I turn into my room, careen off the door jamb as my shoulder slams into it, and then right myself. I skid into the bathroom and drop to my knees at the toilet so hard I know there will be bruises there tomorrow.
Barely making it over the top, I open my mouth and vomit like I'm being exorcised. There goes my 3 A.M. snack of pretzels and ice cream as it hits the water with an echoing splash off the toilet bowl. After the first explosion is out, I take a deep breath, hear Luc's footsteps in the bathroom, then heave again with so much force I think my stomach starts to come out. I also make the most horrific grunt-crying type of noise as I expel not as much, but enough it splashes again.
"Jesus, Stephy," I hear Luc say, but he sounds like he's in a box or something. Maybe I blew out my own eardrums with the violence of how I just vomited.
I heave again but nothing comes out.
A cold cloth is then placed against the back of my neck as I hug the toilet, and Luc rubs my lower back as I heave again. My ribs actually hurt and I choke on some residual but highly acidic bile and I wait for it to happen again.
But to my immense relief, the nausea disappears just as suddenly. In fact, I'm in the post-vomit orgasmic-like bliss that overtakes you where you feel like you could run a marathon because that's how good you feel after throwing up.
I push back from the toilet, one hand coming to hold the cloth at the back of my neck before flopping over onto my butt with a terrible groan. My bathroom is small, but I can lean back against the vanity cabinet and stretch my legs out. Rolling my head, I look at Luc, who is kneeling so close to me my thigh is pressed up against his knees.
My eyes drop to my legs, then back to him. "I didn't shave and this close you can see the stubble. I'm gross."
"You just filled a toilet with vomit," he says with a smile, then sits beside me. "I'm pretty sure it's not your legs that are gross."
I snort, then we both start laughing. I move the wet cloth from the back of my neck to wipe my face as I move on to chuckles and then silence as we sit side by side.
"So that's morning sickness, huh?" Luc hazards a damn good guess.
"I'm thinking sausage might not do it for me," I mutter as I roll my head back and stare at the toilet. I then groan at the thought of having to go through this every day. "I can't do this."
My voice is extra whiny on purpose, so I'm assuming Luc knows I'm teasing about that as well, also because he chuckles as he brings a hand down to my bare thigh and squeezes. I was prepared for this, and while being nauseous is like the worst thing in the world, I'm pretty sure it's not what I need to be worrying about. No, that would be pushing a bowling ball out of my vagina.
Rolling my head back left, I look at Luc again, and he's smiling at me. "I've got your back."
"You can't hold my hair over the toilet each time I'm sick," I point out.
"No, but you can call me if I'm not here and tell me all about it," he says, and fuck...he's serious. That's not a joke. "I will totally commiserate with you."
And that, right there.
That brutally honest offer of true empathy hits me straight in the middle of my chest, which squeezes to the point I can't breathe. We stare at each other a moment, and my mind races to make a joke.
Talk about the weather.
Hell, I'd take another round of vomit to make this sensation go away.
If I was feeling okay, I'd distract him with sex, but that's out.
But then my lungs sort of expand and I'm able to take a breath in. When I blow it out, the tension is gone and I feel back to normal.
Sort of.
I still know without a doubt that Luc is in this for the long haul with this pregnancy. Put what we have in bed aside, he wants to help me.
I don't know what to do with that. I'm not sure I can handle the feelings that are being produced. Outside of Hilda, there's never been anyone who looked out for me, and it's incongruous to everything I've ever learned in life about people and relationships.
So I move past it until I can figure it out.
"I'm going to go out on a limb here and tell you that you aren't getting any this morning," I tell Luc sadly. Yes, I'm sad because I was very much looking forward to getting naked and carnal with him again. "I need to let my stomach settle a bit."
"I don't mind," he assures me, because despite everything, Luc is a gentleman.
"Why don't you head out and go enjoy your day," I suggest kindly. "Salvage your Sunday. I'm going to lie on the couch and take it easy this morning."
"Like I said...you're cute," he says with a smirk, and then pushes up off the floor. Staring down at me, he points to the sink. "Brush your teeth, because while I may not be fucking you, I will be kissing you at some point."
I just blink at him in a daze, not really understanding. "Huh?"
"I'm going to hang out with you here," he says, but then amends, "actually, I'm going to have you tell me what does sound good for breakfast and I'm going to get it for you, and then I'm going to hang out with you. We can watch movies on the couch, and if you're feeling better later I can fondle you. It will be a great Sunday, trust me."
It's absolutely impossible for me not to smile, and he takes this as my assent as he holds his hand out to me. I clutch it hard and he pulls me up from the floor so quickly I stumble and fall into him. His hands go to my shoulders to steady me, but he pulls his head back from me with an exaggerated grimace.
"You are not kissing me until you brush the vomit out of your mouth," he scolds as he turns me toward the sink.
I shrug his hands off me and growl as I snap up my toothbrush. "I wasn't trying to kiss you, jackass. I stumbled into you."
"Keep telling yourself that," he says as he slaps me on my ass.
I give a tiny yelp as I whip around to glare at him, and I consider kicking him in the nuts, but then I melt when I see the intense expression on his face. It's filled with wonder and awe. "You are so fucking sexy when you get mad."
I roll my eyes at him and turn to grab the toothpaste, putting a little too much on the brush before I jam it into my mouth. I look at my reflection above the sink and try to ignore Luc.
This becomes impossible when he steps up behind me.
I brush my teeth and try to ignore the goose bumps that break out when his hands come to my hips. He stands a good foot taller than me, so he simply looks at me in the mirror over my head.
With his eyes locked on mine, my brush goes still in my mouth when he squeezes me gently. "You are so fucking sexy all the time."
I just stand there, almost hypnotized by the deep rumble of his voice and the way his eyes hold me with their intensity.
"Even with your vomit breath and hairy legs, I still have a hard-on for you."
And to prove this, he steps into me, pressing his erection into my lower back. My eyes flutter shut for a moment, and when they open, his gaze has softened.
After pressing his lips to the back of my head, he says, "Now what do you want to eat for breakfast?"
I blink once, then again, mentally shaking myself out of my Luc-induced trance. Leaning over the sink, I spit out my toothpaste and look back up at his reflection.
I smile at him and say, "Plain oatmeal, I think. I have some in my cupboard."
Luc grins at me and winks. "I'm on it."
And then he's gone and I don't understand why I keenly feel the absence of him just now.
Chapter 7
Lucas
I surf on my phone while Levy and Rocco work on their homework at the kitchen table. I periodically glance at them to make sure they're actually working, but they're pretty diligent kids. Levy, who is in first grade and working on spelling words, has his tongue stuck out the side of his mouth in concentration. Rocco, a second grader, is reading a book. It's open, lying flat, and his hands are folded below the table as he leans forward while his eyes move over the words. He's the oldest of the three kids, and he seems the wisest, since he was more aware of what was happening when his mom died almost two years ago and
they came to live with their Aunt Jules.
They are good kids, which is why I didn't mind watching them after school so Max and Jules could go to Annabelle's dance recital. She's almost five, and could not have looked any cuter in her little costume when they left. I promised to feed the boys a snack--which was a drive out to Goodberry's for ice cream and promises not to tell Max and Jules--then we went to the park and played for a bit. When we got home, the boys were more than willing to start their homework and I now I'm just hanging out until my duties are over.
After babysitting, I'm going to over to Stephanie's for the evening, and that makes a big smile sweep over my face as I scroll through my Twitter feed.
I hear the front door open and both of the boys' heads pop up. Annabelle's voice filters in as she's chattering away at Max and Jules as they come into the kitchen.
Jules slips her purse off and puts it on the counter as Max helps Annabelle take off the jacket she wore over her pink leotard and silver tutu.
"Well, were you a shining star?" I ask Annabelle, and she nods with a beaming smile as she approaches me. I pick her up and put her on my lap, and look up at Max. "Should we be submitting applications to Juilliard?"
Max chuckles and then leans over Annabelle, brushing his lips over her hair. "She was amazing."
Yeah...Annabelle may have been born to two other people who are no longer around, but there's no doubt that Max is her father now. He loves these kids like they're his own. And that means Uncle Lucas loves them that way too.
"How's the homework?" Jules asks the boys as she goes to the refrigerator and takes out a package of chicken.
Levy just grunts and Rocco says, "Good. Almost done."
"Once you two are finished, go get washed up. Dinner will be in about half an hour." Jules turns to me. "Want to stay for dinner? Doing some chicken on the grill."
Shaking my head, I stand up from the table, depositing Annabelle on her feet and giving her a head rub. "I'm leaving soon. I've got plans tonight."
"Oh yeah." Jules asks slyly, "With anyone in particular?"
I roll my eyes at her. She and Max both know I've been seeing--well, fucking--Stephanie. I mean, they don't know details, but they vaguely know from some offhanded comments I may have made that I'm in a sort of friends-with-benefits, casual type of relationship with the mother of my child.
Fuck, this is complicated.
Tucking my phone into my pocket, I go ahead and admit, "I'm going to hang with Stephanie tonight. Picking up a pizza on the way over there."
"I'm going to go start the grill," Max announces.
"And I'm outta here," I say with a wave.
"Later, dude," Max says.
As she sets the chicken down on the counter, Jules adds, "I'll walk you to the door. I want to ask you something."
This seems like an odd request to me, but Max doesn't blink an eye, just heads out the double doors to the back deck where the grill is located.
Jules and I walk to the front door and she follows me out onto the porch, where I turn around to face her. "What's up?"
Leaning back against the door, she asks, "I'm just curious how things are going between you and Stephanie."
"They're going fine," I tell her, then I tilt my head. "You do know this is just a casual thing we've got going on, right?"
"Yeah, I got the memo on that," she says with a laugh. "I just wanted to know what you thought of her because you've been spending time with her."
"Why?" I ask guardedly, wondering why her question suddenly makes me feel protective of Stephanie.
"No nefarious reason," she says, assuring me with an easy smile. "It's just...she reached out to me last week while y'all were on the road to DC about a business idea she had that I actually think is pretty damn good. She wanted my advice, and we really got into some deep discussions about it and I might help her out. But it's a big undertaking and I hardly know her at all, and--"
"You want the inside skinny on whether or not she's a flake?" I suggest.
Jules cheeks turn pink as she grumbles, "Something like that."
I chuckle as I step to the side and lean against the stonework on the side of their porch. Shrugging, I say, "I think she's cool. I mean, she's funny, smart, and seems to have a good head on her shoulders."
"But," Jules prods, sensing something else.
"But nothing," I say evasively.
Jules just cocks an eyebrow at me and crosses her arms over her chest.
My head turns and I dart a glance through the large windows of the front door all the way out to the glass doors on the back deck, and I see Max is still working on the grill cleaning it. While I love my brother to death, I could stand to get some advice, and I think I need it from Jules more than Max.
Looking back to her I move away from the wall and take a few steps closer to her. She pushes off the door and straightens, perhaps sensing this is going to get personal.
"So, I've learned a little about Stephanie," I tell her in a low voice. "And she, um...well, she didn't have a good life growing up."
"Poor?" Jules guesses, and she would know something about that for sure. She didn't have the rosiest of upbringings.
I shake my head. "The opposite. Extremely wealthy, high-powered parents who didn't want a kid and made it perfectly clear to Stephanie that's how they felt."
Jules gives a startled gasp. "Good God."
Nodding in acknowledgment, I continue to tell her some other details I'd found out from Stephanie on Sunday when I was over there. "She has absolutely no one in her life. No relationship at all with her parents except some infrequent phone calls to check in. No other family at all, and not one close friend that she hangs with."
"That's weird," Jules mumbles.
"I think so too. So I asked her why that was and she just brushed it off by saying that growing up in a boarding school environment didn't really facilitate friendship because it was so competitive."
"But you don't believe that?" she guesses.
"Nope," I reply. "I think she just can't trust anyone to let them in. She fended off questions from me before she started opening up. But she is the most closed off person I think I've ever met, and personally, I think it's because her parents fucked up her head by not supporting her through life and acting like she was a burden on them. I don't think she trusts anyone but herself, and that's why she's so stubbornly independent and stoic about things."
"I don't get it," Jules murmurs. "She's so outgoing and her humor is razor sharp. She seems...happy."
I nod again. "I think she is happy for what she knows happiness to be. I think she's content with her life and she's accepted it. I don't get that she's overly bitter or angry, it's just made her closed off from her feelings."
"And from intimacy?" Jules suggests, and that hits me right in the stomach.
Intimacy is such a confusing word. It can mean many things to many people, but I think Jules actually nailed it. While Steph and I have gotten down and dirty with each other, I'm not so sure how much intimacy there's been. She's opened up to me some, but she's also closed off in many ways. I haven't seen her since her morning sickness bout on Sunday, but that's because I had a game Monday night and then we flew out the next day to Florida for another game.
But here's the problem.
I actually missed her when I was gone. I hardly know this woman, and yet I have feelings for her that I've never had for another person. It's not love, but it's something deep. I realized it as she was throwing up in the toilet and I thought this woman is carrying my child, and here she is suffering because of it. At that moment, something took hold of my heart and carved out a section that would belong only to Stephanie, and I became suddenly afraid that I'd never be myself again.
She's going to go through hell--her words not mine, because she's a bit scared about the pregnancy--and all so she can give birth to something that is part of me. Considering what little she's told me about her family life, I've got to say it impresses the hell out of me that s
he was going to make this journey on her own whether or not I was involved. Say what you want about how fucked up she is about relationships and trust, she's an immensely strong and brave woman.
I simply respect her.
"Here's the thing," I say. "I can see something more with her, but I'm not sure she could say the same back to me. So my point is, if you are considering helping her with her business idea, do it with the understanding she and I might be nothing more than co-parents, and I have no clue how that's going to work out. We've not even talked about those issues yet."
Jules nods in understanding. "Noted."
"What is she interested in doing?" I ask curiously.
"It's a pretty amazing idea," she says with bright, excited eyes. "She said when she lived back in California, some of the nursing homes and rehab centers actually had preschools inside of them where the kids and elderly would interact together. She said it made a huge difference to the people there who didn't have family, and also helped the kids to empathize with a sort of lost generation of people."
"Hilda," I say softly.
"Who?"
"Hilda," I repeat. "She was Stephanie's nanny...Stephanie became Hilda's caregiver later in life as she got older. Stephanie told me she had broken her hip and had to go to a nursing home. She died there."
"I'm betting they had that program there," Jules says.
"So she wants to open a school inside of a nursing home?" I ask with my brows furrowed.
Jules shakes her head. "Not quite. She actually wants to create a nonprofit that would pair preschools with care facilities and make the arrangements and transportation to bring the kids for field trips to do activities with the residents."
My head actually jerks backward in surprise. A good kind of surprise. "That's freaking brilliant."
"Right?" Jules says with enthusiasm. "And I'd like to help her if she does this. I'm not doing my painting full time, and only working a few hours each week at Sweetbrier. I know when Annabelle starts school in the fall, I'm going to go crazy with boredom."
My mind spins, wondering how serious Stephanie is about doing this and if she's going to ask for my advice. I have to admit, I'm slightly perturbed she reached out to Jules before me about this. Say what you want about Jules having some inside expertise and education in geriatric care, I'm the one bringing her amazing orgasms.
Lucas Page 7
