by S. J. Bishop
“Usually, I go,” said Sarah, slowly. “Unless it’s a last minute trip. Because I didn’t plan this one, I’m not sure who she’s meeting with in Spain…”
That was all I needed to hear. Rage began to boil low in my gut. I watched Andrew try not to take a step back. I’m a big guy, and I learned young that I gotta control rage. Channel it into something productive, like hauling ass down the field with a football. But right now, I was really angry. I needed to leave, or take a walk and cool off before I called Yvette and demanded to know what the FUCK was going on.
“Well,” I said. “You two have a good time.” And I turned and left.
13
Sarah
“What was he congratulating me for? Are we engaged, and I don’t know about it?” Andrew joked. He tossed back the last of his Macallan and set his glass down on a passing server’s tray.
I tried to keep my eyes on the painting in front of me, but in my panic, the colors blurred and swirled, no image forming.
“I like this one,” I said, gesturing vaguely at the painting. “Where did he paint this one?” I knew, of course. I had been a French minor, and I had taken a few art history classes, so I knew all about Vincent Van Gogh’s stay at Saint-Remy, a mental hospital in the South of France, where he’d painted most of his olive trees. But Andrew loved to talk, and I figured this might distract him. I wasn’t ready to tell him about the baby. Not here. Not now.
“Are you listening to me, babe?” asked Andrew, his warm hand pressing against the small of my back, drawing my attention away from the oily swirls of paint. “What was he congratulating me on?”
I took a deep breath, meeting Andrew’s dark brown gaze. I knew that look: jaw set, eyes intent, and lips firm. He wasn’t going to give up on this. I took a glimpse around the exhibit. There were too many people in here. And I just couldn’t predict how Andrew was going to take the news. He’d been so lovely since we’d gotten back together. It had been like the old days: casual and sweet and occasionally intense. Andrew was working a lot, but when he wasn’t working, he was taking me out again, rekindling what we’d had in college – all those things I’d missed so much when we weren’t together. I doubted he’d be thrilled, but I hoped he’d be supportive.
“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” I said, looping my arm through his and steering him out into the hall. There were a lot less people in the hall, and I suddenly wasn’t so sure that I didn’t want a witness or two. The atrium, where the bar was. Enough people so that a small scene might go unnoticed. Hopefully, it wouldn’t matter.
When we got back to the atrium, where we’d last encountered Burke (poor Burke – Yvette was definitely in Spain to see Luis, but I’d think about that later), Andrew unlooped his arm through mine and turned to face me. He looked mildly irritated. “Enough,” he said. “What do you need to tell me?”
I took a deep breath. “Andrew…” I stopped. I didn’t know how to say this. I suddenly wanted a glass of wine really badly, and I must have looked around out of habit because Andrew turned and, a moment later, had snagged a glass of sparkling white from a passing waiter’s tray.
“Here.” He handed it to me.
I stared at the glass longingly. Then back at Andrew. Then I handed the wine back to him. Bemused, Andrew took it and took a sip – obviously thinking I meant to share. When he tried to hand it back, I shook my head.
“Andrew. Almost three months ago. Not a week before we went out on that date…”
Andrew’s eyes had narrowed on the wine glass, and I swear he’d lost just a bit of color.
“I slept with someone…”
Andrew’s hand dropped from my arm to his side.
“I found out when I was in Germany. I’m pregnant.” Oh God! That was it! No going back now.
Andrew stared at me as if he hadn’t comprehended what I was saying. His handsome face was frozen in a look of blank disbelief. Then he blinked.
“Andrew…” I reached out, but he took a step back, bumping into a woman behind him.
“You’re pregnant,” he repeated.
I nodded.
“With another man’s child.”
“It was before we got back together…”
“Well, whose is it?” His voice was just a bit louder, and I stepped close, trying to keep the conversation semi-private, but he stepped back again, putting space between us. My stomach dropped, pain welling up.
“Andrew, please…” I felt my voice crack, and my eyes began stinging. Oh God. I would not cry!
“Whose!?” His voice rose, and I saw a few people glance our way.
“Andrew – that doesn’t matter…”
“It sure as hell matters to me!”
My eyes began to sting with the promise of tears. “Please!” I said. I didn’t want to cry in public. I didn’t want a scene. “Can we go somewhere else?”
“Oh no! You dragged me out here. Go ahead, Sarah! Tell me everything.” He was furious, his face reddening and the pulse jumping madly above his shirt collar.
“Please, Andrew, let’s go outside…”
“I can’t believe you!” Andrew’s voice was near to yelling, loud enough that several people began turning our way to see what the commotion was. Oh God. We were making a scene! Andrew whirled and stormed off toward the door. I hurried, all but chasing after him, people parting to let us through. Just at the exit, I reached for his arm, clasping his jacket and wrapping my fingers about his bicep. He jerked away with a sudden and violent twist, knocking into two patrons who cried out. I stumbled on my heels and had to work to keep my balance.
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” he snarled. “After all I’ve been doing to make us work…” He was shouting, and he took a menacing step forward.
“Hold on, kids. What’s this about?” A wall appeared between the two of us suddenly, cutting Andrew off from my sight. I stared up at the broad shoulders and tight, blond, fishtailed braid of Burke Tyler.
He rocked suddenly, shoved aside by Andrew and clearly not anticipating it.
“None of your business, Tyler. Back off,” snarled Andrew. “You’re a worthless slut, Sarah. How could you do this to me?”
Burke regained his balance and stepped back in, knocking Andrew away with his chest, his hands out in a defensive gesture.
“Listen, Sullivan,” said Burke, his voice low and tight. “Maybe you need to go outside to cool off…”
“Fucking mind your business,” said Andrew, pushing Burke with a sudden, violent heave. But Burke must have been waiting for it. He didn’t move an inch, but his hands rose quickly and, too fast for me to see the motion, pushed Andrew back. He stumbled back, surprise on his face, and it was all he could do to keep his feet.
I’d never seen Andrew look that vicious. His eyes seemed to spark, and something in him snapped. He lunged forward, punching out at Burke with an angry, practiced front jab. But Burke dodged it easily, his own hand coming up and landing a quick return blow, right in the side of Andrew’s jaw. Andrew slammed against the wall, and I caught my breath on a gasp.
Burke had pulled the punch; I knew it. If he’d hit Andrew full force, Andrew would be on the ground.
Andrew blinked a stunned moment, his hand going up to his jaw, working it. He stared at me past Burke, his eyes full of loathing.
“You’re not fucking worth it,” he said to me, his voice cold. “You’re not the girl I thought you were.”
His words were arrows slamming into my chest. I felt breathless. No, I felt devastated. Like my whole future had just come crashing down about my ears. I could only watch as Andrew whirled and stormed off past two security guards who’d been called to break up the fight.
“Come on,” said Burke, who was standing close. I couldn’t even focus on him. I was staring off after Andrew. Come back, I begged. Come back and apologize. Tell me it’s all going to be okay!
“Sarah, let’s go before security questions us. I’ll get you out of here, okay?”
I realized I was cryin
g. That tears were streaming down my face. Burke held out his hand, and I took it automatically. He drew me close, tucking me under his shoulders and steering me out the exit.
The evening was cool and almost shocking. Burke dug in his pocket and handed his keys to the valet, who ran off to find the Maserati.
“What just happened?” I asked. My mind was reeling.
“You got into a pretty public fight with your boyfriend,” Burke murmured. “Are you okay?”
“No.”
Burke pulled the silk, silver pocket square from his jacket pocket and offered it to me. I took a huge sniffle. “I don’t want to ruin it.”
“Sarah,” said Burke. “I’d rather you ruin this than get snot all over that beautiful dress.” He sounded so matter of fact that it startled a laugh from me, and I took the silver square and blew my nose into it, drying my eyes too, knowing that I was probably smearing mascara all over my face.
The driver pulled up in Burke’s Maserati and held the door open for me. I climbed in and immediately curled up on the seat. Grief and anguish, sharp enough to be physically painful, burned through me. I’d lost Andrew for good back there. There was no coming back from a moment like that.
Beside me, Burke was silent, waiting while I programmed my address into his GPS. As he drove, the silence continued until Burke broke it. “He didn’t know, then?”
“That I was pregnant? No.”
“What a fucking asshole,” Burke swore.
“Agreed,” I said, dabbing at my eyes some more. “I didn’t know he’d freak out like that…”
Burke frowned, his lips pressed flat as if he were physically restraining himself from commenting.
As we pulled up in front of my apartment, Burke took a deep breath. “Let me come up with you. I feel responsible. I’m the one who probably tipped him off. I just want to see you in and make sure everything’s okay.”
“You don’t have to…”
Burke smiled, but it didn’t meet his eyes. He looked distracted and slightly pained. “To be honest, I need the company. I’m a bit thrown off myself this evening, and the thought of going home to be alone doesn’t appeal that much. I won’t stay long.”
I nodded. I didn’t want to be alone either.
Burke parked a block up, and we walked back to my apartment together. Thankfully, Roz was staying at her boyfriend’s that evening. I left Burke in our small living room while I went to wash my face and change out of my dress.
“I’d offer you a change of clothes,” I said as I came out from the bathroom, dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts, “but I don’t have anything your size.”
Burke was sitting on the couch, his massive frame making the small, white, fabric couch look tiny. He’d taken off his jacket and tie and was in his silk shirt with his sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular forearms and the black ravens that made up the bottom of his ¾ sleeve. I knew I’d just had my heart broken, but I couldn’t help myself. My pulse pounded hard in my ears, and my mouth watered. He looked delicious.
Burke smiled at me. “It’s all right. I know you can’t drink, but I need a beer.” He stood. “Can I help myself to your fridge?”
“Sure.” Roz kept a lot of nice beer on hand. But Burke came back with a Sam Adams and resumed his seat on the couch. I sat down in the chair next to him.
“Some night,” I said.
“What are these?” Burk was pointing to a stack of glossy photographs that was sitting on our small wooden coffee table.
“Oh,” I said when he picked them up. They were from Germany. Photos of the fairy-tale spires of the Neuchwanstein castle and the crystalline blue Lake Constance. “They’re for my blog…” I always print my photos out first. I like to lay them out and see which ones might look better next to each other. It saves me time fumbling around online.
“That’s right; you have a blog,” murmured Burke, lingering over one photo in particular. I felt myself flush. I knew which photo it was. It was an artsy shot I’d taken of myself, with half my face hidden by the lacy curtains in our hotel, overlooking the lake.
“Yes,” I said, and because I was embarrassed, still hurt, and slightly flustered to have Burke Tyler in my apartment, I told him the whole story. About my conversation with Roz, and about law school and what she’d said. About my blog and how much traffic I got and how I might monetize it.
Somewhere in my ramble, Burke set the photos down and listened. He braced his elbows on his knee and leaned forward as if I were the only girl in the world. Part of me hurt even more. I had just lost Andrew, and here was Burke, a man I wanted but would never have.
When I finished, he just nodded. “I think your friend is right.”
“You do?”
“Oh yah. And I know I shouldn’t say so, because I don’t know you as well as she does, but she’s right about law school. And these…” he touched light fingertips to my stack of photos. “If your writing is anywhere near as adept as your photography, I bet your blog is fantastic.”
I blushed again.
“I’m sorry about Andrew, Sarah,” said Burke, and he looked sorry. “Does that change your mind about the baby?”
I took a deep breath. No. I was going to have this baby. I’d decided even before I told Andrew, I think. And while I was devastated over his reaction, I didn’t need him. I can do this.”
Burke beamed when I shook my head. “That’s just great,” he said. He reached out and placed a warm hand on my bare knee. Electricity sizzled where his hand rested, and I watched as he eyed his hand a moment before saying, “My sister Elise is a single mom. It’s a lot of work, but her kid is her world. He’s really great. If you need any advice, I can tell you what I know, or I can hook you two up…” He removed his hand, and I felt cold.
“Honestly,” I said, “I don’t know the first thing about what to do. I was hoping Andrew and I could have figured it out together…” I trailed off. I could feel another bout of tears coming on, and I really didn’t feel like crying any more over Andrew.
“There are tons of resources out there for you. Do you have a baby registry yet?”
I stared at him blankly.
Burke slapped a hand against his forehead. “Sarah. That’s step one. And that’s the fun step.”
“Why do you register for a baby?”
“You register for baby things… Oh, dear God.” He tipped the Sam back, finishing the last of the beer. Then he set it down and seemed to make a decision. “I’ll take you,” he said. “Tomorrow. I’ll give you a lift over to Dedham. They have a Babies-R-Us and a few other children’s stores. I’ve been to so many of these stupid things with my sisters…”
I blinked at him. Was six-foot-seven, millionaire, franchise tight end, and all-around party-boy Burke Tyler offering to take me shopping for my (our!) baby? Suddenly, I felt giddy. So giddy that I giggled.
Burke frowned at me. “Well if you’re going to laugh about it…”
“I’d love that,” I said quickly. “I’d really, really like that, actually. You don’t mind?”
“No. I have off tomorrow afternoon. I’ll pick you up at one?”
He stood and grabbed his jacket. Was he leaving so soon? I wanted to get him to stay. I wasn’t quite ready to be alone yet, but he seemed a bit embarrassed, and I didn’t want to seem pathetic.
“I can offer you another beer…” I tried.
“Nah. I have practice tomorrow. Weights and shit. And I gotta see the trainer. I have to get some sleep.” He moved to the door but stopped once he got there, turning back. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow, okay? Here at one.”
“Okay,” I said, but by the time I’d gotten up, he was out the door.
I stared at the door for a moment, trying not to get too excited about his offer. But that he cared was so obvious. He’d stepped in between me and Andrew. He’d driven me home. He was going to take me shopping for baby stuff tomorrow. And I was going to tell him. I was going to tell him that it was his.
14
/> Burke
It took me fucking ages to get to sleep. Sarah’s place had been a good distraction, but the moment I was outta there, my mind had gone straight back to Yvette. I knew she was with Luis. Part of me just knew it. And it was taking all my willpower not to blow up her phone with texts and phone calls, demanding to know what she was doing…
Burke Tyler wasn’t a jealous guy. And he was certainly not desperate.
But I hated feeling like I didn’t have control. I had control of fucking everything. I was a master of control on the field. I controlled the image the public saw. And not since college had I dated a girl who didn’t want me.
What the fuck was wrong with Yvette?
When I finally got to sleep, I dreamed I was playing football without pads, and when I woke up, it was because my phone was ringing loudly and insistently.
At first I thought it was my alarm, but the clock read 6 a.m., and my alarm didn’t go off for another half hour. It was my agent.
“Yo, Jack,” I said by way of greeting. “It’s early, man.”
“Bit of a PR issue, Mr. Tyler,” said my agent on the other end of the phone. Jack was a consummate professional. Dude was in his sixties and called all of his clients “Mr.”
“What’s the issue?” Besides my girlfriend secretly cavorting around Spain with her ex-boyfriend.
“Apparently, you were photographed last night, getting into your car with an attractive brunette who is not Ms. Yvette Delacroix.”
Well, fuck.
“It’s no big deal.” I said. “It’s Yvette’s assistant, Sarah,” I said. “Any journalist can look back at all the pictures of Yvette and I. Sarah’s probably in half of them. Why is this an issue?”
“Your arm is around her,” said Jack, practically. “And Ms. Delacroix is nowhere to be found in that picture. It may have been innocent, but these things happen all the time, Mr. Tyler. Jude Law or Gavin Rossdales and their nannies. Heidi Klum and her bodyguard…”