“The joys of pregnancy,” Carter says as we draw apart. Her hands stay on my arms. “What they don’t teach you in sex ed.”
Carter’s got a weird look on her face as she stares at my stomach. “Carter … are you preg—?”
“What, no!” she says, waving me off. “This is about you. Go sit down. Can I get you anything? Juice? Water?”
“I’m fine,” I say, but drift toward the siren’s call of the couch. “Just gonna throw my feet up.”
“You think you’ll be okay to come tonight?” Carter calls from the kitchen. I hear the tap running, and figure she’s pouring me a glass of water anyway. I do love this girl.
“I think so,” I say, but can’t keep the hesitation from leaking out.
“I know I’ve said it a million times, but you don’t have to come,” Carter says as she comes around the kitchen island and to the couch, handing me ice water.
“It’s Lily’s birthday. Of course I want to come.”
Carter bites her lip like she wants to assure me, once again, that there’s no obligation to be there, but I can tell she’d much rather I be part of Lily turning two. “I have to admit, I’m glad you want to be there. Because there’s something else to celebrate.”
“Holy shit, you are pregnant.”
“Jesus, no!” Carter throws up her hands. “What is with everyone assuming just because we have Lily, we’re gonna go for number two immediately. We’re not even engaged.”
I shrug. “It’s not like I’m a mascot for doing things in order.”
“Plus, Lily has a new bestie to keep her company before a sibling arrives. If a sibling arrives,” Carter adds when she’s sees me about to question. She rubs a palm on my prone stomach. “This boy or girl right here.”
“Do you think it’s weird that this day and age, I want to be surprised at the gender?”
“Not at all.” Carter pats my belly, eliciting a few kicks. She giggles in delight.
“I just feel, since this baby was a surprise to begin with, I might as well keep going with the trend.”
“Totally. You figured out names yet?”
I nod. “I think so.” But I don’t elaborate, wanting to keep them a secret for now.
“Speaking of names, that’s what I want to celebrate along with Lily’s second birthday,” Carter says. She inhales for dramatic effect. “Her name’s been changed.”
I sit up and grab her hands. “You did it?”
“We did it. Lily is now Lily Tobias-Hayes.”
“Oh, that’s just amazing.” My eyes well up with tears. “Simply amazing.”
“Soph … you’re crying?”
“It’s the hormones. I cried over running out of chocolate ice cream the other day.”
“Aw, honey, come here,” Carter says, laughing as she rocks me. “I’m so glad you came. And that you’re going to be there for Lily.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say into her shoulder.
What we leave unsaid is the very certainty that Ash wouldn’t miss it, either.
Maternity wear makes me feel about as sexy as a rhinoceros.
I turn this way and that in front of Astor’s floor-length, bedroom mirror, unimpressed with the SoHo boutique’s promise that this particular red sundress would make even the most bloated woman feel great.
I ditch my glasses on the bed and opt for contacts, since my face is so weirdly oily now that it’s a pain to constantly be pushing up the lenses on my nose. Patting on an extra amount of translucent powder helps, but I might as well accept that along with my life, my body’s going to change a helluva lot more, too.
“You almost ready?” Astor walks in with a glass of red wine, her long, limber runner’s body—she doesn’t run—clad in tight black denim and a bold, blue sleeveless blouse that sets off her eyes. Her brown bob is straight and flawless, just like the rest of her.
Hate. You.
“Whoa,” Astor says. “What did I do to put murder on your brain?”
“Came into existence.”
Astor laughs, unintimidated by my newfound moodiness. She gives my butt a light pat as she passes. “You don’t believe me, you may accuse me of being a liar, but let me remind you of this one thing: I don’t bullshit. Ever. You are a luscious vision in red.”
Oh, bullshit, but Astor’s got her trial lawyer face on, ready to parry and stab at any counterargument I may try to fling at her. “Fine. I’ll accept it only if you give me a sip of that wine.”
“No can do.”
“Damn it.” I frown at her through the mirror and pull at the hem of my dress.
“Ben’s downstairs. We’re going to be late.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, but my tone is in complete counterbalance to the butterflies floating around the baby growing in my stomach. Each step I take, each minute that ticks by, I’m closer to Ash, and I have no idea what I’m going to do next.
I follow Astor out of her apartment and into the elevator, until we reach Ben, waiting in the lobby downstairs.
But for the burn scars on his forearm, Ben’s just as flawless as his girlfriend. He’s wearing black slacks and a simple gray polo shirt, a color that pales in comparison to his All-American good boy looks. The scars actually make him even more appealing, but I’ll never tell him that. I’m guessing it’s because I enjoy physical rebellion in men.
Ash.
Ugh. Six hours in this city and he’s completely invaded my brain.
“You two look gorgeous,” Ben says as we approach, but he only has eyes for Astor, who he loops an arm around as fast as he can.
I’m not jealous. I do envy it and hope, one day, me and Cantaloupe can experience the same.
“Our car’s waiting outside,” he says.
I half expect it to be Charlie and curse myself for thinking it, but it’s only a regular black Camry awaiting our arrival. Ben slips in the passenger side and gives Astor and me the backseat.
As the driver pulls away from the curb, I realize I don’t even know where we’re going. “Where are Locke and Carter hosting Lily’s party, anyway?”
“You’d think it’d be at some indoor playground somewhere, or a pizza place, but no,” Ben says from the front. “Locke jumps at any chance for a deal. It’s at Apron.”
“Since we all invested in it, we’re all pitching in for Lily’s day,” Astor says. “Not only because my brother’s a cheap-ass sonofabitch.”
I swallow. “A bunch of two-year-olds are going to be hosted at an upscale restaurant?”
“I know, right?” Ben guffaws. “I can picture Ash right now—cowering in the kitchen with nothing but a cookie sheet as a shield as kids go after his flour supply.”
I almost smile, and Astor laughs softly.
Then, we all seem to remember what’s in my stomach, and the car goes silent.
Ben turns so he can see me. “Hey, you doing okay?”
I nod, about to buttress that nod with sure, absolutely, no problem, fine, but my phone buzzes in my purse, and I go to check it.
The number. Again. And one voicemail.
He never leaves voicemails.
My stomach sinks as I wonder what my mother might’ve told him at her last visit.
“Soph? You sure you’re all right?” Astor’s hand comes into my vision, covering the phone’s screen and holding onto my wrist. “You’ve gone pale.”
“It’s … it’s nothing.” I shove the phone back in my purse. “Family stuff.”
“How are your parents doing with the new arrival?” Astor asks.
“They’re excited,” I say, but stare out my passenger side window. “Surprised over the circumstances, but they’re willing to accept my adult decisions, if it means they get a grandchild.”
But I frown, the swaying nausea reaching my throat. I don’t like talking about my family.
“I’m glad. And we’re always here for you, too,” Astor says.
“I second that,” Ben says.
I smile at Ben and Astor, grateful for their presence,
but sad over the forced distance between us. I’m not sure if I can ever be as good friends with them as I’d like to, with Ash on the other side.
“We’re here,” Ben says as we slow to a stop. “Thanks, man,” he says to the driver.
Ben steps out and opens the back door for Astor and me. With my thighs the size they now are, and my dress as tight as it now is, I shimmy and scoot as delicately as I can, until Ben bends down and lifts me under my arms, gracefully scooping, then setting me on my feet on the sidewalk.
I laugh, thanking him. “I forget your football strength.”
“I’m not even pregnant and make him lift me like that over thresholds all the time,” Astor says as she rounds the car and settles against Ben. “Can’t put that pro-athlete talent to waste, can we, honey?”
I grin at their romantic ease, and the fact that the word honey just escaped Astor’s mouth.
Ben offers me his other arm. “Can’t say I hate escorting two beautiful women into a party.”
“Thank you, kind sir,” I say, and let him lead us into Apron, figuring I’ll need the added balance, anyway.
A sidewalk chalkboard is angled near the entrance, with the words CLOSED FOR A PRIVATE PARTY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SHORTCAKE!
I recognize Ash’s writing and can’t help but soften at the words.
As soon as Ben opens the door, we’re assaulted with screeches and colorful unidentified flying objects arcing over tables and plopping onto the floor.
“Save me!” Locke says as soon as he sees us, and rushes over to bear hug his sister. His limp is prominent today, probably from bending down and doing a bunch of floor activities with the kids. His shirt is covered in rainbow splotches. “We had the grand idea to invite Lily’s entire daycare class. There’s more cupcake on the floor than in their mouths.”
“You’re the moron for wearing white,” Astor says, but hugs her brother just as tightly. “Where’s the birthday girl?”
“Over there.” Locke points to a huddle of children in the corner.
I stare in that direction with a soft smile in my face, unable to halt the thoughts of I wonder what my baby will look like at this age. It’s a comfort, to hear the giggles and watch their bodies bobble to-and-fro, to know that even though it’s going be a lot of work to raise a child as a single parent, it’s all going to be worth it once Cantaloupe walks for the first time, smiles at the feat, then face-plants.
What age did Lily start walking? I look for Carter through the spaces of parents and errant toddlers, wanting to ask her. Desperate for her presence, actually, the closer I get to this whole parenting thing.
My attention freezes on a larger form in the center of the children where Locke pointed.
It’s Ash, tying something around the kids’ necks.
“Ash had the brilliant idea to decorate white aprons with the kids,” Locke says. “Then they can wear their design as superhero capes.”
And there Ash is, the asshole chef, the scary, tatted-up boss, in the center of jumping, crazy children, laughing along with them as he ties colorful, marked-up aprons around their necks, and knighting each one with a wooden spoon.
Lily claps in delight, her blonde curls bouncing higher than her feet. Ash one-arms her into a tickle hold and she screams with mirth—a sound so resounding and innocent it spears directly through my blood.
Laughing, doubled over, Ash dives for her cheek and smacks her with a kiss.
I choke.
“Soph?” Astor comes up beside me, laying a light hand between my shoulder blades. “You need to sit down?”
I’m here for Lily. I’m here for Lily, ImhereforLily.
Ash looks up at the same time my heart shatters to the ground.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper.
Slowly, Ash rises from the floor. He won’t take his eyes off me.
“What’s that?” Astor says. “I can’t hear you over these cracked-out sugar babies.”
I don’t answer. I tear my gaze from Ash’s and spin for the door, tripping on my own stupid swollen feet, jolting out of Ben’s attempt to catch me, and struggling for air.
“Sophie!” Carter, somewhere, calls for me.
I can’t turn around, for if I do, I’ll just be stepping on the remnants of my heart, scattered in pieces around Ash’s floor.
“Soph!”
I stop for no one, bursting through the front doors and looking around frantically for a taxi, any car, to take me away from here.
I shouldn’t have come. That phrase is a continuous mantra inside my head. The need for Carter shouldn’t have overridden the requirement to stay away from Ash.
Ash with children. Ash with Lily. Looking for all the world like the proudest uncle there ever was. Like he loves kids.
But he won’t love his own.
Gasping, I clutch at my stomach. It’s not hurting. Cantaloupe is restful and happy and completely unaware of its mother’s breakdown on the city streets. My giant belly is simply the only thing I can grab at to center myself, to catch my breath and hope I’m not on the verge of a panic attack.
Breathe. Breathe—
“Sophie, wait.”
I jerk upright, my back holding steady despite my insides doing jumping-jacks against my ribcage.
“Please,” I say without turning around. “Leave me alone.”
“I can’t do that.”
I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut against any tears. “I’m hailing a cab. Don’t trap me when I have nowhere else to go.”
“Can you turn around?”
I shake my head, but my feet aren’t listening. Slowly, I turn. I can’t say why I do it, only that Ash was going to see me anyway, or probably already had in the restaurant. And, I admit, I want to see his face.
I want to see him register the roundness of my stomach, to witness the moment he understands what’s kicking inside it.
“Bombshell,” Ash whispers, and the nickname, wrenched from his lips, hits me with the most twisted kind of pain.
18
Ash
I felt her before I saw her.
Sophie was a blur of red in my periphery, but I was too involved in my honorary niece and making her second birthday memorable—well, as memorable as a two-year-old can appreciate. After helping her paint her handprints into shooting stars on her apron/cape, Lily was enthralled by a wayward leaf falling from one of the plants, ditching the superhero and preferring to eat dead plant twigs from the floor.
But, by focusing solely on Lily, I didn’t have to look up. There was no need to see Sophie and how her body must’ve changed in four months. I’m comfortable with Lily. I can toss her around like a beanbag, kiss her soft, curly head, then hand her back to her parents when her diaper starts to smell funny.
At no point did I think what the image of me with my niece would’ve done to Sophie, and that was my fuck-up. How, while tickling Lily and eliciting her laugh makes me all sorts of mushy, it could crush Sophie.
I knew Sophie would be here today. She wouldn’t miss Lily’s birthday, not even when the man who got her pregnant—but refuses to be a father in the way everyone expects—is hosting it. That’s how Sophie is—loyal to a fault. In love with Lily in exactly the way I am. Willing to endure any kind of emotional pain in order to be there for a baby girl who’s already had too much tragedy in her life.
And I can’t say I wasn’t looking forward to seeing her.
I’m a fucked-up soul. All I wanted to do, when focusing on Lily, was stop from standing, from facing the woman who twists me all kinds of ways without even being in my presence for months.
The woman who’s carrying my child.
Father. Uncle.
The two are so very different.
The red of Sophie’s dress flies into an actual blur when she spins on her heel and runs out of the restaurant, and that’s when I rise. When all eyes turn from the swinging, hollow sound of the door, to me.
I clench my jaw and move forward, understanding without having to be tol
d that to let Sophie leave like this would be the second greatest mistake I could make. Father and Uncle might make a difference to me, but not to her.
Everyone steps out of the way. Easton squeezes my bicep as I pass.
I push through the door. “Sophie!”
She’s nearing the curb, the back of her so familiar, save for her sobbing stumble as she eats up sidewalk as fast as her feet can carry her.
“Sophie, wait.”
“Please … leave me alone.”
That’s the best option, and the one I should follow. I abided by it for sixteen weeks. No one knew how I counted down the days until the moment I knew I’d see Sophie again. Hell, if I’m to admit that’s what made it easier to let Sophie go in the first place. Because, inevitably, she’d have to come back.
You need to let her go.
“I can’t do that,” I say to her.
“I’m hailing a cab. Don’t trap me when I have nowhere else to go.”
The timbre of her voice, the very notion that she feels cornered, widens the crack in my black heart.
“Can you turn around?” I ask.
I don’t expect her to. Doubt I deserve it. If Sophie finds a car in these next few seconds, steps in, and drives away, I’m fully aware I’ll never see her again. Carter and Locke will start making trips down south. Astor and Ben will join them. Sophie will have all the support she needs without ever having to look at my face again.
The thought scares me, and I don’t know why.
But she turns. The girl who altered my life in one reckless night gives me one last look at her, and I can’t stop the carving of her nickname against my tongue. “Bombshell.”
Sophie’s expression crumbles, and I can’t believe I’ve hurt her more, when I’d already doled out all the heartbreak I could on this girl.
My attention drifts to her stomach. It can’t be helped, as big as it is. As round. Unblinking, I can’t look away.
Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection) Page 68
