by Bethany-Kris
“I’m not too late, am I?” Haven asked, tossing her bag to the floor before dropping into a chair. “I had some things to handle, is all. Sorry.”
Across the table where she sat next to John’s mother—because Jordyn decided today was the best day to go over the plans for her sister’s birthday party—Siena laughed and shook her head. “Listen, after Ginevra left when Alessio came to pick her up and Catherine called to say she would be here around supper, I gave up any hope of getting work done today.”
Haven grinned widely. “Aww, you have friends who love you. Shame, that.”
“I’m not complaining.”
And she wasn’t.
Truly.
“But you all could have spread out the love over several days, maybe,” Siena said. “I just caught a bout of pneumonia—I didn’t die.”
Haven, as serious as she could be, simply stared at Siena. “And?”
God.
These people.
She loved them, though.
“How’s Val doing in Toronto?” she asked.
“Rose gold or gold and silver?” Jordyn asked, peering down at her phone. “Although, there’s this cute black and rose gold theme I’m really liking. We could make that work.”
“Rose gold and black,” Siena returned. “Definitely. She will love that. I swear since Ginevra moved in with Alessio and Corrado, they’ve both bled into the girls more than anyone knows. One is all class and screams wealth—the other is all dark and moody … it’s like two entirely different people. Which they are. I don’t know how she does it.” Then, back to Haven, she added, “I haven’t seen Val in forever.”
Never missing a beat, Haven said, “Really well. I don’t get to see her as much as I like, but we figure it out and do what we have to so that we get time together. Or you know, I bitch a lot to Andino, which he can’t stand, and then he gets mad enough to call Chris and do his thing. We make it work.”
“Your husband can be kind of horrible.”
Haven smiled again. “I know—it’s why I love him.”
Good thing somebody did.
That’s what counted.
“But seriously,” Haven said, giving Siena a look, “how are you feeling?”
“A lot better.”
“Yeah?”
“Less dead,” Siena replied honestly. “That’s an improvement, trust me.”
Laughter passed between the three women at the table. They quieted when one of the servers made her way to the table to refill Siena’s coffee, bring Jordyn another glass of lemon water, and then took an order from Haven as well.
“And John? How’s he doing with … all of this, I mean? I know he gets a little on edge whenever something is going on with you. I imagine he must have been something else for the past few weeks, huh?”
That made Siena pause.
Just for a second.
Haven didn’t mean any harm by asking. And nothing that she said was a lie, either. It was no secret that John could become just a touch unbearable when something was wrong with his wife. Snappy, difficult, and moody … those were just a few of the things that anyone in direct contact with John had to deal with during times that put him under a lot of stress.
At the same time, they were so private. They didn’t share a lot about what was happening in their personal lives because it was one way that John felt like it kept his mental illness a closed book to anyone who wasn’t his parents or wife. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share, but without meaning to, people often projected their own assumptions or beliefs about how John should deal with it even when they knew nothing about it.
It was easier to just … well, not.
“He’s fine,” Siena said. “You know John.”
Yeah.
That seemed like a good way to say it.
Or deflect.
But hey, if Haven was offended that Siena didn’t get deep into the details about how John had handled her sudden illness and short hospital stay, the woman didn’t know it. Not that it stopped Siena from still feeing like she had to be defensive of her husband, and their choices not to discuss anything that even remotely touched his bipolar disorder or might even bring it into the conversation.
It was only after Haven’s order came in, and her phone rang with a call that she stepped away from the table to take that Siena turned to her mother-in-law who was still busy making an entire inspiration board for her younger sister’s birthday party.
“Is it always going to be like that?” she asked.
Jordyn lifted her head. “What do you mean?”
She sighed.
And took a second to think.
Maybe feel, too.
If there was anything that being with John had taught Siena, it was that there was nothing wrong with taking a moment to handle yourself before someone else. It was a good lesson to learn because everyone had to look out for themselves first whether that was for their mental health or whatever.
“John,” Siena eventually said. “Will I always feel like—when it comes to other people—I have to defend him or protect him … you know, without offending everyone who asks about him or me or us?”
Jordyn smiled softly. “Do you feel like you have a reason to be defensive about John—or rather, has he given you a reason to do that?”
Siena didn’t even have to think about it.
“No, he doesn’t. It’s just … I don’t want anyone else to, either.”
“Well, that’s your answer, then. And if you don’t allow them to, then they can’t. What’s to be offended over about that, Siena?”
She had a good point.
Siena would remember it.
SEVEN
Rosewood Central—a new park located outside the city limits and popular for those living in the upper scale suburbs—was quieter than it would usually be on a Wednesday. John would know considering he spent every Wednesday walking through this park with Leonard because it was what his therapist liked to call a middle ground for them both. Instead of a session at Leonard’s office or the man’s house, or even John’s, the two of them met here.
Very few joggers passed John by on the pathways. Only a handful of dog owners had been milling in the dog park section. He wouldn’t complain about the lack of people, however, considering the man he would usually be meeting here would not actually be showing up today, though the plan had been for him to be here, because—
“Johnathan, you’re looking well. It’s been what, a few years since we last spoke?”
John found the source of the question sitting on a nearby bench under a rather large oak tree which provided a good spread of shade for anyone sitting underneath its heavy branches. Cara Guzzi smiled his way and that alone felt welcoming even if every inch of him radiated with hesitance and wariness. It wasn’t because of her—or her presence, really—but it just was.
New things could be … tricky.
Especially for John.
This would certainly be that.
“A few years for sure,” John replied, making a careful effort to keep his tone pleasant and measured. He didn’t want Cara to feel uncomfortable at being the middleman here—as Leonard liked to say—because she was simply doing a friend a favor. “Are we—”
“Come sit,” Cara said before he could say another thing. “And we’ll have a chat for a minute before we do anything else.”
John dragged in a burning lungful, filling his chest to capacity before letting the air out just as fast. If the woman on the bench noticed his discomfort and stress, she didn’t say anything one way or another. He was grateful.
Taking a seat on the right side of the bench and leaving lots of space between him and Cara, John busied himself with undoing the two buttons on his Armani blazer while he peered down the pathway leading toward the small lake. “Quiet today.”
“Oh, is this not the norm here? Shame, I liked it.”
“Well, it’s never overflowing,” he replied, “so it’s quiet enough that you can enjoy yourself
.”
“Hmm.” Cara passed him a look, adding, “And I’m sorry Leonard couldn’t make it today. Seems his chemo ran later than usual, did it?”
“Apparently. Things happen, though.”
Life had taught him that.
John rarely expected anything to go as planned regardless of how much he wished for that to be the case. Things in his world would be far easier to process if everything was exactly how he wanted it to be. And yet, he was the one who still learned daily how to adapt to the fact that nothing was perfect. Including himself.
It was a process.
As were most things.
“Has he discussed his illness with you?” Cara asked. “Since I was the one who made the call to Cree, and both he and Leonard knew you and I were acquainted, Leonard thought you wouldn’t mind me being here. I hope he was right. I wouldn’t want to make you feel out of place, John.”
“You don’t. Mostly. The whole day does but that’s not unusual for me.” John swallowed thickly. “And Leonard and I spoke briefly about the cancer—the important parts and what’s happening now. How it looks, and all of that. I think he realized I was not taking it well and decided it was better we didn’t get too particular about it.”
A soft smile stared back at him.
“You consider him a friend, yes?” she asked.
“One of the few I do have.” John clasped his hands in his lap, needing the tight control of his fingers wrapped around one another to keep his tone level when he added, “And I haven’t discussed the fact he is sick or in treatment with my family yet. Not even my wife.”
“Why not?”
“They’ll worry. Partly. It’s just … Leonard is sick. It’s him. And he’s my therapist, not theirs. So, these aren’t issues of theirs. They’re issues of mine, that’s all. I would like to keep them as my issues to handle and not theirs.”
Then, John turned to her and asked, “So, Cree, hmm?”
Cara nodded. “Yes, Cree. I think you’ll like him.”
“Oh?”
“He’s … an unusual breed in our business. Let’s just say meetings with—well, he doesn’t call people patients, I guess—but his meetings don’t take place in offices or parks. That’s not really his style.”
Right.
Because that’s why John was here.
To meet his secondary therapist.
“So, where are we meeting him?” John asked. “And when?”
“Not far from here, and whenever you’re ready to go.”
A lot of things about this day made John want to go home, crawl into bed with his wife who he was sure he could convince to take a day off, and pretend like nothing else existed. But the thing was, he’d signed up for the long haul with Leonard, and the man’s ways when it came to treating John and his bipolar disorder. Including this because right now, it was needed.
“I’m ready anytime.”
Cara smiled brightly. “Wonderful. Let’s go.”
John wasn’t sure what he expected this Cree—who apparently had a major hand in a venture in Las Vegas that included training and auctioning assassins with a partner—to look like or anything. Leonard hadn’t given John much to go on when he said he wanted the two to meet so that he could consider working with a secondary therapist alongside his preferred one, but he didn’t expect the man who waited inside a boxing ring.
Wearing nothing but loose shorts, with his hands already taped up as though he were ready to fight, and his long, black hair plaited into a single rope down his back, Cree grinned at John.
“That suit isn’t going to do in here,” Cree said.
John arched a brow and stared up at the man. “You think I’m getting in there?”
“I think by the scars on your knuckles, we’re not going to pretend like you’ve never thrown a punch, Johnathan.”
“I prefer John.”
“Do you? Interesting.”
Was it?
He didn’t sound like it.
John passed Cara a look over his shoulder, but she simply shook her head and looked away with a smile. “So, Cree?”
She laughed under her breath. “Cree—he can take a bit to get used to. Give it a moment to warm up. That was my husband’s suggestion.”
“I do not need a moment to warm up to,” Cree returned. “I am simply an acquired taste that very few have been lucky enough to try. And I will accept no other description.”
John gave the man points for confidence.
“I promise he’s … give it a chance,” the woman said as though she knew personally. Hell, maybe she did. Cara shrugged at John’s questioning stare before saying, “Everyone, even men like you, John, living the life you do, need safe places, spaces, and people. Leonard does know what he’s doing—Cree simply does it differently. We all do.”
Right.
He’d try to remember that for this.
“Take the blazer off,” Cree called from the ring. “I’m sure you can spar in the rest. Next time, less formal clothing.”
Well, that was that.
EIGHT
Everything was about to change.
Again.
That was most certain, and it also seemed like the only thing Siena could be sure about in her life, now. Her and John would just become settled into some kind of a routine in their marriage—it happened over and over again in the last three years since they said I do—and something would come along to give them a new normal.
Except this couldn’t be the same.
Not at all.
If there was one thing—above all things—about her marriage and John that Siena thought was most important to remember, it was that surprises were not welcomed. Especially if said surprise meant a huge change in their lives, or something that could cause a massive emotional upheaval.
For other people, a change could be a good thing. A little stress, and a bit nerve-racking, sure. They would, however, roll with the punches and accept the change.
For John, though, a change that could and would impact his entire life often led him to overthinking, panicking, and more. It almost guaranteed a hypomanic episode would be on the horizon, and once that was controlled, a short bout of depression to battle.
Siena never blamed him for these things.
She never wished for anything different.
Oh, she loved John.
Every part of him was hers to love.
So as she sat on the edge of the tub in their master bathroom, and stared at the little strip of plastic in her hand … she couldn’t help but think of what this would mean, and what would come of it.
The pregnancy test flashed with the word pregnant.
Over and over.
It had been flashing that for thirty minutes now. Her heart was so full—happiness, trepidation, and joy. A love so fierce, she could hardly breathe. Already, she loved this baby. A child she didn’t know, and would not see or hold for months. A child whose gender was still unknown, and whose name was yet to be picked.
And yet …
God, she loved this baby.
Still, the hesitance she felt was also very real.
Long ago, she and John had decided that children would be a very carefully planned event for them. When both of them were ready, and when everything was handled, then they would move forward together on having children.
This had not been planned at all.
Certainly not carefully.
The terrible chest cold that left Siena with a nasty infection, and led into pneumonia that she couldn’t shake caused her to miss the appointment for her shot. She had been stuck in bed, and then in the hospital when the pneumonia got really bad.
John had barely left her side, of course.
Once she was better, her doctor recommended she wait until her cycle started at least once—as she hadn’t had a period in years since starting the shot—before they started the birth control again. They had been advised to use condoms as a backup method.
Yeah, well …
Her
cycle never started. She and John didn’t know what a fucking condom was considering they hadn’t used them since the start of their relationship years ago.
They both knew better.
She knew better.
This was bound to happen.
Siena had promptly vomited every bit of the eggs and bacon John had left for her in the oven before he left for his morning jog. She had been keeping a pregnancy test hidden in her purse … just in case.
A part of her already knew.
Siena tapped the test against her palm again.
Pregnant, it flashed.
She was still trying to figure out a way to tell John and not surprise him, so to speak. She knew it was going to be practically fucking impossible. There could be no cute reveal that she secretly recorded, and then posted for the world to see. There could be no baby shoes in a gift box for him to open and be surprised.
None of that could happen.
She had to take away that element of shock so that this did not feel like something John was not ready for in the first place.
Easier said than done.
Children had been his one sore topic for years. Not because he didn’t want to be a father, but because she knew he worried that he was going to pass on the same genetics that had been given to him. Whatever it was in his DNA that left him with a disorder that clouded and colored his life, thoughts, and emotional processing a little bit differently than everyone else.
It didn’t matter.
Children had always been non-negotiable for her. And she knew without a doubt that John would be the best father.
There was nothing wrong with him. There had never been anything wrong with him. Just like their children—nothing would ever be wrong with them, either. Regardless, they would be perfectly them. Little babies made by people who loved each other and would love them.
They would have kids.
It was simply when.
Siena figured that time was now.
So, she took a moment to absorb how different everything would be now. Then, she stood up, shook off the overwhelming emotions, and began planning how she would tell John.
