“What’s this?” My eyes dance between theirs.
Carissa turns to Jeremiah but he looks my way.
“How long?” My jaw sets harder than the knot in my stomach.
This explains Carly’s strange behavior last time we hung out. I thought it was odd how distant she’d been lately, but I chalked it up to the fact that I was busy dealing with Beckham and my new job. I thought maybe we were falling out of touch.
I suppose she felt caught between her loyalty to Jeremiah and her loyalty to me.
This was the last thing I ever expected.
“It wasn’t planned,” Jeremiah drawls. His tone is smooth and unwavering but the shift in his eyes tells me he’s nervous as hell. “Carissa’s been interning at the studio. We spent some late nights together. It just sort of evolved, Sam.”
I fight a bittersweet smile, staring at the young woman who likely ignited the doubt in the mind of my former fiancé. Carissa offered an excitement I could never give him.
She was the catalyst.
“We never wanted to hurt you.” Carissa bites her lip. I’ve been best friends with Carly since college, but I’d only been around Carissa a handful of times since she attended culinary school in California. “If it makes you feel any better, Carly won’t speak to me.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, stuck between wanting to smack him and thank my lucky stars. I now know that marrying him would’ve been the biggest mistake of my life.
“When did things…evolve…exactly?” I ask, not that it matters at this point, but I doubt I’ll get another chance to ask.
“O-oh, um,” Jeremiah stammers. His reaction confirms my assumptions. “I mean, we hung out a lot, but we didn’t really do anything until after you said you absolutely didn’t want to marry me.”
Carissa smacks him across the chest. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of consolation prize.”
His blue gaze darts between us. There’s nothing he can say that’s going to please us both.
“You’re not a consolation prize, Carissa. Damn it. We’ve had this talk.” His lips purse, his nostrils flaring as his hands fly to his hips. Jeremiah glances at me one more time, his eyes softening. “Are you happy now, Sam?”
His question is gentle, his expression genuine.
“I just need to know if you’re happy,” he says again.
My hold on Sadie tightens, and I look down to catch the last of her chocolate eyes before she nods off in my arms.
There’s so much more love in my life than I ever expected. My love for Sadie fills my heart so full sometimes, I’m worried it’ll burst. And Beckham. He’s my prickly cactus. The more he refuses to believe he’s deserving of love, the more I want to love him.
I want to love him.
I do.
I see things in him I’ve never seen in anyone before. He’s strong and gentle, protective and loyal. Unapologetic and stubborn.
I could easily love that man, and it could easily be the hardest, most rewarding risk I’ve ever taken. Sometimes I wonder if I’m already starting to fall for him. We’re together almost every day. He’s my label-free version of comfort and excitement.
Thinking about it is dangerous though. The thought of admitting to myself that I’m falling in love with a man who doesn’t want to be loved makes me sick to my stomach.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m happy.”
“Good.” Jeremiah takes me in like it’s the last time and gives a tight nod. “Glad to hear that, Sam.”
“See you around,” I say.
Reaching for Carissa’s hand, they walk away. There’s a lightness in my chest. I can breathe now.
“What do you say we head back?” I whisper to the sleeping babe in my arms.
***
“Hello, hello?” I push the stroller off the elevator and into Beckham’s foyer. He’s sitting in his favorite wingback chair in the living room. “Surveying your kingdom again?”
He turns, his face lighting when he sees us. Rising, he comes our way and scoops Sadie in his arms.
“Dane and Bellamy go back?” I ask.
“Yeah. They headed to the hotel to pack. Their flight leaves in a few hours.”
“Bellamy’s a sweet girl. I like her.”
Beckham’s head cocks. “Not sure what she’s doing with a guy like my brother, but who am I to judge?”
I bump his shoulder with my fist. “Dane is a good guy. He deserves a good girl.”
“You give him too much credit.” His brows jump. “You give everyone too much credit.”
Watching Beckham cradle the baby and swing her side to side has quickly become one of my favorite things to do. Dizziness rains over me as my heart hammers at the thought of Sadie not being here a day from now.
I’m torn between wanting to spend this final, lazy Sunday with Beckham and Sadie and wanting to give them their own final day together…
Just in case…
“I should get going.” I tighten my purse strap over my shoulder.
He whips his attention my way, face scrunching. “Why?”
“Laundry,” I blurt. “It’s laundry day.”
I cringe, hoping he won’t see through me.
“You should stick around,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“Why are you being so weird?” His full lips curl up, his head angled. “Hang on.”
He sweeps Sadie off, taking her back to her crib and returning a minute later.
“You staying or what?” He points at my feet, which are still strapped into a pair of hot pink running shoes from our walk at the park.
Kicking them off and dropping my bag on the foyer buffet, I say, “Yeah. Sure. I’ll stick around for a bit.”
I follow him to the living room, draping myself across his sofa like I own the thing. Funny how comfortable I’ve become lately, but I almost feel like I live here. At least part-time.
“The court hearing is tomorrow.” His solemn voice breaks my heart.
“I know.”
“I was wondering,” he swallows. “If you’d come along. You know. As a friend.”
Popping up, I turn to him. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”
His face rests in his cupped hand, his stare glazed, gray and despondent.
I go to him, falling to my knees and taking his hand in mine. “It’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes. It’s okay to be scared.”
Beckham smirks, refusing to look at me.
“I’m serious,” I say. “I’m asking you to let your guard down a little. You can be yourself with me. As your friend, I’m asking you to stop being so damn strong all the time.”
Our eyes meet. I’m still on my knees.
“I think we passed the friend stage a while back, don’t you?” His words are hungry and scared and wanton all swirled into one low growl that makes my heart stop cold.
“Did we?” My voice breaks, residing meekly in the back of my throat.
He pulls me into his lap, fingers laced around my waist as I lower my body against his. Our lips graze, my fingers lacing around the back of his neck.
“What is this?” I whisper, trying to curb my enthusiasm in case it’s another case of Beckham needing a quick release.
His lips crush mine. “What do you want it to be, Dess?”
Way to put me on the spot.
I taste his mouth again and again, buying time and satiating my cravings.
“We’re something,” he says, his voice reverberating from his chest into mine. “No fucking denying that.”
I nod, fingers lacing in his thick, dark mane. “We really need to label it?”
His teeth rake across the flesh of my neck, his lips burning and his hands traveling up my shirt.
“Yes,” he breathes. “I want to fucking label it. I want to know that tomorrow, when I wake up, no matter what happens, I’m going to have you. I can’t lose you both. I…can’t…”
Yanking my shirt over my head, his hands slip under the lace demi cups of my bra, and he leans in to take a pert nipple between his soft, wanting lips.
“Say you belong to me,” he growls, pinching a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “I need to hear it, Dess…”
My head dips back, his hands searching my body, skirting along my sensitive flesh.