by Robin Huber
I look in his eyes and fortify my defenses.
“I still want you just as much as I did that day.” He wraps his hand behind my neck and leans in to kiss me. “Right here. Right now.”
“Sam, we can’t.”
“Why?” he asks, caressing my neck with soft, warm kisses.
“The doctor said you have to heal, correctly this time.”
He sits up and rolls his eyes.
“Don’t you want to be able to fight again?”
“Not if it means I can’t be with you.”
I drop my head to the side. “Fighting or no fighting, you have to heal this time. I want you too, but preferably in one piece.”
He gazes at me with his beautiful eyes and reaches for my hand. “I have been healing. I’ve been wearing the wrap every day since the fight, just like the doctor told me to.”
“I’m not really in the mood,” I lie, and the look on his face sends my heart plummeting.
“Oh.” He pulls his hand back. “Okay.” He forces a small smile.
“I’ve just got a lot on my mind right now.” I put my hand over his. “That’s all.”
He flexes his fingers beneath mine and laces them together. “Like what?”
“You, my career, the fate of my studio.” I glance around and sigh heavily.
“Well you can take me off that list.”
“Are you kidding? You’re in bold caps and highlighted in yellow.”
“Why? I’m fine.” He gives me a serious look. “You don’t have to worry about me, Lamb. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
An incredulous laugh escapes quietly between my lips. “The fact that you think that is what worries me. You’re not invincible, Sam.” I hold his stare until he looks away. “Look at me,” I say, squeezing his hand. “You are all I have.”
He looks at me and says, “I know. You’re all I have too.”
“Then protect yourself. For me.”
“What is it that you want me to do, Lamb? Just say it and I’ll do it.”
I stare at him for a moment, trying to lift the weight of his words off my shoulders. “Listen to Joe. He loves you like I do, and he knows what’s best for you. Take a break from boxing.”
He inhales a slow, deep breath through his nostrils and stands up.
“Just for a little while.”
He studies me for a few seconds and then puts his hands on his hips and says, “Okay.”
Okay?
I stand up and he wraps his arms around me, and I hide beneath them, afraid to face the fact that I’ve just become a wedge between Sam and the other love of his life—boxing. But Sebastian’s words echo in my ears, and I know that it’s the only way to protect him.
“You ready to go home?” he asks, releasing me.
“Yeah.” I’m not really in the mood to paint anymore.
We lock up the studio and ride to the apartment together in unusual silence.
I lied when I said wasn’t in the mood, because I wanted to protect him. I asked him to take a break from boxing, because I wanted to protect him. But what’s the good in protecting him if I’m just hurting him in other ways?
“I’m sorry,” I say, reaching for his arm.
He looks at me and then slows the car to a stop on the side of the road.
“I shouldn’t have asked you to stop boxing. I did it because I’m scared, and I knew that you’d take a break if I asked you to. But it was selfish and I’m sorry. I want you to do what you think is right. And I’ll support your decision, no matter what it is, because I love you.”
“I know you do.” He reaches for my face, tucking my long hair behind my ear. “You don’t have to be sorry.”
“And I lied.”
He pulls his chin back and looks at me curiously.
“When I said I wasn’t in the mood before. I lied.”
He laughs softly.
“I just don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”
“Lucy, making love to you is not going to reinjure my ribs.”
“What about last time? In Exuma.”
“I wasn’t careful in Exuma, because I was so freaking happy to finally have you all to myself.”
I smile softly, recalling how he could barely wait to undress me in the Bahamas.
“We’ll just be more careful for now, okay?”
I unbuckle my seat belt and lean across the middle console, until I’m practically in his lap. “Okay.” I shove my hands in his caramel hair and kiss his full lips, finding his tongue with mine. He groans against my mouth and rocks his hips up, then slowly pushes me back by my shoulders, until our lips are no longer touching. “Maybe we should wait until we get home. I’d probably injure more than my ribs trying to do it in this car.”
I laugh and fall back into my seat. “Good point.”
I buckle back up and the engine purrs as he pulls back out onto the road. “I have a surprise for you,” he says casually, watching the road, but the smile he’s trying to hide bubbles excitement inside me.
My eyes light up with intrigue. “What kind of surprise?” I ask, like a child, and he smiles openly.
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
* * *
Sam blocks the door to our apartment when I try to open it.
“What are you doing?” I ask, looking up at his excited face.
“Close your eyes,” he says, watching me until I do. He takes my hand and asks, “Are you ready?”
“For what?”
He opens the door and pulls me several feet into the apartment. “Okay, open your eyes.”
I open my eyes and gasp when I see a beautiful Christmas tree glowing in the middle of the living room adorned with sparkling white lights and shiny glass bulbs. There’s a fire crackling in the fireplace beyond it and more white lights twinkling on the balcony outside.
“Sam…how did you do all this?”
He follows me into the living room. “Sebastian, as it turns out, is very good at this sort of thing.”
Of course. It looks like he hired a professional.
“He and I worked all afternoon while you were at the studio.”
I turn around and carefully wrap my arms around him. “I love it. I love you. It’s beautiful.”
“I wasn’t sure about the tree—it’s not real—but Sebastian insisted. Is it like you wanted?”
“It’s more than I wanted. It’s perfect.”
He smiles and kisses the top of my head. “I saved a few boxes of ornaments so we can finish decorating it together.”
I look up at his one-of-a-kind eyes, silently scolding myself for being so selfish back at the studio. “I don’t deserve you.”
He pulls my face to his and kisses me softly. “I think you’ve got that backward.”
We spend the next half hour hanging the rest of the ornaments on the tree, and it fills me with a since of normalcy that erases all of the worry and stress from earlier in the day.
I reach for Sam’s hand and pull him into a hug in front of our beautiful Christmas tree, but his phone starts buzzing in his pocket, vibrating against my hip, before I can tell him how happy I am.
He pulls it out of his pocket and grumbles, “This better be important, Miles.” He listens for a few seconds and then his face grows serious. “Okay, I’m on my way. Tell Joe I’m on my way.”
He hangs up and my heart races inside my chest. “Sam, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Tristan. He’s in the hospital.”
“Is he okay?” I ask, knowing he must not be if he’s in the hospital.
He shakes his head, but doesn’t answer. “I’ve got to go.”
I follow him across the apartment to our bedroom, but he turns down the hall and goes into the gym instead.
“Sam, what are you doing?”
He goes straight for a punching bag that’s suspended from the ceiling and punches it hard.
“Sam! Stop!” I shout, and he freezes. “You can’t do that.”
He puts
his hand on the bag and stops it from swinging, and then drops his head against it.
I stand behind him and put my hand on his back. “It’s okay.”
He turns around wraps his arms around me.
“Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay,” I say to him.
“He’s not okay,” he says against my shoulder.
“I know.” I lift his head and look in his worried eyes. “Come on, I’ll go with you.”
Chapter 10
Lucy
One latte macchiato,” Sebastian says, handing me a cup from the coffee shop across the street.
“Thank you.”
“It’s the least I could do after that pompous curator in Dallas dropped you from his hoity-toity exhibit. That you didn’t want to be a part of anyway,” he says, rolling his eyes behind his clear-framed glasses.
“I never said I didn’t want to be a part of it.” I sigh and put my coffee down on my desk.
“I added that part in, but let’s just go with it, okay? Besides, would you really want to work with a gallery that considers artists based on where they grew up, instead of their extraordinary, unmatched talent?”
“I just hope it’s not an indication of what’s to come.”
“Lucy, it doesn’t matter where you grew up.”
“Well, it obviously does to some people,” I say, swiveling my chair from side to side.
Sebastian sits on the corner of my desk and says, “Those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.”
“What?”
“You still have six other invites from galleries that think your work is amazing, including Aurelia Snow. That’s what matters.”
“I know. You’re right.” I sip my coffee. “Hey, can you mail this for me today?” I hand him a sealed envelope that contains a lengthy letter I wrote to Drew.
He takes it from me and eyes Drew’s name scrawled on the front. “What’s this?”
“A letter for Drew.”
“Okay, is this nineteen eighty? Who sends a letter?”
“Well, if he would return any of my calls, I wouldn’t have to.”
“Maybe he’s still in Europe.”
“We planned a two-week honeymoon. He should be back by now. And I know Janice told him I stopped by while he was away. She promised she would tell him to call me when he got back.” I shrug. “He’s obviously still upset.”
“Can I ask what’s in the letter?”
“Everything. An apology. A thank-you. Well wishes. And my plan to sign the deed to the studio back over to him…after I figure out a way to buy a new one.”
“Well, your sales are through the roof right now. By the end of the month, you won’t have a single painting left in this studio to sell. Besides Lionheart,” he says, tapping his fingers together.
“It’s not for sale, Bas.”
“Just checking to see if you changed your mind. I bet you could get even more for it now with all the media attention on you and Sam.”
“I haven’t changed my mind,” I assure him.
“A shame. It would pay for a new studio and a bonus for your amazing assistant.”
“Noted.” I laugh. “Hey, have you looked into the dates for the other exhibits that I’m still invited to? We probably need to start making travel arrangements.”
“Yes, but they’re all next winter and spring. The only one before then is Aurelia Snow in June. Which is actually kind of perfect, because if everything goes well in New York, the price tag on your paintings will soar for the other shows.”
I nod pensively. “It will also give me time to focus on finding a new studio. And time to rebuild my dwindling portfolio.”
“Speaking of which, how’s the painting coming along?”
“I’m making progress. But it’s been hard to focus since we got back from LA. Between getting my invite rescinded, everything that’s going on with Tristan, and worrying about Sam, it’s been hard to stay motivated. I’ve just been so tired lately,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
“How is Tristan?”
“He’s better. He’s at home now, but he’s not going to be able to help Sam train anytime soon.”
“Train for what? I thought Sam was taking a break.”
“He is, for now. They renegotiated his contract to start in March, instead of January.” I give him wide eyes and shrug. “At least they pushed it back a couple of months. But he has to start training again after the new year with some new guy.”
“Speaking of Sam, what did you get him for Christmas?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Lucy. It’s in two days!”
“I know! I just haven’t really been in the mood to shop. It would help if I could shake this stomach bug.”
“What stomach bug?” He stands up and makes a disgusted face. “How long have you had it?”
“Since the store incident. That was the start of it.”
“Well, have you thought about going to the doctor?”
“It’s not that bad. It sort of comes and goes. I just get these waves of nausea. But after I throw up, I feel better.”
“That doesn’t sound right. Have you been losing weight?” He drops his eyes over me.
“No, I don’t think so. Probably because when I’m not puking, I’m eating everything in sight to make up for it.”
Sebastian’s face falls and he carefully gauges me for a few uncomfortable seconds.
“What?” I ask, shrugging a shoulder to fend off his intrusive look.
“Lucy Marie Bennett, tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind at least once that you might be pregnant.”
I stand up quickly. “Um, no, actually. Why is that always your go-to diagnosis?”
“Oh, I don’t know, have you had sex with Sam?” he asks sarcastically.
I roll my eyes and insist, “I never miss my birth control pill, Bas. Ever.”
He reaches for my hands and holds them between us. “Honey, birth control isn’t one hundred percent effective one hundred percent of the time. That’s like sex ed 101.”
I’m thankful he’s holding my hands, because I suddenly feel weak in the knees. And nauseous. “My period’s late,” I whisper, and he presses his lips together into a thin line. “I thought it was from all the stress I’ve been under.” I let go of his hands and take a few wobbly steps back. “Oh, my God, I’ve been so nauseous, Bas. I’m nauseous right now.” I walk aimlessly out of my office and fall onto the couch. “I’ve been starving and emotional.” I look up at Sebastian, who’s squinting his eyes as if to somehow reject the inevitable conclusion. “I think I’m pregnant.”
“Oh, my God.” He sits on the couch beside me. “What do we do?” He scans me from head to toe and then reaches for my feet. “Here, put your feet up,” he says, pulling them up onto the couch.
“Sebastian, I need to take a pregnancy test.”
“Right. Good plan. That’s what my sister did. It was a first something…First Watch?”
“I don’t know, but they’re always right next to the tampons. Seems contradictory,” I muse.
“Okay, let’s go get one.”
“What? No way.”
Bas gives me a confused look.
“Bas, I can’t go into a store and buy a pregnancy test. Someone will tell someone and before you know it there’ll be another rumor swirling that I’m pregnant with Sam’s baby.”
“But you are pregnant with Sam’s baby.”
“We don’t know that.”
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, we’ll just stick with the whole stomach bug that acts exactly like a baby theory and see what happens.”
I drop my head to the side and ask, “Will you please go buy one for me?” I press my palms together in front of me. “Please?”
“Fine,” he says, getting to his feet. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“Okay.” I get up and walk behind him. “What should I do while you’re gone? Should I paint? Can I paint? Can you paint when you’re pregnant? Shit, Sebastian,
I’ve been painting every day.”
He smiles. “Can I see the painting?”
“Focus, Bas.”
“Right, okay. First Watch, on its way.”
Sebastian leaves me in an ocean of anxiety with a strong undertow, but I fight against the current. What am I going to do? What am I going to tell Sam? Will he be happy? What if he’s upset?
I fall back onto the couch and take slow, deep breaths.
How can I have a baby? I don’t know anything about babies. I don’t know anything about being pregnant! I thought I had a stomach bug. I’m like one of those ladies who has their baby on the toilet because they didn’t know they were pregnant.
I get up and pace around the studio for the next several minutes.
Oh, God. I’m not cut out for this. I can’t do this.
I pass the painting I’ve been working on and stop pacing when Bas’s words echo in my head. You’ll only get stronger from here. I close my eyes and inhale a deep cathartic breath, my hands moving to my stomach as if by their own will. I’ll be strong for you.
“I’m back,” Sebastian shouts from the front of the studio, and my hands fall to my sides. I turn around and see him walking toward me with a white plastic bag in his hand.
“That was fast,” I say, wishing it had taken him a little longer.
“I went to the drugstore on the corner. There wasn’t a line.” He pulls a pink box out of the bag and hands it to me. “I’d offer to help, but…” He makes a funny face that reflects my own.
“I’m good, thanks.” I take the box from him and hurry to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I don’t know what’s worse, being pregnant or wondering if I’m pregnant. Or knowing that Sebastian is standing on the other side of the door, waiting for the answer.
I take a deep breath and open the box with shaking fingers. Inside, I find two paper-wrapped pregnancy tests, like little Russian fertility dolls, and tear them open. I place them on the counter while I carefully read the instructions and then follow the accompanying picture guide.
When I’m through, I wash my hands and exit the bathroom, leaving my fate to be determined on the back of the toilet.
“What did it say?” Sebastian asks, quicker than his mouth can move.