Just Breathe Series (Trilogy Box Set)

by Martha Sweeney

  “I’m sorry,” Joe apologizes.

  “For what?”

  “For earlier . . . for Jimmy,” Joe reveals.

  “You can’t control Jimmy,” I remind.

  “I know,” Joe admits. “But, it wasn’t . . . .”

  “Ignore it,” I encourage, not letting him finish. “I’ve moved on and so should you.”

  I hope that Joe hasn’t caught onto my lie — Jimmy did get to me a little.

  “I don’t know why he’s been saying things like that more often,” Joe states.

  “He’s your big brother,” I remind. “That’s what they do. Besides, even for all his teasing, it means he loves us . . . he only wants the best for us, you know?”

  “I know,” Joe huffs, pulling me into him. “I just don’t like how he’s putting you on the spot.”

  “Why?” I ask. “Because you already asked me to marry you and I said . . . no?” It is hard for me to say the last word, wanting to beg him to ask me again to change that answer.

  “Yes,” Joe answers. “I don’t like how he’s hounding you.”

  “He’s hounding you too,” I state, trying to deflect what’s really bothering me.

  “How so?”

  With a chuckle, I explain, “He’s teasing you because he was there when it happened.”

  As much as I’m trying to make light of Jimmy’s teasing, knowing it’s meant with love and in good fun, it’s still hard to be positive about it. I’ve regretted my response ever since that word escaped my lips that day in the mountains.

  “It’s still not right,” Joe comments.

  I don’t say anything, not sure of what to say as we lay with our bodies entwined.

  After several minutes, I say, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For putting you in the position to where Jimmy can tease you,” I explain. “And, where you feel like you have to defend yourself, let alone me.”

  “Don’t, Emma,” Joe chides sweetly. “Don’t do that.”

  “Why,” I counter. “If I had said a different answer, this wouldn’t be bothering you right now.”

  “Don’t you mean he? He wouldn’t be bothering me right now?”

  “No,” I correct. “I meant this, as in the topic of marriage.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because, that’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You asked and I said no,” I present, feeling the anger rise inside me. “If I had just said yes, it wouldn’t have been brought up at dinner and . . . .”

  “Emma,” Joe calls, cutting me off.

  “What?” I snap, pulling away from him as I get up from the bed.

  “Emma,” he repeats.

  “What?” I say a little more loudly this time. “If anyone was being roasted out there it was me, not you. I know he meant it to be funny, but it’s not.”

  Joe reaches for me, trying to calm me.

  “Don’t,” I say heatedly. “Don’t.”

  My emotions are all over the place right now. Anger, sadness, helplessness and so many more feelings tornado through me and I can’t handle them. I’ve dealt with emotions like this in the past, but this time, it’s more intense. God damn hormones and pregnancy.

  “Why don’t you try some tapping,” Joe coaxes.

  “I don’t need therapy right now,” I bark, officially getting angry for some odd reason.

  “Emma, beautiful,” Joe calls, trying to calm me.

  “No,” I return. “I don’t need tapping right now. I just need to be left alone.” Slamming the bathroom door behind me, I slump to the floor with my back against the vanity. My head rests against my forearms as they’re draped across my bent knees. Tears pour down my cheeks as Sadie tries to comfort me with her nose, pushing up at the bottom of my arms to let herself in for a hug.

  Why did I snap at Joe? He didn’t do anything. No — I know why. I’m taking it out on him for my own embarrassment. I’m not embarrassed by what Jimmy or anyone else was saying, I’m embarrassed at the fact that I told Joe no when he asked me to marry him and that everyone knows it. Anna had confirmed it for me a while back. I had to practically pry the answers from her, but she cracked. I wonder if I made her feel bad enough to tell me? I’m not upset that everyone was talking about me — about Joe — about us. I’m upset that I don’t have the courage to tell Joe that I messed up when he asked me — if he’d only ask me again, I know I wouldn’t feel this way.

  “Emma?” Joe’s voice calls lovingly. His hands gently caress my head.

  “What?” I sniff.

  “Beautiful,” he coaxes.

  “No,” I challenge. “I’m a mess.”

  “I still love you,” he states.

  “That’s not fair,” I say.

  “How so?”

  “It’s . . . it’s just not,” I reply, unable to think of any logic at the moment.

  “Emma, please,” Joe says soothingly. “Please, beautiful, look at me.”

  My head shakes gently in protest.

  “You’re beautiful no matter what to me,” he professes.

  “Shut up,” I whine.

  “Well,” Joe sighs. “We’ve got another first taken off our list.”

  “What?” I question as my head snaps up to look at him.

  “There you are, beautiful,” he comments, leaning in and kissing my forehead.

  “What do you mean another first?” I check.

  “Technically, this was our first fight,” Joe shares.

  “No,” I argue. “We’ve had other fights.”

  “When?”

  “I . . . .” my voice cracks as my brain flips through all of the events I can remember.

  Is this seriously our first fight? It’ can’t be. We’ve fought about things — haven’t we? My head hurts as I desperately try to find an example. Each time I think I have one, I realize that they weren’t fights. If there was anything, it was me just not talking or avoiding. Shit. God damn it. He’s right.

  “Fuck,” I sigh. “Sorry.”

  “For what?” Joe laughs.

  “For cursing in front of you and the baby, and for arguing.”

  “You don’t need to apologize, Emma,” Joe comments. “It was bound to happen.”

  “What was? Me cursing?”

  “No,” Joe laughs. “Our first fight.”

  “What the fuck is it all about?” I ask.

  “I’m not actually sure,” Joe answers with a smile. “I think it had something to do with marriage.”

  I roll my eyes, realizing that it’s all because of me.

  “Yep,” Joe says smugly. “Definitely that.”

  “How are you sure?” I ask.

  “You rolled your eyes,” Joe declares.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Whenever you’re mad about something and don’t want to say anything, you roll your eyes,” Joe mentions with a chuckle.

  “No, I don’t,” I challenge.

  “Yes, you do,” Joe laughs. “You just did it again.”

  “No,” I counter.

  “Does it bother you?”

  “What?”

  “That everyone knows that I asked you to marry me and you said no?” he checks.

  Heat surfaces in my cheeks. “No.”

  Joe smiles, but doesn’t say anything.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What?” I press.

  “You paused,” Joe says.

  “So?”

  “So, when you pause, it means you’re trying to omit something,” Joe comments.

  “You mean me specifically or people in general?”

  “You,” Joe answers.

  “I pause when I’m thinking,” I challenge.

  “There was nothing to think about,” Joe replies.

  My mouth opens to rebut, but nothing, not even a sound comes out. Some mild irritation starts to boil inside me due to the smugness on Joe’s face.

  “Come on,” Joe coaxes. “Time for be
d.” He holds out his hands to offer assistance after he stands.

  I stare at him blankly.

  “What?” he asks with his grin widening.

  My eyes narrow. “You know what.”

  “No . . . I don’t,” he returns.

  “Unless you want to have a second fight tonight . . . don’t,” I press.

  “Sure thing, beautiful,” Joe says, kissing my temple as he pulls me into him after I stand.

  “Stop it,” I command.

  “Stop what?” he checks, still smiling.

  “You know what,” I challenge. “Your smile says you know.”

  Joe starts to laugh, but quickly curbs it when he notices my lack of amusement. “Come on,” he coaxes, pulling me back into the bedroom.

  “No,” I argue.

  “Why? I thought we’d moved past this?” he comments.

  “We have,” I confirm. “But, I need a shower or bath to relax.”

  “Want some company?” Joe ponders, raising an eyebrow.

  “I’ve got some,” I tease rubbing my belly.

  “He doesn’t count for what I have in mind,” Joe says slyly.

  “You always turn everything into sex, don’t you?”

  “I’m a guy,” Joe returns, shrugging his shoulders. “Besides, you like the fact that you turn me on as much as you do.”

  “No, I don’t,” I object teasingly.

  “Yes, you do,” Joe debates, pinning me to the wall. “You like it. Admit it.”

  “No,” I challenge with a smirk.

  “I’ll spank you for lying,” Joe declares.

  “I’m not lying,” I challenge.

  “Now I know you want to be spanked,” he says with a laugh.

  “Maybe,” I reply.

  “Definitely,” Joe confirms, grabbing my ass.

  I trap my bottom lip between my teeth, not wanting to reveal my smile that is growing, but Joe and I both know where this little banter is leading. “Make up sex?” I inquire.

  “Yep,” Joe confirms with a grin.

  “Another first,” I share.

  “Another first,” Joe repeats.

  One Hundred Forty One

  A few days later, Joe and I head back to New York and New Jersey with the Nelsons and his parents for several reasons. Mr. and Mrs. Nelson are finalizing the details with their home. We need to sign off on the documents for the buyer who’s purchasing our joining properties. Also, there are a few things I’ll be going over with Mr. Steinburger in regards to my parents’ will.

  Brenda and Gwen, our midwife and doula, travel with us so we all can become a little better acquainted and for them to become familiar with the second home Joe has purchased for the two of us for our New York visits. Joe wants to have our own place here just in case, for some odd reason, I give birth on the East Coast — like hell I will.

  There’s minimal furniture in the two-story penthouse since Joe just closed on it while we were in California. He had movers take his things from the old condo where he lived with Jimmy and Allen, and move them over to the place so we’d at least have some things and a bed while we decide on how we want to decorate. I try to avoid the topic, not really wanting to be bothered by the idea of the new place since I don’t really see myself staying there much. New York isn’t home — and, I don’t want it to be for some reason.

  “Emma,” Joe coaxes with a little sternness this time.

  “I told you,” I reply. “I don’t care what you want to put in your place. Have Anna help you, she’d love it.”

  “Our place,” he reminds.

  I huff.

  “If you don’t like it, we can find another one,” he offers.

  “Honey, it’s fine,” I soothe unconvincingly.

  “No, it’s not,” he challenges. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say, brushing it off.

  “Emma,” he presses.

  “I’m glad you like the place. Like I said, you pick what you want,” I encourage. “Ive got to focus on the papers here, so that way I don’t have to make another trip back to handle all this investment stuff.”

  “So, that’s what it is,” Joe comments.

  “What?”

  Joe takes the papers from me as I object.

  “No place here will feel like home, will it?” Joe poses. “Even if Joe Jr. and I are here?”

  I look at him carefully, trying to decide how I want to answer. “You and the baby, yes. The place . . . no,” I say honestly. “It . . . New York . . . doesn’t feel like home. I can’t picture myself . . . us . . . the baby here.”

  “Do you think that there are some triggered emotions?” Joe checks.

  “No,” I say sternly.

  Joe looks at me questioningly.

  “Maybe,” I add.

  Joe smiles and nods. “I can work with Anna, Brenda and Gwen about baby proofing the place and taking care of what needs to be done here. If you want to add or change anything at any point, let me know. Okay?”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, beautiful,” he soothes. “Really. Focus on what makes you feel good. I can handle this.”

  “Thank you,” I reply.

  “Does this mean I’m taking care of the new house in Pasadena too when we pick one?” he checks with a smirk.

  “No,” I challenge. “Definitely not.”

  “Okay,” he states, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just checking.”

  Joe and I study each other for a few moments.

  “I’m glad we have Brenda and Gwen,” Joe shares.

  “Me too,” I say with a smile.

  “I love you,” Joe states, leaning in for a kiss.

  My lips connect with his. “I love you.”

  Joe stays quiet, laying his head in my lap as I shuffle papers back and forth as my brain begins to connect the dots for one of the companies that my father had purchased a good deal of stocks. There’s got to be a typo with the financials I pulled up on the company.

  “What’s wrong?” Joe asks after some time, breaking the silence.

  “I’m not sure,” I return. “I’ve never seen this before.”

  “Seen what before?” Joe asks, shifting to a sitting position.

  “This,” I say, handing him the documents. “These are the financials for the Hammer Corporation for the past ten years.”

  “What about them?” Joe inquires.

  “Look,” I say, taking the papers from him and laying them out by fiscal year. “These years . . .” I explain, pointing to three different years, “. . . it’s like they suddenly switch the way in which they were doing their reporting.”

  “What?” Joe asks, sounding concerned.

  “Here,” I repeat, showing him the difference. “They completely shift what format they’re using every few years with the balance sheets . . . almost like they were trying to cover up a huge influx of cash . . . or hide significant losses. There are inconsistencies between the balance sheets, income statements and financial statements.”

  Joe’s expression changes dramatically.

  I’ve seen business Joe before, but not like this.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, confused by the look in his eyes.

  “Nothing,” he says. “You’re right, though.”

  I know he’s not telling me something.

  “What aren’t you saying?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” he repeats.

  “Joseph?” I push.

  “What were you planning on doing with the shares you have?” he says suddenly.

  “There’s no way I can comfortably or confidently keep stock in the company,” I state. “Aside from this challenge, they’ve also been listed as having been fined for hazardous environmental dumping over the past several years.”

  “What?” Joe says with disbelief and concern. He takes all of the papers and starts scanning them rapidly.

  “Joe?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Joe?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Joseph,” I
say sternly.

  “Yes,” he returns, glancing up at me and then back at the documents.

  “Tell me,” I demand.

  “What?” he tries to deny.

  “Don’t,” I challenge, taking a deep breath.. “Don’t. Talk to me, Joseph.”

  Pain, anger and several other emotions are seen in Joe’s eyes, but those emotions aren’t directed at me. “This is Mr. Ward’s company. Abigail’s father.”

  “What?” I gasp in shock.

  “Mr. Ward’s business,” Joe states. “Well, one of them.”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “No,” Joe replies, eerily calm.

  I sit, stunned by the whirlwind of thoughts coming into my head.

  “How many shares did you father purchase?” Joe asks.

  “Umm,” I breathe out, searching for the folder to verify. “It looks like he bought different chunks over the span of several years in the beginning and that as the stock gained in value, there was either a doubling or several splits of the stocks. Why?”

  “Roughly, how many did he buy? Overall? And, did he buy when the company first went public?”

  I do the figures in my head. “It looks like he bought an initial fifty thousand shares before the company went public which doubled as soon as they hit the market, and then split several more times. And,” I begin, checking to make sure I’m reading it correctly, “It looks like he purchased another twenty thousand overall, each time buying up chunks when the stock dipped.”

  “How many shares total with all the splitting and doubling of the stocks?”

  I check my notes. “just under two million shares. Why?”

  “I’ll call dad in the morning to verify all of this,” Joe presents, avoiding my question.

  “Joe?”

  “He’ll be able to confirm if these documents are accurate,” he adds.

  “Joe? What aren’t you telling me?” I press.

  “I’m not sure,” he admits. “But, if what you’ve found is accurate . . . it’s not good. Not good at all.”

  “Not good? As in, for who?”

  “For all of the shareholders,” Joe reveals. “And, for Mr. Ward.”