by Shandi Boyes
I shake my head, praying it will hide my inanely smug grin. “I think you’ve both overestimated my appeal, but thanks for the. . .” My words trail off into unintelligible jargon when Carey magically appears by Cormack’s side.
Cormack’s smile enlarges. “You’re welcome,” he says, peering down at me. After issuing me a cheeky wink, he spins on his heels.
“What did Cormack want?” Carey asks while removing my camera bag from my grasp and slinging it over his shoulder.
I blink three times in a row. “Umm. . . he was just praising my photography skills.” And playing matchmaker, but I keep that snippet of information to myself.
Ignoring the snickering faces of Jenni and Emily as we saunter by, I follow Carey into the parking lot of the warehouse.
“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” I ask.
With the band’s schedule about to turn hectic, they decided to take a weekend off from the limelight to spend it surrounded by family and friends like they did before their first album launched. Thus meaning, I not only get the weekend off, so does Carey.
“No. I don’t really make plans,” he replies, his tone low.
He unlocks his Camaro and places my camera bag in the backseat. I smile at his thoughtfulness. Ever since our heated kiss in his car four nights ago, he has given me a ride home every night. Although our make out sessions haven’t gone beyond what they did the night we met, they are certainly hot enough to steam up the windows of his Camaro.
Dust from the gravel driveway kicks up under my feet when I stray my eyes to the ground. “Did you want to hang out?” I question, my words uneasy.
Carey’s brows stitch when he hears the unease in my voice. Clearly, I’m not the only one confronted with spending an entire two days together—alone. The band members of Rise Up aren’t the only ones spending the weekend with family. Wesley flew to Tiburon early this morning. At first, I was pleased. Then reality dawned. Most of my time with Carey the past three weeks has been closely monitored by others. It’s never been just me and him.
Carey’s eyes drift between mine as he contemplates my offer. I love his indecisiveness. Others may see it as a sign of disinterest. I don’t. Carey is a man struggling with loss. I’d be more concerned if he didn’t take his time configuring a reply. The best things you have in life never arrive in haste.
After taking a few moments to ponder, he mutters, “I’d like that.”
“Great,” I reply, glee evident in my voice.
As I slide into the passenger seat of his car and fasten my seatbelt, my cellphone vibrates in my pocket. My heart beats triple time when Carey’s cell rings at the same time. In unison, we pull out our phones and hit the call button.
Before either of us can issue a greeting, Hugo’s deep timbre voice comes barreling down both lines. “Ava’s in labor! She’s early! My mom isn’t even here yet. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
My eyes rocket to Carey. He is standing at the side of his car frozen solid.
“Hugo. . . Hugo!” I shout into my phone, attempting to interrupt his panicked rant. When he pauses long enough to gasp a jagged breath, I say, “Don’t panic. We’ll be right there.”
I disconnect my call and throw my cell into the center console. After sliding into the driver’s seat, I roll down the window. A dull ache hits the middle of my chest when I spot the raw panic flooding Carey’s eyes.
“Hop in; I’ll drive.”
Seemingly on autopilot mode, Carey pulls his cell away from his ear and clambers into the passenger seat. He remains quiet the entire four-mile trip, not even flinching when I grind the gears of his beloved Camaro.
When I pull into the driveway of Hugo’s new home ten minutes later, Hugo rushes out of the house with an ashen-faced Ava under his arm.
“Oww. Owww. Owwww,” Ava winces, her small voice getting louder with every whimper she makes.
Clutching her stomach, she bends over and exhales a deep, longwinded grunt. Hearing the absolute terror roaring through her body sets me on edge. My frozen stance mimics Carey’s to a T. He managed to climb out of his car, but he hasn’t moved out of the doorframe.
“That looks really, really painful,” I mumble to anyone listening.
Hugo waits for Ava’s contraction to end before he scoops her into his arms. I snap out of my trance when he locks his panicked eyes with me. “Joel goes to bed at 8. Don’t let him eat sugar after 7 or he’ll be up past midnight. My mom and dad are on their way, but they are hours away. Our emergency contact numbers are on the fridge. . .”
I place my hand over his clenched fist. His pulse is racing through his body so furiously, it pounds my palm. “We’ve got this,” I assure him.
After bouncing his eyes between me and Carey, he curtly nods his head.
“Good luck,” I say, dropping my gaze to Ava. It was a pathetic set of words, but I have no clue what you’re supposed to say to someone who is going to experience pain equivalent to having every bone in your body cracked.
My head slings sideways when the cutest little voice I’ve heard tingles into my ears. “Aunty Gem! Unky Hawke!”
Joel, Hugo’s four-year-old son, comes charging across the freshly trimmed grass. The unease festering on Hugo’s face eases when Joel immediately leaps into Carey’s arms. Heat blooms across my chest when Joel’s affection for his uncle causes Carey to topple onto his backside, sending his gorgeous laughter into the late afternoon air.
“He is finally asleep,” I whisper, tiptoeing out of Joel’s room.
Joel is a great kid, but I didn’t realize his personality was an exact replica of Hugo’s until now. I’m even more exhausted now than I was earlier. Who knew Monopoly was such a tiresome game? After slipping into the vacant seat next to Carey on the couch, I instinctively place my head on his shoulder. The quickest flex of his thigh muscles is the only objection cited from my closeness.
Carey has been wonderful the past three hours. Seeing him with Joel exposed sides of him I had not yet been privileged to witness. He is a wonderful uncle, and I have no doubt he would have been a wonderful father.
“Are events like today hard for you?” I question before I can stop my words.
Carey inhales a large breath that expands his chest before briefly shaking his head. I swallow a lump in my throat as I lift my head off his shoulder. “If I were to give you something. . . sentimental would now be the wrong time?”
He drifts his dark eyes between mine for several seconds before he once again shakes his head. Smiling to ease the anxiety in his eyes, I slip off the couch and pad to my handbag. My hand rattles when I slip it into my bag to remove Malcolm’s perfectly restored ultrasound picture. I run my index finger across the glass to make sure there are no smears before pacing back to Carey. When his eyes zoom in on the photo frame in my hand, a vast flare of emotions pass through his eyes. He knows what I'm holding without even needing to see it.
Sneaky tears well in my eyes when he gasps in a shocked breath as I hand the picture frame to him. Compared to the photo in his wallet, this image shows all Malcolm’s perfect little features. His ten little toes and fingers, the grooves of his chunky thighs, and even the curve of his plump lips.
I press my fingertips under my eyes, desperately trying to push my tears back when a sheen of moisture forms in the corner of Carey’s eyes. His hand shakes when he lifts the frame to his mouth and gently places it against his lips. That is all it takes for my first set of tears to fall. I’d give anything in the world to take away his pain.
Spotting the wetness on my cheeks, Carey seizes my wrist and pulls me onto his lap. I bury my head into the curve of his neck, hoping the scent of his skin will ease the heaviness on my chest so I can secure an entire breath. I can barely breath through the tightness clutched around my throat. It is so surreal how beautiful and cruel the world can be to one man.
I don’t know how much time passes before Carey mutters, “Thank you, Gem. This means the world to me.” It was long enough that my tears have dried, but not lo
ng enough to inhale a full breath.
“You’re welcome.” My heavy words bounce off his neck and fan my lips with my warm breath.
With Carey running his hand down my back and my emotions at an all-time high, exhaustion soon overtakes me.
My tongue delves out to replenish my dry lips before I slowly crack open my heavy eyelids. My pulse quickens when I take in the strange environment surrounding me. From the virile, manly scent I know whose room this is, but what I can’t fathom is, how did I get into Carey’s bedroom? Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t think of a better place to wake, but I still find it peculiar that I’m so carefree around Carey, I don’t even wake when he moves me—over two miles.
I clutch my chest when a deep voice greets, “Morning.”
Swinging my eyes to the side, I spot Carey standing in the doorway. His large frame and tall height fills the narrow gap. He is dressed down in a pair of cargo pants and a plain blue tee. His face appears freshly shaven, but his eyes have the signs of a tired man.
“Did you sleep?” I ask, my voice groggy from just waking up.
He cringes. “Breaking in a new couch is never fun.”
“You slept on the couch?” I grimace when my high voice bounces off the wall and shrills into my ears. My voice is loud with both shock and disappointment.
Carey nods. “I didn’t want to startle you,” he murmurs, his eyes softening with understanding.
My heart swells from his attentiveness. “How did you get me here without waking me?”
A smirk graces his beautiful lips. “Years in the military,” he replies, like his simple response answers all my questions. It doesn’t.
I'm about to ask for further information when reality dawns on why I'm waking up in Carey’s room. “Did Ava have the baby?”
The most breathtaking smile I’ve ever seen carves onto Carey’s lips as he nods his head. “Yes.”
“Was it a girl?” I ask, my voice high with glee.
Carey nods again.
“What did they name her?” I can barely contain my excitement. Ava is my one and only female friend, so I’ve never experienced anything like this before.
With a glint in his eyes I don’t recognize, Carey takes his time replying. “Elouise Marjorie Marshall,” he eventually responds. He lifts his eyes from his twisted hands. “Marjorie was Jorgie’s christened name,” he explains, his tone a unique mix of pride and sadness.
“It’s a beautiful name. I’m sure Elouise will honor it well,” I push out through a solid lump in my throat.
The pain in Carey’s eyes dulls. “Jorgie would be honored as well.”
A few minutes of silence passes between us. I wouldn’t necessarily say it is awkward, but it is full of palpable tension. Carey isn’t a man of many words, but with each day we spend together, the man hiding behind the protective shield is slowly emerging, so he doesn’t need to speak for me to know what he is thinking. And although I’d do anything to ease the uncertainty and guilt his eyes get every time he looks at me, I’m so incredibly grateful his guilt isn’t as strong as his desire to spend time with me—and I’m not just talking between the sheets.
My attention snaps back to the present when Carey’s deep voice booms through my ears. “Hmm, did you want something?” I ask. A flash of heat creeps up my neck when my croaky voice makes my words sound more like a suggestion than a question.
Carey scrubs his hand over his recently trimmed chin. From the gleam in his eyes and the delay in his reply, I have no doubt he also took my question with the hint of suggestion I didn’t mean to issue, but am now glad I did.
After delving his tongue out to lick a set of lips I’ve fantasized about more than I’d care to admit, Carey says, “Visiting hours started ten minutes ago if you want to visit Elouise.”
I dive out of the bed and race into the attached bathroom before the word “ago” escapes his lips.
I can feel the weight of Carey’s tension every mile we travel to the hospital. I know he said last night that he doesn’t find events like this hard, but I can’t see how that is true. I’m not saying he isn’t happy for Ava and Hugo, but it would have to conjure up old memories, ones he’d rather keep buried.
Just like every moment we’ve spent together, I allow my heart to guide my actions. Carey turns his eyes from the road to me when I curl my hand over his clenched fist resting on his thigh. I don’t say anything. I let my eyes talk on my behalf. The pain in my chest lifts when he unclenches his fist so he can run his thumb along the edge of my palm.
After finding a vacant spot in the expansive parking lot of Ravenshoe Private Hospital, we curl out of the car and make the trek to the main entrance. The dull ache in my chest fully clears away when Carey rejoins our hands. To others, it may seem like a friendly gesture, but for a man living with grief, it is a gigantic leap in displaying my importance in his life. Who needs grand gestures like candlelit dinners and bunches of smelly flowers when you have a man with a guarded heart willing to hold your hand in public?
The ghastly scent of disinfectant lingers in the air as we walk down the bustling hospital corridor in silence. Only the noise of chuckling nurses and doctors being paged sounds through our ears. My heart melts into a puddle on the floor when Carey pushes open door 34A in the maternity suite. Ava and Hugo are sitting side by side with a little bundle of pink nestled between them. They are so immersed in categorizing every little inch of their daughter, they fail to detect our presence.
Keeping my eyes planted on Hugo’s beaming smile as he peers down at his daughter, I pace deeper into the space. My efforts are less than stellar when Carey’s feet appear to be the weight of concrete. His stiffened stance is even more forceful than the one he used on the church stairs months ago.
Clearing the pain from my eyes, I raise them to Carey. He looks down at me with the same amount of panic flaring in his eyes he held the day we met. It is a beautifully tormented visual that displays there are so many sides to this man I can’t wait to explore.
“Don’t think. Just breathe,” I encourage.
Heat blooms across my chest when he follows my instructions by inhaling a large breath. His chest rises and falls three more times before he crosses the threshold of Ava’s room. The euphoria pumping out of me in invisible waves is so intense, Ava and Hugo jerk their heads up in sync. The smile on Hugo’s face grows when his eyes dart between Carey and me. It turns blinding when his happy gaze drops to our interlocked hands. Any chance of calming my wildly beating heart is lost when Hugo’s inquisitive stare doesn’t loosen Carey’s grip around my hand. If anything, it strengthens it.
“Congratulations,” I say, walking further into the room. Thankfully, with Carey clutching my hand, he follows closely behind me.
Our hands only unlock when Ava offers for me to hold Elouise. When I accept the wriggling bundle of pink, a scent I’ll never forget fills my senses. There is nothing sweeter than the smell of a newborn baby. I lift Elouise closer to my face and inhale a deep, undignified whiff.
“I’ve been doing that all morning,” Hugo admits, his voice heavy with sentiment.
After absorbing every perfect feature of Elouise’s little face—which takes a good twenty or so minutes—I hand her to Carey, completely ignoring his brisk shake of his head for me not to. Sensing Carey’s unease, Elouise whimpers in his arms. A barrage of emotions slam into me when the hard lines of Carey’s face soften as he tries to subdue her little cries. The unease in his eyes completely clears away when his gentle pats on her bottom soothes her whimpers. My heart that melted on the floor completely evaporates when Carey draws Elouise in close to his chest and she falls blissfully asleep.
“You’re a natural,” I whisper, ensuring only Carey will hear me.
When he lifts and locks his eyes with me, I'm bombarded with numerous silent thanks. Smiling, I ran my hand down his arm, more than grateful to help him through this. My smile grows when the hairs on his arms bristle from my briefest touch.
After numerous s
quishy cuddles, two slices of bland cafeteria pizza, and a few hours of laughter, Carey and I leave Ava and Hugo in the capable hands of their numerous guests and pace back to his Camaro.
“She is really cute,” I gush, loving the miracle of life.
Carey smiles a grin that gains him the devoted attention of a group of giggling nurses. “She is,” he agrees.
The warm fire glowing in the middle of my chest combusts when we merge onto the sidewalk of the hospital and Carey interlocks our hands. We walk through the parking lot with the same amount of silence we did hours ago. This time it is void of any awkward uncomfortableness.
After unlocking his Camaro, Carey opens the passenger side door to me. There is no chance I can hold in my smile, so I just set it free. “Thank you,” I blubber.
Remaining quiet, he closes my door, runs around to the driver’s side, and slides in his seat. While fastening our seatbelts, our eyes connect for the briefest moment. The shift between us is dense and quick. It goes from a friendly vibe to being fired by lust. Our unique connection surges into uncharted waters when he runs the back of his fingers down my cheeks before locking his eyes with mine. They don’t look as pained today as they normally do.
“What now?” he questions. His two short words express way more than he intended.
I rub my hands together as I turn my eyes to the brilliant blue sky. My heart rate kicks into overtime when an awesome idea formulates in my tired brain. “Are you up for a challenge, Mister? An ultimate afternoon of gear head activities?” I lock my challenging eyes with his. “Or is your ego too fragile to sustain another massive hit?”
Carey tries to act unexcited. I’m not buying it. His eyes flared the instant I stuttered “gear head.” I’m glad he didn’t hear the deceit in my tone. I don’t just want us to create another day of memories. I want to do anything in my power to ease his pain during this no doubt difficult time.
“Depends,” Carey replies, his voice low and tempting. “How do you handle defeat?”
My eyes roll skywards. “Please. I kicked your butt on the NASCAR simulator at the arcade.”
