The Anchor

by B. N. Toler

  “Parker?” Edie says. “Everything okay?”

  I blink a few times, my anger lost somewhere in the forefront of my mind, still trying to understand it needs to disappear. Speak, you moron. “Uh . . . everything okay in here?” I finally manage.

  “Yeah,” Edie sighs as she massages the back of Nikki’s leg. “Nik’s got a charley horse. I’m massaging it out.”

  “A charley horse?” I ask.

  “It feels like there’s a rock-hard golf ball in my calf. Hurts like a bitch,” Nikki groans as Edie continues to rub her leg.

  This I would be able to handle. I want to go to her, kiss her head, and take over for Edie, but I don’t. “Can I do anything to help?”

  “Get her a glass of water,” Edie answers. “Dehydration causes charley horses.”

  “She’s dehydrated?” I ask, hearing the concern in my own voice. “Is the baby okay?”

  “Yes, Parker,” Nikki answers softly. “I’ve just been busy today. I set up my office and I’ve been unpacking all day and didn’t drink enough water.”

  “Your new office?” I ask; perplexed. Why does she need an office?

  She doesn’t answer my question as she pulls her leg from Edie’s lap. “Thanks, Edie. I feel a lot better,” she sighs.

  “Anytime,” Edie says, and she climbs off the bed. “I better head back up to the house. Suit is bringing dinner. He got enough for you, too, Parker,” she adds.

  “Oh . . . thanks. I’ll be up in a few.”

  “Night, Nik.” And Edie waves.

  “Night, Edie. Thanks for all your help.”

  Edie slips out of the bedroom and Nikki stands, straightening the comforter. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.

  She moves her gaze to mine and smirks. “I promise, Parker. We’re both fine.” Running a hand through my hair, I let out a deep breath. And she chuckles. “The better question is, are you okay?” Crossing her arms, she moves to the end of the bed and leans against the post.

  I snort. “Yeah. I’m great. I came in the house and heard you groaning, I thought . . .” Shit. I stop myself from continuing. Probably wouldn’t sound good to say I thought she was back here with another man.

  “Thought what?” By the way she’s smiling, I think she knows what I thought, but she’s enjoying making me uncomfortable.

  “I don’t know what I thought.” We both stare at one another and I have to fight the pull. That damn pull that makes me want to wrap her in my arms and make love to her. And she’s not making it easy on me. She’s wearing yoga pants and a blue, long-sleeve top, her blonde hair tied up in a knot on the top of her head. The woman is a classic beauty. I move my gaze down her body and notice her belly looks a little bigger and I can’t help smiling. I’m still amazed that a tiny little baby is growing inside of her.

  “Can I cook you dinner?” I ask, meeting her gaze again. “I’d like to hear about this new office.”

  “Only if you make me some of that chicken you made the first time you cooked for me. I’ve been craving it.”

  I grin as I step back and motion for her to pass by me out of the bedroom. “I’ll cook you anything you want.” And I can’t stop smiling.

  Once we’re in the kitchen, she takes a seat at the tiny table while I pull out the ingredients to cook. The kitchen is well stocked considering she just moved in and I feel like shit that I haven’t helped her with anything here. I could have at least volunteered to buy groceries. “So, tell me about this office?” I question.

  “I guess it’s not really an office, but I don’t know what else to call it,” she begins. “I’m going to teach music lessons.” I look back at her and grin.

  “That’s great,” I beam and continue setting up.

  “And I’m going to be a pageant coach. This area doesn’t have a lot of clientele, but I’m going to offer online coaching as well.”

  My brows rise and I turn to face her. “Nikki . . . that’s great.” Her gaze lowers and she swallows. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I used my trust fund money to set it up,” she admits and I close my eyes. She feels bad because she thinks it will piss me off.

  I drop everything and go to her, kneeling down in front of her. “It’s your money, Nikki. I’m sorry I acted like . . . such a dumb ass about it. Pride makes me an idiot sometimes.”

  She licks her lips. “My grandfather was pretty generous. I’m going to take the remainder of the money and set up a college fund and trust fund for the baby.”

  I nod. “I think that’s a great idea.”

  We share another long stare and I wonder if she wants to kiss me as badly as I want to kiss her. But when her stomach growls, I snap to and stand. “Somebody is waiting on me to cook some bad-ass chicken.”

  “Two somebodies,” she corrects as she pats her belly. The act stuns me. She’s smiling as she looks at her small hand rubbing her little bump. My heart swells at the sight. It’s the first time I’ve seen her look happy about the baby and I pray it’s real. I pray that maybe she’s starting to come around.

  We make small talk about my first day at the office. I tell her about some of the other lawyers and their quirks and we laugh. Over dinner, she describes her office layout and asks if I’ll go with her to Raleigh so she can pick out a piano. Of course I agree.

  After dinner, we do the dishes together and even though I fucking hate it, I say good night.

  She stares at my chest as we stand by the door. “Thank you for dinner. It was amazing.”

  “I’ll cook for you tomorrow night, if you’re not busy.”

  “I should cook for you,” she states.

  I snort. “Can you cook?”

  She smacks my chest. “Why’d you snort? Is it that hard to believe?”

  I just stare at her blankly and she smacks my chest again. “Okay. Fine. I suck at cooking. Maybe you should teach me so our child doesn’t starve to death, Mr. Hayes.”

  My nostrils flare as desire surges through me. Her eyes quickly dart to mine and away again. She knows she just pulled a trigger using that name. Sucking in a deep breath, I collect my thoughts.

  “Luckily, you’ll both have me so neither of you will starve,” I chuckle, attempting to break the tension, but it quickly fades as she stares up at me, her gaze sad.

  “Will we?” she asks, her voice timid and full of uncertainty. Unable to stop myself, I reach for her face and push a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear. God, I want to kiss her. I want to show her how much she means to me. But Edie is right. Nikki needs to find herself, believe in herself before she can let me in, and let me love her the way she deserves.

  “No matter what happens, I’ll always be here for both of you.” While the promise is sincere and I meant on a whole different level, I know she was hoping for more, at least I hope she was. Her mouth quirks slightly and she nods.

  “Oh,” she says, suddenly. “I almost forgot. I have something for you.”

  “You do?”

  She rushes off and disappears down the hall, returning a moment later with a small wrapped package in her hand. “It’s for your desk.”

  After she hands it to me, I tear it open and can’t help smiling. It’s a framed photo of one of the ultrasound pictures that hung on the fridge in her old apartment. “Damn, Nik . . . I love it,” I tell her, and before I realize what I’m doing, I bend down and kiss her softly. When I pull away, I murmur a ‘thank you’ and say good night again. As I walk to my car, I clutch the photo tightly to my chest. Maybe she hasn’t given up on me . . . on us, either.

  What day and what time is your appointment this week?

  I quickly text Parker back.

  Thursday at five. I tried to get it as late as possible so you could be there. Do you think they’ll let you off?

  I’ll be there.

  Smiling, I toss my phone on the desk, well . . . on the folding table I’m currently using as a desk. I managed to steal the space in the strip mall next to Pearl’s shop. I’m hoping I can drum up business fr
om her clients that use her for dressmaking.

  I’m busy looking up web designers on my laptop when my former dressmaker waddles in. “So we’re neighbors now, eh?” she bellows joyously as she walks up to the table.

  Smiling brightly, I stand and round the table. “I was going to swing by and say hi to you today.” We hug tightly and when she pulls away from me, her eyes immediately move to my stomach. She felt my bump.

  “So this is why you haven’t returned to have that dress altered.”

  I sigh and place a hand on my bump. “This would be the reason,” I admit. “My pageant days are over, I’m afraid.” And I’m not as upset about that anymore. Over the last few days, since Parker and I had our argument, every day I’ve come more and more to terms with what will be and I’m finding myself happy; content with it.

  “Says who?” Pearl asks and I dart my eyes to her questioning gaze. “Because you’re having a baby you think you can’t compete anymore?”

  I widen my eyes and take a deep breath. “If I don’t end up being one giant stretch mark, maybe,” I counter. “But competing takes a lot of time and work and I’m not sure how much time I’ll have once the baby gets here.”

  “If you want it bad enough, you’ll make it work,” she argues simply, discounting my concerns. “There are plenty of women out there that are busy with careers and ambitions and still find the time to be excellent mothers. If you want to compete, you won’t make excuses. You’ll make it happen. And a child that sees their mother work for her dreams will most likely work just as hard for their own.” She turns and waddles back to the door and as she opens it she calls, “I’ll hold on to that dress. Maybe your ass will get a little bigger and you’ll actually fill it out. You look like a stick with boobs.”

  “Gee, thanks, Pearl,” I laugh as the door closes. Looking down, I twist my mouth as I run my hands down my sides and hips.

  “I have curves,” I assure myself with a huff. “Okay, little dude or dudette inside of me,” I tell my belly as I pat it. “I sure would appreciate it if when you vacate my body you’d leave it looking somewhat close to the way it did when you entered.” Spinning around, I head back to my makeshift desk and get back to work, excited to get my business going.

  It’s mid-November and the evenings are coming quicker now that daylight saving time has hit. But I make an effort to get out and at least have a brisk walk every day. The doctor said I can run, but . . . running sucks when it feels like you’re carrying an overfilled water balloon in your lower abdomen.

  As I walk, my mind drifts to Parker. I’m unsure of where we stand, but he did kiss me last night and I pray that’s a good sign. Although, he did look like he regretted it when he pulled away, and it broke my heart. I have no idea what to think. I want to tell him I’m a changed woman, beg him to forgive me, but I know this time it’s different. I need to show him. I just hope he’s watching and doesn’t find someone else to fill his time or his bed while he’s watching.

  I end up at the stables and find Joey about to climb in his truck. “I was just heading your way,” he says, when he catches sight of me.

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah, you’re cooking dinner for everyone tonight, right?”

  My brows touch my hairline. “I am?”

  He pulls out his phone from his weathered pants pocket and thumbs at it for a second before turning the screen to me so I can see. It’s a group text from Parker that he sent to Edie, John, and Joey.

  Nikki wants to cook dinner for everyone. Be there by seven.

  That son of a bit—

  “It surprised me, too,” Joey interrupts my thoughts. When I look up at him, he’s pressing his lips together as if he’s trying not to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” I snap and smack his arm.

  “The look on your face,” he snickers, throwing one arm over my shoulders and leading me to the truck. “Don’t worry, Nik,” he says. “I ate a big lunch.”

  I give his side a hard pinch and hold my belly as I beeline for the truck.

  “Damn,” he groans in pain.

  “You can’t pinch a pregnant lady,” I yell as I pull the truck door open and start climbing in.

  “I’m keeping count!” he warns. “Once that baby’s out, it’s game on!”

  When I walk in the house carrying a few bags of groceries, Joey is seated in the living room, beer in hand, staring at the television. He doesn’t even notice me. Nikki is rummaging through the fridge, cursing to herself. She doesn’t hear me come in, obviously, as she’s threatening my life to our unborn child.

  “I hate that you’ll be born fatherless, but he really did it to himself,” she starts and mumbles on in an endless thread of threats against my life.

  “Can’t I meet the kid at least once?” I query, causing her to jerk up and bump her head.

  “Shit,” she hisses as she grabs the back of her head.

  “Damn, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” I drop the groceries and rush to her, running my hand over the area she hit to check for a bump.

  “This is all your fault,” she whines.

  “You hitting your head?”

  “Yeah. If you hadn’t invited everyone for dinner, I wouldn’t have been sticking my head in the fridge searching for food, cursing your soul for it.”

  Laughing, I grab the dish towel that’s sitting on the counter and open the freezer, scooping out some ice. “Yes, well,” I chuckle, “I’m going to help you cook it. I wouldn’t leave you to fend for yourself.” Setting the ice cubes inside the towel, I gently place it on the back of her head. She stares up at me, her blue gaze soft, as her hand finds mine where it’s holding the ice.

  “I know you wouldn’t,” she murmurs. We stare at each other a moment and I have to swallow back my need for her. Being just her friend is becoming harder than I thought. I want to kiss her so fucking badly. She’s wearing jeans and a long sleeve pink shirt and her hair is in a loose braid to the side. And damn, she smells so freaking good; like vanilla and sugar. The weekend we met, I saw her in nothing but heels and dresses. She was sexy and alluring. But right now, as she stands here barefoot, in simple clothes, I’m captivated. I’ve heard people use the expression ‘she’s glowing’ when describing pregnant women before, but I can actually see it now. She looks radiant.

  “You look beautiful, Nikki,” I manage to get out before pulling my hand from under hers, still holding the towel. Her cheeks flush pink as I hand it to her and she takes it, but she doesn’t look at me when she says, “Thank you.”

  “I need a beeeeerrrrrrrr,” John sings obnoxiously as the door whips open and he saunters in the kitchen, Edie following closely behind him. When he sees me, he grins. “Hey, shithead.” He’s dressed in a long johns shirt and worn jeans, looking nothing like a lawyer. I forgot to bring clothes to change into after work so I’m way overdressed.

  I open the fridge and grab three beers, handing one to him and Edie. “Hello to you, too, Johnny,” I reply saucily.

  “So how’d you convince Nikki to cook dinner tonight?” Edie asks me as she twists the cap off of her beer bottle.

  “He didn’t,” Nikki mumbles.

  “I told her I’d allow her to ravish my body if she did,” I answer casually before sipping my beer.

  “Dude,” Joey says, as he enters the kitchen. “No sex talk tonight. Not even jokes.”

  John and I chuckle. I guess as Joey considers Nikki and Edie like sisters, he probably wouldn’t want to hear us joke about having sex with them.

  “Besides, you’d have to offer a lot more than your body before I’d just agree to cook dinner for five people,” Nikki adds. “Or cook in general.” She opens a drawer by the fridge and pulls out a little, yellow apron with cherries all over it and ties it around her waist. I’m staring at her when she looks up and catches me.

  “What?”

  “Where’d you get that?” I ask.

  A sad kind of smile runs across her lips as she pushes some hair behind her ears. “I met your
mom one day. We went shopping for stuff for the house and clothes. She brought over a few things to get the kitchen started. This was in with it.”

  I’m smiling as I walk up to her and grab the edge of the apron, staring at it. I recognize it. My mother wore it often while standing in our kitchen, cooking the best meals. It’s one of those material things that just seeing it makes me feel loved. My chest tightens as I think of my mom. I wonder if she gave it to Nikki knowing what it would mean to me. She’s an amazing mother. And this apron is sentimental. I wore it a few times myself when I was a little kid, but I won’t mention that. Thank God those pictures weren’t in the box of photos my mother showed Nikki.

  “She gave me this as well,” Nikki giggles as she pulls a photo from the same drawer. It’s a picture of me at five years old wearing my mother’s heels and apron with lipstick smeared on my face. Did I just call my mother amazing? I take it back.

  Before I can snatch it from her Nikki leans back against the counter, holding it back. I move to reach over her but can’t press against her too hard without risking hurting her. She’s laughing and taunting, “It’s so cute, Parker!”

  With no other options, I have to pull out my lethal weapons. My fingers. I gently tickle her sides and her laughter goes into full throttle hysterics as she writhes against me. Her hand holding the photo is still extended out over the counter in an attempt to keep it from me as she tries to fight me off with her free hand. Her cheeks are flushed and her mouth is open revealing her perfect, straight, white teeth. I almost forget about the photo for a moment as I watch her and feel her move against me.

  Fucking beautiful.

  “Mercy! Mercy!” she squeals just as John snatches the photo out of her hand.

  Motherfucker.

  He immediately bursts into laughter and holds the photo up for Edie and Joey to see. Nikki, recovering from her tickle fit, holds my arms with both hands and rests her forehead against my chest as the laughter racking her body dissipates. I don’t move. I don’t care if our friends are making fun of me. Nikki is touching me, using me to hold her steady until she collects herself. It’s all I want—to be her rock. And I’m happy I get to hold her steady while she’s laughing.