29
I twist the door open slowly, trying to ensure my arrival is silent. I kick off my heels and bend to retrieve them when a light flickers on. My heart catapults to my throat, and I jump.
“Details. I want all the details!” Felicity cries from where she’s perched on the couch, a blanket covering her legs. “It’s late, so I’m expecting something juicy.”
“What are you doing?” I hiss. “You scared me half to death.”
“I know, and it has sparked a brilliant idea: we should take a defense class. You didn’t even try to defend yourself. Next time lift a shoe or at least your goddamn fist. If I were a bad guy, I’d have knocked you out already. Plus, it would make a good blog post.”
“Remind me why you’re my best friend.”
She cackles and then moves her legs, patting the seat beside her.
I lower my laptop bag beside my shoes and join her.
“What’s with the heavy sighs?”
“Did I sigh?”
The dim lights glow across her face, making her brown hair appear lighter, her skin darker. “About ten times.”
“I messed up at work,” I tell her. “I sent out a bad contract and fubared an event, and now Levi is offering to cater it. And I almost kissed him today in the middle of the sidewalk. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to kiss me.”
“So, why didn’t you?”
“Because Chelsea found us. I swear, she must have a tracking device on me or something. I mean, it’s Chicago—one of the biggest cities in the United States, and she somehow found us and at the most inopportune time. Granted, maybe it was for the best. I shouldn’t like him. He’s my boss’s son. He’s my client. And we can’t forget that he’s going on a date with someone else this Friday.” The words flow so fast from my mouth I’m out of breath.
“It’s not a date. You know it’s not a date.”
“It might be a date.”
“And the moon might be made of cheese.”
“He’s still—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Catherine’s son.”
I release another heavy sigh and reach for my phone, scrolling through my notifications. I stop on an email received via my blog. I’ve been receiving more comments on my blog. Each one shocks and amazes me. There’s so much content online—so many things far more interesting than my records of trying new experiences—yet today alone I’ve received over three dozen comments, each one supportive.
I read through the email twice before I straighten and hand my phone to Felicity.
“What?” she asks, looking to me though she accepts my phone.
“This lady owns an art studio, and she found my blog and has invited us to come do a wine tasting and pottery class.”
Felicity’s eyes round. “Seriously?” She looks at the phone, reading the message herself. “Brooke! This is amazing!”
“Do you think it’s real? I mean, is she just looking for an endorsement or something? I don’t have a following. I don’t even market myself.”
Felicity shakes her head. “You could make this into a business.”
“No. I don’t want to turn this into a business. This is just…” I think of what Levi said about why he chose to open bars in lieu of restaurants though food is what he knows and loves. “I’m enjoying this. I like being able to talk about these experiences without considering having an audience or if anyone will read it or follow it or even see it. Plus, who makes money off of blogging?”
“Tons of people. This is the new thing. Do you know how much people are making off of YouTube? People are becoming legit famous off of talking about themselves.”
I shake my head, laughing off the idea. “I don’t want that. I mean, this is like online journaling, and now to think I’m just talking about myself…” I crinkle my nose. “It seems so vain, and that wasn’t my intention.”
“You’re taking this too literally. You’d be helping people. Inspiring them.”
“Maybe I should delete it.”
“No!” she cries. “You’re taking what I said way too literal. The blog is great, and it will be whatever you want to make out of it and nothing more. Don’t worry about what I said. You keep on doing you.”
I lean back into the couch cushions, and it feels like my feet are sighing as I kick them up on the coffee table.
“Let’s go back to the event. What happened? And please tell me you accepted Levi’s offer to help.”
I swipe a hand across my face. “I sent out a contract with two dates. I don’t know how I even did something so stupid. But the caterer who was scheduled had the wrong date, and so I spent the entire day pleading with people’s voice mails to do this event, and Levi heard me take a call and afterward offered to help.”
“And you said yes?”
“Kind of.”
Felicity drops her chin, pressing her lips together in a tight line.
“Stop,” I tell her, hitting her with a pillow.
She giggles. “I’m telling you, Brooke, he likes you. And how freaking sexy is he? He hears you’re in trouble and goes all alpha male.”
“There go your pregnancy hormones again. He wasn’t being an alpha—he was being a friend… I think.”
She swiftly shakes her head. “Everyone thinks alpha men recycle women and are abrasive assholes because they don’t care about anyone but themselves, but that is not true. Alphas are leaders who look out for others and are respectful and kind but powerful. They aren’t controlling, but they take control of situations and make things happen.”
I compare Levi to her description, considering the ways Hollywood has long depicted alphas and what I’ve begun to translate as a strong alpha. “I hate that you’re right. The Bellum wedding I’m doing—you know, the gothic one—the guy is a total asshole, and I had mentally marked him as an alpha, but he isn’t.”
Felicity shakes her head again. “Nope. Assholes are just assholes. There’s a big difference.”
“Now I’m going to be sitting with clients and assessing each guy to see if they’re a nice guy, an alpha, or an asshole.”
She smiles.
“You should go to bed. You look exhausted.”
“I called the doctor today.”
I pause, searching her closely for a reaction she doesn’t provide. I lean closer, placing a hand over hers. “It’s okay to be nervous. If you weren’t, then I’d think there was something wrong.”
“I feel really guilty.”
“Why?”
A tear slips down her cheek. “I feel guilty that I’m not as excited for this baby because I’m so nervous about what Gemma and Theo are going to be thinking and feeling. It’s taking precedence over this baby, and I’m worried that when this baby is born, I’ll continue to look at it as being less important.” More tears slide down her cheeks.
“The fact that you’re thinking of all your babies and warring with yourself like this only proves that you’re the best mom ever. Your kids are so damn lucky to have you.” I lean my head against hers. “You need to give yourself a break.”
“I might need you to give me this pep talk another million times before the baby arrives.”
“You’ve got it.”
The next morning, I sit at my desk, gathering all the documents for the Abergals’ bar mitzvah. I’m meeting Levi in an hour at the hall it’s being held at so he can see the kitchen and we can go over the menu. I’m still uncertain about too much, but at this point, I don’t have time to dwell upon those concerns.
The hall where the bar mitzvah is being held is on the outskirts of the city, but traffic is worse than I’d anticipated, thwarting my efforts to arrive early.
I’m on the brink of being late when I arrive, and the parking lot is nearly full, forcing me to park near the back. I drop my phone and keys into my bag and hurriedly make my way through the maze of cars. A sound makes me stop. I turn, the hairs on my arms standing tall though it’s hot enough for perspiration to build at my hairline. I take a deep breath and look ar
ound, debating what is threatening to make me late. Then I hear it again. A baby.
I walk back several paces as the sound grows, peering into car windows for the source. I stop at a black BMW, the windows tinted so dark I can barely see in with the bright reflection of the sun. A black car seat is in the back seat, facing backward.
“Hello?” I bang on the driver’s side window, my heart rate spiking. “Hello?” I yell louder. Inside, the baby’s cries are a constant stream. I drop my things to the ground. Each of my nerves heightens with every cry and second that’s passing. I try the car handles, praying the vehicle will be unlocked, but it, of course, isn’t.
I bang on the windows again and then look for something to smash against them. I find a large rock with serrated edges that I grip tightly in my fist and swing with all my might against the driver’s side window, hoping the glass won’t spray into the back seat. It doesn’t do a single thing, barely even leaves a scratch. I hit it again and again and again, the flesh on my fingers breaking from the multiple impacts, but the window remains intact.
The baby’s cries are weakening, and the feeling of helplessness is growing as I continue banging on the glass, yelling for someone to help.
A hand stops my next assault on the window, and I look over to see Levi through my tear-blurred vision.
“There’s a—”
He doesn’t wait for me to explain. He takes the rock from my hand, forming a fist over it, then crashes it against the top corner of the window. The corner shatters, splintering the rest of the window. He uses the rock to knock more of the shards free and then opens the door to hit the unlock button as I move to the back door. I fling it open and reach inside. A small infant sits nestled in the seat, a thin blanket with pink flowers covering most of her tiny body. Her face is beet red, and her cries are diminishing, her eyes closing. I unlatch the seat belt securing her in a second and pull her out in the next.
“She’s so hot.” Tears are falling more rapidly, blurring my vision as I clutch the child, my lips pressed to her warm forehead.
Levi glances around the parking lot as though to gain his bearings. “Let’s take her inside.”
Before we can move, a police cruiser pulls up in front of us, successfully blocking the black BMW and our path.
Levi’s stance widens, his shoulders squaring.
“Is there a problem?” an officer asks, getting out of the car. He looks past Levi at me.
“Someone left their baby in the car. We broke their window to get her out,” he explains.
The officer tilts his head, watching me the entire time Levi speaks, explaining how the baby is hot and needs to cool down.
“I saw it, man. They saved that baby’s life.” Two teenage boys, one with red hair and the other with black hair, move closer. “I got it all on my phone.” The boy with dark hair steps closer, and the cop’s shoulders appear to relax.
“She’s really warm,” I tell him. “I think we need to call an ambulance.”
The officer nods, his gaze on the teenager’s phone for another second before he ducks into the vehicle. The passenger window of his car rolls down, and he waves a hand forward. “Why don’t you sit in here with her until they come?” he says.
Levi shifts, placing his hand on my hip so that his fingers wrap around my waist, but his touch falls too quickly as he follows me the few paces to the cruiser. He opens the door as the officer shuffles things off the front seat for me to sit down.
The air conditioner blasts inside the car, prickling my skin. The baby is exhausted, her eyes fighting to remain open as she releases weak cries. “She’s too warm,” I say. I set her on my knees and pull the lavender pants free along with her little socks and then unfasten the onesie and gently yank it off as well.
The officer hands me a bottle of water that’s cold to the touch. “You can put this against her. They’re going to be here in just a couple of minutes.”
I twist off the cap with my battered hand and pour the water into my palm, pouring it onto the baby’s small belly and then again around her head, wetting her hair. She fusses, and I smile, relieved that it’s upsetting her. The pull of my lips makes my cheeks feel tight from the dried trails of tears. “You’re so tiny,” I say. “But you’re tough. Yes, you’re tough.”
A fire truck pulls up, closely followed by another police car and then a third police car.
The officer in the seat next to me glances into his rearview mirror and then puts the car into gear. “I’m going to pull up a little so she can get out,” he says, glancing toward Levi, who has remained next to me, the door still propped open.
Levi nods, closing the car door only to follow the few feet we roll forward. When we come to a stop, he opens the door again, only he’s replaced by several firefighters who crowd around me, inspecting the baby and firing off questions I can’t answer, like how long she’d been in the car and how old she was.
It only takes a few more minutes for the ambulance to arrive, and like the fire truck, its sirens announce its arrival.
Another police officer pops her head into driver’s side window. “Good news. Mom’s on the way.”
“Let’s get you checked out, princess.” A firefighter with a wide nose and short-cropped blond hair reaches for the baby, holding her carefully with experienced hands. He walks to the ambulance, where they’ve opened the back, allowing him to go inside so they can look at her more closely.
“You can go watch,” the officer beside me says. “Let me remind them to look at your hand.”
I glance at my lap where my right hand is stained with rivulets of crimson. “It’s nothing,” I tell him. “I just cut it on the rock.”
“Here,” he says, pulling something from his middle console.
I accept the small piece of plastic, turning it over in my hands to inspect it closer. “What is it?”
“Car windows are nearly impossible to break without the right tools. That will do the trick if you ever need to do it again.”
I want to give it back because possessing it feels like a bad omen, yet returning it seems like an even worse one.
“Thanks,” I tell him, folding my fingers around the small tool. I get out of the vehicle and watch as more gather around the ambulance. Their moods are light, their movements slow, assuring me everything is fine. Though I don’t know the little girl, I approach where she’s lying on the stretcher in the back. The sight of an IV stuck in her tiny arm brings more wetness to my eyes.
A woman rushes toward us, her face red and blotchy from tears. She stops beside me, her eyes wild and frantic. “That’s my baby,” she announces. “I’m her mom. Is she okay?” Her voice breaks.
“She’s going to be just fine,” the firefighter who had taken her from me says. “We should take her in though. She was overheated and dehydrated.”
A hand wraps around my shoulder, a strong chest pressing against my side. I smell Levi’s cologne before I turn to confirm that it’s him. With his free hand, he takes my injured hand. “We should have them look at it.”
I shake my hand. “I just need a Band-Aid.”
A medic at the rear of the ambulance looks at me, then my hand. She digs in a pocket in the vehicle, producing a handful of Band-Aids before digging through another compartment. “Can I see it real quick? It’s probably nothing, but we have to evaluate everyone injured before leaving.”
“I’m really…” I begin to protest, but the medic is already out of the truck, pulling a fresh pair of gloves on. I extend my hand for her to see the shallow wounds that create a small web across the inside of my fingers where the rock had ricocheted against my flesh when the window didn’t budge. She pulls on my fingers, pressing here and there until she seems satisfied.
“This cut on your middle finger might be sore for a while. I’m guessing you nicked the tendon and it will take a while to heal.” She reaches for something in the truck and retrieves a few more wipes that she tears open and rubs along my hand. The alcohol seeps into each tiny lacera
tion, pronouncing each injury. “You saved that baby’s life.”
I shake my head and crane my neck to look for Levi, who’s taken a step back. His blue eyes lock with mine. It feels like I’m seeing him for the first time as she does another pass over my small wounds. “He saved her. I couldn’t break the window.”
The medic turns to acknowledge Levi as he shakes his head. “You’re the hero. I just broke the window.”
“Pretty amazing how strong that glass is, right?” the medic asks.
“It’s insane. I thought it would shatter like you see in the movies,” I admit.
She laughs. “At least you didn’t try hitting it with your fist. I’ve seen that a few times, and let me tell you, the car always wins.”
I smirk in an attempt to hide my thoughts, which have gone back to the small soul who brought us here. “She’s going to be all right, though? No permanent damage or anything?”
The medic looks over her shoulder and then back to me, her eyes bright as though she’s already moved past us and is ready for the next call. She shakes her head. “She’s exhausted and warm, but she’s going to be okay. Good thing it cooled off a little. If this had been a week ago or an hour later, this story would have a different ending.” She wraps Band-Aids around my worst cuts.
I take another glance at the baby and her wiggling legs and turn to Levi. “We should go inside.”
“Did you want to—”
I shake my head. I don’t want to talk to the mom or wait longer. Accolades make me uneasy, and this woman appears so stressed from her baby and likely her trust in her spouse for leaving the baby that she doesn’t need a distraction.
Levi wraps a hand around my shoulders again, and while I’ve become accustomed to his hand on my lower back—missing the absence of it when he’s gone and more so when he isn’t—the warmth and weight of his arm paired with the gentle manner his fingers press into my flesh, holding me against his chest, makes this position a quick favorite.
The Fallback Page 21