Page 83 of Knocked Up in Alaska

“Everyone.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Doesn’t matter. This isn’t a dream. Trust me. And trust this—I was happy when you told me about the baby. Freaked out, too. Also completely surprised and totally unprepared. But underneath all that? Happy. Your bombshell didn’t hit me like some time-release grenade that blew me out of the sky. I flew into that mountain on account of weather and fate. And maybe I was a little distracted, too,” he conceded before she could point out he’d flown the route thousands of times in all types of weather. “But not because I was busy plotting my way out of a mess I wanted no part of, or—” His eyes widened even as his glow started to dim. “Ah, Jesus, Lilah, don’t even think it. I wasn’t feeling so trapped that I couldn’t see any other way out. I didn’t want out. Got it?”

Pressure in her chest threatened to crush her. Her eyes burned, trying to keep him in focus. It wasn’t until a hot tear splashed her forearm that she realized she’d started crying again. “I get that I’m having a dream where you’re telling me what I want to hear.”

A dream already fading. He looked translucent now. A sheer curtain behind which more substantial things took clearer and clearer shape.

“Lilah?”

Was that him or someone else?

“You need proof. Go with Bridget.”

“What?” She stared, unblinking, at the space where he’d been just second ago. A dark, blurry shape lingered.

“Lilah?”

“Shay?”

Something warm and solid touched her cheek. “Baby, you’re dreaming. Wake up.”

Oh, God. Ford. She struggled toward his voice. His touch. “Ford?”

A gentle thumb brushed below her eye, gliding over the tear-dampened skin. “Right here.”

And suddenly he was right there, kneeling by the bed, in clear focus despite the dimness of the bedroom. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No.” His dark eyes and pensive mouth transmitted concern. “I went to shower before I pick Mia up from the theater. You must have fallen asleep for a few minutes. You were dreaming.” He ran his thumb under her eye again. “And crying. Sitting up just like this, talking and crying.”

Mortified, unaccountably betrayed by her sleeping self and far too exposed, she eased away from him, drew the sheet up, and scrubbed a hand over her cheeks. “I’m sorry. And you’ve got to go. Give me a second to dress, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Her attempt at pulling herself together didn’t erase the concern from his face. He continued to kneel there, assessing her like she might break apart at any moment. “You’re not in my hair. Stay. I’ll be back soon, and then we can talk through what happened tonight.”

“It was just a dream. Honestly. I wouldn’t be able to make sense of it enough to even to tell you about it.”

He gave her an odd look. “I meant talk through what caused you to race back here from the Shanahans’ place, in tears.”

Oh, yeah. That. She rolled out of bed on the other side, tugging the sheet around her as she went, and faced him across the king-size expanse. “There’s nothing to talk through. They want to do something for Shayla, on behalf of Shay, and that’s kind of them, but—”

“I think ethical is the better word. She’s his child. He has responsibilities. Don’t you think he’d want to fulfill them?”

“I don’t know.” She backed away, toward the bathroom. “Maybe.” Another step and she could shut the door on this conversation before her lungs exploded from the pressure on her chest. “But not the way they proposed. I can’t do what they want. I can’t even talk about it.” Her hand found the doorknob. She was one simple “excuse me” and the swing of a couple hinges away from escaping his measuring gaze. “Shouldn’t talk about it with you, really. It’s not your problem.”

His expression shuttered. Just like that. “Fine. You’re right. I care, but that doesn’t grant me the right to offer advice. I promised you no strings attached. You don’t have to talk about it with me. But the Shanahans do have a right, and they’re not giving it up just because you’re too stubborn and immature to listen to reason. Bridget’s going to call you tomorrow.”

The stubborn and immature accusations had her raising her chin. “If Bridget’s the new standard for maturity and reason, we’re all in trouble.” With that bit of meanness hanging in the air between them, she backed into the bathroom and shut the door.

…

“Thanks for coming with me.”

Lilah looked up from Shayla, sleeping peacefully in the baby sling, and over at Bridget, walking briskly and distinctly un-peacefully beside her down the wide central atrium of the five-story retail monument of ceramic tile and gleaming glass known as the Anchorage 5th Avenue Mall. Storefronts flanked them, full windows displaying attractive merchandise for sale in the upscale shopping center. Although Bridget sounded irritated rather than thankful, she replied, “It’s not a problem. I didn’t even have to take time off work, since I wasn’t scheduled to do a shift this Sunday.”

Bridget nodded. “God forbid you take time off work. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of you doing everything yourself.”

She let out a silent sigh. Their phone conversation earlier in the week where Bridget asked her to come along today had been just as stiff and brisk as this walk. She’d wanted to refuse, on that ground alone, but Shay’s last words in her dream had haunted her into accepting.

Go with Bridget.

Okay. She’d gone. So far, she couldn’t see why. They’d accomplished the flight in stony silence broken only by necessary exchanges of information. Behind her silver-rimmed aviators, Lilah suspected her friend’s eyes were cool and impatient. She ran her hand over Shayla’s dark hair. “I don’t do everything myself.”

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