella realized just how much of an effect Brett’s inability to love fully had had on her.

“I’m not in love with you, Jason.” She couldn’t do to him what had been done to her. Couldn’t promise something she was incapable of giving.

“I figured that out as soon as I knew you’d just slept with someone else before going out with me,” he said. “You aren’t the type of woman who has sex lightly. You’re still in love with your ex.”

“Yes.”

“Who doesn’t want you.”

“Correct.”

“Well, I do. And I’m willing to take my chances that when you’ve gotten over him, you’ll see that I’m quite lovable, too.”

Her eyes filling with tears, Ella hated to tell him no when, once again, he asked her out to dinner.

* * *

BRETT DIDN’T SLEEP WELL. He wasn’t sure he slept at all. He spent the rest of that week and much of the next flying around the country, airport to airport, city to city, convincing himself his life was perfect as it was.

From Chicago to Philadelphia, Texas to Miami to Memphis, he did good work. Helped others help others. His life was full. Challenging. And he was making a meaningful contribution to society.

And in his hotel room at night, when he finished preparing for the next day’s meetings and turned out the light, he replayed those early days of Ella’s first pregnancy. She’d shared her every thought with him. Every feeling. Every fear. He hadn’t realized how much he’d stored away until that week.

He dozed. In bed and on planes. But he couldn’t find a place of restfulness. Nervous energy pushed him forward. From responsibility to responsibility.

He heard about Jeff’s meeting with Chloe. From Jeff and from Ella. By all accounts the meeting had been a success.

And he was glad.

He actually spoke to Jeff.

Ella, he let go to voice mail.

And then replayed her message three times.

She’d told him her doctor’s appointment had gone well. Gave him her due date. And told him she’d heard the heartbeat already.

She’d sounded excited. And he was glad for her.

Glad that things were finally working out.

And yet, when he landed in LA the third Wednesday night in December, and drove home with Christmas lights glittering on homes and businesses in the distance, he couldn’t find any of the joy that was supposed to come with the season.

All he felt was alone.

Sad.

Cut adrift.

Jeff and Chloe were going to be spending the holiday with Ella at a hotel in LA. Ella and Chloe’s room would be on a separate floor—and there’d be no question about changing sleeping arrangements.

Jeff was thrilled to know he’d get to see his family over the holiday.

He’d invited Brett.

Brett had told him he was busy.

If Ella wanted him there she’d have asked. At least that was what he’d told himself.

Brett spent the holiday at home. Working.

He texted his mother.

She didn’t text back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

IN JANUARY, CHLOE invited her husband to Santa Raquel for the weekend, on the grounds that he either stayed with Brett or in a hotel.

She told him that weekend, when he was there, that she’d been staying with Ella all along, leaving Jeff feeling stunned.

“It’s not that I blame El,” he said Saturday evening as he lounged with Brett at the poolside fireplace in Brett’s backyard, watching the flames and drinking a beer.

Brett had started drinking beer again over Christmas. It had been his present to himself.

And only so long as he limited his intake.

“It’s just...I feel kind of betrayed, you know?” Jeff’s frown spoke of confusion more than anything else.

And still Brett asked, “Did it make you mad?”

“You know—” Jeff turned to look at him “—it didn’t. I didn’t really think about it until you asked, but no. I’m hurt. I feel stupid, really. I encouraged Chloe to confide in El. And I know my sister was looking out for my best interests. It’s just...she’s my sister.”

“Who was looking out for your best interests,” Brett reminded. “She was trying to keep control of the situation to give you time to get help.”

“Yeah. I think I’m most upset with myself,” he said. “Knowing that my little sister had to do that for me, that I put her in that situation...I can’t stand that.” He shook his head and took a sip of beer. He was still on his first one, and they’d been out by the pool for over an hour. Brett asked Jeff about the counseling. About his support group. And knew that Jeff was being completely up front with him when he told him that the therapy had saved his life.

“What do you think your chances are for getting complete control over your anger issues?” Brett asked, studying Jeff closely. Three to eleven percent. He knew the statistical answer. Wasn’t sure Jeff did.

“So here’s where my expected response would be that I anticipate a full recovery,” Jeff told him. “Most abusers are going to say that while they’re in the program, right? A lot of them probably believe it, too. Why be in the program if you don’t think it’s going to work? Unless you’re doing it for the wrong reasons to begin with, and then there’s no hope for you anyway...”

Jeff leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and turned back toward Brett. “But in my case, I think I have better chances than most. I’m not fighting years of alcohol or drug addiction or a gambling or debt problem.” Standing, Jeff put another log on the fire. “In some ways I almost wish I did have some concrete problem to blame this all on. But mostly, I’m just so thankful that I have such an incredible family, and friend, who saw what I couldn’t see and forced me to get help.”

“So you really think you can beat this?”

Brett needed to hear the answer.

“I do. I’m going to stay involved in the support group—even after I complete my therapy. I’ve already been approached about the possibility of facilitating a group, and I think I might like to try that, later, if I can do it without creating stress at home.”

“So what’s the magic secret?” Brett asked. He’d read all the books he could find. He’d been through counseling as a kid and as an adult, too. He knew the rhetoric. The facts.

“For me, it’s self-awareness. I know what I want and need. I see what I became, which has made me aware of my vulnerability. And I’m arming myself with tools to prevent me from falling into it again. I know how stress feels inside, and I know now that if I’m feeling that way driving home, I shouldn’t go home. I’m going to drive out to the golf course, park and call Chloe.”