by Robin Huber
“I’m sorry,” he pants.
I wait for the oxygen to return to my brain. “It’s okay.”
He unwraps my legs from around him and shakes his head. “No, it’s not.” He stands in front of me, his shoulders rising and falling with ragged breaths, and says, “I don’t want to be something you feel guilty about and regret later.”
“Sam.” I reach for his shirt and pull him close to me again. “I want you. But please don’t do that again until after the exhibit. Because I might not be able to stop the next time. And I would regret not waiting.”
He drops his head and nods once, then he looks up at me with a grin. “One week. And then I want you every way I can have you. Without strings. Without doubt. Without hesitation.”
“One week,” I say with anticipation, “and then, the rest of our lives.”
“It can’t come soon enough.”
Chapter 14
Lucy
“Lucy?” Drew calls from the kitchen. He walks into the living room, and I look up at him from my place on the couch. He looks exactly the same as he did when he left, but I feel like a completely different person.
“Hey,” I say, fighting every bone in my body that’s telling me to get up and tell him about Sam. “How was your flight?”
“It was good.” He sits down on the couch by my feet and begins rubbing them through my socks.
“That’s good.” I force a weak smile and turn my eyes back to the TV, because it hurts too much to look at him.
“Everything okay?”
No. It’s not okay. And I don’t know how I’m going to keep pretending like it is. I tuck my feet under my legs and sit up straight. “Besides the fact that you were too busy to answer my phone calls while you were gone,” I say coolly. Because the truth is, if he had answered my call after I kissed Sam, I would have already told him about it, and I wouldn’t have to spend the next week lying in wait to break his heart. But then the guilt starts gnawing at me for even thinking that way. None of this is Drew’s fault.
“What?”
I pause the TV and look at him. “It’s just, I called you a lot and you barely had time to text me back.”
He pulls his eyebrows together and sits up straight. “Because I was at the site, dealing with contractors all day, every day. And when I wasn’t doing that, I was with the design team. And when I wasn’t doing either of those things, I was sleeping, because the stress of it all is exhausting. I’m sorry that I didn’t stop to check in on you. I just didn’t realize you needed that level of attention.”
I feel my face screw up at his backhanded apology. But before I get pulled into a fight, I remind myself that he shouldn’t be apologizing at all.
“That didn’t come out right. It’s just, you know why I’m doing this…why I’m working so hard.” He reaches for my face and rubs my cheek. “For us.”
I turn off the TV and stand up. “It’s okay. I knew what I was getting into.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” He stands up and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Nothing. I’m just tired. I want to go to bed.”
“What is it that you want me to do, Lucy? Stop working? Close my restaurants? Stay here and hang out with you all day?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then what? You want me to call more? Text you ten times a day?”
“No.” I shake my head. “That’s not what I want.”
“Then what do you want?”
I want Sam. “I just…want to go to bed.”
“Lucy.”
“Honestly. I’m just really tired. I’m not even mad. I’m sorry I gave you a hard time.” I begin making my way up the stairs, but he follows me.
“You’re really not going to talk to me about this? I mean, the last time we fought about it, you…you broke up with me.”
I ignore the way my heart is pounding in my chest and say, “There’s nothing to talk about. Really. I’m fine.” I go into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, squeezing my eyes shut once I’m alone, but Drew stands on the other side of it.
“You don’t seem fine.”
“I am,” I lie.
“You aren’t acting like it.”
I open the door, agitated that he won’t let me be alone with my misery. “You know what, I’m not fine. I’m annoyed at your mother, as a matter of fact.” As soon as I say it, I realize I’ve opened a whole new can of worms.
He pulls his head back warily. “What did my mother do?” he asks defensively.
“Nothing. She’s just been a little overbearing with the wedding plans lately.”
“She’s just excited, that’s all.”
“I know,” I say, nodding over the waves of guilt that are sloshing around inside me.
“Wouldn’t hurt for you to show a little more enthusiasm about the big day.”
“I thought we agreed that we didn’t need to rush into it.”
“Rush into it? You make it sound like some kind of risky business deal.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
“No.” I pull my eyebrows together and shake my head, ignoring the frozen blocks of ice around my feet. “I just wish Janice was a little less excited, that’s all.”
“Okay, well, I’ll talk to her.”
“She also planned an impromptu dinner for us tomorrow night, which we’re hosting, and you’re supposed to cook.”
He raises his eyebrows, and the corners of his mouth turn down. “Okay, so…I cook for people all the time.” He shrugs. “What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is, she invited an old friend of mine, and I don’t really feel comfortable having him over for dinner.”
“Him?”
“Yes, him. Am I not allowed to have male friends?”
“Sure you are. It’s just that you’ve never mentioned any of your old friends before, and the first one who shows up is a guy. Was he a boyfriend?”
“Yes,” I admit.
“What’s his name?”
“Sam.”
“Is he from Brighton Park too?”
“Yes,” I say with a defensive edge to my voice I didn’t intend to have.
“And my mother invited him here, to our house?”
I slant my eyes at his insinuation.
“I understand why you’re not comfortable with it.”
I feel my blood run hot through my veins. “He’s not some kind of thug, Drew.”
“Well, what does he do?”
“He’s a boxer.”
He grins. “That’s not a job. What does he really do, to earn a living?”
“He’s a professional boxer. Maybe you’ve heard of him. His last name is Cole,” I say, exasperated. “I hear he makes a pretty good living.”
He holds his head back and squints. “Sam Cole,” he says skeptically.
I raise my eyebrows and nod.
“Very funny. Who is he?”
“He’s Sam Cole.”
He blinks at me for several seconds. “You’re telling me that you not only know Sam Cole, but he used to be your boyfriend?”
I raise my eyebrows and nod again.
“What the fuck, Lucy?” He puts his hands on his hips and starts pacing around the bathroom. He walks into the bedroom and paces a few more times with a determined look on his face.
“What is this reaction?” I ask, dismayed, not that I have any right to be.
“Are you serious?” He stops and shakes his head. “All this time…every match you’ve watched, every match you’ve made me watch with you, going to New York, for Christ’s sake…and you didn’t think to tell me? Don’t you think that’s a little strange?”
I try to lasso my heart, which is running wild inside my chest. If he only knew how many times I wanted to tell him about Sam. How many times I tried to tell him. I should have done it a long time ago. But if I had, who knows if I would have gone to New York to watch Sam fight. And i
f I didn’t, I might not have ever seen him again.
“I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d freak out. Clearly I was right.”
“Well, Jesus, Lucy, that’s kind of a big deal.”
“Why? It’s not like he’s a Kardashian or something. He’s from Brighton Park, remember?”
“Yeah, didn’t he do time for dealing drugs or something?”
“That was a long time ago,” I say over the tight feeling in my chest, “and he didn’t do it. He was set up.”
He gives me a dubious look that sparks my defenses and plays off the guilt attached to those words.
“He was,” I say adamantly. “Sam didn’t do drugs.”
“And how exactly did my mother meet him?”
“He came by the studio earlier this week while she was there.”
“So he just stopped by, out of the blue?” he asks suspiciously.
“Yes,” I say, telling him the truth. I had no idea he was going to show up that day. “He heard about the exhibit and wanted to come say hi.” Just not necessarily in that order. I shrug, hoping to slide the guilt off my shoulders. It doesn’t work.
“Does he want to buy some artwork or something?”
“He mentioned coming to the show, so hopefully.” That’s a complete and utter lie. I’m a liar. I’ve just slipped on the slope of deceit. It’s for his own good, I tell myself.
His or yours, my conscience argues.
Sebastian’s, we both agree.
“Huh. Well, I can’t say I’ve met too many friends from your past. Or too many famous boxers.”
“Well, there’s no need to start now. What you need to do is call your mother and tell her that this dinner is a bad idea.”
“What? No way.” He shakes his head and smirks. “I want to meet this guy.”
“Oh, God. Seriously, Drew?”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket.
“Do not call your mom,” I order.
“Hey, Momma,” he says, grinning at me.
“Drew,” I grumble through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, Lucy just told me about it. That sounds great…She’s excited too.” He widens his eyes at me. “Sure, I can make my signature dish…Yes, I’m sure he eats meat.” He shrugs at me, but I don’t respond. “Okay, see you tomorrow at eight…Love you too.” He hangs up and grins.
“I’m glad you find so much humor at my expense.”
He smiles and pulls me into his arms, but it doesn’t comfort me at all. It only exacerbates everything that’s wrong with this situation. “You’re just so cute when you’re flustered.”
I push him away and he laughs. I march into my closet and grab my Chuck Taylors.
“Where are you going?”
“To paint.”
“I thought you were tired.”
“I was. But now I’m flustered, so I’m going to my studio to paint. I’ll be home in a couple of hours.”
He laughs again and falls onto the bed. “Don’t stay too late.”
I press the Bluetooth button on my phone and it rings through my speakers.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No answer. Disappointment settles over me, making me feel anxious. I was hoping to talk to Sam and persuade him to skip this absurd dinner.
I pull onto the dimly lit highway, finding my place in the center lane between the bright headlights of the car behind me and glowing red taillights of the one in front of me. Together we travel down the highway toward our destinations.
Fifteen minutes later, my phone rings through my speakers, startling me.
I glance at the dash. Sam.
“Hi,” I answer.
“Hey. Sorry, I was in the shower when you called earlier.”
I smile and raise an eyebrow thinking of him naked and wet. “I thought maybe you were asleep. I know it’s late.”
“You can call me anytime. If I’m asleep, I’ll answer.”
I nod but don’t say anything.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” I tap my thumb against my steering wheel. “Drew came home tonight.”
He’s silent for a second.
“Lucy, where are you?”
“I’m driving.”
“Where?”
“I’m on the highway. I’m on my way to my studio.”
“By yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s almost midnight.”
“I know, but I want to paint.”
“Do you do that a lot?”
“Paint? Yes, quite often,” I tease.
“Do you go to the studio at night?”
“Sometimes. Why?”
“Because it’s not safe.”
I laugh quietly. Always the protector. “Sam, I assure you, it’s perfectly safe.”
“You shouldn’t be coming downtown at night by yourself.”
“You live downtown.”
“I live in a highly secured building.”
“My studio is secure,” I say, creasing my eyebrows. “I have an alarm.” I can’t help but feel a little uneasy now.
I hear a low rumble in the background. “What are you doing?”
“He was out of town. Where?” he asks, ignoring my question.
“Drew was in Philadelphia.”
“Were you home alone all week?”
I press my lips together over a smile. “Yes. He travels all the time. I’m home alone more often than not. But I assure you, I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. I’m pretty independent,” I say confidently.
“Do you have a house alarm?”
“Yes. And my neighborhood is gated. Why the sudden concern for my safety?”
“It’s not sudden. I’m always concerned for your safety.”
I smile. “Well, rest assured, I’ve reached my exit and I’m safely leaving the highway. I should arrive at my studio in”—I glance at my GPS—“six and half minutes.”
“How long are you going to be there?”
“I don’t know, an hour or so. I’ll stop painting when I get tired.”
“It’ll be two a.m. when you leave. That’s not safe, Lucy,” he says firmly.
“Sam, my studio is on a quiet street in a good part of downtown, minutes from where you live, I might add. It’s not like it’s in Brighton Park,” I point out, but he doesn’t respond.
After a couple more minutes of trying to convince Sam of my welfare, I pull up to the curb in front of my studio. “You should know that I’ve arrived safely at my destination,” I say assuredly, putting my car in park. I hold my phone to my ear while I unbuckle and open my door, but I freeze when a shiny black car roars up behind me.
“I see that.”
I squint to see through the dark tinted windows. “Sam, is that you?”
Sam steps out of the car wearing black joggers and sneakers and a gray hoodie that’s pulled up over his head. He holds his phone to his ear. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“What are you doing?”
He drops his phone into his pocket and walks over to me.
“Look, I’m fine. See”—I glance around the empty urban street that my studio is on—“it’s safe.”
He pulls his eyebrows together and reaches for my face. “He has no idea how precious you are.”
“Sam, I’m fine,” I say again softly. I glance around nervously, not because I’m afraid, but because I don’t want anyone to see us together. Twitter is a far scarier place than downtown after dark. “Let’s go inside.”
He follows me inside and watches me turn off the alarm. He locks the door behind us, and I set the alarm again.
“Safe enough for you?” I smirk.
He follows me to the back of the studio.
“Lucy—”
“I know, the wolves…”
“You have no idea what kind of monsters are out there.”
I turn around and look at him, but my smile disappears when I see the look on his face.
“Sam.” I reach for his sweatshirt and pull him close to me, and wrap my arms around him. I shudder thinking of what he saw and heard in prison.
“I will always worry about your safety.”
I press my cheek his chest. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
He hugs me tight. “He shouldn’t be leaving you alone all the time.”
I let go of him and walk to the couch to sit down. “I don’t need Drew to protect me. He’s not really the type anyway.”
He sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Well, what type is he?”
“I don’t know. The too-busy-to-worry-about-me type. He works a lot.”
“Then why did you agree to marry him?”
“Because I thought his work ethic was admirable. And he made me feel worthy of a life I didn’t think I deserved. He encouraged me to follow my dreams and helped me turn my passion into a career,” I say, glancing around the studio.
He rubs his hand over his mouth and jaw. “Sounds like the perfect guy.”
“He is…on paper.” I shrug. “But I’ve been trying to force a puzzle piece for a long time. I realize now that it will never fit, because he isn’t right for me.” I drop my head to the side. “Because he isn’t you.” I stare at him for a few seconds, deliberating over a truth I don’t want to admit. But I finally do. “I still don’t feel worthy of this life. Honestly, I’m not sure I ever will.” I look around my beloved studio. “I’ve always felt like an imposter on borrowed time. None of this is really mine. And when I leave him, I lose it.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Well, this studio was supposed to be a wedding present. One I only agreed to accept because I knew I could pay him back over time. But without a wedding, I doubt he’ll still want to give it to me. And I wouldn’t take it, even if he did.”
“What if you bought it from him?”
I give him an impossible look. “I can’t afford it. Even if the exhibit is a success, it would take years to earn back the money it costs.”
“Then I’ll buy it for you,” he says, like it’s no big deal, and I know that he would.