A Story Like Ours

by Robin Huber

  “I just can’t wait to get back to work and use my brain before I lose all my creativity.”

  “Not possible,” Molly says. “I’ve seen your work.”

  “Thanks. I hope you’re right. I’ve got a dwindling portfolio that’s waiting to be filled with new artwork and several exhibits that I need to get ready for.”

  “Molly’s right,” Sam says, squeezing my hand. “You’ll see, as soon as you get back at it.”

  “Lucy, Sam told me you’re looking for a new studio,” she says curiously.

  “Oh, um, yes, I am.” I glance over at him. What else had he told her?

  “Any luck so far?”

  “No, not yet. Everything’s sort of been on hold since the accident. And I’m going to have to sell a few more paintings before I can make an offer on something.”

  “Well, I know you’ve turned me down before”—she winks—“but I might be able to help you make a little extra money.” There’s a glint of excitement in her eyes, and I smile over my hesitation.

  “Really? How?”

  “Okay, don’t tell anyone, because this isn’t public information yet, but I just landed an account with Rock Love Threads.”

  “The clothing brand?”

  “The clothing mecca for ages eighteen to twenty-eight. They have stores in every mall in every major city in the country. And a few others.”

  “Molly, that’s fantastic.”

  “What’s fantastic is that they want me to do an entire graphic T-shirt line for them. If you jump on board and provide the drawings, or even digital copies of some of your paintings, we can put your artwork on T-shirts in stores across the nation.”

  “Wow. That would be pretty incredible.”

  “And the best part is, you can do it from your apartment.”

  “It might help pass the time until you’re back on your feet,” Sam says encouragingly.

  “Lucy, do it,” Tristan says. “Maybe then, Molly will stop talking about it.”

  She fights a smile and gives him a knowing look.

  “Seriously,” he adds, “you’re crazy talented. With Molly in your corner, your career could really blow up.”

  I press my lips together over a hopeful smile and look at Sam.

  “I think you should do it,” he says surely.

  “Okay.” I look at Molly and nod. “I’ll do it.”

  “Ah!” she squeals and claps her hands together. “Let’s get started.”

  “Right now?”

  “No time like the present. Also, I meet with their marketing team tomorrow. We can work out the details while these two hang out,” she says, gesturing at Tristan and Sam.

  “Okay.” I give Sam a concerned look, which is met with a small smile.

  “I’ll be right back.” Molly jumps up from the couch. “I’m going to go grab my laptop.”

  * * *

  “Molly, can I ask you something?”

  She looks up at me from her computer screen. “Yeah, anything.”

  “Has Sam talked to you about what happened?”

  “You mean, the accident?”

  “And Joe.”

  She presses her glossy lips together and leans back in her chair. “No.”

  I nod silently.

  She leans forward, puts her elbows on the kitchen table, and rests her chin on her folded hands. “Are you worried about him?”

  I shrug. “He’s just been kind of distant lately.”

  She frowns softly. “I wish I could tell you why, but I haven’t talked to Sam very much since the accident. He’s been focused on taking care of you, and I’ve been focused on taking care of Tristan.”

  “I know. And he’s been taking great care of me. It’s just that sometimes when he’s there, he’s not really present, you know? Like his mind is somewhere else. But he won’t tell me where.”

  “Yeah. Tristan gets like that every now and then too.”

  “He does?”

  “Mm-hmm. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but he’s quick to remind me that I didn’t know Joe like he did.” She shrugs.

  “Well, I did. So what’s Sam’s excuse?” I close my eyes and say, “I lost Joe too.”

  Molly reaches across the table and wraps her hand around mine. “I’m really sorry, Lucy.”

  I press my trembling lips together. “Thanks.”

  “I know it’s hard right now.” She squeezes my hand. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through. But I know one thing. You are tough as hell.” She leans in and says quietly, “Tougher than those two out there on the couch.” She winks and it makes me smile. “It’ll get better with time.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do. But in meantime, if you need to talk about it, I’m only a few floors away. I’m a pretty good listener,” she says, smiling lightly.

  “So I’ve been told.”

  She sits back in her chair and spins her laptop around to show me the screen. “You know, I think this is going to be a really good distraction for you.”

  I inhale a hopeful breath. “I could sure use one.”

  Chapter 14

  Lucy, One Month Later

  I sit on a wooden stool in front of my painting, staring at the brushstrokes that highlight my pink-rimmed eyes and matching pink nose. My blue tear-filled eyes reflect the sadness that’s been looming over me for the past two months.

  My doctors told me that when a bone is broken, it heals stronger than before the break. But they didn’t make any promises about my heart. It’s been two months since the accident, and I can still feel the broken pieces, like the jagged, uneven sidewalks I grew up on. Most of the cracks are for Sam, who may never get over losing Joe, some are for me, and a few are for Tristan. But the one that hurts the most, the one I can’t seem to jump over no matter how hard I try, runs right down the middle of me and Sam.

  “It’s perfection,” Sebastian says, standing behind me.

  “It’s sad.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s broken. Just like me and Sam.” I inhale a shaky breath and blink back tears that burn behind my eyes.

  “You and Sam aren’t broken. You’re just a little cracked, that’s all.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “Yes, there’s a difference,” he says, dropping his head beside mine. “Breaks don’t always go back together, but cracks usually heal.” He spins me around to face him. “What’s the matter? I thought you were feeling better since you were cleared to start working again. Aren’t you glad to be back out in the world?”

  “Yes. And I was feeling better, until last night. Sam and I got into a fight.” I drop my head and pull my paint-covered hands to my face. “What if things never go back to the way they were, Bas? What if losing Joe was too much for him? Joe was the only constant thing in Sam’s life. He was there for him when I wasn’t.” I slide off the stool, and Bas grabs my hand as I stand up. “Sam made sure to remind me of that last night.”

  “He’s just hurting. And he’s probably going to be hurting for a long time.” He turns me around to face my painting again and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Look. You are stronger than you were that day, Lucy. And you’re stronger now than you were two months ago when that asshole ran a red light. Now you have to be stronger than Sam.”

  I turn around and look up at him. “I’m trying, but he keeps pushing me away.”

  “Then push harder,” he says firmly. “Joe was there for him when you weren’t. Now it’s your turn to be there for him when Joe can’t.”

  I nod softly.

  He takes my hand. “Come on.” He pulls me over to the sink in the back of my studio. “I want to show you something. Wash up.”

  I turn on the water and begin scrubbing the paint off my fingers.

  When I’m through, Sebastian reaches for my hands and holds them up in front of him. “Really, Luc, you’ve got to stop using your fingernails as painting tools,” he says, appalled.

  “They’re the best tool I�
��ve got.”

  “Well you have a big day coming up and your nails are not up to the occasion. If it means no more painting until after Aurelia Snow, then so be it.”

  He musters a small smile out of me and I pull my hand back. “It’s still six weeks away. And don’t worry, I think I used the last of my energy on that one.” I glance back at my self-portrait drying on the easel behind me and drop my hands to my paint-covered overalls. I pat my swollen tummy and walk over to the couch. “She’s officially sucking all my energy out of me.” I sit down, sprawl my arms and legs out, and drop my head back against the couch. “I don’t know why everyone says the second trimester is the easiest.”

  “Because most women aren’t healing from a hip fracture in their second trimester. Or dealing with—”

  “Sam?”

  “I was going to say everything you’re dealing with, but if you want to narrow it down to Sam, I’ll support that.”

  I laugh softly.

  “Is that a smile I see?”

  “A small one.” I purse my lips. “It’s hard to keep them from you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “It was meant as one.” I inhale a deep breath and close my eyes. “Honestly, I spent the majority of the last two months on bed rest. How can I possibly be this tired?” I sit up and try to get comfortable, but there’s a small basketball in my lap that’s permanently affixed to my stomach.

  “Maybe because you haven’t had a latte in six months.” He arches an eyebrow.

  “Shh…don’t say the L word.”

  “What about the C word?”

  I raise a curious eyebrow.

  “Coffee.” He makes a funny face and shakes his head. “What about the W word?” he asks, slouching against the arm of the couch. “It definitely can’t help matters that you have zero coping devices right now. One glass of wine and you’d probably feel a lot better.”

  “You know what would make me feel better? A fiancé who doesn’t immerse himself in boxing to hide from the pain he won’t talk about.”

  “Yes, well, we’ve established that.”

  “It doesn’t help that he’s trying to prepare for a fight without Joe or Tristan. He’s never had to do that before.”

  “I’m sure they’re not easily replaced.”

  “No. He’s been really frustrated.”

  “Why doesn’t he just wait until after the baby’s born? That would give Tristan time to fully heal and then he can coach Sam.”

  “Because he’s still under contract. Miles already had it amended once, and that was only because it was deemed medically necessary by Sam’s doctor. The only thing he can do is withdraw, and he’ll never do that.” I roll my eyes. “Miles would never let him do that.”

  Bas gets up and reaches for my hands and pulls me up off the couch. “I have something that will cheer you up.”

  “What is it?”

  “Dresses for New York. I got two for you to try on,” he says, disappearing into my office. He returns with a couple of garment bags and lays them over the arm of the couch. He unzips one and pulls out a long, flowy, creamy-white dress with a delicate crocheted top. “It will be warm in New York. I thought this would be perfect with the open back and your hair swept up.”

  I stand up and hold it out in front of me. “It looks a little like a wedding dress, Bas.”

  “Pfff…not your wedding dress. I’ve got much bigger plans for that.”

  I shake my head. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

  “Nope. Now go.” He waves his hands. “Try it on.”

  I carry the dress to my office and change into it, glad to find that it’s fairly easy to get on by myself. I slide my arms through the thin spaghetti straps and adjust the crocheted top. I pull my long hair up into a loose bun and walk back out to show Sebastian.

  “Oh, my God, it’s even better on.”

  I turn around and show him the back.

  “I love it,” he gushes. “You look like an angel.”

  I drop my head to the side and give him an incredulous look. “A pregnant angel? When did I get kicked out of heaven?”

  “Stop it, you look beautiful.” He reaches for my bun and messes with my loose locks of hair. “Maybe we can add some delicate little flowers or something…give you a Mother Earth vibe.” He looks at me and says, “Kind of fits your current situation, don’t you think?”

  “What’s in the other bag?” I ask, not feeling the vibe.

  He drops his hands and reaches for the other garment bag. He unzips it and pulls out another creamy-white dress, but this one is simple and elegant. He holds it up and I know without even trying it on that it’s the one I want to wear to the Aurelia Snow exhibit next month.

  “This one is chiffon,” he says, handing it to me. “I thought the airy material would be good for warm weather.”

  “I love it,” I say, taking it from him. I hurry to my office to try it on, and it literally slides over my body like a slip. The top dips into a soft V just above my newly developed cleavage. And the light, airy material flows over my round stomach and falls gracefully to my feet with room to grow. I turn around and look at the back. The straps are an inch or so wide on my shoulders like a tank top, and it dips down into a U just above the small of my back.

  I gather the material in my hands and hurry out to show Bas. “What do you think?” I ask, smiling.

  “Turn around,” he says, and I follow his instruction.

  After a few silent seconds I turn back around. “Hello?”

  Bas pulls his fist away from his mouth and crosses his arms over his chest. “I think…you really are an angel.”

  “Bas.”

  “It’s like it was made for you. You have to wear this one.”

  “Do you think it will still fit in six weeks?”

  He tugs on the loose material that’s covering my stomach. “Yes, you have plenty of room.”

  I pull my shoulders up excitedly and smile. “I love it. It’s beautiful but, more importantly, comfortable. You did good.”

  He presses his lips together and nods. “Guess what the color is,” he says, and then he presses his lips together again.

  “Um…” I look down at it again. “Cream?”

  He shakes his head, keeping his lips tightly sealed.

  “I don’t know.” I laugh. “Ivory? Off-white? Vanilla?” I shrug. “I have no idea, Bas. Just tell me.”

  “Wedding cake!” he finally says, putting his hands over his mouth.

  I can’t help but smile at his excitement. “Tell you what, freak. You can pretend that this is my wedding dress, because it’s the closest you’re going to get to the real thing anytime soon.”

  “I’ll wear you down eventually. And if I can’t, I’ll get Sam to.” He raises his eyebrows and gathers the garment bags off the arm of the couch.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He pauses and looks up at me. “Wouldn’t I?”

  “Not if you’re not speaking to him,” I say, crossing my arms.

  “Slow down, killer. Who said anything about not speaking to Sam? I support you and I want him to get over his funk, because it affects you, which ultimately affects me. But that doesn’t mean I’m not a fan. I’m always a Sam Cole fan.” He narrows his eyes and whispers, “Always.”

  I purse my lips over a smile. “Figures.”

  * * *

  “Something smells good,” Sam says, walking into the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge and chugs it down.

  I smile tentatively at him over the ruminating ache in my heart left over from our fight and say, “Jambalaya.”

  He walks up behind me and reaches around my stomach, pressing his hand to my bump. “I’m sorry about last night,” he says, kissing my neck.

  “It’s okay.” I pull my shoulder up to my jaw. “You’re sweaty.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.” He leans against the counter and watches me sauté the diced onions and green bell peppers.
r />   “Did you have a good workout?” I ask, glancing up at him.

  “It was okay. The new guy just isn’t Tristan. He’s got my circuits all switched up and it’s really throwing me off. I just want to get back to my old routine.”

  “Looks like you worked hard,” I say, eyeing his sweat-soaked T-shirt.

  “He’s kicking my ass, just not the way I like.”

  “Well, maybe it’s a good thing. A new challenge. Can you hand me that bowl?” I ask, pointing to the little bowl of garlic I chopped up.

  He hands it to me and I add the garlic to the pot. As soon as it hits the heat, the aromatic scent fills the kitchen.

  “What all goes in jambalaya?”

  “Chicken, smoked sausage, onion, celery, peppers, garlic, tomatoes, spices…”

  “It’s making my mouth water. I’m starving.”

  “Good.” I smile softly at him. “But it’s not going to be ready for another half hour or so, so you’ll have to wait. You have time for a shower,” I point out.

  “I think I’ve proven that I’m pretty good at waiting,” he says, showing me his dimples, and it makes me grin.

  “Yes,” I say, pushing the onion and peppers around the pan, “you have.”

  “Luc, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  I look up at him tentatively. “Okay,” I say, but it sounds like a question.

  “I want to buy a house. For us.”

  A hopeful smile spreads across my face. “You do?”

  “Yeah. I think it would really help things.”

  Help things. As in, fill the void Joe left, not move past it.

  I nod and work to keep the smile on my face. “Yeah.” I tend to my pot, trying to keep my emotions corralled.

  “Would you like that?”

  I press my lips together and glance up at him. “Mm-hmm,” I squeak, trying to appreciate the gesture, even if it’s for the wrong reason.

  “Good, because I talked to a realtor today.”

  I look up and see him smiling at me with excited eyes, and for the first time in weeks, he looks happy. I smile and ask, “Well, what did they say?”

  “That it’s not going to be easy to find a house with room for a gym and an art studio.” He laughs and shakes his head. “First world problems, I know.”