“My viewpoint?” he asked, rubbing his palms back and forth. The kid was barely twenty and was here in the States on a student visa.
“Yes,” I said, keeping my tone soft as I jotted down notes in my notebook. “Everyone has a different perspective, and today you’ve made great strides in informing me on what your parents back home think of your time here, but you haven’t delved into your own personal feelings on the subject.”
He weighed my words for a moment, and I kept quiet, allowing his mind to change directions from outer to inner. “I guess the problem is I’m breaking tradition,” he said. “No one in my family has ever pursued a career in the arts. They’re all doctors or scientists or mathematicians. And while I want to chase my passions, the last thing I want to do is feel guilty for it. It means something to me, to my family…tradition. So by me breaking it, I feel like I’m breaking their trust.”
I hurried to write down his thoughts so I could revisit them before our next session. “That’s understandable,” I said. “And it takes a great deal of courage to seek help on sorting out these issues of guilt and blame.”
He nodded, blowing out a tight breath. “Thank you,” he said, his voice accented. “Therapy,” he continued, “is not common among my family either.”
“So you’re going two for two,” I said playfully. “Very bold.”
A wide smile stretched his lips, and it met his eyes.
“Let me ask you this,” I said. “Do the feelings of guilt outweigh your confidence in your chosen career aspirations?”
He furrowed his brow for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he said the word almost as if it were a surprise in itself.
A soft crash of waves radiated from the sound machine on the desk next to me, and I offered him a genuine smile as I stood from my chair. He shook my outstretched hand, his shoulders looser than they’d been when he’d walked in.
“Next week let’s dive into the ways we can alleviate the guilt while also finding ways to inform your family of the importance and courage in your decision about your future.”
“Sounds good,” he said, dropping my hand and heading for the door. He flashed Dr. Bernard a satisfied look before shutting the door behind him.
I exhaled, my nerves untangling a bit.
“That was fantastic,” Dr. Bernard said as she rose from her chair to meet me in the middle of her office.
“Thank you,” I said, smoothing a hand over my growing belly. My lower back ached something fierce. “I have to admit, I was a little nervous.”
“That never truly goes away,” she said. “Helping people take care of their minds is a serious business as well as a delicate one.”
I nodded. “And there are so many people who need it. Who need to understand that there shouldn’t be a stigma on it.”
“Yes,” she sighed. “I agree. Which is why I think you’ll do great things in the future. Even if you merely stay here and continue to help patients as they come in, you’re changing their lives.”
I flushed a little. “It’s an honor,” I said. “All I’ve ever wanted to do.” Beyond provide care abroad, helping people feel mentally healthy had always been my dream. Ever since I’d been ten years old and met a child in Croatia with severe depression and anxiety. He was outcast from his tribe because of his condition, not because he couldn’t be helped, but because they didn’t have access or education when it came to mental health.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, drawing me back to the present.
“Good,” I said, patting my stomach. “Except for the body aches, constant hunger, and heartburn.” I laughed, and she joined in. “Well, you can count on us for maternity leave and plenty of support. We know how hard it is to be a working mother.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, and gathered my things. “I’ll see you soon,” I said, waving to her as I exited her office.
I settled into the easy drive home, my muscles uncoiling the closer I got to Nixon’s house. Taking on my own clients was a new and exciting process, but it was also an exhausting one. I’d been gone all day, and it was already past dinner. The bathtub and bed were practically screaming my name by the time I pulled into the driveway.
The memories of Nixon’s confession hit me in the center of my chest—both a warmth and a weight. The way he carried the responsibility for his brother’s death made my heart heavy, but the fact that he’d let me see that vulnerable side of him filled me with hope. His admission had helped me understand how he used controlling his environment and his intense need to protect those he cared about as tools to cope with the loss of his brother. I could only hope with time he’d come to terms with the fact that he was not responsible and that he was worthy of happiness free of that guilt.
I locked the door behind me, doubling back to drop my bag and keys into the designated drop-station Nixon had in his entryway. Now that I knew how important order and organization were to his well-being, I made a triple effort to follow it.
“Babe?” Nixon called from down the hallway. “That you?”
“No,” I laughed. “It’s a ghost come to haunt your sexy ass.”
I heard him laugh, but the sound didn’t come from the bedroom.
“Where are you?” I asked, setting my shoes in the slot beneath the drop-station and padding barefoot down the hall.
“In the spare bedroom,” he said. “Would you come here a minute?”
I had been heading toward the kitchen, the need for food a real, visceral thing in my soul. But I couldn’t resist the hope in his voice, so I headed that direction.
“What’s up?” I asked as I turned into the spare bedroom—
And instantly gasped.
Nixon stood in the middle of the room—the one right across from his bedroom—but it no longer looked as it had when I’d moved in.
Gone were the bare walls, the simple yet elegant queen bed, and the wooden nightstand and dresser. Those pieces had been removed and replaced with a large, white-cushioned rocking chair in the corner, a white wooden crib nestled against the wall next to it. A dresser was tucked in the corner across the room, each drawer decorated with a different section of a world map. A changing pad and guard rested atop it, wicker baskets full of diapers and burp cloths next to it. A large wooden propeller hung on the wall to the left of the changing station, accented by framed photos of a propeller plane, a steam engine, and a steel-liner ship. The other wall near the closet boasted pictures of goalposts and the Raleigh field.
Tears filled my eyes as I walked deeper into the room, and I had to cover my gaping mouth as I saw what hung above the crib.
“You went back?” I asked, my voice cracking as I gaped at the vintage map of Brazil I’d fallen for at the flea market.
“I saw how much you loved it,” he said, his hands smacking against his thighs as he remained frozen in place near the rocking chair. “I thought a travel-themed nursery would be pretty fitting,” he said, a slight strain in his tone. “And it’s not all pink, but I’m pretty sure that doesn’t matter, right?” He grimaced slightly at my silence. “I know I should’ve probably waited for you, but I wanted to surprise you. You’ve been working so hard in the city and finishing up your degree, not to mention the hot yoga and baby growing stuff.”
I swallowed around the emotion clogging my throat, my heart expanding so much it hurt. “Nixon,” I said, tearing my gaze from the wall and crossing the distance to him in two strides. I wrapped my arms around him, and he instantly snaked his arms around me to haul me up to his level. “I love it,” I said, tears rolling down my cheeks.
I’d never lived in a home longer than six months, not a true home with a mortgage instead of rent. I’d never stayed in one city longer than necessary, and I’d always prided myself on not staying stagnant and exploring the world.
But this?
The way Nixon loved me—unconditionally and without hesitation. The way he constantly went out of his way to show that love, even when he hadn’t been able to say the wor
ds, spoke volumes about how he saw our future together.
And for the first time in my life, I saw the value in a home. In putting down roots and formulating a plan—one that revolved around the happiness and love we wanted to raise this baby in. I’d been a little sad since the day they’d passed me over for the Breaking Boundaries abroad internship, but not now. Not after all of this. Not after realizing there was so much to explore here, with him.
“You do?” he asked, planting a quick kiss on my lips.
“Yes!” I said, kissing him back, harder, hungrier, my heart racing with the revelation that maybe adventures didn’t always have to consist of traveling every six months or exploring a new country. It could exist right here between Nixon’s arms, his kiss.
Something fluttered in my tummy that had nothing to do with the surging bliss racing through my blood, and I jolted against Nixon.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, instantly noting my wide-eyed stare. He set me gently on my feet, and I stepped back to hold my stomach. “Babe,” he said, his tone laced with worry. “Talk to me.”
I couldn’t speak because tears rolled down my cheeks. I grabbed his hand instead, jerking him toward me and settling his hand over the left side of my tummy.
“Babe.”
I practically held my breath as that flutter happened again. I jerked my gaze up to his.
Nixon’s face shifted from worried to awed, his eyes wide.
“Say something else,” I whispered, and the man dropped to his knees before me but kept his hands on my stomach.
“Hi, baby,” he said, his voice strained with emotion.
Another flutter, and he half laughed, half gasped, his eyes drawing up to mine. They were glistening with unshed tears.
“Hi, baby,” he said again, this time there was no hiding the overwhelming hope in his tone. The baby kicked again in the same spot, and I choked out a laugh covering my mouth with a hand to keep from sobbing.
Because I’d felt this baby in my soul since the day those two pink lines had shown up, but watching Nixon finally, fully connect?
World shattering.
“You’re so strong,” he said to my tummy, delight dancing in his eyes as he remained on his knees. “God, Liberty, she’s incredible.” He rested his forehead against my stomach, seeming very well content to kneel there forever.
I raked my fingers through his hair, sucking in a sharp breath as I glanced at the nursery he’d created for our baby. The travel and adventure and football all combined together in a seamless mixture of the best pieces of us.
Nixon and me, and the baby between us.
“Thank you,” he whispered, keeping his head against my stomach.
“I love you,” I said, the words light and heavy at the same time. God, did I love this man, love his child. So much I felt it in every pore of my body.
Nixon shifted, slowly standing until I had to arch my neck to meet his gaze. He cupped my cheeks, his eyes open and raw and real as he looked down at me.
“I love you, Liberty. So damn much.” Then he slanted his mouth over mine, claiming me, body and soul, with those words, with his kiss.
And he didn’t stop, not even when I moaned between his lips, when I rocked against him, or when I’d taken him to the floor and rode him.
He didn’t stop touching me, loving me.
And I was certain I never wanted him to.
17
Nixon
“You are not going to believe this!” I called out, wiping the sweat from my forehead as I walked into the living room. My chest heaved as I caught my breath since Mom had interrupted my six-mile run in the middle of the fourth mile.
But apparently, I was talking to myself, since Liberty wasn’t on the couch, where she usually sat with a book while I finished my early morning run. She’d been there when I headed down to the gym, but she wasn’t in the kitchen, or the dining room, either.
Huh. Tuesday mornings had become sacred to us. They were the only time we were both guaranteed to be home since it was my day off, and she didn’t have her internship until after lunch.
What if—
Stop.
I shut my brain down and counted to three instead of jumping to the worst-case scenario. If something had happened with the baby, she would have come and gotten me. She was probably in the shower.
Now that was a thought that brought a smile to my face.
I took the stairs two at a time, and opened our bedroom door, ready to sneak my way into the shower, but the shower wasn’t running.
Liberty stood in the middle of our bedroom with her phone up to her ear, nodding. When she saw me come in, a giant grin spread across her face, and her eyes lit up. “That’s absolutely not a problem.”
Whatever it was, it had to be good news. Hopefully telling her Mom had already booked her flight for the day after New Years wasn’t going to ruin whatever she had going on. I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the doorframe as she finished the last few seconds of her phone call. Our Halloween costumes hung in the doorway of the closet, ready for tonight’s Raptor party.
“I’m…I’m just honored and so excited! Thank you! I won’t let you down!” She hung up and held her phone to her chest for a heartbeat. The excitement coming off her was so intense it was almost palpable. “This is the best day ever!” She ran across the room, still sporting her pajamas, and flew into my arms.
I caught her and smiled into the kiss she planted on my lips. She was a shot of liquid sunshine, completely and utterly infectious in her joy. “Good news, I take it?”
She nodded. “I got the internship!”
“That’s great!” A second later, confusion set in. “I thought you already got the internship you wanted?” Shit, was I that bad at paying attention?
“I did!” She looped her arms around my neck. “Same company, dream location!”
I schooled my features. “You got the one you initially wanted? The one that’s out of town?” Be happy for her, jackass. So what if you have to commute a little.
She snort-laughed. “A little out of town. Ha!” She kissed me soundly, then pulled out of my arms. “I have to get packed. They expect me there in two days. The guy they’d initially picked for the internship broke his leg last night, so I get his spot!”
“You have to pack?”
She tilted her head. “You wouldn’t want me walking around naked, would you?”
“Fuck no,” I responded automatically.
She skipped past me, heading for the guest room—the one she had yet to move her stuff out of. “Nix, I’m so happy! I can’t wait to see my mother! I can’t believe they selected me to intern!”
My stomach flipped as I followed her down the hall, trying to put two and two together. “Wait…didn’t you tell me that your Mom couldn’t come for Christmas because she’s working in Brazil?” I got that feeling—the one where you misread the defense and knew you were about to get knocked on your ass.
Liberty yanked her travel-worn, framed backpack out of the closet, tossing it onto the queen-sized bed. “Well, yeah!” She threw a smile at me and walked back into the closet.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Did she mean…no way.
She came out with an armful of clothes—mostly the maternity ones she’d just bought, and piled them onto the bed next to the pack. “I knew I should have purged when I moved in. Shit!” She scratched her forehead. “I can’t remember where I put my passport.”
“It’s in the fire safe in the office,” I answered on autopilot. The same office she refused to set up to study in because it would feel like she was encroaching on my space. My stomach tangled into a knot, but I managed to stay standing in the doorway.
“Right!” She picked up a shirt, then folded and rolled it into the tiniest ball possible.
“Liberty,” I said as calmly as I could manage.
“Nixon?” She shoved the shirt all the way to the bottom of the backpack.
“Please tell me I’m wrong
—that I’m jumping to the worst-case scenario, but it seems to me like you’re going to Brazil.” There, that came out calm and rational, right?
She blinked, then burst into a laugh that I didn’t share as she picked up a set of shorts. “Well, yeah! Where else did you think I was going?”
“Charlotte?” I guessed. “Or somewhere like that?” Somewhere in the state, at least, not another fucking continent.
Her jaw gaped. “What? Why would you ever think I was going to Charlotte?”
“Why would I ever think you were going to Brazil?” I fired back, my voice rising slightly. God, had she hidden this from me on purpose? The whole time? It went against everything I thought I knew about her.
“Because that’s where Breaking Boundaries is right now. They’re in Brazil.” She set the shorts down on the pale green comforter and looked at me like I’d lost my fool mind over here.
“But you…” I shook my head. “You said you shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up for the internship you wanted, but you got the one in-city.” My mind scrambled, trying to find all the missing pieces to the puzzle I hadn’t been aware we were even putting together.
“Right. The other guy got the Brazil slot months before I even applied. I don’t understand why you’re so surprised.”
“Because you never told me the other option was Brazil!” I put my hands on top of my head and took measured breaths. “In-city, Liberty. You acted like the other option was just in another city, not another country!”
Her shoulders squared. “Well, I guess you could have just done what I do when I want to know more about your work and google.”
“Are you serious right now?” She’d just thrown my own words back at me. This was…I didn’t have words. I couldn’t find them. Feelings? Oh, I had plenty of those, all which started with absolute disbelief.
Nixon (Raleigh Raptor Book 1) Page 18
