He didn’t answer.
First, he didn’t need to. Chloe could see the truth on his face.
Second, he was already headed for his truck and Genevieve’s mansion. Chloe wasn’t far behind.
Good thing, too.
Daughter might be the only thing keeping mother from being canceled.
I’m pregnant.
He remembered that moment as if it were yesterday.
Heard that earthshattering statement echo in his head for ten years now.
Chloe coming to him in utter panic, no idea what to do. Fighting terror-induced tears and wringing her hands.
Hell, he didn’t know what to do, either. But after a few sleepless nights, thanks to the panic, they came up with only one option that was acceptable.
It wasn’t adoption. It wasn’t abortion. Neither of those A-words were ever uttered. They would simply start their life—their family—early.
They’d made plans that summer, you see. Love did that. It made you dreamers. Believers. Planners.
Before there ever was a baby.
He would leave for BUD/S in September, a commitment already inked before he ever met Chloe, and his chosen occupation. Chloe would stay in East Hampton for her senior year and graduate high school. Then she’d join him wherever he was stationed.
She’d open a bakery.
He’d go off to war.
In between, they’d be together and be in love. So fucking in love, nothing could ever tear them apart. Years down the road, after she settled into her own career and he survived those wars he’d fight, they would start a family.
The average American couple, military style.
Being a SEAL was his dream. Being with Chloe was his dream.
Being a dad was his dream. One day. Not today.
I’m pregnant.
But now that they had one—a surprise baby as teenagers—their timeline was accelerated.
Scrapping the prior plan, they would now go to California together, they decided.
Chloe could get her GED online. Give birth at a naval hospital, as a high-school graduate, and maybe take a job at a local donut shop once she felt comfortable leaving the baby. Take whatever dollars were left after daycare and living expenses and put them into a future bakery fund.
Baby was first in this scenario, bakery second.
She seemed okay with that. Happy, even. Thrilled, she told him, and they secretly planned their getaway.
Each for the other, two against the world. Now three.
Telling her parents, and his father, wouldn’t happen until after they were in California and married. Graham would have a shit fit, Jameson knew, but he was also reasonable enough to consider Chloe’s wishes. Genevieve wasn’t. She’d call in the law. Put her foot down in extreme ways they could only speculate.
Her controlling mother was their biggest obstacle.
Turned out, that prediction was true. But neither anticipated this evilness.
A decade had passed since Jameson stepped foot on Genevieve Moreau’s swanky property, the shaker-style Cape Cod putting Maine Lane to shame. A home filled with expensive antiques and high-dollar furnishings so stunning Architectural Digest had photographed it, not once but twice.
To an outsider, it was the property of kings. Or queens.
To Chloe, who grew up there, it was a comfortable cage.
And speaking of cupcake herself, she’d apparently warned Genevieve of their arrival; when he sped down the long driveway, Chloe right on his tail, the queen bitch herself was standing in the grand doorway.
“Tell me again,” he thundered, taking the steps to the front door in two leaps. “Tell me again she had an abortion.”
Her face didn’t change, but he watched her swallow. Straighten her shoulders and steel herself against his wrath.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But she wouldn’t look him in the eye. She looked over his shoulder instead, to where Chloe stood behind him.
“Keep lying, then. I don’t give a fuck what you say or do. But if you live in a world where what you’ve done to me, your daughter, and a little boy who was innocent of any wrongdoing is peachy keen with you, then you deserve it.” He pointed to the mansion behind her. “To live in this huge house by yourself because nobody can stand to be around you.”
“Darling,” she said, speaking to Chloe. “Didn’t we already establish the many reasons why this isn’t a good idea?” She flicked her French-tipped nails at him. “A broken heart and ten years apart should have severed whatever hold he had on you.”
“Love, Mother. It was love. Something you know nothing about.”
“Puppy love. Without birth control,” Genevieve added on a laugh, then looked straight at him. “I told you this ten years ago. A statutory rape charge would’ve ended your military career before it started. I wish now I followed through on that.”
When her threat of felony rape didn’t scare him, the proclamation of Chloe’s abortion soon followed.
“Lie to me in front of her this time.” He nodded toward Chloe. “Tell me again she had an abortion. Already visited the clinic for a quick suction. School was starting soon.”
Chloe gasped, her hand covering her mouth. But that cruel phrase wasn’t his. It was Genevieve’s, verbatim.
I’m pregnant. Those words were on repeat in his head.
A quick suction. Those repeated too.
Chloe stepped forward. “Mother. Did you tell him that?”
“What’s done is done, darling. There’s no reason to rehash the past after so many years.” Lifting her chin as she spoke, she folded her arms. “You each have your own life now. Both are better, too, thanks to the difficult but necessary action I was forced to take. With clearer heads, you’ll see I was right.”
Jameson looked at Chloe, the decision made. “I’m gonna kill her.”
It wasn’t hyperbole. He was confessing to premeditated murder.
“They can give me the electric chair,” he continued, “or hang me in the center of town. But I’m gonna fucking strangle her with my bare hands. Watch the life drain out of her skinny body, slowly and painfully, and it’ll be worth it.”
Chloe smiled. And it had the same effect on him today as ten years ago.
It lit up his world.
“Funny,” she said, her lips quirking. “I think I’ve heard my dad say that same thing a few times over the years. He’s kidding, of course.”
“I’m not.”
“I know.” She shrugged, caring little for Genevieve’s wellbeing. “But I remind him if he goes to jail, Soraya might find a new husband, and he quickly rethinks committing homicide. Prison isn’t a deterrent. Soraya with another man is. He’s smitten even after all these years.”
Smitten. After all these years.
Jameson could relate.
“So, I shouldn’t kill her? I should terrorize her until she’s so broken down she begs for sweet, merciful death? Throw in a little torture, Git-Mo style?”
“Yes, do that,” she joked, unaware he was legitimately plotting. “But wait until she’s least expecting it. Just coming from the spa or walking out of the nail salon.”
“Chloe, please. Do not encourage his abhorrent behavior. Have some of the decorum I raised you with,” Genevieve said, blind to the danger she was in.