Page 43 of American King (New Camelot Trilogy 3)
“Me too,” I admit. “It was a long day. And it’s been a long couple of months.”
“Abilene and the baby are well?” he asks.
“Yes.”
Beside me, I feel Greer flinch. She called me about six weeks ago, after Abilene had showed up at her office uninvited and done what Abilene does best—disturb people. Greer had warned me that she thought Abilene was unstable (no surprise there) and also to haltingly apologize for assuming I’d betrayed her. We’d come to a painful understanding about it, painful because the truth no longer had the power to make a difference. There would
still be a baby. I would still run against Ash. And she’d confessed then how much she wished she was pregnant too, how jealous she felt of Abilene for stealing that privilege away from her, and the worst, basest parts of me wanted to beg her to meet me, lay with me, give me as many chances as it would take to plant a child in her. Prove to her that it had always, always been her I imagined carrying my child, ever since that night in Chicago.
I didn’t beg her to do that, of course. Yes, Ash had made it clear that Greer and I were free to see each other, but I think both of us knew then—and still know—that seeing each other without him would eventually sow a harvest too bitter to reap.
And there was already enough bitterness in bloom.
I explained to her why I had to run against Ash, exactly how I believed he couldn’t keep her safe, and what I would do in his place if I had the power to do it. And nothing was more terrible than the silence on the other end as I talked, than her expressionless I see when I finished.
What are you thinking? I’d asked, hating how insecure I sounded.
Her voice had been careful when she answered. Are you asking for my approval?
I had been, I had realized with a touch of shame…and with a touch of indignation. Why shouldn’t I? It was for her, after all. Yes, Greer. I need to know that you know why I’m doing this.
Embry, I love you completely, and I always will. But I’m never leaving Ash’s side, and I think you were wrong to.
What else could be said after that? I told her I loved her, and then we ended the call.
We haven’t spoken since.
What the hell. Tonight is make-believe anyway, an unreal fantasy, just for fun, as Ash said, and so there’s no reason for me not to reach over and wrap Greer’s slender fingers in my own. I don’t say anything as I do it, but when I meet her eyes, she gives me a faint smile.
“I know,” she says, without me having to say anything. “I wish knowing made it easier…but I know.”
“It’s a boy, right?” Ash asks. “Any names yet?”
I keep my eyes on Greer as I answer, trying to gauge if this topic upsets her, but she seems calm enough.
“Abilene wants something old-fashioned,” I say. “Percival or Alistair or Chauncey or something like that. I’ve been trying to talk her into something more sensible, like, you know, John. Or Jacob. But she wants something that sounds chivalrous, I guess.”
“I’ve always liked the name Galahad,” Greer suggests. “He’s the knight who finds the Holy Grail. More chivalrous than Lancelot or Percival or even Arthur himself.”
“Or how about George?” I counter. “Or Gary? Those start with G too.”
She laughs, squeezing my hand. “It would be an unusual name, I admit, but you can’t have higher aspirations for your child than wanting him to see the face of God on Earth.”
She’s right, and I’m not religious like Ash and Greer, so I don’t need my son to chase after any grail, holy or otherwise. But I do want the entire world for him, and everything in it, and I want to raise him to deserve it.
It occurs to me that I have a privilege Ash never had: the right to know my son from birth. Even though I haven’t met him, even though his mother scares the shit out of me, I feel a raw twist of pain in my stomach at even the hypothetical idea of missing a moment of his life.
How much Ash must feel that with Lyr.
“You’re right,” I answer Greer as I look back to Ash, who’s staring thoughtfully at his hands. “Morgan tells me she’s still considering your request to meet Lyr,” I say to him.
He nods. “I’d like very much to meet him,” he replies. “And I’ll respect Morgan’s wishes—though if Abilene goes public with what she knows, I think it will be less traumatic for him if he’s already learned the truth.”
“I’ll do what I can to keep her quiet,” I promise. “For you and for Morgan and for Lyr.” I think of the solemn-eyed boy who used to love games of chase, of the smart, bored teenager he is now. “He deserves better.”
“I appreciate that,” Ash says, then smiles. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring you here to talk about the upsetting things between us. Would you like another drink?”
“Yes, please.”
