I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT my father’s accusation about my lack of focus. I know that he doesn’t see the books I read, the countless articles, the interviews with pediatricians that go on behind the scenes of my everyday life. But the guilt that’s developed in the hours since is there nonetheless.
I emptied the guest bedroom in my apartment, but I haven’t bought anything to go in there yet. Not really for any reason other than I just haven’t been ready to do it. So, on the way home tonight after locating which store carried the safety approved crib I was looking for, I made Tony stop and I made my first baby purchase. The box barely fit in the trunk of the town car.
“Here, let me help you carry this upstairs. It’s too heavy for you to do by yourself.”
You’d think I was the one pregnant because his words take on a whole different meaning in my mind and tears threaten to form in my eyes. It all seems too heavy for me to do on my own. I’ve never had siblings, my cousins always lived far enough away that we only saw each other a couple times a year. My experience with small humans is very limited, yet I wouldn’t care if Madison were pregnant with sextuplets, I’d brave it just the same.
“I can just drag it to the elevator, Tony. No prob—”
“Here, let me take that.” My head snaps over my shoulder and there he is, like I’d just dreamed him into reality. Stone reaches between Tony and I, taking the long narrow box and pulling it from the trunk. Tony smiles at me.
“Thank you, sir. Miss Norberg, see you in the morning?”
I nod, returning his smile.
“See you in the morning. Have a good night.” I say to Tony, but look up at Stone. We must stand there for a minute because the brake lights of the car come on and before it registers completely, the town car pulls away.
“Come on, open the door so I can get this to the elevator.”
I don’t know if he’s just tired of holding the box, or if he understands that I can’t find my words now, but I take off to open the door and hold it open.
“I see you aren’t wearing the air cast. How’s your ankle?” I shrug, trying not to look at him as we get on the elevator.
By the time we make it to my apartment, I’ve asked ten questions to him in my mind but said nothing and neither has he. When I unlock my door and push it open for him to go in, the look that passes between us makes me think of our run-ins over the last couple of weeks; City Hall, jogging, his gym. But mostly it makes me consider the kind gesture he’s making now compared to all the shitty things we’ve said—and the last thing I said to him.
Usually I hate my honesty because people don’t genuinely want honesty. They think they do, but they really don’t. They want a softer, less honest version of honesty.
I didn’t give Stone the less honest version, that was all me and all true.
“What are you doing here?” I collect my thoughts as he leans the box against the back of the couch.
“I thought you said you weren’t scared of me?” His reply confuses me.
“What do you mean?”
“If you aren’t scared of me, then why did you get answers to your questions from Rush?”
Shit.
“Because I knew Rush would give me the truth, and I can’t do my job if I don’t know everything.”
“So, you get to know all my truths, but I don’t get one of yours?”
My eyes narrow at him in confusion.
He points to the box. “Like why the hell I just carried a crib up to your apartment.”
I haven’t discussed the baby with anyone other than mine and Madison’s parents. Nobody.
“Excuse me if I’ve been under the impression that neither of us wanted details about the other. That was the initial arrangement, right?”
“The initial agreement included fucking as well. If that agreement’s still valid, by all means, let me know and I’ll end this conversation right now.”
I glare at him, my skin suddenly hot and my coat clawing at my neck, my stomach in free-fall. I continue without acknowledging his retort.
“And then I find out way more than I want to know and we haven’t said a nice word to one another since. Yet, you stand in my living room expecting me to answer your questions? Seems like one huge contradiction to me.” I jerk my arms from the sleeves of my coat, tossing it on the rack by the door. When I stalk into my kitchen, I’m surprised he follows. I pull a glass down from the cabinet and the tequila from the counter, pouring a shot, but he takes it from me before I get a taste. When he downs the shot, I glare at him.
“Demanding answers and taking shit that doesn’t belong to you. I’m surprised someone didn’t swoop you up a long time ago.” I use his words against him. His eyes smile, but his mouth remains tight pressed.
“Your turn,” he says. I try to take the glass, but he holds it tight. “Just pour it.” I eye him warily, but pour the tequila in the glass anyway, setting the bottle down on the counter and reaching for the glass once again. When he begins to put it to his lips, I say, “No!”
He barely hesitates but moves forward enough to press me back against the counter.
“There’s a thin line between trust and fear. If you don’t fear me, you must trust me. Right?” His voice is a deep whisper and my body immediately ceases its erratic aggression, easing into an unwelcome surrender. My heart hammers in my chest, but I nod in answer. “Keep your lips parted,” he instructs.
I couldn’t say if it’s because I want to prove my lack of fear, or if pure curiosity and the fact that he always surprises me with what he does that drives me to throw caution to the wind, but I do. I look him straight in the eyes, parting my lips just as he’s demanded. Waiting.
After a moment that seems eternal, and without taking his eyes from mine, he brings the rim of the glass to his lips, pouring the contents into his mouth. I almost protest again, until he leans forward, hands against the counter’s edge, caging me in. Looking from my eyes to my parted lips, he closes the distance, his lips landing on mine as they open and the tequila spills from his mouth to mine.
The effort it takes for my tongue not to cross the threshold of his lips, is considerable, excruciatingly so. I’m so caught up in the brief contact of his mouth that the burn of the tequila morphs into a welcome intrusion.
I expect there to be more, but there isn’t. He doesn’t kiss me, doesn’t pull me to him. He’s there and gone before I even have a chance to process it all. When he pulls away to look at me I see a promise there that I can trust him.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod slowly, taking inventory of his honest eyes and square jaw. Even just half a second ago I’d looked at what he was doing in a sexual manner, it turned me on and I was seconds away from kissing him if he’d have let me. But standing here, taking in his calm composure and the message he relays to me with those humble eyes, I see it for what it is.
I wipe my chin and lips, clearing the remnants of tequila as I walk around him and back into the living room. As I sit on the chaise lounge he sits across from me on the ottoman, elbows perched on his knees and waiting for me to talk to him.
“I don’t even know where to begin, Stone.”
“Start at the beginning.”
“Why do you want to know? Why do you care?”
“Because I know what it looks like to need someone to listen.”
I halt taking off my shoes and look up at him. That, coming from him, unexpected. His eyes comfort me, our knees almost touching from our positions across from one another. I expel a breath, closing my eyes briefly.
“When we finally got to speak to a doctor, he explained that she had slipped into a coma, more than likely due to the head trauma she’d sustained and her brain swelling. They spoke in-depth with Madi’s parents about the benefits of her being in a coma, not only for her but for the baby. None of us knew. We still don’t know if she knew before that night, but it was determined she was already a couple months along. At first, they thought the baby might make it harder for her body to heal and could cause us to lose her. So, Liz and Aston, along with several specialists, started considering aborting the pregnancy in efforts to save her. I argued and pleaded with her parents to give it a little time, and when they did, her condition began fractionally improving.”
“But they didn’t want the baby?” he asks earnestly.
“I don’t know that it was necessarily a matter of want, as much as it was thinking she was going to die and they would have to look at a constant reminder of Damon. At first it made me so fucking mad that they could feel that way, but now I know that they were just heartbroken. It’s just going to take time and I don’t think it’s my place to fault them for that. We all deal with tragedy and pain differently.”
“So, is the crib for her?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s for me.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy.
“As of yesterday, the baby is forty weeks gestation, so we are in countdown mode for the delivery. Because of how they feel, and the fact that Liz has epilepsy, I will be caring for the baby when he or she is born.”
“So, Madison will still be in a coma when the baby is delivered? How is that possible?”
“Her body, regardless of her state of mind, will go into labor naturally when it’s time. Because of the coma and the fact that they can’t chance anesthesia, a cesarean birth is out of the question. So, we just have to wait for her body to do its job.”
“When will she wake up?”
“We don’t know. The outcome has been different in each of the few documented cases. After the baby’s born, they’ll slowly introduce meds they couldn’t give her during pregnancy. Then we wait.”
“So basically, in a matter of days, your life changes pretty drastically?”
“Yeah, and I haven’t even bought diapers yet,” I laugh.
“How handy are you with a screwdriver?” he asks, cocking a brow at me.
“That depends; the drink or the tool?” He chuckles and stands, holding out his hand to help me up.
“You pour up a couple more shots while I take all the shit out of this box. Depending on how many pieces, this could be a long night.”
My alcohol consumption for a Wednesday is shameful. An hour and three shots later, our team denigrated significantly. Stone can hold his alcohol, no doubt. But even he was having to squint at the instructions. But I think when we had to lie on our backs beneath the damn thing, we were pretty much down for the count.
“I think if they made kids put these damn things together in high school, like in home-ec or some shit, teen pregnancies would plummet.”
“Do you or your brothers have kids?” I ask.
“No, thank God.”
I turn on my side, my interest sparked. “What, you don’t want kids?”
“I just want to be settled and have my business where it needs to be before I do.”
I’m shocked he’s answering my questions with more than two words strung together. Maybe if I act fast I can squeeze in a couple more.
“You were in the Army?” I point to the tattoo on his arm, his eyes falling to where my finger touches his skin. He nods. “Why did you get out?”
“I did one tour overseas and contracted out. I felt like I needed to establish a life outside of fighting, but at the same time, I thought it might pull Jerry out of the life a little. Maybe if I wasn’t around to win every fight and bringing home the cash, then he’d tire of it and move on to other things. But I hadn’t expected Thorn to blow up on the scene like a fucking rock star, either. After all, I’d asked him to stay until I got back, so I owed it to him to keep my word.”
There was a time weeks ago, that I could’ve entered a purely sexual relationship with this man, and with that one sentence, I’m so glad that I hadn’t. You learn so much about someone by asking questions, by genuinely being curious as to their own personal story. Thinking I could have any sort of relationship with someone without asking questions just proves to me that I still don’t know who I am.
“You’re a good brother,” I say.
He turns his head, eyes smiling softly. “You’re a good friend. Madison will have a lot to thank you for when she recovers.”
Everyone says she’ll recover, but for some reason when he says it, I believe it.
“Look, I know it’s none of my business, but a good friend of mine works for the mayor.” I move to sit up, back against the wall. “Why is Joseph Cameron suddenly so interested in having permits pulled on your jobs?”
He mirrors my position, sitting against the wall opposite me.
“And your gym in the same week?”
“Just focus on keeping Rush’s record clean. If you go poking around, we could end up with a bigger problem. People like him are capable of bad things and you need to remember that.” His eyes bore into mine, and I not only see but feel the seriousness in his warning. He stands, rolling the crib out of the way and reaching out a hand for me. “Come on, it’s getting late.”
I take his hand and he pulls me up, holding me to him for such a short moment I almost wonder if I imagined it as he walks from the room. He grabs his phone and keys from the table.
“It’s late, really late, Stone. You’re welcome to sleep here.”
He looks at me, mischief and reservation lighting his expression.
“Thanks, but I better get home before Bruno starts howling and the neighbors call the cops again.”
I laugh at the thought.
“He’s welcome here anytime.”
“And here I thought you’d hold a grudge.”
“Impossible. He’s pretty charming.”
“It’s the ears,” he says, giving me a full smile that’s so rare I stop breathing for a second. His keys jingle in his hand and he makes his way toward the door, me following behind.
“Thank you for all your help,” I say from the doorway, watching as he slips his keys into his pocket and wars over words in his head that I’d give anything to hear. “And thank you for listening. You were right.”
He takes a step toward me and this time I really do stop breathing, convinced he’s going to kiss me until he spreads his strong arms, wrapping them around me. With one hand between my shoulders and one at my lower back, he presses us together so perfectly that I fear the absence of him as soon as the weight of his hold lessens.
“Goodnight,” he says in my ear.
I can’t think of one time in my life that a hug has left me breathless until now.
And I spend every second it takes him to walk to the elevator catching my breath.