LUKA (The Rhythm Series, Book 2)

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  I’d encouraged her to catch up with some of her old friends, and she’d gone overboard on planning this party, that was a cross between an English afternoon tea and a baby shower.

  My role was to smile and make the drinks. I think it was mostly about Sarah wanting her friends to know that she wasn’t just knocked up and on her own. I could understand that, but it was all fake. We were friends, sort of. We weren’t in a relationship exactly—not the kind she wanted, anyway.

  I really needed to get my shit together and decide what I was going to do. I wasn’t being fair on either of us. But her due date crept closer, and I was no nearer to knowing what the fuck I was going to do. I guess you could say I was winging it.

  Ash tried to help. When we spoke on the phone, he kept asking me what I wanted to do and even offered to move the tour date back so I could spend more time with Sarah right after the birth. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to mess up everyone else’s schedule, but he said he’d talk to Selma, the dance company’s producer/manager, and see what they could work out.

  Through all the confusion, it helped to have a friend like him. But he couldn’t make the decisions for me. God, I was such a pussy.

  I was handing out margaritas to Sarah’s friends before I left for work.

  “So you met in Chicago?” asked a loud girl whose name I’d forgotten the second after she’d been introduced to me. “Was it love at first sight? Your eyes met across a crowded room?”

  Sarah laughed.

  “Something like that. When I met him, I immediately thought, ‘Wow! Let me take off your shirt and lose the jeans while you’re at it’.”

  She turned to her friends, oblivious to my irritation as I stalked into the bedroom to grab my coat and gym bag. I’d only stayed because she wanted me to meet her friends. I was suddenly very glad I had to be at the theater.

  “I kinda seduced him. I was totally off my face, puking my guts up because I couldn’t get Luka to shag me.” She giggled. “But he was my white knight, taking me back to his hotel because I was too drunk to tell the taxi driver my address. Or at least, that’s what he thought. I knew it was my last chance. So I waited until he was asleep, then, um, got him excited, if you know what I mean. After that, it was game over. I wasn’t expecting to get pregnant—that was just a bonus. Totally worth it though,” and she stroked her growing belly.

  “You know how stupid men get when they’re faced with a pair of boobs,” she said as her voice dropped to a whisper and she giggled again. “Mine were small and perky, but that’s one thing I’ll say for being the size of a water buffalo, my boobs are huge now.” She smiled smugly at her friends. “It only took one quick flash to put Luka in the mood.”

  I frowned as she finished her story, meeting her eyes, as she gave me an embarrassed smile. Had she wanted me to hear all of that? I had no idea why she was lying about our non-existent sex life, unless it was to provoke me?

  Part of me wanted to pull her aside and yell at her, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t fucked her when she gave me the opportunity that first time.

  But it put me in a bad mood as I headed out. They were still laughing and drinking when I left, the music cranked up loud enough to annoy the neighbors. I was glad to be out of there.

  I began to feel like I didn’t know Sarah as well as I’d thought. When she was with her friends, it was like she was acting in a movie of her own life, editing the scenes the way she thought they should happen.

  I knew that she felt really insecure about everything that was happening. A large part of that was down to me, refusing to commit to a relationship, but still living in her apartment.

  I shook my head. It really wasn’t fair to either of us.

  So what the fuck was I going to do?

  I gave myself until the end of the month to make a decision one way or the other. I grimaced at the thought. Maybe I was as bad as Sarah, living in a dream world and hoping that if I ignored it, the obvious problems would go away.

  “Oi, Luka!”

  I was halfway through finishing my makeup when Ben yelled at me.

  “What?”

  “I asked if I could borrow your hair gel—I’m out.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “You’re a bit distracted, mate. Anything wrong?”

  “Just got a lot of crazy stuff going on,” I sighed.

  “Woman trouble?” he said. “I’m the master of that shit. Is your baby-mama giving you a hard time, or are you just not getting any?”

  I laughed and shook my head.

  “You can talk to me,” he said seriously. “I’m guessing the news that you’re going to be a dad was a surprise.”

  “You could say that, yeah.”

  “And your woman is giving you a hard time.”

  “Yes, no, maybe. Shit, it’s kind of fucked up.”

  “Things were pretty serious with that bloke you were seeing, weren’t they?”

  I glanced up at him, wary now.

  “Maybe.”

  “It’s not fucking brain surgery, Luka. It’s not like I’m walking around with ‘Mr. Sensitive’ tattooed on my arse, but anyone could see that you were happy with him. Now . . . you just seem miserable all the time.”

  “No, I . . .”

  “Just ‘cause you knocked up this bird, it doesn’t mean you have to marry her because that’s what she wants. That’s all I’m saying. Women have babies all the time.”

  And he slapped me on the shoulder.

  Yeah, that little pep talk helped.

  But I wondered . . . was doing the right thing wrong for everyone?

  I hated hospitals. They always made me feel sick. And British hospitals were even worse, stuffy and overheated, in ugly concrete buildings.

  Sarah was gripping my hand tightly as the technician smeared a clear gel over her stomach. I was surprised to see how round she’d become in the weeks since she’d been back in London.

  As of last night, we’d progressed to sharing a bed, but only because she said she’d had a nightmare and that she’d sleep better if I was there. We hadn’t had sex, even though I knew Sarah wanted to. I’d been delaying, making excuses, because it just felt wrong. God, I was pathetic.

  It wasn’t fair to Sarah or me. But I couldn’t be the asshole who left her to bring up my child by herself. Why couldn’t we be a couple? Sarah was a great girl, when hormones weren’t making her a raving psycho. We’d been friends for nearly two years. I loved her. As a friend. Why couldn’t I make it more? What was wrong with me?

  Seth.

  One excuse I’d given out was that I wanted to be sure it was safe for her to have sex. Sarah nearly went through the roof when I said that. She pulled up a gazillion websites on her phone insisting that it wasn’t even an issue, but I insisted nothing was happening in the bedroom until she’d been checked out. I hadn’t even let her blow me. I swear her BP jumped fifty points that day—definitely not good for her.

  Yeah, I was a fucking coward. But one who was trying to do the right thing. I just wish I knew what that was, and no one could tell me.

  I stared at the landscape of her belly, round now and not soft exactly. I was fascinated by the way she was changing. I’d never been this close to a pregnant woman before—it was an unknown land. And because she dressed in baggy sweats or long, floral skirts most of the time, she’d kept her body hidden from me. But now, in front of a prenatal technician, I could see all of her.

  I felt her fingers tighten and I looked up, meeting her worried expression.

  “You look so cute with your little potbelly,” I said honestly, hoping the compliment would make her smile.

  She huffed indignantly and dropped my hand.

  I winced, realizing I’d said the wrong thing. Again.

  The technician glanced at me, keeping his face under close control, but I swear I saw his lips twitch as he held back a smile.

  He passed the metal wand over her swollen stomach, staring intently at the computer screen in front of him, then he smiled.
>
  “The flickering you see is your baby’s heartbeat: strong and healthy. Listen.” And he turned a dial on the monitor.

  A fast, galloping beat with a strange whooshing sound came from the speakers, and my own heart lurched inside my chest.

  My child’s heartbeat. It was hard to breathe, my lungs squeezing painfully, and my eyes began to burn with tears.

  It wasn’t the first time Sarah had heard this, but it was for me. I didn’t know how to describe the storm of emotions rushing through me. I gripped her hand without thinking as my world titled on its axis.

  My child—half of me. And suddenly it seemed like the most amazing gift. I kept staring at Sarah’s belly, stunned by the miracle that had just become real to me.

  “Would you like to know the sex of your baby?” asked the technician.

  “Yes,” Sarah said immediately, her eyes glowing with excitement.

  I nodded wordlessly.

  “It’s a girl. Congratulations.”

  My daughter.

  He pressed a button, printing out a blurry image and passed it to Sarah.

  “I’ll leave you two alone for a minute.”

  It was real. Sarah was carrying my child and I was going to be a father, someone’s papa.

  I realized that my cheeks were wet with tears.

  “Are you okay?” Sarah whispered, squeezing my fingers again, then reaching up to track a single teardrop across my cheekbone and down to my chin.

  “My God! Moja hči! Our daughter!” I coughed out, my eyes flicking between her and the grainy photograph.

  “Our little miracle,” she smiled softly.

  And maybe that’s exactly what it was: a chance for me to prove to God or the world that I could do one thing right. I had a second chance.

  I leaned down and kissed Sarah on the lips.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I never thought this would be . . . I don’t know . . . but it feels happy, in here,” and I pointed at my chest.

  Her cheeks bloomed pink, and she gave me the softest, sweetest smile.

  “It’s going to be okay, isn’t it?”

  I wanted to agree, I wanted this moment to be perfect. And somehow it was, knowing our daughter was growing, healthy, a new life.

  I wanted it to be perfect with Sarah.

  Somehow, somehow, please let me make this work.

  She sighed and rested her cheek against my hand.

  “I love you, Luka.”

  “I know.”

  The technician returned a moment later with a woman who could have been a nurse or a doctor, or even the mythical midwife that we kept being told we’d see, but hadn’t yet met.

  She introduced herself as Melanie, so that didn’t help either.

  “Everything is looking good here,” she said, studying the computer images that the technician had left up for her. “Do you have any questions for me?”

  “Yes!” Sarah said, struggling to sit up as she wiped the gel from her skin. “It’s okay for us to have sex, right?”

  The woman smiled knowingly.

  “Of course. The baby is perfectly safe surrounded by the amniotic sac. You also have a thick, mucus plug that seals your cervix, and that guards against infection. Sex won’t hurt you or your baby. In fact, there’s some research that shows women who have more orgasms during pregnancy are less likely to deliver early.”

  “Oh that sounds great,” said Sarah brightly, then blushing as the doctor/nurse/midwife chuckled.

  “But I should say that you might want to avoid deep penetration, as it’s possible that might feel a little uncomfortable, especially in the later months. So if you use the doggy position,” she said, looking at my frozen face, “you might want to put a small pillow between your lower tummy and Sarah’s backside.”

  I think my eyes just about rolled out of my head. I had not expected to get a sex lesson during Sarah’s hospital appointment. And lower tummy? Really?

  Sarah was frowning slightly and nodding at everything that was said, taking it all in. Then she turned to look at me and smacked my leg.

  “I told you fucking was fine.”

  The nurse/doctor/midwife laughed as Sarah blushed and covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Oh God, sorry! My filter is completely broken.”

  “You never had one,” I muttered.

  “That’s quite alright. I’ve heard far worse during childbirth.”

  In the taxi on the way back to Sarah’s apartment, she snuggled into my side as I put my arm around her shoulders and leaned back against the leather seats.

  She smiled and stroked her stomach, a glow of happiness lighting her from the inside.

  “It feels real now, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You . . . you were crying in there.”

  I nodded, words trapped in my throat.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her blue eyes were so worried, so warm, I leaned in and kissed her on the lips.

  “I’m fine,” I breathed against her mouth. “We’re going to be fine.”

  She sagged against me and we both shed a few tears.

  “Our daughter,” she sobbed out quietly, tears running over her smiling lips.

  “Our daughter,” I murmured against her salty lips, kissing her again.

  And when we got back to the apartment, I smoked my last cigarette, then took her to bed.

  The next day I asked her to marry me.

  “YOU’RE SO FUCKING selfish!”

  Seth’s eyes blazed at me.

  “Doesn’t my sister deserve someone who’ll love her to the ends of the earth, not go along with it because you’re having a kid? She deserves to be loved for herself.”

  He’d barged into me outside the theater before my show, his eyes black with anger.

  Ben raised his eyebrows when he walked past and saw him, but wisely said nothing.

  I shrugged out of Seth’s grip, and headed across the road to the pub. I needed a couple of shots of tequila before I had this conversation.

  I stood at the bar, my back rigid with fury as I downed the two shots one after the other, then swiped the bottle of beer that was my chaser.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” I snarled

  Strong emotions swam behind his angry eyes as he glared at me.

  “I know you don’t love Sarah . . .” he began.

  “You know dick!” I hissed at him. “You come here, to where I work, start shooting your mouth off when I haven’t seen you for weeks and you couldn’t even answer a fucking text message.”

  Chagrin passed over his face, but was soon replaced with fury.

  “You can’t marry her! You don’t love her!”

  I slammed my bottle down on the bar, shoving him in the chest so he staggered back.

  “I loved her before I loved you,” I spat at him. “She’s been one of my closest friends for nearly two years. We’ve shared shit you can’t even begin to understand. So you can fuck right off. I don’t give a shit what you think.”

  My fists clenched and I was close to punching him in the head.

  A myriad of expressions flitted across his face, settling into shock and pain.

  “You . . . you loved me?”

  Shit! Had I said that?

  I took a deep breath and realized that my hands were shaking with tension.

  “I love Sarah.”

  “No, I heard you! You said . . . is it really past tense now?”

  “So what if I did love you?” I shouted at him. “You didn’t want me! You threw me away! You wanted me to live a lie. Well, fuck you! This is what it looks like. But whatever you think, I love your sister and we’re going to be a family.”

  “Luka,” he said softly. “Don’t do this. It will be a terrible mistake.”

  “What the fuck am I supposed to do? This was your idea, but now . . . I’ve heard her heartbeat, Seth. My daughter. I’m trying here. I’m really trying to . . .”

  “To what?” he gasped, his voice cracking. “To fu
ck up everyone’s lives and make them all as miserable as you? Because that’s what you’re doing.”

  I didn’t even realize that I’d hit him until I saw him lying on the floor, his lip bleeding.

  I swore in Slovene and stared down at his shocked face before I turned and left the pub, hoping no one had decided to call the police.

  Numbness filled me as I ran my hand under the cold tap in the theater’s changing rooms, washing the blood off of my knuckles.

  Ben walked in and clasped me on the shoulder. He didn’t bother to ask any stupid questions like, Are you alright?

  I was very far from alright.

  “You’d better go and get into costume, mate,” he said quietly. “Curtain up in 20 minutes.”

  “Yeah,” I murmured. “The show must go on.”

  I don’t remember much more about that night. I know I lost myself in the music, my body finding a rhythm in the dance. The movement has to connect with the audience. But sometimes, like tonight, I don’t even know what I do on stage; it’s like I black out and time rushes and I’m at the end of the show. All the work, all the rehearsals, over a hundred shows, it becomes habit.

  Two hours later, I emerged blinking under the spotlights that shone in my eyes as we took our bows at the end.

  I don’t remember showering or catching the Tube back to Sarah’s apartment.

  I do remember that I woke her up and fucked her until she screamed my name.

  But I couldn’t forget Seth’s words.

  They were burned on my soul.

  The weeks passed, and Fall faded into Winter. The leaves turned gold and red and brown, until they shriveled and fell from the trees. Fat raindrops slapped against the gray sidewalks, and towering black clouds darkened the skies.

  Sarah was unhappy.

  She wore my ring on her finger and we both tried hard to be a normal couple, preparing for the birth of our first child, but cracks were appearing. I hadn’t attempted to see Mrs. Lintort again, although Sarah saw her several times a week. I could tell that she missed her brother, too.