A Story Like Ours

by Robin Huber

  I shrug. “Well, just skip the studio then.”

  He gives me a funny look. “Where will you paint?”

  “At my studio.” I try to sound casual, because I know where this leads.

  “You mean the studio you’re giving back to Drew?”

  “Until I can find a new one, yes,” I say, minding the pot.

  “You know, I’m starting to wonder if you’re ever going to give it back him.” He laughs softly, but I don’t think he’s amused.

  “I honestly haven’t given it very much thought since the accident. I’ve been a little preoccupied.” I turn the heat down under the pot, so I can tend to our conversation instead.

  “Don’t do that, Luc.” He closes his eyes and drops his head back.

  “Do what?” My heart shudders as my hormones break through the gate and run rampant inside me. “Point out that I couldn’t walk for weeks? Or that I’ve been worried that the baby has some kind of damage from the accident the doctors just haven’t been able to see yet? Or that you’ve been so consumed by your next match that you’ve barely even noticed.”

  “Barely noticed?” he says, putting his hands on his head. “I know how long you couldn’t walk, Lucy. Because I was the one who brought you food, who bathed you, who got up in the middle of the night to help you to the bathroom.”

  I close my eyes and exhale a quiet breath, corralling my hormones back inside their gate. “I know, I’m sorry. You did so much for me.” I reach for his arm. “I wasn’t trying to discount that.”

  “I don’t need recognition for taking care of you, Lucy. It was a privilege. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t kill me to see you like that. Or that I could ever forget what it felt like to watch you struggle just to stand up, while carrying our baby, for God’s sake. And don’t think I haven’t had those same thoughts. I just care about you enough to keep them to myself.”

  I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Sam—”

  “You and the baby are the only thing that’s consumed me since the moment I heard you were in an accident.” He slams his hands down on the counter, making me jump. “The only thing!”

  “Not the only thing.”

  He looks at me and sighs. “What do you want me to say, Lucy? That I’m devastated because Joe died? I am, okay?”

  “I know you are.”

  “And you can say it’s not my fault all you want, but I will always feel responsible. Always. And not just for Joe.”

  “Sam.” I reach for him again, but he doesn’t look up.

  “Do you know what it was like to think you were dead, to think that the baby was dead? Because when I walked into that hospital, I was preparing myself for the worst.” He swallows down the emotion he can’t hide. “When I found out you were okay, as overjoyed as I was, I prepared myself to tell you the baby was gone, because I didn’t think I was lucky enough to get to keep you both. And I saw your heart shatter in my hands—I played it in my head again and again,” he says, smacking his fist into his other hand. “It was so fucking real that when they said she was okay, it took me to my knees. I still don’t believe it.”

  “Sam.”

  “I watch your belly getting bigger and I know she’s alive, growing inside you. That’s why I want to win this match. Because I want to take care of her. And every penny I earn ensures that I’ll be able to do that. She’s the reason I’ve been working so hard. I want to win for her, okay?”

  “Okay.” I wipe the tears from my cheeks and wrap my arms around him, and he lets me. “I’m sorry.”

  “I almost lost you, Lamb,” he says hoarsely.

  “Shhh…” I look up at his stormy eyes, watching the waves settle. “You didn’t lose me. I’m right here.” I reach for his scruffy face and pull his mouth to mine, letting his soft lips heal the cracks in my heart and consume the sadness that’s cleaved to the broken pieces for the last couple of months.

  He winds his arms around me and holds me close as he pushes and pulls my lips with his. I savor the way his tongue moves over mine, moaning desperately into his mouth, but he pulls away. “We shouldn’t.”

  “We should,” I say, pulling his mouth back to mine.

  “You’re still healing,” he mumbles against my lips.

  “It’s been eight weeks, I’m all better. The doctor cleared me.” I pull his shirt up and rub my hands over his chest, then I drop them to his pants.

  “What about the baby?”

  “The baby doesn’t know.”

  “I haven’t showered.”

  “I don’t care,” I groan, needing so badly to be close to him.

  “What about dinner?”

  I reach for the knob on the stove and turn the heat off. “It can wait.”

  He grabs my bottom through my leggings and squeezes it in his strong hands. “It’s been so long,” he groans against my neck, kissing me up to my jaw.

  “Too long.”

  He takes my hand and practically runs to the bedroom, dragging me behind him.

  “Sam!” I laugh as we fall onto the bed and the duvet fluffs around us.

  He pulls his shirt off and climbs over me and I gaze up at him. Has he put on more muscle? I don’t have long to ponder it. He pushes my shirt up over my stomach, kissing it softly as he makes his way up to my breasts. He releases them from my shirt, which lands somewhere on the floor, and kisses them softly, gently squeezing them in his hands. “Does that hurt?” he asks, unnecessarily concerned. They haven’t been sore since my first trimester.

  “No.” I shake my head and he drops his mouth to them again, giving them the utmost attention.

  He rubs his hand over my stomach and the baby kicks beneath it. He pauses and looks up at me.

  “We missed you,” I whisper.

  He brings his face back to mine and I gaze into a calm sea of blue and brown. “I missed you too,” he says, kissing me softly, “so much.”

  I melt beneath him, savoring the weight of his body, which he carefully holds on top of me as his lips move down my neck. He reaches for my pants, pushing them down a little, then he sits up and slowly tugs them over my hips, exposing the six-inch scar that runs along the side of my bottom. He leans down and kisses it softly, then he tosses my pants—and his, which he removed with lightning speed—onto the floor.

  He smiles as he crawls over me again, and I reach for his face, pulling his dimples and full lips back to me. “Make love to me, Sam,” I plead against his lips, desperate to feel him inside me, desperate to feel the connection I’ve missed so terribly the last two months, desperate for him to soothe the aching spot inside my heart, and desperate to heal his.

  He moves his hand down my body, navigating around the small bump between us, and rubs the burning place between my thighs, which aches almost painfully for him. He exhales a heavy breath and groans against my neck. I pull his face back to mine and watch his lips part as he rubs himself against me and slowly pushes inside.

  So slowly.

  I try to rock my hips up, but it’s impossible with my belly pressing against his marble stomach. I reach for his bottom and urge him deeper. “It’s okay, Sam, you’re not going to hurt me,” I whisper.

  He stares into my eyes as he pushes all the way inside me, then he squeezes his eyes shut and grumbles against my neck, “Oh, God, Luc.” He stills for a moment, throbbing inside me, and I savor the familiar feeling of him, and the way our hips are pressed together. He pants softly against my neck as he begins to move, slowly rocking in and out of me, extinguishing the flames and igniting new fires inside me.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he asks huskily.

  “More than okay,” I pant up at him, and he smiles softly.

  He runs his hand up my body and reaches for my hand. He laces our fingers together and holds my hand tightly, pressing it against the bed as he takes me to a place I’ve missed for so long. The fire sears beneath my skin, flames licking places inside me that have been asleep since the accident, and I feel Sam bringing me back to life.

>   He rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him, and I moan at the feeling of him reaching and filling me as he rocks his hips up and I sink down on him.

  “Is this okay?” he pants, putting his hand on my hip again.

  I grab his hand and lace our fingers together again. Then I reach for his other hand. “Stop asking me if I’m okay,” I whisper, smiling as I slowly move up and down on him.

  He drops his head back and closes his eyes. But after a few seconds, he opens them and watches me move, consuming me with the look in his eyes. He raises his painted arm and rubs his palm between my breasts. “You’re so beautiful.”

  I exhale a quiet breath and lean forward to kiss him, holding his scruffy face in my hands, and with our mouths pressed firmly together, he sits up and wraps his arms around me. He reaches for my hair tie and gently slides it down my ponytail, letting my hair fall loosely over my shoulders and around my face. He runs his fingers through it, holding it off my face as he kisses me, tugging my lips between his the way that I love.

  We move up and down together, rediscovering the connection that’s been patiently waiting in a shadow of sadness. “I love you,” I whisper, inhaling the breath he exhales against my lips, and it swirls through my lungs, making me dizzy. He kisses me and our tongues move together, coaxing the flames higher. They wrap around me, searing up my thighs and racing to the tips of my fingers and toes. He holds me tighter, and I tense under his strong hands as I surrender to the flames, letting them consume me until all that’s left is a smoldering husk. I cry out as Sam pulls me down against him and shudders beneath me, groaning against my neck.

  He stills and looks at me with satiated eyes. “I love you, Lamb.”

  I smile and exhale a satisfied breath. “I know.”

  He falls back against the pillows, and I lie down next to him and put my hand over the lion that covers his heart. “We’re going to get through this, Sam. Together.”

  He pulls my shoulders onto his chest, my tummy pressed against his side, and wraps me in his strong arms.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” I whisper, and for the first time since the accident, I have hope that it’s true.

  Chapter 15

  Lucy

  I wake to the smell of coffee and bacon, and it puts a smile on my face. I stretch my arms and legs out in the middle of the bed and look outside at the bright blue sky. May is my favorite month in Atlanta. The mornings are cool, the afternoons are warm, and all of the trees are full and green again. I exhale a contented breath, throw the duvet back, and look at my growing bump, which has worked its way out of my pajama top. “Good morning,” I say softly, and she rolls under my belly button, making me smile. “Can you hear me?” I ask louder, patting the spot, but she doesn’t move. “Baby,” I sing, gently pushing on either side of my stomach, but she stays still.

  Sam walks into the room, looking freshly showered, carrying a tray of pancakes, bacon, and coffee. “What are you doing?” he asks, watching me with a concerned look on his face.

  “Trying to get her move”—I sit up—“but she’s not cooperating.”

  He puts the tray down on the nightstand and sits on the bed beside me.

  “You made me breakfast?” I ask with adoring eyes.

  “Well”—he leans over and kisses me softly—“I decided to take the day off. I was thinking that maybe you could too.”

  I smile and nod. “Okay,” I say without an ounce of hesitation.

  He puts his hand on my tummy and rubs it softly, and the baby bumps it twice. He smiles with wide eyes and rubs it again.

  “Maybe she was waiting for you.” I glance up at him. “Tell her good morning. She knows your voice now.”

  He gives me a wary look, but leans down and says softly, “Good morning, baby.”

  I smile and lie down again. “A little louder.”

  He puts both of his hands on my protruding stomach, hiding the entire bump behind them, and says again louder, “Good morning, baby.”

  She rolls and kicks hard against his hand.

  “See,” I say over the tight feeling in my chest, and he laughs. “She knows you.”

  He rubs his hands back and forth and leans down again. “I have a surprise for your mom today. But I think you’re going to like it too.” She kicks again and he looks up at me. “We’re going to go see a house.”

  I sit up and pull my shirt down over my stomach. “We are?”

  “The realtor called this morning. She has one she wants to show us. She said it has potential…” He narrows his eyes.

  “Potential is good.”

  “It has to be great. This is the house we’re going to raise our kids in.” I smile at him and he hands me a cup of coffee. “This one’s decaf.”

  “Thank you.” I can’t stop smiling. For the first time since the accident, everything feels right again. I take a sip and look up at his freshly shaved face. “Hey.”

  He looks up at me from his coffee.

  “I love you.”

  He smiles and puts his coffee down on the nightstand. “I love you too.”

  “It’s been a while since we had pancakes,” I say, eyeing the tray.

  He reaches for a plate and hands it to me. “It’s been a while since we did a lot of things. But I want to change that.”

  My heart bubbles with hope.

  He scoots back against the pillows beside me and stretches his legs out. “I want to make a deal with you.”

  I narrow my eyes. “What kind of deal?” I ask, smiling over my mouthful of pancakes.

  He laughs and wipes the corner of my mouth with the back of his finger. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this morning and…” He inhales a deep breath and exhales it slowly. “I’m going to retire.”

  I choke a little on my pancakes.

  “You okay?” he asks, patting my back.

  I swallow and clear my throat. “You what? Sam, have you really thought this through?”

  “Actually, I’ve given it a lot of thought over the last couple of months,” he admits. “I’m going to be twenty-eight soon. I’ve been fighting for over a decade. I’ve had a great career, and that’s how I want to be remembered. As a champion. Not as some guy who didn’t know when to quit.”

  I reach for his hand and hold it in my lap, feeling a strange ache in my heart. “Are you sure?”

  “Boxing was all I had for a really long time. But now I’ve got you. And you,” he says to my tummy. “It’s time.”

  “Sam, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything yet, because there’s a but…and I still haven’t told you your side of the deal.”

  “Okay,” I say tentatively.

  “I want to finish out my contract. Joe worked too hard to get me this far to stop now. And if I break it, I walk away from seven figures for each fight, I’ll lose my endorsements, and I’d pretty much be handing my title over to Carey Valentine.”

  “Why do you say that?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.

  “Because he’s the new me.” He looks at me and sighs. “That’s what everybody’s been saying.” He drops his head back against the headboard. “He has almost as many knockout wins as I do, except that he’s five years younger and in the prime of his career. People love him. He’s practically forcing me into retirement, whether I want to go or not.”

  “People love you. I see it every time you’re in the ring. They go crazy for you, not the other guy.”

  “That’s because the other guy hasn’t been Carey Valentine. Wait until I go up against him, you’ll see who they love more.” He laughs softly, but I can’t find the humor. If this guy is as good as Sam says he is, I don’t want him anywhere near Sam.

  “Go up against him?” I ask, suddenly fraught with concern. “When?”

  “August. Fight three in my contract is against the one and only Carey Valentine.”

  “Right before the baby’s born,” I say softly.

  He laces his fingers with mine, and I see a stor
m brewing behind his beautiful eyes. “I don’t want you to worry, Lamb. I know how good he is, which is why I’m working so hard to be even better.”

  I press my lips together and nod over the lump in my throat. “And then you’re done? No more fighting?”

  “What better way to go out than beating the second best fighter in the WBA?” He gives me a sideways glance and winks.

  I ignore the fear that’s slithering through my mind and whispering quietly in my ear, He’ll get hurt right before the baby’s born. “Okay.”

  “Now for your part of the deal,” he says, narrowing his eyes, and I look at him expectantly. “Sell the studio. Or give it back.” He reaches for my hair and tucks it behind my ear. “I don’t like that he gave it to you, Lucy.” He shrugs unapologetically.

  I inhale a slow, quiet breath and consider it payment for Sam. I can get another studio. I can’t replace him. “Okay, I’ll sign the deed back over to him this week,” I agree, surprised by the relief it gives me to finally make a decision about it. If I wait to find another studio, it could be months before I do it.

  He smiles softly and rubs his thumb over my cheekbone. “Whatever house we pick will have room for a home studio. You can paint all hours of the night, if you want.”

  “That’d be good.”

  “And there are plenty of available spaces downtown for a new storefront. You and Sebastian can pick whichever one you want. You could even buy one in New York, if that’s what you really want.” He brushes his thumb across my chin. “Whatever you want. Wherever you want.”

  I shake my head. “I want to be wherever you are. And I’m still not letting you buy me a new studio.”

  He grins and nods in agreement.

  “I think between all the paintings I’ve sold and what I’ll make off my contract with Molly, I should be able to buy something soon.”

  He smiles softly. “I know it’s hard to give it up, Lamb,” he says, staring into my soul. “When something’s been a part of you for so long, it’s just…” He closes his eyes and exhales. “If you can give it up and start over”—he looks at me again—“I know I can too.”