I was ashamed of my cutting scars. But he treats them like a badge of courage. Like they're a sign I survived something hard, not like they're a sign I'm a damaged freak.
***
The bed shakes so hard I'm worried it's going to fall through the floor. It doesn’t. Not the first, second, or third time I come.
After we clean up, we head to Golden Gate Park for a long walk. There's a lot to catch up on—all the little details that make up days. Mostly, I talk and he listens, but I do get a few details about the tour. There was a great show in Tokyo and an awful one someplace in China. He broke three guitar strings during a solo.
I get lost in our conversation. He must be lost too, because we're well into the afternoon when we realize the time.
My phone is packed with When will you be home for lunch? messages from my mom.
"Shit, we better go." I show Drew the texts.
He presses his lips to mine. "You're always making trouble, Kendrick."
I nod and lead him back home. It's a long walk, but it's nice today. It's cool, but the flowers and trees are in bloom. There are pollens everywhere.
My allergies are going crazy. I'm sneezing, I'm tired, and I'm incredibly nauseous. Usually, the nausea is more mild. At the moment, I'm about ready to throw up.
It feels like it's something worse than allergies, but it's been consistent for a few weeks. What else could it be?
At home, Mom is in the kitchen. It smells like tomatoes, meat, and pasta.
Yum.
"Hey, Kara." Mom smiles. She nods hello to Drew. "Andrew, nice to finally see you."
Drew actually blushes. He hates being called Andrew.
God damn, he looks cute with his cheeks pink. My head fills with all sorts of delicious thoughts about other activities that make him flush.
"It's just Drew, Mrs. Kendrick," he says.
"It's just Judy." She motions to the table. "I'm about to bring out the salad."
"Thanks for cooking, Mrs., ahem Judy."
She smiles. "Kara helped prepare it last night."
Oh, it's the lasagna. I've already forgotten everything about yesterday that wasn't me and Drew in the shower.
"You cooked for me, Kendrick?" He squeezes my hand under the table as he turns to Mom. "She always 'lets' me cook for her."
Mom laughs. "Kara is excellent with grilled cheese, mac and cheese, anything with cheese."
Is loving cheese a crime? Grilled cheese is fantastic. Especially with tomato soup. Maybe I like carbs more than I should. The evidence of my love affair shows in my hips, my stomach, my thighs, my—well, my everything.
Truth be told, I like my curvy figure. Sure, it would be nice to have abs, but my boobs and butt fill out a tight dress like nobody's business. If only I could do something about being five feet tall.
We take our seats and serve ourselves. The lasagna looks amazing, and I'm hungry. I've been starving lately. Usually, I'm not big on meat, but the beef smells amazing. I want to eat a million pounds of it.
And the tampons...
And the nausea.
No.
There's no way...
There's no way I'm pregnant. I had my period recently. Didn't I?
I try to work backward, to do the math, but I can't remember any specific cycle. School makes all the days run together.
It can't be possible. I'm religious with my pill.
Only traveling makes it difficult to keep track of time zones.
I want to have a family with Drew. One day. I want a little girl. I know everyone says boys are easier. I know Drew would be less overprotective of a boy. But I still want a girl. I want to dress her in those tiny Converse and cozy sweaters. I want to put her in dance classes until she finds a style she likes, the way my mom did for me.
If she hates dance, she can try soccer or karate or gymnastics. She's going to be a strong girl, physically and mentally. I can see the three of us at the park or the beach or her first day of school. I know I'll annoy the shit out of her, fussing over her hair and clothes for pictures. But she'll appreciate it when she's older, especially when she's old enough I can teach her how to tame her thick hair. Drew's hair is short, but it's nearly as thick as mine.
I can see a great life for us, the three of us...
But it's five or ten years away.
Now... he's still touring half the year. I'm still in graduate school.
Mom's voice interrupts my thoughts. "Are you going to visit your parents, Drew?"
I clear my throat. Better to focus on Drew. This is a remote possibility. "Mom, I told you about Drew's parents... what happened with him dropping out of school."
Mom looks at me curiously. She doesn't remember.
I shoot Drew an apologetic look. He acts strong about his parents being out of his life, but I know it hurts him.
He takes a steady breath. "My mom stopped speaking to me after I dropped out of Stanford to follow the band." His eyes go to the table. "I'm sure she had good intentions. But—" He shakes his head, struggling to keep his voice even. "I accepted it a long time ago. I just wish she hadn't done the same thing to Willow."
"Your sister?" Mom asks.
Drew nods.
"She was a sweet girl. How is she doing?"
"She married their drummer," I say. "She's a photographer now."
"Mom didn't like that either." Drew clears his throat. "She and Willow never had a blow up fight, but they don't talk much."
"What about your father?" Mom asks.
I clear my throat. "Mom, Drew's been traveling. He's jet lagged. I'm not sure—"
"It's fine." He looks at Mom. "He lives in Europe. He's married to a woman a year older than I am. He calls on my birthday. Sometimes on holidays."
"Oh." Mom frowns. She shakes her head, shifting to a more pleasant topic. "Christmas is next week. We can get a tree tomorrow. Hang lights. I don't know if you celebrate, Andrew... Drew."
"I do," he says.
"Excuse me." I push out of my seat to use the bathroom. I have to pee again. Already.
That's one of the signs, isn't it?
After I wash my hands, it hits me. I have a period calendar on my phone. I don't exactly use it religiously, but it should be able to help me.
Damn. The last time I entered something was this summer. But there was something during the school year. I remember asking my friend to borrow a tampon.
When was that?
I haven't got a clue.
I can't even keep track of my periods. Can I really handle taking care of a child? I've only just figured out how to take care of myself.
I try to push it aside as I return to the table. Drew and Mom are having a nice conversation about a book series I've never read. Something about mystery and action.
I settle into my seat and pick at my lasagna. It's delicious—chewy, tangy, creamy—but I'm no longer feeling well.
My gaze goes to Drew. He's smiling, cracking a joke with Mom.
He'll be a good dad. Overprotective, but good. I can see him cradling a baby, reading comics with a toddler, teaching a kid to play a tiny guitar.
But not in nine months.
Not for years.
Many, many years.
I stare at my food, forcing myself to take small bites.
Drew taps me on the shoulder.
I look up at him with hazy eyes.
"Kara, your mom was asking about our wedding," he says.
"What about it?" I ask.
"When we're gonna pick out a specific location." His eyes fix on mine. "Don't tell me you forgot the date."
"No. June twelfth. We're doing the beach. What's the rush figuring out the other details?" I take a bite of lasagna and swallow hard. There's an obvious reason to rush, but I don't want that for our wedding.
"You'll forget all about it when school picks up." Drew squeezes my hand. "You okay? You look queasy."
I feel queasy. This is overwhelming, and I'm not good with overwhelming.
I push out f
rom the table. "I'm not feeling well. I think it's allergies." I take a step backward. "I... uh... I'm going to lie down. Why don't you guys go out, take in the city?" I lean in to kiss Drew on the forehead. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine after a nap."
I climb the stairs to my room, collapse on my bed, and pull the covers over my head. I repeat the words to myself. I'll be fine, I'll be fine, I'll be fine.
But every time, they feel like lies.
***
There's a knock on the door. The handle turns, and Drew steps inside.
"Hey." Drew's voice echoes through the small room. "You okay?"
I nod. This pregnancy thing is a remote possibility. I think.
"You sure? I can run out to CVS and grab something."
"That's okay." I push myself up, blink my eyes a few times, and yawn. "What time is it?"
"About six. You feeling more rested?"
I nod. Sort of. My body is more relaxed, but my mind is still racing. No matter how many times I try to tell myself it's not possible, that I should just wait for my next period, I don't quite buy it.
"You're not going to believe this," he says.
"Believe what?"
He closes the door and presses his back against it. "Meg and Miles are getting married."
That's great! My lips curl into a smile. "Really? When?"
"In Vegas. As soon as possible."
I laugh. Of course, Drew is wearing a judgmental expression. He doesn't approve of them rushing.
"Why you looking at me like that, Kendrick?"
"No reason."
"They should figure out their shit. He asked us if we'd come early. He thinks Meg needs your help."
And Drew wants our vacation together. I want that too. I want a long, pregnancy-scare-free vacation.
His voice drops to something supportive and sweet. "What are you thinking?"
I clear my throat. It sounds like this wedding is happening in the next few days. This can wait. "We should go. Can we fly in tonight?"
He nods. "You sure that's it?"
No.
"Kara?"
I press my lips together. "It's probably nothing."
"Doesn't look like nothing."
"It can wait until after their wedding."
"Don't see why they can't set a date and send out invitations like normal people." He sits on the bed next to me. He leans in close enough to whisper. "Sweetheart, what the fuck is going on? You've got the weirdest look in your eyes."
Do I? I force myself to make eye contact. There's all this concern in his dark eyes.
Usually, I hate when people look at me like that. But not when Drew does it. When he does it, I know it's because he cares, because he loves me.
This can wait until after their wedding. It's probably nothing.
"It's romantic," I say. "Our wedding will still be nice. On the beach, with the sun shining behind us."
Of course, if I am pregnant, I'll be ready to burst in June.
And I'll have a newborn in September. If everything goes according to plan, I'll graduate this spring and start teaching this fall.
But if I'm pregnant...
Even with strict anti-discrimination laws, no one hires pregnant teachers. And nobody respects women who get a job then take maternity leave right away. Every female teacher warned us—people will give you shit about being pregnant and about taking maternity leave.
Even elementary school teachers, the ones who devote their lives to small children, get shit about having babies during the school year. As if they can pick a delivery date like magic.
Shit.
Teaching jobs are hard to come by. If I don't get hired right away, it might be two or three years before I find another gig.
Teaching may not pay as well as being a rock star, but I love it. I love middle school students. They're just starting to blossom into adults, and they're amazed by all the new ideas in books like A Separate Peace, To Kill a Mockingbird, and Romeo and Juliet.
Drew is staring at me with all this concern in his eyes. It must be obvious I'm worried.
I run my fingers through his short hair. "You jealous, baby?"
"No. I just don't like them interrupting my plans."
"Yeah?"
He pats the bed. "I was gonna spend a lot of time right here."
"We'll have a bed in our hotel room."
"Not the same." He stares into my eyes. "There's something you aren't saying."
I nod.
"What is it?"
"It can wait. Get the tickets to fly to Vegas. Tonight, if we can."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
Chapter Sixteen
Drew
Fucking time zones.
I'm groggy on the flight and in the cab ride to the hotel. But I'm not groggy enough to miss that something is very fucking wrong.
Kara is tense. She tries to smile every time our eyes meet, but she's not pulling it off.
After we check in, she mumbles something about wanting to unpack, and she practically locks herself in the bedroom—the suite has a main area and a separate bedroom.
I give her half an hour to unpack then I take a shower. There's a chance I'm tired enough I'm reading this all wrong. The hot water feels amazing on my aching muscles. Not as amazing as her hands feel. Fuck, it's been too long apart. I need every drop of her.
When I'm done, I wrap a towel around my waist, and I join Kara in the bedroom.
She's sitting in the bed in the dark, covers around her waist. Her blouse hugs her more than ample chest in a way that looks hot as fuck but supremely uncomfortable.
Her big, brown eyes are filled with frustration. Her shoulders are up to her ears. There's tension in her jaw and neck.
Still, she licks her lips as she takes me in.
"You should lose the towel," she mumbles, her voice thick with desire.
My cock stirs at the thought of wiping away all her frustration with my body. God knows, I want her eyes rolling back in her head as she comes.
We have to deal with this—whatever it is—first.
I’ve never been good at relationships before. I've loved Kara since forever, but it took a while for me to figure it out. I was sure I was bad for her. I tried to protect her from everything, including me, but it didn't work.
She needs me.
I need her.
It's been eight months now. I still worry that I'm going to fuck it up sometimes. I haven't yet.
Mostly, it's good.
Mostly, it's better than fucking anything.
I wrap my arm around her. "Hey."
I want all of her. I want every thought in her head. I want to take the weight of every burden that weighs her down.
She nestles into my chest. Her breath is warm against my skin. "You smell good. But kinda girly."
"Used your soap."
"I thought so." She presses her lips to my chest. "If I asked you to fuck me until I stopped thinking, what would you say?"
I run my fingers through her long, dark hair. "We should talk first."
"Yeah, I figured." She looks up at me, her eyes heavy with a mix of frustration and desire. "For a rock star, you're really uptight."
"You're just figuring that out?"
She shakes her head. "You know, I hate Batman. Why doesn't he do something productive with his money instead of dressing up in spandex and hitting people? If he spent half that energy working on education in Gotham city, that would do a lot more to deter crime."
I laugh. She's trying to bait me. "Because Gotham City is corrupt. He can't trust the establishment to use the money for good."
"He could run a charity. Something. I think he prefers the city overrun with criminals so he has a reason to kick ass."
"I don't look to him as a role model."
"Uh-huh."
"When I was seventeen, maybe."
"You're not proud of yourself for beating up assholes?"
"I'm always going to protect you and Willow. You're not goi
ng to talk me out of that."
She's still baiting me. I do realize I'm easy to bait. My temper has a short fuse. But I'm never going to apologize for protecting the people I love, even if they prefer non-violence.
As far as I'm concerned, any guy who touches Kara doesn't deserve hands. Or breath.
My hand finds the neckline of her shirt. I play with it until her eyes are closed and she's purring lightly. I want to know what's wrong, but she's not going to talk until she relaxes.
I lay Kara on the bed and lie next to her. Immediately, she shifts her body toward mine, hooking her leg over my hip and cupping my cheek with her palm. The tenderness of her touch makes me warm everywhere.
Damn, her body is soft. Her tits pressed against my chest is heaven.
My cock stirs. It's impatient.
She lets out a soft gasp. "Already?"
I bring my hand to her ass to pull her closer. God damn, our bodies feel good like this. My hands want to stroke every inch of her skin.
My hands are greedy fuckers. They want her coming again and again.
As badly as I want to pin her to the bed, hike her skirt to her waist, and plant my head between her thighs, I need to make sure she's okay first.
I press my palms into her upper back, over her shirt, and pull her body into mine. "What's wrong?"
She shakes her head.
"Kara. Whatever it is, I want to help."
Again, she shakes her head. Her hand goes to her cheek. It's hard to make out her expression in the dark, but it looks like she's crying.
She sniffles. A sob breaks through her throat.
"Fuck." She wipes her tears and buries her face in my chest.
Her eyelashes brush against my skin. I can feel her tears against my chest. She's really crying.
I need to make that better.
I bring my hand to her chin and tilt her head so we're eye to eye. "Talk to me."
She wipes her eyes and stares at her palm like it did her wrong.
I've seen it do her very, very right a number of times. Blood rushes to my cock as I replay the image of her fucking herself for my viewing pleasure.
Can't go there yet.
I squeeze her hand.
She sighs with pleasure as she rubs her crotch against mine. "You're still hard."
"You forget the part where I fuck you after you talk to me?"
Sinful Ever After (Sinful Serenade #5) Page 9
