by Claire Adams
“Oh Jesus, oh my God,” I gasped. “Come on, we're going, we're going to the ER right now.” I wasn’t about to wait for an ambulance. I could have her at the hospital before they could even get to us.
I bent down and scooped her into my arms as gently as I could, then sprinted to the elevator. I called out for my new assistant to let the police department know there would be a white Ferrari driving like a bat out of hell to St. Patrick’s Hospital.
I was glad I'd driven my Ferrari to work–we were going to have to get to the hospital as fast as humanly possible. As soon as I got into the parking garage, I dashed over to the Ferrari, put her gently in the passenger seat, then screamed the motor and raced off to the ER.
***
I had been pacing around the waiting room for almost an hour and had been given no word on what was going on. I'd called Meghan a few times, but had only been able to reach her ten minutes earlier. She was calling Ed and was on her way.
Finally, the doctor emerged. I couldn't get an immediate reading from his expression because of the surgical mask covering his face.
“You're here with Ms. Maxwell, yes?” he asked.
“Yes. What can you tell me?”
“Well, the good news is that your daughter is going to be just fine.”
“My daughter? Lilah isn't my daughter.”
“No, I mean your unborn daughter. You are the baby's father, I presume?”
The news nearly knocked the wind from me. Two words and my entire world turned upside down. Your daughter. Two words explained everything. Everything!
I tried to play it cool. I needed to know Lilah was going to be okay. “Oh, um, yes, yes, I'm the father. A daughter, yeah. Wow, a daughter.”
The tilted his head a little. “I take it you didn’t know you were having a girl.”
I shook my head. “How’s Lilah? Is she okay?”
“That’s the bad news, I’m afraid. Ms. Maxwell cannot work again until after the child is born. It's obvious that she's been under far too much stress recently, and if she keeps pushing herself like this, the likelihood of a miscarriage severely increases. I know that this type of situation can sometimes cause more stress due to financial burdens, so pardon me for asking, but are you able to support yourself and her on your income alone?”
“That will not be a problem, doctor, I assure you.”
“Good. Because I'm going to have to insist that she does not go back to work. I'll talk to her employer myself if I have to.”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I'll take care of it.”
“Good. She really must rest.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
“You’re welcome. I'll check in on her later. You can see her in about ten minutes when the nurses are finished checking her vitals.”
“Of course.”
He walked off, and I was staggering on my feet. I grabbed a chair, unsure of my ability to stand. Leaning over, I rested my elbows on my knees and shoved my hands roughly through my hair, completely overwhelmed. I was going to be a dad. We were having a daughter!
“I guess you know the news now, huh?”
I looked up and saw Meghan standing in front of me.
“I… I'm going to be a father,” I managed to utter in disbelief.
“Yes. Yes, you are,” she confirmed.
“Why didn't she tell me about this? Or you? You could have told me.”
She looked suddenly ashamed. “Look, I need to let you in on a few things,” she said, and sat down next me. She proceeded to explain everything about how Lilah had felt, from the very first time she and I had kissed, right up until the present. And, she told me about Lilah’s fears that I would be like my father–which was a risk that she hadn’t been willing to take with regard to her child. Our child.
“I understand why that might have concerned her,” I said, “but I would never do that. I love Lilah. When I say I'm not like my father, I not only mean it, but I can prove it if she’ll let me.
“Hell, I even have medical documentation to back it up. My grandfather was a very thorough man. Even though he knew in his heart that I was nothing like my father, he was also a logical man and knew that intuition wasn't always concrete. He needed proof.
“So, before signing over the company to me in his will, he made me undergo a barrage of psychiatric tests to just confirm that there was no evidence of sociopathy, psychopathy, or violence in my personality. I passed with flying colors. I truly am nothing like my father. Looks are the only thing I share with that monster.”
Tears rimmed Meghan's eyes.
“I knew it. Somehow, I just knew it. And, I think she knows it, too. She just needs to hear it. Asher, she loves you. She hasn’t said the words, but I see it in her eyes when she talks about you. That's why I invited you for sushi. I wanted you two to talk—really talk. But you bailed! You didn't even show up. Why?”
“I did–but she was there with Savage. I just… I just assumed.”
“You know what they say about assumptions, Asher. They're the mother of all fu-”
“I know,” I said, ashamed. “But why was he there?”
“It was a total chance encounter. And, he was harassing her like the asshat that he is. She called a waiter to have him thrown out of the restaurant. If you'd stuck around for longer than ten seconds, you would have seen that. Hell, you could have saved her yourself, instead of letting some waiter do it.”
“Damn. I’m sorry. I wish I had.”
“There’s just one other thing,” Meghan announced.
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Yeah. Well, do you remember on the flight to Hawaii when you told Lilah that you didn’t want children?”
My head fell back against the wall and I slumped in my chair. “Damn. I did say that. But I didn’t mean it—not like that.”
“Well, here’s your chance to tell her and patch things up. You’ll have plenty of time for making it up to her…as in the rest of your lives, with your beautiful daughter.”
I smiled. A daughter who was going to be the most loved child in the world!
“Now,” Meghan pushed me out of my seat, “get your ass in there and tell the woman you love how you feel. And don’t take no for an answer this time.”
EPILOGUE
Lilah
THREE YEARS LATER
“Honey, do you think she'd prefer the red drums or the blue ones?”
“She's a fiery character,” I said, “so let's go with red.”
Asher looked across the room at me with a smile. “Just like her mother,” he winked. “Red it is. I’ll have them delivered tomorrow.”
“It's amazing that she's shown such an interest in music at such an early age! I mean, she's only two and a half years old, but already she's keeping better time than you are. Where do you think she gets it from?”
Asher chuckled. “Must come from your side of the family.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I guess it does. My mom was apparently a talented musician, and both of my grandfathers played several instruments, according to my dad.”
“Well, our little Hope is going to be a drummer, it looks like. And, one of the best drummers in the world, I'll bet.”
“Yes. I’m sure that’s exactly what she’ll be,” I laughed.
“There we go, ordered and paid for,” Asher chimed. “Our little girl's first set of drums will be here tomorrow.”
“You do realize the house is gonna get a lot noisier.”
“I'll build her a soundproof studio.”
“Good thinking, build the two-year-old a music studio. That’s not spoiling her,” I gave him a look.
“What? Ed can use it, too,” he defended himself.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now, about next month…”
“Our wedding anniversary,” he said with a sly grin as he pushed up next to me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I know, and I've been thinking about it. I'm really leaning more towards the Seychelles for our trip. How do you feel abou
t that?”
“The Seychelles sounds just perfect, my love. White sand beaches, snorkeling, and cruises on a turquoise ocean. That sounds like heaven right now.”
“I know. I can't wait! I'll go ahead and get everything booked.”
“How are things at the agency?” I asked him.
I'd stopped working there the day I'd almost lost Hope—the day we finally dropped our walls and started our life together. But that didn't mean I'd lost my ambition or my drive. We just realized that it would be better for us if we weren't working together. So, after I'd given birth, I'd started my own consulting company, taking my experience and talent to the highest bidders—unless that bidder was Brendan Savage—and doing it from the comfort of home.
However, despite the money, the success, the house, and the cars, the most valuable things in my life weren't those that money could buy. They were my adoring husband Asher and my beautiful daughter Hope, the light of both our lives. I didn't know what I'd do without either of them. Hope was napping on the sofa, looking too cute for words. I had to take a pic of her to send Ed, so I stretched and stood in the Sunday morning sunlight beaming through the wall of windows as I took out my phone and got the camera ready.
“She looks absolutely adorable, doesn't she?” Asher said as he gazed lovingly at our daughter.
“She has your eyes,” I said.
“And your smile,” he replied.
I crept up to her as she slept, doing my best to keep quiet and not rouse her from her slumber. She stirred, and I froze momentarily, but then she smiled in her sleep and burbled softly. I aimed the camera at her cherub-like face and snapped a shot. The lighting was just perfect. I uploaded the picture to Facebook, with a suitable amount of hearts and smiley faces.
The first “like” came from Asher, of course. I looked up at him with a grin.
“Mr. Sinclair, are you stalking me on Facebook?” I whispered.
“Why, I'd never do such a thing Mrs. Sinclair. You’re a married woman,” he said in a tone of mock shock.
We both laughed, and I eased over to him and jumped into his arms. He caught me with a laugh, swung me around in a circle and then planted a deep, sensuous kiss on my lips, which got my heart racing and my cheeks flushed with heat. Even after marriage and a child, he was still able to turn me on with a mere glance, or a touch.
Still in his arms, I disengaged from the kiss as the phone in my hand buzzed. It was a notification from Facebook.
“Ed likes the photo,” I said. “And he just sent a message saying hi to both of us.”
“Say hi back. He and I need to have a beer when his band gets back from touring.”
“I'll tell him.”
“Oh, and Meg wants to come over early before dinner. Shall I tell her we're free now?”
He kissed me before answering, and again electricity rippled across my skin.
“Not just yet,” he said. “You and I have some unfinished business to attend to.”
“Oh we do?” I asked with a cheeky grin.
“Yeah. In the bedroom. Around…now, I think.”
“I'll tell her to come over in an hour then.”
He kissed me passionately, and we were both panting when he disengaged.
“Make it two hours,” he whispered. “Make it two...”
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Slammed Box Set
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Claire Adams
SLAMMED #1
CHAPTER ONE
“Evie, I swear to God, you never have any fun.” I rolled my eyes at Jess as she watched me getting dressed from the door of my room. “You could at least pretend like you’re looking forward to this party instead of dragging your feet and picking out the ugliest thing in your closet.”
I looked down at the jumper and tee shirt I had picked out and made a face in the mirror, turning to look at Jess. “What’s wrong with this?” Jess looked me over from head to toe.
“Nothing, if you want everyone to think you’re a nun.”
I sighed. Glancing at my reflection, I could kind of see her point.
“Well, it’s not even like I wanted to go to the party in the first place,” I said, hearing the whining note in my own voice and not caring. “The only reason I am going is because you want to go and you’re smart enough not to go by yourself.”
Jess shook her head, sighing in exasperation.
“You’ve been here almost half a semester and you haven’t been to a single party! Come on, Evelyn, even bookworms like you deserve some fun every now and then.”
I cringed, giving Jess an unhappy look for the ‘bookworm’ remark. It wasn’t that I loved studying more than I liked socializing; I was paying my own way through college, cobbling together academic scholarships, and applying for all the grant money I could get my hands on. All of that money would disappear in a heartbeat if I didn’t pay attention to my grades. On top of that, working out my own way through college made it important to me to not have to repeat any classes; those extra courses would come straight out of my own savings.
Jess smiled playfully at me, coming into the room and opening up my closet door. “Evie, you know you are capable of being drop dead gorgeous. I can’t be seen with some frumpy librarian!” I shook my head as Jess pulled out the skimpiest skirt I owned—it barely covered my ass—and a low-cut top to go with it.
When I had been a senior in high school, my spot at the college a sure thing, I had sort of dipped my toe into going to parties; I’d gone to a few, when I didn’t have to work at the movie theater and my friends and I had a good enough time, but it always seemed like everyone just got bombed out of their minds and passed out or threw up. I had seen enough people staggering into the dining hall on weekend mornings since I’d started at college to know that campus parties weren’t that different.
But I had agreed to go with Jess, and I told myself as I slithered into the skirt and top that I was going to make the best of it. I’d have a couple of drinks—not enough to get blasted, but enough to enjoy myself—and keep an eye out for Jess. At least it would be a break from constant studying or binge-watching TV shows on my computer.
The party that Jess was taking me to was at a frat house; the Phi Alpha Kappa fraternity had a bad reputation on campus, going by the nickname “bad boy frat.” I knew from what I’d heard that they had nearly gotten their credentials taken away several times in the last ten years, mostly for their over-the-top pranks and the intensity of their parties—and the property damage that came along with them. If I was going to go to my first party as a college student, it was both a good introduction and a scary prospect.
Jess left me to finish getting ready herself and I pulled my long, dark brown hair back and braided it to keep it out of my face. I put on some makeup and stepped into a pair of pumps, making a face at my feet. They’d be killing me by the end of the night, but Jess couldn’t possibly have anything bad to say about them—they were certainly sexy. I grabbed my purse and looked around for my keys.
“Evie, aren’t you ready yet?” Jess called from the common area of our dorm room.
I sighed and spotted a pair of ballet flats I’d thrown across my floor when I came in arguing with Jess about whether or not I would go with her to the party. I slipped the shoes into my big purse, grabbed my keys, and took a deep breath. I told myself that the night couldn’t possibly be as bad as I was thinking it would be. It would just be a few drinks, and a few laughs, and then I would be back in my room. How bad could it possibly be?
We walked across campus to where the
party was going on; Jess told me she’d slipped a pair of flats into her own purse as well—and as a ‘just in case,’ she had a spare dress stuffed into her bag. “I am well-versed in avoiding a real walk of shame,” she said to me with a grin. “Change into another dress and a pair of flats and no one really knows you spent the night somewhere.”
I had to admit that she wasn’t entirely wrong; however, people would still see you leaving the frat house the next day. I pointed that out to her.
“Well, you kinda lie low until you get to a more common part of campus and then you walk tall. People think you’re coming from the library or one of the labs.”
She shrugged. “You’re putting way too much thought into something that shouldn’t be that common a situation,” I told Jess with a grin.
“Yeah, well, some of us go to parties more often than once a semester.”
I rolled my eyes. “Some of us are serious about getting a good job after graduation.”
Jess twisted her face into a wry grin. “Evie, you need to lighten up a bit! Jeez, you could still make A’s without using your weekends to study, too. These are supposed to be the best years of your life, and what are you doing with them?”
I shrugged. “Learning. Putting them to good use so that when I’m 50 I’m not still scraping by on the same job I got when I was 30.”
Jess shrugged. “All work and no play makes Evelyn a dull girl. I know you have it in you!”
We got to the enormous building that served as the frat house, and before we’d even gotten to the door, I could already hear the pounding bass of the music. The front lawn was empty of all but a few people, but I knew from what I’d heard that the back yard, with its swimming pool, would be thronged—as would the frat house itself. Jess didn’t bother knocking—it was too loud to hear it anyway. She just opened the door and I caught a whiff of beer, pot, sweat, and a little vomit; the tell-tale signs of a raging party.
