by Banks, R. R.
“Kind of hard to avoid thinking about it when everywhere you go, it feels like you walked into Santa's demented workshop,” I remark.
She laughs and nods. “I see you hold the holidays with as much esteem as I do.”
“Probably even less,” I reply.
“Why is that?” she asks. “I mean, your family is great. You all get along well, and you seem to have fun together. Being around you guys made me realize just how screwed up my own family is.”
“We weren't always like this, Sasha,” I say. “It's taken us a lot of work to get to this point. And there still are times when some distance between us is best. Especially between Chris and me. We’ve had our fair share of tense holidays too.”
“Tense? I’d consider that an upgrade,” she says. “You saw ours – that's our normal. Nothing but pure and utter dysfunction.”
I give her a tight, rueful smile. Yeah, as tense as things got in our household, the rivalry between Christopher and I – which is pretty much the root of most things – never rose to the same level that I saw between Sasha and her sister. They give sibling rivalry a far more intense meaning.
“Your sister is still young,” I try to offer. “She's trying to figure things out.”
“She thinks she already has it all figured out and that I just need to jump on board.”
There's nothing I can say to that because it's true. The arrogant and condescending way Sarah spoke to Sasha was really something to behold. Even at the height of our rivalry, Christopher and I never spoke to each other with that level of disrespect.
Even worse than that, to me, is the lack of any sort of support or encouragement from her family. Not only that, but actively running Sasha down for chasing her dream. To me, that's the saddest part of the whole situation.
“Why is it that you hate the holidays?” she asks.
I take a sip of my wine and shrug. “Honestly? The forced good cheer. Everybody expects you to be so happy and cheery this time of year. And if you're not, then something is wrong with you,” I say. “My parents used to host elaborate holiday parties and I was expected to be there, a smile on my face, and do my part to spread the kindness and good cheer the season demands. I guess somewhere along the line, I got burned out on the whole deal. To me, Christmas is more of an obligation than a holiday.”
Sasha nods. “Yeah, I get that,” she says and raises her Shirley Temple. “To you, my fellow Grinch.”
“Grinches unite,” I say and tap my glass against hers.
The rest of the night passes with great conversation and a lot of laughs. I honestly didn't know what to expect from our date – I know that Sasha had reservations about it from the start. But, being with her feels good. It feels right. The connection between us feels stronger than ever – no sense in denying it any longer.
When I'm with her, I feel happy. I feel good. And when I'm not with her, I'm thinking about her constantly. Sasha is the most powerful drug on the planet to me. I'm completely addicted to her.
I know she feels the same way. I can see it in her eyes when she looks at me. But she's also moving slowly and being more than a little guarded with me. She's not a woman who trusts easily – though, I have a feeling that when she believes she can trust somebody, she's all in. Giving her trust means a lot to her and it's not something she does easily – another thing that I can appreciate.
When the waitress clears our plates away and drops off the check, I know I'm not quite ready for the night to end just yet. I slip my card into the folder and push it to the side of the table, trying to figure out how I'm going to extend the evening – if only for a little while longer.
“How about a walk on the pier?” I ask.
“I should probably be getting home soon,” she says. “I wanted to get some work in before bedtime.”
“What if I told you there's a funnel cake in it for you?”
She laughs. “Funnel cake, huh?”
“With strawberries, chocolate syrup, and whipped cream.”
“Wow, Mr. Churchill,” she says. “You really know how to woo a lady.”
“Don't I though?”
She laughs – a wonderful, magical sound. As Sasha looks over at me, her eyes sparkle like jewels in the soft candlelight on the table.
“Well, how can I turn down a funnel cake?” she asks.
“You really can't,” I reply. “Pretty sure that's a law or something.”
“Well, you would know,” she says lightly, but then her face grows serious. “I just want you to know one thing.”
“Tell me.”
“I'm not going home with you tonight,” she says, quickly looking away from me.
I nod. “And that's okay,” I say. “No pressure. I want to get to know you, Sasha.”
The relief on her face is palpable as she lets out a long breath. As much as I'd love to take her home, I'm not going to rush her into anything. What I do want, is to build something with her. Something real. Something lasting. And I'm willing to go at her pace. Just because we screwed in the storage room at her workplace earlier – as hot and sexy as it was – it doesn't mean she's going to want to repeat the performance tonight. I can respect that.
All I know is that I definitely feel something for Sasha. Something strong. And I want to nurture that feeling and give it the room it needs to grow.
As we walk out of the restaurant, she shivers. California winters never get too bad, but it's in the low sixties tonight, which by our standards, is chilly. Sasha has on a light sweater, but it's not enough, so I drape my jacket around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she says, pulling the coat tighter around her.
“You're very welcome,” I reply.
We pass a group of carolers who are bundled up like it's thirty below outside, singing Silent Night. I give them a smile and toss a few bucks into the bucket at their feet as Sasha and I walk on to grab a couple of funnel cakes.
I look down into those dazzling blue eyes and realize there is nowhere else on this planet I'd rather be – and nobody else I'd rather be with. I pull her closer to me and smile as she melts against my body.
Is this love? I really don't know. But whatever it might be is making me feel happier than I think I've ever felt in my life.
Chapter Twenty
“Oh my God,” I say, my voice soft and trembling. “Please tell me you're kidding me. Please, Dr. Aldric, tell me you’re fucking kidding me.”
She gives me a warm smile. “I'm afraid not, kiddo,” she says. “The tests are pretty conclusive.”
“But how? I mean, we were safe –”
“You know nothing is ever truly safe,” she says. “Nothing is ever one hundred percent.”
My head is spinning, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. This can't be happening. There is no possible way this can be happening. It would be the biggest kick in the ass the universe has ever given me. It can't be true. It can’t.
I shake my head. “It's only been a few weeks since the first time, Dr. Adric,” I say. “That can't possibly be right.”
She gives me a patient smile. “When we ran your bloodwork, we detected the presence of a hormone called human chorionic gonadotropin. HCG is a hormone that's released when a fertilized egg attaches itself to your uterine lining,” she says. “Meaning that HCG is only produced by pregnant women.”
I lay back on the table, my entire body shaking. I try to deny everything she's saying. I don't want to believe it. It can't be true. Dr. Adric puts a comforting hand on my shoulder and gives me a sympathetic smile.
“Obviously, this is unplanned,” she says. “There are many options available to you. If you'd like some resources –”
I look up at her, my head so jumbled, I'm barely able to make sense of what she's saying. I shake my head and slip off the table.
“I – I just need to think right now,” I say. “I just need to go home and think.”
She nods. “Of course,” she says. “Call me when you've had some time to process all of this
. I'm here for you, Sasha.”
I try to give her a smile and fail, so I just shake my head. “Thank you, Dr. Adric.”
I stumble out of her office and get to my car. My hands are shaking so violently, it takes three times to get my key in the ignition. I finally get my car started and somehow, manage to make it home without killing myself or anybody else. Frankly, I'm moving around in such a fog, I don't know how I did it.
Dropping down onto the couch, I bury my face in my hands and sob. My entire body is practically convulsing with the force of my tears. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I wrap my arms around them and bury my face against my pants, letting my emotions take control.
“Hey, hey, what's wrong, Sash?”
I look up as Rosie sits down beside me. She puts her arm around my shoulder and pulls me to her. I melt into her and let her hold me as I cry. She strokes my hair and does her best to calm me down. Eventually, the sobbing grows less forceful, though the tears still roll down my face. She gives me a tight smile and gets up and heads into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a box of tissues.
“Do you want some coffee?” she asks.
“Just water, please,” I croak, my voice dry and brittle sounding.
She comes back and sets a glass of water down in front of me. I pick it up and drain half of it before setting it back down on the table again. Rosie sits cross-legged on the couch next to me, facing me with concern etched into her every feature. She cradles her cup of coffee in her hands, as if drawing warmth from it.
“I didn't know you were home,” I say. “I thought you'd be at Todd's.”
“He had to work, so I came home early,” she says. “Now tell me, what's going on?”
I look at Rosie, my fear and despair starting to rise up within me once again. She reaches out and puts a hand on my arm, giving me a gentle squeeze. I draw strength from her touch, but it still isn't enough. I'm overwhelmed by so many different, conflicting emotions, I can't seem to organize my thoughts into anything close to resembling coherency.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly, doing what I can to slow my head and my heart. Doing what I can to calm myself down enough to tell her what's going on. It only takes a couple of minutes, but Rosie sits with me patiently, just waiting.
“I'm pregnant, Rosie,” I say, my voice quavering.
Just saying those words – those two little words – rocks me to my very core. It threatens to topple me over the edge, plunging me down into an abyss of despair once more. But I somehow manage to hold on.
“Pregnant?” she asks, her voice soft.
I nod, the tears rolling down my cheeks faster than I can wipe them away.
“And its Miles', I assume?”
I nod. I've already told her everything about Miles, from our first meeting in the airport – a story she really got a kick out of – all the way to where we are today.
Miles and I have been spending a lot of time together lately. After I'd agreed to that first date with him, I let myself fall into him – against my better, more sane judgment. But, he's charming. He’s kind. Yeah, he puts up a gruff, cold, and aloof facade for the world to see, but when we're alone, he's sweet. Caring. Miles practically worships me – something I've grown very fond of.
But this – this changes everything.
We've never talked about what the future holds for ourselves. And we certainly haven't talked about a future that involves children. To be honest, I don't know if he wants kids one day or not. We're not even close to being at the stage of our burgeoning relationship to have that kind of a discussion. Although we spend practically every waking minute together and we've grown a lot closer, I'm still leery of being open or vulnerable around him. Or anyone else for that matter. I'm still trying to find my footing with him and seeing if there really is a path forward for us.
Being pregnant with his child – and it can only be his child since I haven’t been with anyone else – is going to throw a wrench into everything. My heart feels like it's being torn in two because my feelings for Miles are strong, even though we’ve barely gotten started. I'm already attached to him.
Despite my best efforts, I've let myself get wrapped up in him – a fact I've been keeping to myself to avoid complicating everything.
“What are you going to do, Sash?”
I shake my head miserably. “I don't know,” I say. “I really don't.”
“Well, you have to tell him,” she says.
“I know,” I reply. “I just don't know how.”
“Do you love him?”
I shrug. “I don't know. Maybe? This is going to change everything, though.”
She nods. “It will,” she agrees. “But, if you two love each other, it doesn't have to be a bad thing.”
I shake my head. “I don't know how he feels,” I say. “Everything is still too new. We're not at that point in – whatever this is – to be declaring feelings for each other.”
She gives me a soft smile. “I have a feeling, given the way he relentlessly pursued you, that his feelings for you are just as strong as yours for him.”
“I don't know, Rosie,” I say. “I really don't.”
She squeezes my arm gently. “I'm not saying it has to be love right now,” she says. “But, give him a chance. You shouldn't have to go through this alone. I'm here for you. You know I always will be. But I think this is something the two of you need to share as well. You need to let him be there for you too. I have a feeling he'll want to be.”
I scrub the tears away from my face and nod. “Yeah,” I say, sniffing loudly. “You're right. I know you're right.”
“When are you seeing him again?”
“Tonight,” I say.
“Perfect,” she replies. “Talk to him. Open up to him, Sash. I have a feeling it will go a lot better than you think.”
I look at her and try to give her a smile. Rosie is really a romantic at heart. She believes in the power of love to conquer all. She's an eternal optimist. Always has been. It's one thing I've always loved and appreciated about her.
But, something like this – something that is going to alter not just my life, but Miles' life too – I'm not feeling as optimistic as she does. I want to believe that there could be a happily ever after for us. I just can’t. I've never seen one and have never expected to have one of my own. For me, life has never worked like that and I don't see that changing anytime soon.
“Everything is going to be okay,” she says, pulling me into a tight embrace. “You'll see. It's all going to be okay.”
I really want to believe her. With everything in me, I want to believe her. But, life has proven to me, over and over again, that I can't.
Chapter Twenty-One
Something's been on her mind all night. Sasha’s distracted and hasn't seemed like herself. I've asked her about it a few times, but she just brushes me off and pretends like nothing is going on. It's a little troubling, but until she tells me what's on her mind, I can't do anything to help her.
We've just gotten back from dinner and a movie – cheesy, but she insisted – and now she's standing at the large picture windows in my condo, staring out at the dark expanse of the ocean. The sky is clear tonight and the moonlight sparkles off the water dazzlingly, reminding me of the way light reflects in her eyes. The silvery illumination raining down from above makes the whitewater of the breaking waves glow.
It would be a picture-perfect scene if she didn't look so tense or seem so troubled.
I walk up behind her and pull her back against me. She's a little stiff at first, but eventually lets herself melt against my body. I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight. Together, we stand there, staring out into the cold, dark vastness of the sea.
“Are you sure everything's okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Just some things on my mind.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
She shakes her head. “Not right now,” she says. “Right now, I just want to e
njoy this. Right now, I just want to enjoy you.”
Sasha turns around and smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She stands on her tip-toes and places a gentle kiss upon my lips.
“Wine?” I ask.
She looks like she's about to say yes, then changes her mind and shakes her head. “No, thank you, though,” she says.
“Wow, turning down a glass of wine,” I say. “That’s a first.”
The ghost of a smile touches her lips. “I just want a clear head tonight.”
“Oh, this sounds serious,” I say. “Are you breaking up with me already?”
Her laughter is sharp, brittle, and devoid of any actual humor. Yeah, there's definitely something up with her. But I can't force it out of her. I have to let her come to me on her own terms, on her own time. As tough as that might be sometimes.
She grabs the lapels of my coat and pulls me down to her, pressing her mouth to mine. Her lips part and her tongue darts out, slipping into my mouth to dance with mine. She kisses me deeply. Passionately. She puts so much into that kiss that it leaves me reeling when she pulls back.
“I want you to make love to me, Miles,” she says, her voice low and throaty. “I need to feel you inside of me.”
Not one to wait for a formal invitation, I pick her up and carry her to the bedroom. I don't know what's going on with her, but if making love can ease her burden any and get her to open up, I'm all for it. Anything to get her to smile again.
I set her down on her feet and strip off my jacket, tossing it casually onto the chair that sits beside the walk-in closet. Sasha is watching me closely, a dark, erotic look smoldering in her eyes. She sits down on the edge of the bed, leans back, and braces herself on her arms, just – watching me.
“Take your clothes off,” she says. “Slowly.”
I give her a slow grin, sort of enjoying a bit of role reversal. Having her take charge and tell me what to do is kind of sexy. I slowly unbutton my shirt, my eyes never leaving hers. I slip it off my shoulders and toss it on top of my discarded jacket. Sasha's eyes roam my physique appreciatively. She takes in every square inch of my flesh, the desire in her eyes suddenly shining bright.