15. SARAH
My brush dances with a mind of its own across the canvas in various vibrant strokes. The image in front of me is nothing like I’ve ever painted. It’s bright, bold, and colorful.
Something I never thought I’d see again.
“I see you’ve decided to venture into the land of color.” I twist on my seat, finding my professor standing behind me, observing my work with a pleasant smile.
I place my brush in a holder and wipe my hand on my smock. “I have.”
“I take it something or someone helped to bring some color back into your world,” she muses.
“You could say that.” I grin, planting my hands on both sides of my stool.
“Very good.” Her smile widens as she nods. “Have you thought about the show I mentioned to you?”
“I have, and I’ll be displaying a few pieces.” I look at the canvas beside me. “This being one of them.”
She claps her hands together. “Marvelous!” A student in the front of the room calls for her attention. “Let me know if you need any assistance with anything. I look forward to seeing all your final pieces at the show,” she calls over her shoulder as she steps toward the front of the room.
Grabbing my brush, I hesitantly scan my work.
I actually did it.
For the first time, I painted with color. And it wasn’t nearly as scary as I thought it would be.
If anything, it was liberating.
Tilting my head to the side, I can’t help but notice that my painting looks similar to someone else’s style.
But who…
That’s when it hits me.
My mom.
It looks exactly like something she would paint. Maybe all those years of watching her paint for hours are starting to come out in my work. And I couldn’t be happier about that.
My phone alarm interrupts me, reminding me I have places to be.
Quickly, I pack up my supplies, glancing one last time over my shoulder at my first painting with color, and I know there’s one man responsible for bringing color back into my life, even if he didn’t do it intentionally.
He did.
And I can never thank him enough for the gift he’s given me.
* * *
“Everything looks good.” Dr. Martin enters the room, reviewing the charts in her hand. “Your blood work is excellent, and from the ultrasound results, I can confirm the baby’s heartbeat is strong. It’s exactly what we want to see at this stage in your pregnancy.”
For the first time in weeks, relief hits me. “Thank God.” I let out a deep breath. “Looks like I’m not a total failure.”
Dr. Martin frowns. “Why would you think that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m just worried I’m going to fu… I mean, mess up.” I run my fingers through my hair, pushing it behind my ear. “I wasn’t prepared for this and have no idea what I’m doing.”
She places her charts on the counter and sits across from me, crossing one leg over the other. “You know, I don’t think any woman is ever actually prepared to be a mother. No matter how many books you read, videos you watch, or pieces of advice you receive, something will catch you off guard, and you’ll think you’re a failure when you’re not. Believe me, I have three of my own. They’re all adults now, but man, when they were babies…” She shakes her head, laughing. “Let’s just say I had my hands full and had no idea what I was doing. But because I gave it my all, night and day, they turned into three beautiful, intelligent young women. And I know the little one inside you will be very lucky to have you as a mom.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, the tip of my nose stinging.
“Because you’re worried about failing, and that shows how much you care about your baby. You’re trying to do everything right when not everything will have clear cookie-cutter instructions for you.” She smiles warmly.
I nod. “I guess you’re right. There really is no exact manual on how to raise a baby, and I would know. I’ve spent hours trying to find it online.”
She chuckles softly. “Tell me, what have you been doing to prepare?”
I sigh, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “I’ve been taking my prenatal vitamins and keeping up with my appointments here. I’ve ordered everything for the nursery, but I’m just waiting for it to be delivered soon, and I just signed up for a birthing class that starts after the holidays.” I glance up at her, nervous that I’m forgetting something.
“See, you’re doing great,” she exclaims. “Have you had any issues with anything? Any side effects?”
“Well,” I start. “My back, feet, and even my breasts have started to become sore. Sometimes, certain foods give me heartburn that normally wouldn’t. I’m tired…a lot. And then I had that week of nonstop morning sickness. But I haven’t been sick since then. All in all, nothing I can’t manage.”
She smiles. “Certain symptoms will come and go. Others will just become more prominent throughout the pregnancy. Everything you mentioned is normal and nothing to be alarmed over.” She purses her lips and then asks, “And I assume you’re doing all this yourself?”
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. “Yes. It’s just me.”
She gives me a look of pity, making my stomach churn. If she knew I was purposely trying to avoid the father of my baby, she wouldn’t be looking at me that way. She would look at me the way I deserve, with disgust in her eyes.
“If you have any questions or concerns, please call the office anytime and ask to speak with me. I’m always here to help,” she offers. The corners of her eyes crinkle as her smile widens.
“Thank you,” I respond as she picks up her charts and walks out the door.
I slide my arms in my coat sleeves when I feel a vibration in the pocket. Seeing Natalie’s name dance across my phone’s screen brings me a sense of comfort I desperately need right now.
“Hey, Natalie,” I answer, walking out of the office toward my car.
“Hey, Sarah! I just wanted to see if you want to go out on Friday. Vanessa has to work, so it would just be you and me. What do you think?”
I usually would love a chance to go out, but since my bank account is now in the negative, it doesn’t seem like a great idea.
“Umm, money is kind of tight right now. Maybe another night,” I respond, hating how pathetic I sound. I get inside my old car, turn the key in the ignition, pray it will turn on, and when it does, I blast the heat on my hands.
“Let’s stay in! That sounds like a better night to me, anyway. How about we do it at Nathan’s house? I’ll ask him to pick up some pizzas on his way home from work, and he has a freezer full of ice cream at my request,” she adds with a giggle. “Paul probably won’t be there because he has an away game that night.”
Relief and something else fills me. Is it disappointment?
“Are you sure you’re fine with staying in?” I ask. “I don’t mean to be a downer or anything.”
“Trust me, you’re not,” she confirms. “I prefer this plan. I just want to see you. We’ve all been so busy recently, and I don’t care what we do as long as I get to see you.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. “Okay. Then yeah, that sounds like a fun night to me.”
“Perfect! I’ll text you on Friday. Bye, Sarah!”
“Bye, Natalie.”
I pull out of the lot and head toward campus, which is only ten minutes away. As I drive by the sports arena, I notice a full parking lot and people walking in holding signs. There must be a basketball game tonight. I stop, letting some fans cross in front of me, and that’s when I see a sign with the words Go, Weston! on it.
Not thinking about it, I turn in the lot and find a vacant spot in the back. I don’t have money for a ticket, so I don’t even know what I’m doing here, but I feel like I’m being pulled toward the gym like a magnet.
Entering the arena, I begin to walk around when I hear someone yell, “Hey, it’s Paul’s friend.”
The way he emphasizes friend has me turning with a smile.
“Hey,” I offer, walking up to the familiar face who gave me my ticket the last time I was here. The halls are pretty deserted now, making me think the game must have started.
He looks around his booth and then back at me. “Paul didn’t put any tickets aside today. Do you need one?”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t know I’m here. I was hoping there might be somewhere I could watch off to the side,” I admit with a lift of my shoulders.
He smiles, shaking his head, and motions for me to come behind the booth door. “Come with me.” He places a closed sign on the booth window and opens the door. “I could get in trouble for doing this, but if you promise not to say anything, we’ll be good.”
“I promise.” I hesitantly follow him into a back room, where he opens the door to a set of stairs.
I’m fairly certain it’s frowned upon to follow men you don’t know into back rooms, but…actually, there is no but. It is completely frowned upon.
He points up the four flights of stairs. “My knees are too run-down to make it up there, but when you get to the top, you’ll have a clear view of the game. And remember, I didn’t bring you here.” He winks as he shuffles past me, heading back to the booth.
My hand wraps around the old metal railing as I take my first step.
Here goes nothing.
By the time I reach the top, I’m hunched over, out of breath, and reminded that I hate cardio more than anything in the world. But as I look up, seeing the big glass window before me, I straighten and walk over, pressing the palms of my hands to the surface.
Wow.
This room has the perfect view of the entire court, and I have it all to myself. Off to the side, I spot a fold-up metal chair and drag it toward the window, making myself as comfortable as possible.
Gazing down from this height, you’d think I’d have an issue differentiating which player is Paul. But the man stands out like a sore thumb as he controls the ball, dribbling down the court. I’m hypnotized as he runs back and forth, making shot after shot.
My eyes catch on the scoreboard, finding that Linrey University is up by twenty points, all thanks to Paul, who is playing incredibly tonight.
But Paul doesn’t play like this occasionally.
This is how he plays all the time.
He’s a born leader and a natural talent on the court.
And I’m certain his dad would be proud of him if he were here now, watching him play.
I know he struggles with seeing himself as more than just the last name on his jersey, not feeling worthy enough to wear it, but to me, he’s always been more than a name.
He’s the guy who has my heart, even if I refuse to admit it out loud.
I reach for my phone in my coat pocket and scroll to the last message I received from Paul after our date almost a week ago.
Paul
I had a really nice time tonight. I hope you did, too. The offer still stands for a second date, so just let me know, and I’ll make that happen for you.
It killed me not to text him back.
That night was the best night of my life. Well, it’s tied with our first night together, of course.
But nothing can happen between us. I gave him the one date he asked for, and that’s all I could risk giving him.
A tear rolls down my cheek, and I hastily wipe it away.
This is all my fault.
I should have known better.
I internally shake my head, feeling overwhelmed at being here, watching the man I love from afar, knowing that’s all…
Hold up. What did I say?
The man I love…
No. No. No.
I can’t love him.
Because if I love him, it will only make this hurt even worse. It will make things messy and complicated.
I can’t…
I sigh, shaking my head as more tears escape down my cheeks.
But I do.
I love him with everything I have.
My heart thuds in my chest as I place my palm against it, willing myself to breathe in and out.
What am I going to do?
The only thing I can do.
Because I love him, I can’t tell him.
And I need to continue the pretense that I want nothing to do with him.
At least until I figure out how to fix everything. How to put everything back together again as it should be.
But every time I rack my brain for an answer, I come up blank, losing myself to frustration beyond measure.
I feel helpless and alone, shackled in a battle against Greyson Black that I’ll never be able to win.
I’m not strong enough to beat him.
And I won’t risk playing against him only to lose.
The consequences are too dire.
So, for the sake of me, the baby, and Paul, I’ll do what I must to keep us all safe.
And as if the universe has a cruel sense of humor, my eyes catch on Greyson, sitting on the bench, scowling. To most, he probably appears immersed in the game, but upon further inspection, I notice his eyes glued to Paul, watching every move he makes. Anger radiates around him, his fingers gripping the edge of his seat in a death grip. The way he’s staring at Paul is as though he’s ready to murder him right there on the spot.
A shiver runs through me.
Greyson’s a deplorable asshole with no soul or conscience, but would he ever go that far?
What has him wound so tight that he appears ready to risk it all?
Could Greyson be jealous of Paul?
Would he let jealousy consume him?
Greyson’s words repeat in my mind: “Paul took something from me, so now I’m taking something from him.”
But what did Paul take from Greyson?
An overwhelming need to leave swarms me as each question rattles off, one right after the other.
Knowing Paul’s safe, surrounded by people with no way for Greyson to do any harm to him in the middle of a game, I fold the chair, lean it against the wall, and return down the stairs just as halftime begins.
Opening the door to the booth, I find the man sitting in front of a computer, typing away.
“You know, I never did get your name,” I say, walking up to him.
He smiles. “It’s William, but you can call me Will.”
I extend my hand toward him. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Will. Thank you for letting me up there tonight. I needed that.”
He shakes my hand. “Don’t mention it. Anything for Paul’s friend.”