ODESSA

I’m in love.

It came softly and unexpectedly, but I couldn’t escape it if I tried. This is the kind of love that lasts a lifetime; the kind that defines you and brings out the deepest parts of your heart you never knew were there.

I’m not her mother, but I love her the same.

Leaning over Sadie’s stroller, I melt when I catch a hint of a baby smile. She turned two months last week. Beckham acted like he didn’t want to make a fuss about it, but I made him take a couple dozen pictures with her anyway. He doesn’t say it, but he’s still afraid to get too attached.

We both know it’s far too late for that.

I rake a pink pacifier across her rose-hued lips until she latches on, and I lift a muslin blanket up to her belly before pushing on. The Saturday morning June air is just beginning to warm. Dane and Bellamy are in the city visiting Beckham, so I offered to take Sadie for a stroll around Central Park so the three of them could have a nice brunch at a restaurant that doesn’t have high chairs and complimentary wet naps.

The stroll is leisurely, the fresh air cleansing. We needed this. May was much too rainy, and Sadie was cooped up far too long.

Joggers pass us, and families, and little old ladies walking dogs. Sadie stirs, her arms fidgeting as she spits out her paci. She needs a break from the stroll. Ahead I spot an empty park bench, pushing her toward it and stepping on the lock before lifting her into my arms.

She glances around, her dark eyes wide. I’m not sure how much she can see, but Sadie appears to be taking in as much as she can.

“Much different than your nursery, huh?” I kiss her cheek, breathing in her powdery lavender scent.

“Your daughter is beautiful.” An older woman in head to toe neon green Nike powerwalks past me with a wide grin, her eyes moving from Sadie to me and back.

“Thank you.” I nod.

She feels like mine, even if she’s not.

Cradling her in my arms, I study her face. I can’t decide if she looks like Beck or not. Sometimes I see it in her expressions. He still won’t open the envelope, and it’s not my place to push him.

Another temporary custody hearing is tomorrow, sparked by the fact that Eva signed away her parental rights. Beckham’s been a moody mess since last week, each day worse than the one before.

Losing Sadie would destroy him. I refuse to believe it’s going to happen.

Sadie smiles up at me, wrapping her fingers around my pinky. I make faces and tickle her beneath her chin until her legs get to kicking. She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.

After playing for a bit, her tongue begins to click against her lips. She’s hungry. Pulling her diaper bag from beneath her stroller, I mix up a bottle, lean back on the bench, and feed her.

Sadie watches me intently, her belly filling by the second, and I squeeze in a bit of people watching. A twenty-something couple amble past, fingers intertwined, and my heart squeezes.

I lift the baby over my shoulder to burp, and circle my palms over her back, inhaling her once again. The judge is going to let her stay with Beckham no matter what. I know it in my heart of hearts. There’s no one else better suited to be her father. My eyes burn for a moment, but I push those doubts and fears away. I’ve been so preoccupied with keeping Beckham calm lately that I haven’t thought much about how it would make me feel to lose her.

Squeezing her a little tighter, I lower her into my arm again and place the bottle against her mouth.

A little boy blazes by on a bike, his mom chasing after him, calling for him to slow down. Watching to see if she ever catches up with him, I spot two familiar faces up ahead.

My heart lurches into my throat, and for a moment the wind is knocked out of me.

The couple grows closer, and I call them a couple because they’re unmistakably holding hands.

Each second passes in slow motion, bringing them closer. They don’t see me. Not yet. But they will.

Sucking in a deep breath, I stand up, Sadie in my arms, and in my best cordial tone say, “Hey, you two.”

Jeremiah and Carly’s younger sister, Carissa, freeze, spotting me at exactly the same moment. Their hands drop and their faces turn pale.

I strut across the wide asphalt path toward them, my heart breaking yet satisfied by the way Jeremiah squirms under my stare.

“What’s this?” My eyes dance between theirs.

Carissa turns to Jeremiah but he looks my way.

“How long?” My jaw sets harder than the knot in my stomach.

This explains Carly’s strange behavior last time we hung out. I thought it was odd how distant she’d been lately, but I chalked it up to the fact that I was busy dealing with Beckham and my new job. I thought maybe we were falling out of touch.

I suppose she felt caught between her loyalty to Jeremiah and her loyalty to me.

This was the last thing I ever expected.

“It wasn’t planned,” Jeremiah drawls. His tone is smooth and unwavering but the shift in his eyes tells me he’s nervous as hell. “Carissa’s been interning at the studio. We spent some late nights together. It just sort of evolved, Sam.”

I fight a bittersweet smile, staring at the young woman who likely ignited the doubt in the mind of my former fiancé. Carissa offered an excitement I could never give him.

She was the catalyst.

“We never wanted to hurt you.” Carissa bites her lip. I’ve been best friends with Carly since college, but I’d only been around Carissa a handful of times since she attended culinary school in California. “If it makes you feel any better, Carly won’t speak to me.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, stuck between wanting to smack him and thank my lucky stars. I now know that marrying him would’ve been the biggest mistake of my life.

“When did things…evolve…exactly?” I ask, not that it matters at this point, but I doubt I’ll get another chance to ask.

“O-oh, um,” Jeremiah stammers. His reaction confirms my assumptions. “I mean, we hung out a lot, but we didn’t really do anything until after you said you absolutely didn’t want to marry me.”

Carissa smacks him across the chest. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of consolation prize.”

His blue gaze darts between us. There’s nothing he can say that’s going to please us both.

“You’re not a consolation prize, Carissa. Damn it. We’ve had this talk.” His lips purse, his nostrils flaring as his hands fly to his hips. Jeremiah glances at me one more time, his eyes softening. “Are you happy now, Sam?”

His question is gentle, his expression genuine.

“I just need to know if you’re happy,” he says again.

My hold on Sadie tightens, and I look down to catch the last of her chocolate eyes before she nods off in my arms.

There’s so much more love in my life than I ever expected. My love for Sadie fills my heart so full sometimes, I’m worried it’ll burst. And Beckham. He’s my prickly cactus. The more he refuses to believe he’s deserving of love, the more I want to love him.

I want to love him.

I do.

I see things in him I’ve never seen in anyone before. He’s strong and gentle, protective and loyal. Unapologetic and stubborn.

I could easily love that man, and it could easily be the hardest, most rewarding risk I’ve ever taken. Sometimes I wonder if I’m already starting to fall for him. We’re together almost every day. He’s my label-free version of comfort and excitement.

Thinking about it is dangerous though. The thought of admitting to myself that I’m falling in love with a man who doesn’t want to be loved makes me sick to my stomach.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m happy.”

“Good.” Jeremiah takes me in like it’s the last time and gives a tight nod. “Glad to hear that, Sam.”

“See you around,” I say.

Reaching for Carissa’s hand, they walk away. There’s a lightness in my chest. I can breathe now.

“What do you say we head back?” I whisper to the sleeping babe in my arms.

* * *

“Hello, hello?” I push the stroller off the elevator and into Beckham’s foyer. He’s sitting in his favorite wingback chair in the living room. “Surveying your kingdom again?”

He turns, his face lighting when he sees us. Rising, he comes our way and scoops Sadie in his arms.

“Dane and Bellamy go back?” I ask.

“Yeah. They headed to the hotel to pack. Their flight leaves in a few hours.”

“Bellamy’s a sweet girl. I like her.”

Beckham’s head cocks. “Not sure what she’s doing with a guy like my brother, but who am I to judge?”

I bump his shoulder with my fist. “Dane is a good guy. He deserves a good girl.”

“You give him too much credit.” His brows jump. “You give everyone too much credit.”

Watching Beckham cradle the baby and swing her side to side has quickly become one of my favorite things to do. Dizziness rains over me as my heart hammers at the thought of Sadie not being here a day from now.

I’m torn between wanting to spend this final, lazy Sunday with Beckham and Sadie and wanting to give them their own final day together…

Just in case…

“I should get going.” I tighten my purse strap over my shoulder.

He whips his attention my way, face scrunching. “Why?”

“Laundry,” I blurt. “It’s laundry day.”

I cringe, hoping he won’t see through me.

“You should stick around,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you being so weird?” His full lips curl up, his head angled. “Hang on.”

He sweeps Sadie off, taking her back to her crib and returning a minute later.

“You staying or what?” He points at my feet, which are still strapped into a pair of hot pink running shoes from our walk at the park.

Kicking them off and dropping my bag on the foyer buffet, I say, “Yeah. Sure. I’ll stick around for a bit.”

I follow him to the living room, draping myself across his sofa like I own the thing. Funny how comfortable I’ve become lately, but I almost feel like I live here. At least part-time.

“The court hearing is tomorrow.” His solemn voice breaks my heart.

“I know.”

“I was wondering,” he swallows. “If you’d come along. You know. As a friend.”

Popping up, I turn to him. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

His face rests in his cupped hand, his stare glazed, gray and despondent.

I go to him, falling to my knees and taking his hand in mine. “It’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes. It’s okay to be scared.”

Beckham smirks, refusing to look at me.

“I’m serious,” I say. “I’m asking you to let your guard down a little. You can be yourself with me. As your friend, I’m asking you to stop being so damn strong all the time.”

Our eyes meet. I’m still on my knees.

“I think we passed the friend stage a while back, don’t you?” His words are hungry and scared and wanton all swirled into one low growl that makes my heart stop cold.

“Did we?” My voice breaks, residing meekly in the back of my throat.

He pulls me into his lap, fingers laced around my waist as I lower my body against his. Our lips graze, my fingers lacing around the back of his neck.

“What is this?” I whisper, trying to curb my enthusiasm in case it’s another case of Beckham needing a quick release.

His lips crush mine. “What do you want it to be, Dess?”

Way to put me on the spot.

I taste his mouth again and again, buying time and satiating my cravings.

“We’re something,” he says, his voice reverberating from his chest into mine. “No fucking denying that.”

I nod, fingers lacing in his thick, dark mane. “We really need to label it?”

His teeth rake across the flesh of my neck, his lips burning and his hands traveling up my shirt.

“Yes,” he breathes. “I want to fucking label it. I want to know that tomorrow, when I wake up, no matter what happens, I’m going to have you. I can’t lose you both. I…can’t…”

Yanking my shirt over my head, his hands slip under the lace demi cups of my bra, and he leans in to take a pert nipple between his soft, wanting lips.

“Say you belong to me,” he growls, pinching a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “I need to hear it, Dess…”

My head dips back, his hands searching my body, skirting along my sensitive flesh.

“I’m yours,” I whisper.

His fingers slip inside the waist of my leggings, and travel between my thighs until they find my wet slit. Dragging his fingertips between my seam, his thumb circles my swollen clit.

I grind against him, his fingers sliding deep inside me, coaxing me, teasing me.

He doesn’t stop, and I realize this isn’t about him. For the first time, this isn’t about a physical release for Beckham.

“Do I make you happy?” His free hand presses against the small of my back as my hips rock.

Biting my lip and squeezing my eyes, I offer a breathless, “Yes.”

“Am I enough for you?”

“God, Beckham, yes…you’re enough…”

And yet I can’t get enough of you…

Minutes later I’m unable to fight the burning friction building up below. With hips circling and rocking, I ride myself to the edge, collapsing against his chest when it’s over.

“I didn’t want to need you.” With Beckham’s face buried in my hair, his soft tone tickles my ear. “God, I fought it like hell.”

I smile though he can’t see.

His fingers slip up the back of my neck before tangling in my hair and tugging me back until our eyes meet.

“Do you remember what you told me the first time we went to Utah?” His blue eyes radiate in the afternoon sunlight. “You said one of these days I was going to meet my match, and she was going to knock me sideways.”

“I remember.”

“You’re my fucking match, Odessa. I knew right then it was going to be you,” he says. “It’s been you since the moment you flipped me off in the elevator.”

Quiet laughter fills my chest, and I rest my cheek against his steel shoulder. His arms wrap around me, pulling me into him.

My father’s words echo in my mind, “Life didn’t matter until your mother.”

“I was just existing before I met you,” I whisper, voice cracked. “You brought me to life.”

Closing my eyes, my lips find his, soaking in this moment, basking in the beauty of a moment that will define us for the rest of our lives.