His body relaxed against me. “I can’t wait for the day we have kids, Luce, because you’re going to make me the most beautiful little babies ever, but we’re still so young.” The smile that was forming on my face faltered. “We’re barely twenty-one. We’ve got a whole decade ahead of us before we need to start worrying about popping a couple kiddos out. We’ve got time, so let’s use it,” he said, trying to turn his face so he could see mine. “Okay?”
I answered him with a nod, because I didn’t trust myself to talk.
“Luce?” he said with concern when he caught a glimpse of my face. “Are you all right?” He twisted in his seat and held my face so I couldn’t turn it away.
“Yeah,” I said, sounding as upset as I thought I would. “I’m just tired.”
“Then why does it look like you’re crying?” he asked, sliding his thumb over my cheek.
“Because I get all teary when I’m tired.”
He made a face. “Since when?”
“Since now,” I said, needing out of this truck, and not just because I had to get to my flight. I knew that if Jude didn’t back down and kept up with the grand inquisition, I was going to cave and tell him the big news. The big news he’d just admitted to not being ready for and not wanting for another ten years. How could I tell a man who thought he’d have a solid decade to get used to the idea of fathering a child that we were about to have one in a little less than six months?
The answer was, I couldn’t tell him. Not right now. Not with those words so fresh in my mind.
“What’s the matter?” Jude’s face shadowed as he watched me. “Talk to me, Luce.”
I looked down, unable to stare at those tortured eyes any longer. “I can’t. Not right now,” I said. “Soon.”
He huffed. “I’ve been hearing that word soon from you for three years now. I think your definition and mine are different.”
I didn’t have three years. I didn’t even have three months. My soon, in this case, would be his soon.
“Soon,” I said. “I promise.”
“I won’t hold my breath,” he said with a sigh.
I bit my lip. “I’ve got to get going.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s the story of our lives,” he said, studying me like he was trying to see inside me. “I know you’re tired and need to catch your flight and don’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering you, but after a good night’s sleep you’ll feel better. I want you to call me anytime, Luce, anytime. I don’t care if I’m in the middle of practice or asleep or in the shower; I’ll answer. Just call me. Tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that, whenever you’re feeling better, and we’ll talk this over. We’ll work this out the way we always do.” He paused and waited.
“Okay, Luce? We’ll work this out. Everything will be fine,” he said, pulling me back into his arms. “Just call me and we’ll figure this thing out together.”
I hugged him back—I couldn’t seem to hold him hard enough—but I never made that call the next day, or the day after that, or even the day after that.
Another week down, one week closer to D-day, as Holly and I had deemed it. Jude and I had talked every day, but we never had “the talk.” I pretended everything was fine and dodged his probing questions, but I knew I hadn’t fooled him. I was even avoiding my parents’ calls, because how could I talk about school and dance when I was keeping the secret that I was in my second trimester from them?
So when Anton asked if I’d be able to work Saturday, I’d said yes without a second thought. When I was at school or work, my mind was distracted just enough for me to pretend my life wasn’t spiraling out of control. Anton had found a new full-time admin once I’d gone back to school, but I still worked a Saturday or Sunday most weekends. There was always some report that needed to be filled out or completed or started. There was always a presentation that needed to be put together, and Anton not only didn’t have a problem with letting me work a flexible schedule, he encouraged it. It didn’t matter if I showed up early or late, Saturday or Sunday, the guy was always there. I was starting to wonder if he lived at the office.
Today, Thomas had been free to watch LJ while Holly was at work, so I’d showed up at Xavier Industries at eight a.m. I hadn’t lifted my head from the computer once when Anton stepped out of his office later that afternoon.
“Thanks again for helping today, Lucy,” he said, dropping a bottle of water on my desk. “It’s amazing how much more I can get done when I don’t have someone ducking their head in my office every two seconds.”
“No problem,” I said, saving the report I’d been working on the past couple hours before powering off my computer. It was getting late, and I’d promised to pick up dinner for everyone tonight.
“How have you been lately?” Anton asked with a serious expression. “India tells me you’ve been missing a lot of class.”
Traitor. No dessert for her next Friday night.
“I’m good,” I said with a shrug. “Just going through a bit of a life funk.”
“Is Jude responsible for this funk?” he said, leaning into my desk.
A flash of anger. It had been so long since I’d felt it, I welcomed it. Like a long-lost friend coming home for a visit. “Let me respond to that with a two-part answer,” I said, crossing my arms. “None of your business. And none of your business.” Jumping up, I grabbed my purse and headed for the coatrack to grab my jacket. I wanted out of here before Anton got warmed up.