Crush

by Crystal Hubbard

  Just as Jordan was fielding a question from a Boston Sentinel reporter, a group of about forty young people crashed into the room. A twentysomething man with light brown hair and beady blue eyes scanned the crowd. “There she is!” he shouted, pointing a stiff index finger at Miranda. The group descended, knocking chairs aside as they zoomed in on her.

  “You broke his heart!” a woman shrieked.

  “If you don’t want him, give him to me!” another anonymous female voice cried.

  “Lucas is better off without you!” a man shouted.

  “You don’t deserve him!” the loudest voice declared.

  The two Herald-Star photographers began snapping photos of the verbal assault, drawing away from Miranda as she made her way to the end of the row of chairs. The angry mob closed around her. Miranda recognized a few of the faces. The stout young man with the green-tipped, spiky hair was partial to sleeping against the mailbox in front of her building. The tall black girl, whose height came from clunky, platform combat boots that laced up to her knees, liked to pace in front of Miranda’s building as though she were on a picket line. The other faces crowding and yelling at Miranda blended into one cruelly jeering organism that closed tighter and tighter around her.

  Voices assaulted her ears, flashbulbs shocked her eyes and her microcassette recorder clattered to the floor. Her former fans, the “Anti-fans” as they now called themselves, pulled at her satchel and her clothing. She stumbled, but caught the worst of her fall on her hands. From the floor she watched the waffled sole of a combat boot crush her microcassette recorder, and she was helpless as the girl in the boots stumbled backward and stomped on her foot.

  The room full of male reporters did nothing to assist Miranda, even as she screamed in pain. Her foot had crunched as though the girl had instead stepped on a bag of corn chips. She tried to stand, but her foot couldn’t bear weight. She was going down again, this time from the nauseatingly sharp pain in her foot, when a pair of strong arms caught her up at her shoulders and knees. She instinctively clung to the wide shoulders of the man whisking her through the angry crowd.

  He spoke to her, but she couldn’t understand a word he said through the continued shouting and the haze of pain clouding her brain. By the tone of his voice, it seemed that he was trying to comfort her. There was no comfort for her, she knew that. Everything her anti-fans had said was true. The misery and melancholy of the past month and a half was no less than what she deserved. Obviously, the truth about the proposal had gotten out, and it didn’t matter how. Her foot throbbed with bright, hot pain, but that pain was nothing compared to what she had done to her own heart. Pain was something she had gotten used to, so Miranda did the only thing she could. She closed her eyes and gave in to the sensation of falling.

  * * *

  No-No From Loco Yoko

  Far be it for us to say we told you so, but we told you so! Very reliable sources close to Herald-Star hottie Miranda Penney have confirmed that our very own sports siren turned down music superstar Lucas Fletcher’s oh-so-romantic proposal last month, which involved a very large rock and a very small box.

  No reason was given for Penney’s thumbs-down, but Psst! has learned that it may have to do with some unfinished funny business between Penney and hubba-hubba homerun hunk Jordan Duquette.

  Fletcher’s camp gave us a ho-hum “No comment” when asked about the proposal. Penney, too, refused comment, but Psst! has seen firsthand the ravages the bust-up has taken on Number 25. Let’s hope that Luscious Lucas is already finding comfort in the arms of lucky Number 26! Psst! has previously revealed that the front-running filly for that spot is fresh young musical wonderbabe, Tess Cullor. After a long visit to parts unknown in Europe, Fabulous Fletcher graced our side of the pond with a three-day stay in St. Louis. Let’s hope he and Tess made beautiful music!

  Lucas pounded the Herald-Star into a ball and pitched it into a tall trashcan as he shook off the rain and entered Boston’s Metro Medical Center. He had acquired the April Fool’s Day Herald-Star at the airport in New York City and had read through it just to pass the time during his short flight to Logan. Gossip reports usually amused rather than angered him, but Meg LaParosa had outdone herself with the Loco Yoko bit. The truth had finally come out, as he’d known it would, but everything else regarding him in the item was grossly false. His worry about Miranda’s condition only worsened a mood befouled by Meg’s infernal rumor mongering.

  He inquired as to what room Miranda was in, and threw a rare celebrity punch when he was told that visiting hours were over and Ms. Penney wasn’t receiving visitors. “I’m Lucas Fletcher, damn it, and I will see Ms. Penney,” he’d stated, leaving no doubt as to the strength of his determination. “Now what room is she in?”

  Deaf to the information officer’s request for an autograph, Lucas hopped into the elevator. He took a deep breath through his nose and steeled himself to do battle once more upon encountering a tall, well-built African-American man sitting in a chair outside Miranda’s room.

  “Mr. Fletcher,” the man said, offering his hand as he stood. “This is a surprise.”

  Lucas narrowed his eyes. The man was pleasant enough, and was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, rather than a security uniform. He was younger than Lucas, and had an athletic grace about him.

  Lucas took the man’s hand and gave it a fierce squeeze. “Are you Jordan Duquette?” he demanded.

  “Alec Henderson,” the man said, his right bicep flexing under his dark skin as he returned Lucas’s vicelike grip. “I’m going to be Miranda’s brother-in-law.”

  Lucas let go of his wrath and Alec’s hand. “Sorry, mate. It’s been a trying day.”

  “I understand.” Alec nodded toward the closed door behind him. “Did she call you?”

  Something deep in Lucas’s chest tightened painfully. Miranda hadn’t called him. He hadn’t spoken to her since the day she put him out of her life. “I saw the coverage of the press conference on a cable news channel at a hotel in New York City. I flew here as soon as I could. You were the one who pulled her from that mob?”

  Alec nodded. Lucas noticed a faint scratch across Alec’s forehead and bruises on his upper arms. He was sure that the mild injuries came from rescuing Miranda.

  “How did something like this happen?” Lucas asked. “Are such press conferences typically accessible to the public?”

  Alec shook his head. “Jordan was at my place the other day when I was listening to messages on my machine. Calista called, and made a vague reference to Miranda and your proposal. One look at Miranda, and even Jordan could put two and two together and come up with a way to spend Miranda’s misery on free publicity for Bats Not Bullets. Jordan and I have been friends for ten years, and he’s basically a good guy. I know he feels bad about what happened.”

  Lucas managed to suppress a skeptical glare. If Jordan was sorry, he’d hidden it well from the cameras that had shown him pointing and snickering as Miranda was being manhandled by her irate anti-fans.

  “Her foot is broken,” Alec said. “That’s the worst of it. She was a little…irritable…when she was brought here, so the doctor decided to keep her overnight for stress-related anxiety. The doctor figured she could get at least one night of sleep without your fans or the media hounding her. She hasn’t been sleeping well.”

  Neither have I, Lucas thought. Then, as a courtesy to the man who had saved Miranda and continued to protect her, he said, “May I see her?”

  Alec stepped aside, and pushed the door open for Lucas.

  The room was dim, illuminated only by a wash of brightness from the blinding halogen lamps on the roof of the parking garage in Miranda’s view. Half of the room was dark, the other bed unoccupied. Lucas gravitated toward that half as he neared her. The head of her bed was elevated, and her face was toward the rain-streaked windows. Her body looked so thin and rigid clothed in the flimsy hospital gown, while her right foot was immobilized in a cumbersome cast and brace that reached up to her knee.
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  The room was cool, as though the hospital had a rule that the inside and outside temperatures had to be the same. Lucas’s grey ribbed sweater was damp with rain, and the chilly room made him shiver.

  It was the scent of rain on the cool air that aroused Miranda. It refreshed and relaxed her after her hellish day. A seam of lightening parted the night sky and brought a shadow into the fringe of her peripheral vision. She turned her head and saw that her sense of comfort and security came not from the spring rain, but from Lucas. She meant to say his name, but managed only a sharp intake of breath.

  “I wanted to see for myself that you were all right,” he said.

  Miranda’s eyes closed. Her soul had shattered the last time they had been together, and the pieces hadn’t reassembled correctly. Of all the medicines and treatments she had been given at the hospital, Lucas was the cure for what ailed her. She was glad that she was trapped in the bed, because she knew she would have collapsed in relief if she’d been standing. The dark was surely playing tricks on her, though, for his face was hard, despite the care and concern in his voice.

  “My foot is broken,” she said.

  “I know.” He stood near the foot of the bed, gripping the side rail. “I heard on the news in New York City. Mr. Henderson told me as well.”

  “My blood pressure was high, too.” To give her hands something to do, she tugged a thin blanket over herself, leaving the bulky cast exposed. “And I was having heart palpitations.”

  “Alec told me that it was diagnosed as an anxiety attack.” Lucas’s eyes moved from the tips of her exposed abused toes, up the length of her cast, and along her thigh. It was so hard to be so near her without touching her, holding her, kissing her and loving her. He abruptly stepped back into the darkness. “Well, as long as you’ll recover.”

  “You have to go?” Miranda sat up straighter. A flash of lightening revealed the anguish she’d mistaken for hardness in his face. Misery dulled the brilliance of his deep blue eyes. She clearly saw that she had no right to expect him to stay. But she needed him to.

  “I think it’s best that I leave, love,” he said.

  “Are you okay?” She knew the question was pitiful, but it was the only thing she could think of to get him to stay a while longer.

  “The days pass.” He stared at the floor. “I’m kept so busy, I scarcely have time to think of anything past who I’m talking to or what I’m doing in that moment. But I have to sleep at some point, and that is when I am plagued by you.” He raised his head and pinned her with his gaze. “I see your face. I feel your breath on my neck and your legs against mine and I hear the chime of your laugh, and damn if I’m awake just enough to know that it’s all just a dream. That none of it is real any more.”

  The words of her attackers echoed in her head, sickening her with their truth. “I saw the news this afternoon and heard the statement you gave,” Miranda said, referring to comments Lucas issued just before he boarded his private jet.

  “I’m appalled and disgusted by what happened to Miranda Penney,” Lucas had said, the wind whipping through his hair as he addressed the reporters on the tarmac of LaGuardia Airport. “If this is the caliber of fans Karmic Echo attracts, then clearly we’re doing something wrong.”

  She’d watched him board the plane, but she hadn’t known that he was bound for Boston. And just as easily, his plane would soon carry him away again.

  “The doctor said it was an anxiety attack to throw off the media,” she said. She flicked on the light above her headboard.

  The tragic beauty of her somber gaze worried Lucas. He went to her side, stopping just short of taking her hand. “Miranda…what aren’t you telling me?”

  “The heart palpitations and the blood pressure had a hormonal cause.” Her jittery hands clenched into fists. She clamped her jaw shut to keep her teeth from chattering. The Emergency Room doctor had given her the diagnosis in a calm, matter-of-fact way that contrasted directly with the impact his revelation would have on her life—once the shock wore off and she herself came around to believing it.

  “Did the doctors find something wrong?” Lucas finally took her hand.

  “Yes.” She thrust her fingers through his. “No…well…”

  “Money is no issue.” He settled his free hand on the right side of her face, his touch conveying his deep worry, concern and unflagging support. “We’ll find the best physicians in the world. Tell me. What did they find?”

  “A baby.”

  Three syllables, two words and one hell of a surprise were like a battering ram against Lucas’s chest. He literally staggered back a step. Miranda reached for him, sure that he was actually about to faint. He held onto her hands, reeling from her quiet admission.

  “A…” BABY! he finished in his head. He clapped his arms around her, startling her with his easy acceptance of what she still didn’t quite believe herself. She had been late in January, and even then her period had been exceptionally light. She had skipped February entirely, but had chalked it up to the unbelievable stress she had been enduring. She’d called her gynecologist and had scheduled an appointment. But with pregnancy tests being standard for women of childbearing age treated in the Metro Medical Center ER, the news had come to her unexpectedly.

  “I came here for a broken foot!” she had hollered upon being told that she was pregnant. “What would you people have told me if I’d broken the whole freakin’ leg?”

  Lucas—laid back, calm and constant Lucas—practically sang with giddy delight. “I suppose we should have run out for extra caps after all during our stay at Barnsley Gardens,” he chuckled. “It’s a good thing you became a writer, love, because your math is appalling. Miranda, this is wonderful,” he murmured in her ear as he embraced her.

  “I didn’t know how I was going to tell you,” she whispered.

  He roughly kissed the side of her head. “A baby,” he repeated happily. “For months now I’ve been watching Isabella grow rounder, and I’ve been so jealous of Feast that my eyes should be toxic green by now.” He drew away and framed her face in his hands. “Are you okay with this?”

  “I’m scared out of my head,” she admitted. “I never even babysat when I was young. I’m not sure I even like kids. I thought I’d be an aunt before I became a mother.” She winced. “Meu Deus, I’m going to be someone’s mother.”

  Lucas laughed. “We’ll hire as many nannies as you require to handle the nappies and the spills. You’ll be a fantastic mum, Miranda. Can’t you just see us domesticated, strolling through Conwy with a baby in a pram?”

  “Lucas,” she said hesitantly. “This baby changes a lot of things, but I still don’t want to get married. It won’t change that.”

  Just as easily as she had given him the greatest joy in his life, she had followed it with a reprisal of the agonizing blow she had delivered after Valentine’s Day.

  “You can’t seriously be considering raising our child alone,” Lucas said.

  “We can work something out. I wouldn’t keep your baby away from you, Lucas. We have seven months to think about it.”

  He backed away from her, shaking his head. “No matter what issues you have, love, you can’t make our child a victim of them. I want my baby to know that I’m her father, and that I love her mother.”

  “I can’t talk about this right now, Lucas,” she said, her voice quivery. “The doctor says I’ve been pregnant for twelve weeks, but in my mind, it’s only been four hours.” She placed her hands over her abdomen. “I still can’t believe it.”

  “Believe this, Miranda.” He covered one of her hands with his, his warmth seeping into her. “Believe that I would never do to this child what your parents did to you. You take your time and properly digest this situation. When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting for you.” He leaned over and kissed her abdomen. “And you, too,” he said softly. Without another word or even a look at her, he left the room.

  Miranda watched the door a moment longer before she turned off the l
ight and returned her gaze to the window. She hugged her middle, trying to acclimate herself to the life growing within her. The sky cried tears Miranda didn’t dare show. She didn’t deserve the release, not when her pain was of her own making.

  * * *

  Miranda stared through the thick panel of glass. The room was quieter than she had expected it to be, although she really hadn’t known what to expect. Two nurses, both wearing colorful smocks printed with teddy bears dressed as doctors, moved within the room. They recorded information on charts and gave a touch or a caress here and there. The nurses made it look so easy, and when one of them noticed Miranda and looked up, Miranda was struck by her expression. At two a.m., the nurse wore the beatific smile of a sculpted Madonna.

  No sane person was ever that happy about his or her job, so Miranda attributed the outward manifestation of the nurse’s inner peace to her charges…the twelve babies swaddled in pink or blue blankets in the clear bassinets lined up in the room.

  “May I help you?” the nurse asked, stepping past the security gate and into the corridor.

  Miranda would have made a run for it, if not for her cumbersome cast and the crutches she still couldn’t use with any real proficiency. “No, uh, I’m just looking,” she said. “I mean, I was looking at the babies.” Realizing how insane she sounded, she attempted to clarify. “I’m not shopping or anything, I was just…”

  “I know,” the nurse said with a knowing smile. She joined Miranda at the glass and looked in at the babies. “There’s something about them. They’re so little and perfect. This bunch is quiet,” she chuckled. “These are the kinds of babies that seduce the unsuspecting into wanting babies of their own.”

  “Uh huh,” Miranda said absently. She frowned, trying to see what the nurse was seeing. Where the nurse saw tiny perfection, Miranda saw still lumps of pink and blue cotton weave that looked like giant jelly beans.

  “We get lots of visitors here at the nursery,” the nurse said. “Doctors who need some sort of emotional relief after difficult surgeries, women who come in for infertility treatments. I think our most frequent visitors are patients who are afraid of babies, for one reason or another.”