by Rose Hudson
“Stone.” For the first time since leaving the hospital, he looks at me as we come to a red light mere blocks from my apartment. I can tell he’s far from an emotional man, but there are many in the depths of his eyes now. “Thank you for bringing me and staying despite our conversation earlier.”
“Do we need to go pick up your prescription?”
I press my lips together, understanding that this is his deferral technique.
“The pharmacy will deliver.” I turn slightly toward the passenger door, physically and emotionally tapped out for the day. I get it. I really do. We all have things we don’t want to talk about and ways that we deal with things. But Stone seems to have more than the average. He’s closed off and I’m unable to penetrate that barrier to delve deeper into who he is. I think he’d sit and listen to me talk about myself or whatever else I could come up with, but asking him questions and getting him to talk about himself is out of the question.
Yet, he’s here, taking me back and forth from the emergency room and walking me up to my apartment. There’s a part of me that knows that’s just the right thing to do, but the bigger part of me says this is just Stone. I’m learning through his actions because God knows I’m not getting to know him through words.
I unlock my door, Stone’s hand having stayed on the small of my back from the time he helped me out of his truck till now. My skin itches to shake him off or pull him in, I’m not sure which. Because I’m so inside-out that all I want to do is lay down and let my head shut off completely.
“Where do you want to lay? Couch or bed?”
“It’s fine. Really, I’ve got it from here.”
He ignores me, moving to situate the pillows on the couch before I lay down across it. When I do, he pulls the throw from the back and drapes it over me. He disappears around the couch toward the kitchen, coming back with a bottle of water, setting it on the coffee table in front of me.
“Anything else you need right now?”
“Are you missing work?” He glares at me. “Still?”
“We start a different, smaller job tomorrow. I’ll split my crew to finish up the other job when my permits get reinstated.”
I consider my next words, having figured out how private Stone is and wondering if I’ll cross some sort of boundary with him by asking.
“Why is Cameron coming after you so hard? It’s obvious this is about something other than the incident with Rush.” I pull my sweatshirt over my head, sweat and emergency room feeling dirty on my skin.
“Do you have a bath or shower?”
I cock an eyebrow at him.
“Both. Why?”
He doesn’t answer, just turns to go into my bedroom and bathroom. When he comes back and stalks toward me with intent, I’m confused as he picks me up from the couch, carrying me into my bedroom.
“Stone, what the hell?” When he sets me on the counter of my vanity, it’s impossible not to remember the hotel. Or the desk. Or that entire weekend. He reaches for the air cast, undoing the straps and easing it from my foot. “Stone,” I demand. He hesitates and looks up at me.
“You’ve been for a jog and sat in a fucking emergency room all morning.” He walks to the bathtub and turns on the water, running his hands under the flow, testing the temperature. “So, are you going to let me help you, or are you going to fight me?”
“I’m quite capable of bathing myself.”
“And what? Take the chance of slipping in the shower or not being able to get yourself out of the tub and turning a minor injury into a serious one?”
The look on his face borders on murderous and I’m not sure if it’s his genuine need to help or the fact that I won’t let him that’s boiling his blood. I’ve learned enough about him to know that he doesn’t back down, he doesn’t lose. So, I find myself relenting before I even open my mouth.
“Fine.” I toss back as much attitude as he dishes out, pulling my shirt over my head and removing my sports bra before he even has time to move. He stands stock still, eyes dropping near imperceptibility to my chest before stepping over to me. His eyes stay glued to mine as he eases me from the counter.
“Keep your weight on your good ankle.” His hands find the waistband of my joggers and push them and my panties down my hips slowly, following them down until he’s kneeling before me. He removes one leg and then the other, eyes coming up to meet mine as I watch his every movement, captivated and hating myself for it.
He lifts me into his arms and carries me over to the tub, easing me over the side and into the water with slow and careful attention. He checks the water temperature again, adjusting to add more heat.
I can feel the question, him wondering if he should stay or give me privacy. He stands up straight, eyes roaming my body before settling on mine, I’m sure reflecting the conflict of questions and emotions I feel. Without a word, he turns, taking three steps toward the doorway.
“Wait.” I flinch at the sound of my voice. He stops and turns his head back to look at me. I swallow thickly. “Stay.” My voice cracks slightly. “We don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but stay. Please,” I repeat my request, forcing my voice to reflect the confidence I don’t have right now.
He turns completely, seemingly reasoning with himself, or me, or the universe for all I know. He moves to sit on the vanity stool beside the tub, elbows going to his knees and fingers intertwining.
“For the record, I like talking to you.”
He looks up from his hands to meet my gaze.
“I’m just not always the best at answering questions.” I hide the surprise that tries to creep onto my face and try my hand at nonchalance for a change.
“Okay. So, I won’t ask any.” He smirks at me. “What? I’m completely capable of talking about nothing.” His smirk morphs into a full-toothed smile and I’d never admit it to him or anyone else, but my heart stops beating for an entire, beautiful minute.
And all I can think is, God help me, but I’m in trouble.
I FEEL LIKE A RUNDOWN college student today. Not that I was ever ‘ran-down’ since I was a total nerd and loved studying law, but that’s not the point. I feel like I spent all last night cramming for some exam; little sleep, woke with my face stuck to the pages of a book with drool seeping from the corner of my mouth. Who knew learning about babies and how to keep them alive could be so draining?
Diane even noticed when I came dragging my ass into work this morning, bringing me a fresh cup of coffee and a pat on the shoulder. Weird. I always get my own coffee, of course. So, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sniff it for arsenic before finally giving in and drinking it. Sure, I drank two cups before I ever walked through the office door, but who’s counting when it comes to coffee?
But it wasn’t the coffee that woke me up. The name Kelli Richards scrawled across a missed call note in Diane’s handwriting was enough all by itself to get my blood pumping.
“This is Kelli,” she answers her extension and I smile at the phone.
“Hey, it’s Lydia. Had a note to call you.”
“Yeah, hold on just a sec.”
I hear her heels echo off the floor, then quiet as a door closes. “You were right. Another report landed on my desk this morning involving the name you texted me and some structure over on South Wacker Drive. I checked the report today and the one from the other day, both initiated from the office of Joseph Cameron. They were sent directly from the mayor, so it’s pretty clear it was done as a favor.”
“I knew it. I freaking knew it. You’re a life saver.”
“Still on for drinks next Friday?”
“You bet your ass. I’m buying.”
“How could I say no to that? See you then. I’ll text you the address.”
“See you then.”
Of all the things a senator must deal with, why would he be so intent on screwing someone like Stone over? To the point, he’d shut down his businesses? None of it makes sense. We have a few resources at our disposal for gathering i
nformation for clients while building a case, but I highly doubt I’ll be able to find any traces of corruption on Cameron. I wonder if Stone even knows that it’s Cameron who’s behind this?
I know none of this is my business, but if I felt this wasn’t connected to Rush’s case, I wouldn’t be so curious about it. I’m just determined to gather all pertinent information, to present the best defense for my client. Right? Just because Stone’s a total dick and we are so not ever hooking up again, doesn’t mean that I can’t be concerned. Right?
Tired of fighting with myself, and curiosity winning out as it always does, I text Rush.
Lydia: When you told me that Stone was going to ‘fix this’, what did you mean?
After five minutes of silence, I text again.
Lydia: You can trust me, Rush. I just want to help.
Rush: Cameron wants him to fight, said they would drop the charges against me.
Lydia: Then what’s the problem?
Rush: Stone got out of the underground, hasn’t fought in a year. I told him he wasn’t getting back into it, doing Cameron’s dirty deeds just to save my ass.
The bubbles indicating he’s typing start and stop several times before his words finally come through.
Rush: But he’s hard headed.
Lydia: But why Stone? Can’t he find someone else? And I just can’t figure out why Cameron has dealings in the underground. I mean, I know corruption runs deep in politics but fighting? That just seems like small potatoes to me.
Rush: It’s a lot bigger than you think. I heard him and Thorn talking and he said Cameron wants him to fight some Russian guy, and I thought that was weird because the Cameron’s have a foreign exchange student from Russia.
I feel like I could do a cartwheel. That’s got to be something. It must be.
Lydia: Thank you. I hated to ask you, but I’ve got to have all the facts. You know?
Rush: I get it. Stone’s not a talker when it comes to this stuff.
Lydia: If you think of anything else, or you need my help, just call.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and walk to the window, looking down at the rain gathering on the streets below, people carrying on with their day because weather never gets in the way of business. Planting my forehead against the glass only serves to remind me of that first night, and I have to shuffle my stance to rid myself of the instant ache between my legs. That’s the thing about attraction and chemistry and need, they all kind of compile to create this kaleidoscope of vivid, colorful pictures that play on a reel in your mind at the wrong times.
I can think the worst of him and what he does, but I can’t take back the willing surrender of my body to his.
I tell myself that most women experience raw, primal sex like that, and if I hadn’t been so underprivileged in that area prior to my encounter with Stone, it wouldn’t have left such a mark on my brain, and especially, my body. When I replace them with new experiences, those will be old news. Surely.
I know it’s likely that I’m reasoning with myself, convincing myself that there isn’t anything wrong with it because I wasn’t raised that way. But the part of me that’s never truly accepted my parents’ views knows that it’s more my own views that dominate my thoughts.
I will always turn to my mother for advice. With every large decision comes the uncertainty and self-doubt that only a mother can sooth. Of course, up until today, it’s just been boys and law school for me. Law school wasn’t a forgone conclusion as you might think. My father’s career was never appealing to me. He worked long tedious days at the office five days a week, and still had leftover ends to tie up on the weekends at home. Trips cut short, movie nights and dinners canceled. I wish I could say that he was a dishonest cut-throat because then, I might have had more childhood memories that included him and he might have had an easier go at building such a prestigious firm. But I can’t say that. Not because he’s my dad, but because I’ve seen it with my own eyes.
There was nothing at all appealing to me about becoming an attorney until I was about fourteen and one of my friends was being beaten and raped by her stepbrother on a regular basis, and all anyone wanted to do was ignore it. That lit a fire inside of me that will never die. When she confided in me, begging me to help her because she was almost certain she needed to see a doctor and nobody would take her, I made my mother take her home with us and call her friend two streets over who was a nurse practitioner.
Her father came over, furious and saying he would press charges for kidnapping and forcible medical treatment, and a whole gaggle of charges that my father just scoffed at. Apparently, this guy didn’t know who my father was. My father scared him so damn bad by the time he was finished with him, the man left without his daughter or another word. She stayed with us a couple of days before her mother flew in from wherever she was to get her. She hugged me so tight and told me that I changed her life, that she would be okay because I was brave enough to stand up for her.
I admired my father and his work about as much as you can admire anything, but it was that statement and my mother’s direction that set me on the path I successfully completed six months ago. Six months ago, when everything in my life changed. Six months ago, when I passed the bar exam and could finally stand up for all those other Jessica’s out there… but couldn’t even stand up for my best friend—my sister.
And now I must decide if I’m strong enough to stand up for her baby. But before I do that, I need Kora Norberg’s direction like only she can give it.
Her art gallery is small in comparison to some of the massive ones Chicago has to offer, but it is stunning. Like everything my mother touches, it has turned to gold in the eyes of the art community here, and maybe even elsewhere.
The smell of brightly polished wood floors, gleaming from the reflection of low hanging lights, the smell of canvas and paint that never leaves no matter how many paintings and sculptures come and go, it all meets me as I walk through the door. There is one couple looking at pieces on the far wall, but other than that, vacant. I look down at the vintage Cartier watch my mother gifted me the day I passed the bar exam.
“Five minutes till close.” I grin at Sam, my mother’s assistant, running my hand along the smooth surface of the front counter as I pass.
“God, like you have to tell me.” He winks and holds up his hands that already hold his messenger back and coat. I chuckle, turning toward the large glass windows of Mom’s office in the back. She waves me in with the phone stuck to her ear.
Sliding into one of the comfy armchairs in front of her desk, I peruse her space, smiling at how similar our taste is. It makes me feel good because there is nobody better to emulate than my mother. Her taste is impeccable. My eyes fall on her pretty face as she places the receiver back on the station.
“Selene.” When I hear her call me by my middle name, her Greek accent thick, I know she’s missed me.
She stands and I do the same, squeezing her extra tight.
“Hi, Mama.”
“Sit, sit. There’s worry in your eyes. Talk to me.”
I let go of the weighted breath in my chest as we sit back down.
“I’m going to Liz and Aston’s when I leave here, but I knew I had to talk to you before I did.”
She leans forward, her fingers intertwining her hands together atop her desk.
“So, you’ve decided?”
I nod. “It wasn’t ever really a decision, Mama. I guess I just needed to process everything, believe that this is something I can do. I didn’t really consider myself the best candidate; only child, no real experience with babies. You know, the stuff that seemed important.” I look my mother straight in the eyes and I see her understanding when tears glisten against her lashes. “Until I realized that I’m the only person that Madi would’ve wanted to do it.” She nods her head in agreement, folded hands covering her lips.
“I may be a total screw up for a while and I’m sure I’ll have some nights where I beg you to come save me, but I know thi
s baby will have a village to care for it until Madi comes back to us. And I guess I just needed you to give me your blessing.”
She stands, slowly walking around and sitting on the front of her desk, taking my hand in hers.
“You have been such a blessing to your father and I, and you have made us as proud as any parents could be. But I don’t know that I’ve ever felt more proud than I do right now. Our Madi will be fine, and she will be so happy to know that you’ve taken care of this baby in her absence.”
I stand and hug her tight.
“You will be fine and your father and I will be there every step of the way if you need us.”
“I hate to break up the cry fest in here, but this bitch has a date with tall dark and handsome.” Sam’s voice comes through the open office door. I pull back slightly and look at my mom and we can’t help but burst into laughter.
Aston and Liz still live on the Upper East side where Madison and I grew up. When the firm and Mom’s art business took off, I was graduating high school and headed straight for college, so the need for the house and neighborhood weren’t a necessity any longer. They sold my childhood home and moved into their condo near the business district, nearly eliminating their commute.
At first it was strange, but logically I knew it made sense. It’s hard not to compare my life with Madison’s because we basically lived the same one, but at the same time, our parents couldn’t be more opposite. The Eriksson’s are flashy and prefer lavish living, while my parents are more frugal and toned down. One of the reasons why my parents sold their vehicles, minus Dad’s two-seater convertible when they moved to the city. Also why, especially after Madison’s attack, my father requested I use the car service for transportation instead of the train or burdening myself with the expense of having a car in the city.
Armed with the coercion of my mother, my father agreed to let me take it tonight with the agreement I would text when I arrived and when I leave so that he would know when I was on the road. Considering how much he loves this car, I’m not entirely sure his intentions are geared more toward my safety or the car’s.