Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Sadie
“ I ’ve decided I don’t want to know.”
I’m standing in the kitchen, watching Luke wrap a Barbie doll for Abigail with green-and-red-plaid wrapping paper. He’s taken twice as long to wrap his Christmas gifts as I have, and it’s mostly because of his meticulous, crisp edges and my wrinkled, tape-covered messes.
“Don’t want to know what?” he asks, not looking up from the gift.
“The sex of the baby.”
With his finger pressing the fold, his head snaps up. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I reply with a shrug. “I think it will be more fun to find out when the baby is born.”
His shoulders sag as disappointment washes over his features. It almost looks like he’s bummed we’re not finding out tomorrow. “Well, it’s your choice.”
“It’s not like I was ever going to cover the baby in pink or blue either way,” I reply.
“Good point,” he says, going back to his wrapping.
I watch him for a moment when that familiar tension rises in my gut. Ever since Thanksgiving last week, I’ve struggled to keep Luke at a distance. I never expected my heart to get so attached, but it has.
“Sage is throwing you a baby shower?” he asks.
“Yeah. Apparently, Briar and our mothers are in on it too,” I add.
The room grows quiet again. Neither of us wants to discuss how his family throwing me a baby shower feels wrong—and somehow right.
Why did I say it like that?
I pick up my wrapped presents and take them into the living room. Luke didn’t want to decorate for Christmas, but I smuggled in a small Christmas tree and placed it in the corner by his record player and one of his bookshelves. He didn’t put up much of a fight when he discovered it. He just sort of rolled his eyes and ignored it.
“I assume tomorrow I’ll come home to find stockings on the mantel,” he muttered under his breath.
“Don’t give me any ideas.” I laughed.
I didn’t, in fact, hang up any stockings. I considered it, but I realized that seeing his and mine together would make it look too much like we’re a couple.
Just one more thing to drive the knife in a little deeper.
Returning to the kitchen island to get the rest of my wrapped presents, I notice Luke staring at his phone. His eyes are wide and he’s as still as a statue.
“What’s up?” I ask softly.
But I already know. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for and dreading. I cruelly wished that maybe he wouldn’t get into the program in England. As wrong as that is for me to want his career to suffer so that I could have a few more moments with him, I wished for it with all of my heart.
And as I stare at his face now as he reads through something on his phone, I wonder what he’s thinking. If he’s going to erupt in elation at any moment, I don’t want to be around to see it .
“You got in, didn’t you?” I whisper.
His eyes lift to my face and he swallows, clearly uncomfortable and hesitant.
Then, slowly, he nods.
“Congratulations,” I say, trying to force my voice to lie with enthusiasm, but I don’t pull it off. “You can be happy, Luke. That’s amazing. You wanted it so bad.”
“I think I’m in shock,” he says, his expression unreadable.
“We should celebrate!” I cheer.
“We don’t have to do that.”
“I’m seriously so happy for you,” I say, plastering a wide grin on my face. Surely, a smile can hide everything, right? No one can see through a smile.
Finally, his expression comes to life, a slow, creeping grin appearing on his face. He bites his bottom lip to control it as he continues to read the email.
“Let’s go out to eat!” I shout, clapping my hands together. “You can celebrate your new boring book thing, and I can celebrate soon having this place to myself.”
His smile falters, but I’m moving too fast to let the feelings in. I hurry the rest of my presents to the living room and start searching for my phone.
“Go get dressed,” I shout.
“Okay, I am,” he replies, abandoning his gift wrapping and walking toward his bedroom.
I can’t stop moving. If I stop, every emotion I’ve shoved inside the thick steel locker in my head will come spilling out. I don’t have the time or energy to sift through all of that right now.
This is good, I tell myself as I amble from room to room, looking everywhere for my phone. He’s leaving soon, probably before the baby is born, so it’ll put some much-needed distance between us and we can finally get over whatever pseudo-relationship thing we’re in right now. We both need to clear our heads. That much is obvious.
When my thorough search of the house is unsuccessful, I head into Luke’s room. His bathroom door is closed and I hear the shower running inside.
Cracking it open a few inches, I call, “Hey, I lost my phone. Can I call it with yours?”
The bathroom is steamy, but I can make out the foggy form of his naked body through the misty reflection. My gaze is stuck for a moment before I tear it away.
“Yeah,” he replies with his hands in his hair as he lathers it up. “It’s on my bed. The passcode is 0415.”
I turn and grab his phone from the bed, punching in the numbers. I pause and think about them for a moment.
“That’s not your birthday, is it?”
“No, it’s my brother’s,” he replies from the shower.
“Caleb’s?” I say, wincing as I hear him laugh.
“Caleb’s birthday is my birthday,” he says, teasing me.
“I know that,” I mutter with an eye roll. “I was joking.” Which is a lie. I had a total slip and I’ll blame my pregnancy brain for that.
He’s still laughing as I realize something.
“It’s not Adam’s. His was a few weeks ago.”
I don’t know if Luke didn’t hear my response or if he’s ignoring me, but he doesn’t say anything for a moment.
Is there another brother no one has told me about? Is Luke keeping secrets from me? Is the whole family? What if this is a tragic story, and I just brought it back up? I’m sure there’s a reason he’s never told me but as he avoids the question, I don’t press him for it.
Instead, I pull up my contact on his phone. For some reason, I hit the message icon first and it pulls up our text thread. I’m just about to hit the phone icon in the corner to call my phone when I notice there is an unsent text message in the bar at the bottom.
Moby Dick?
I stare at it for far too long before I realize what it means. My jaw drops.
When did he type this? Did it mean he wanted to… ?
Why didn’t he send it?
My ears are buzzing as I stare at his phone, connecting pieces to this puzzle. Luke typed this out because he wanted to have sex with me, but he changed his mind.
So he doesn’t want to have sex with me?
Did he have second thoughts, or was he too embarrassed to send it? Did he realize that it would only make our relationship more complicated?
What would I have said if he had sent it?
The last text he sent was the day before Thanksgiving, which means this was after that. And that was a week ago.
“Did you find it?” he asks.
I was so enthralled by this unsent text, I didn’t even hear the shower stop. Quickly, I hit the call button from his phone and drop it on the bed, rushing from the room to follow the sound of my own phone ringing.
I have to dig into the cushions of the couch to retrieve it, but after I do, I drop onto the sofa and mull over the text situation again.
It’s a good thing he didn’t send it with the news he got today. I can only imagine that if we had slept together, it would have made today’s news hurt even more.
Numbly, I go into my bedroom and get ready. None of my pants fit me anymore, so I’m stuck wearing stretchy leggings and dresses. I settle for a long black-and-white dress that pairs well with black boots and a leather jacket.
When I walk out into the living room, Luke is standing there in dark, fitted jeans, a dark-red button-down shirt, and brown leather loafers. He’s so good-looking it literally hurts my eyes.
I just have to get through the night. Put on a happy face. And then ignore him as much as possible over the next few weeks as he prepares to leave. I can do that.
“I got us a table at that steak house,” he says, looking up from his phone.
“Perfect,” I say, avoiding eye contact .
We’re quiet on the way to the restaurant, and even when we sit down, the conversation feels stiff. He sips on a glass of whiskey while I run my finger along the rim of my water glass.
“You should come visit,” he says and I glance up at him without reacting.
“In England?” I ask.
“Yeah, of course.”
“With a baby?”
“They have babies in England.” He forces a smirk on his face. “The program is only a year long.”
I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean so I don’t reply. Is he implying that I should wait for him for a whole year and maybe we can try to be an actual couple when he gets back? He must know how ridiculous he sounds.
“Listen, Luke. I really am happy for you. This is what you’ve always wanted and the literary world is going to be better off with you in that project.”
He scoffs. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Well, I don’t know.” I laugh. “What you’re doing is important.”
“Is it?” he mutters, staring down at his glass.
“To you it is,” I reply.
Then his gaze drifts upward to meet my eyes. “Sadie,” he starts. His tone is soft and sweet, and it almost sounds like he’s going to say something I want to hear.
But then, movement catches my eye across the restaurant, and I glance up to see a very tall, familiar man walking in with a small party of well-dressed people.
“Oh my god,” I mumble, quickly averting my eyes. But I know it’s too late. For a brief moment, our eyes met.
“What?” Luke asks as he turns around to see Jax staring at us. “Who is that?”
“That’s the?—”
My words are cut off as Jax comes toward us. “Is that sexy Sadie?” he asks too loudly.
Luke’s mouth sets in a thin, straight line.
“Jax,” I say with a smile as I stand up to greet him. Luke immediately stands up too.
Jax’s eyes bolt down to my belly, hovering there the same way a deer stares into oncoming traffic.
I pull him into a hug to distract him from the sight of my swollen, fetus-filled belly.
“You look great,” he says in a mindless sort of hypnotic way as his eyes bore into mine.
Is he high?
“Thank you,” I say sweetly.
Luke’s rueful glare from the table is focused on Jax, so I quickly ease the tension.
“Luke, this is Jax,” I say, widening my eyes and touching my stomach as if I’m sending him secret messages. He gets it right away.
Straightening his spine, I swear he tries to make himself taller. They’re both already tall guys, but Jax has Luke by a few inches, which Luke is desperately trying to make up for with his chest puffed out and his chin held high.
He puts out a hand. “Lucas Goode,” he says proudly, and I’m mildly surprised he didn’t toss the doctor portion in there to show off.
“Nice to meet you,” Jax says with scrutiny. “Are you two on a date?”
“Yes,” Luke replies quickly.
And I throw in a quick “No. Just celebrating.”
The muscles in Luke’s jaw click. I can see it. Jax can see it. The sommelier by the bar can see it.
There’s a thick fog of tension among the three of us that’s probably hazing up this whole restaurant.
“What are you celebrating?” Jax asks cautiously.
Luke doesn’t pipe up to answer this one. Instead, I smile and answer for him. “Luke got into an overseas program in England. It was very competitive and prestigious. ”
“Wow, congrats,” Jax replies with a smug nod. Then he glances at me.
“Does that mean you’re moving to England too?” He seems so stiff and almost aggressive. This is not the same Jax I know from the club. He’s no longer flirty and carefree.
I laugh and shake my head. “Oh, no. We’re not a couple.”
There goes Luke’s clicky jaw again. He’s going to wear down his molars if he keeps that up.
“Oh,” Jax replies, his gaze dancing over my face and body again. “Well, it was nice running into you.”
“Yeah, you too,” I reply politely.
Luke is glaring at me. It’s like I can already feel his punishment coming.
“Enjoy your dinner,” Jax says. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“You too,” I say as I sit back down. Luke stays standing until Jax leaves.
A moment later, our food comes and we eat in tense, uncomfortable silence. All I can think is that Jax didn’t mention anything about the baby. I’m nothing but a woman he slept with once, and that’s it. I just happen to be pregnant with a child created from his sperm, and that’s it.
Sperm doesn’t make anyone a father. So I don’t know why I’m holding on to hope that Jax will suddenly sprout feelings for me or this child.
Glancing up at Luke across from me, I can’t fight the feeling that he’s angry. I don’t know what I did or what he has to be angry about, but all I know is that when we get home, he will want to punish me for it.
And I can’t wait.