Anchor Me
Page 38
Stark Real Estate owns the Santa Barbara Pearl Hotel, and we’d stayed there recently for Damien’s birthday. But that had been a whirlwind trip. “I feel like we only got an appetizer on your birthday,” I continue. “Now it’s time for the main course.”
“A nice thought,” he says. “But let’s put that off for a while.”
I lean back to see him better. He hasn’t said anything specific, but I know this man too well. His expressions. His tones. His posture.
“Did something happen there today?”
“What could have happened?” he asks, which isn’t an answer at all.
“What’s going on?” I ask, because now my curiosity is roused. “What was today’s trip about?”
“I told you. Just some business with Charles.”
“And you don’t want to go to Santa Barbara because . . .?”
He stands up. “Dammit, Nikki, why don’t you want to go to Lake Arrowhead?”
“No.” I stand up, too, my hands on my hips as I stare him down. I’m not sure if my certainty that he’s holding something back is real and rational and based on the fact that I know him so well, or if it’s some sort of pregnancy-induced psychosis. All I know is that, in that moment, I am absolutely, one hundred percent convinced that he is keeping something from me.
“Do not try to turn this around on me,” I say, my voice rising. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Nothing,” he says in a calmly infuriating way. “There’s nothing going on.”
“Bullshit.” I slam my hands up against his chest and give him a light shove. “Do you think I’m blind? Deaf? That I can’t see your face and hear the tone of your voice. I love you, remember? And I know you think you’re protecting me. But dammit, you’re not. All you’re doing is pissing me off.”
“Nikki . . .” His voice is tight with emotion.
“You say I’m strong, but then you build these walls to protect me.”
“No—”
“And you’re so busy protecting me that you aren’t even here for me.” The words burst out, the anger behind them surprising me as much as Damien. “I came back here needing you, Damien. And you were off chasing some secret bullshit that you won’t even tell me about? No—I’m sorry, but no.”
I draw a breath. “We promised each other no secrets—and over and over again you’ve told me that I’m strong enough to handle all the shit that keeps getting piled on us. Was that all smoke and mirrors?”
“You know it wasn’t.”
“Is it the baby? Do you see me differently now?”
“Not differently,” he says, stepping closer, so that I have to back up to keep some distance. “More.”
He’s right in front of me, so close I can feel the energy buzzing off him. “You’re the mother of my child, Nikki.”
“And that makes me weak? That gives you the right to keep secrets from me?”
“No—God, Nikki, no.” He starts to run his fingers through his hair, but stops and reaches for me instead, looking more lost than I’ve ever seen him. I lean toward him, wanting so desperately to fall into his arms. But I know what will happen. I’ll lose myself in his touch. I’ll drown in his embrace. And I’ll forget my fears and my anger and my worries because the bottom line is that I do know that he loves me.
But I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to be coddled.
So I shake my head and lift my chin. I look at him through tear-filled eyes. “You made me a promise once, Damien. No more secrets.” I press my hands protectively over my belly. “And no matter what you think, this shouldn’t change that.”
I wipe tears away as I rush to the bedroom, expecting him to follow. He doesn’t, though, and my insides twist even more, this time with fear. There’s a gulf between us right now. A gaping chasm filled with uncertainty and secrets, and it’s one that I don’t know how to cross. I don’t even know where it came from.
Except I do. And as I press my hand over the baby, my tears start to flow in earnest, because how the hell can we manage as parents if we can’t even manage a pregnancy?
It’s a horrible, terrifying thought, and the weight of it pulls me under as I lie there for I don’t know how long, listening to Damien pacing in the other room, then his footsteps coming closer and closer.
He pauses in the doorway. “Nikki?” His voice is soft. “Sweetheart?”
I keep my eyes closed and my breathing steady. I’m tempted to lift my head and roll over so that I can see him, but I’m lost in that space between sleep and wakefulness. And the truth is that I don’t want to emerge from it. Not yet. Not even for Damien. And so I keep my eyes closed and my breathing steady.
After a moment, I hear his footsteps again, this time coming closer. I wait for him to kiss me or rub his hand over my arm, anything to gently wake me. But instead, he simply takes the folded blanket from the foot of the bed and pulls it over me. Then he runs a soft hand over my hair before turning back toward the door.
For the briefest moment, I consider calling him back. But then the lights go off and the door snicks softly closed, and I’m left alone in the dark with my thoughts and my fears.
16
I’m still on top of the bedspread and under the thin blanket when I wake in the morning. Damien isn’t beside me, and a horrible loneliness washes over me. Except when one of us is traveling, we’ve always slept together. And I hate that it’s secrets and lies pushing us apart now. Especially since we’d fought so hard to shine a light on the gray areas between us before we’d walked down the aisle. I push the blanket away and sit up, and only then do I notice the dent in the pillow beside me and the afghan crumpled at the foot of the bed. I close my eyes, fighting tears that I tell myself are from a morning rush of hormones, but that I know very well are tears of relief.
As I pad into the kitchen, wishing for coffee, I remember that Damien mentioned an early-morning teleconference this week. That explains why he’s gone when it’s not even seven yet.
He’s left bagels out for me, but that doesn’t sound good at all. I open the refrigerator and stare inside, as if some amazing gourmet breakfast will fly off the shelves and onto a plate. When that miracle doesn’t happen, I open the freezer with the hope of finding frozen waffles, then gasp with delight at the bags of Milky Ways and boxes of Thin Mints that confront me.
“A nice thought,” he says. “But let’s put that off for a while.”
I lean back to see him better. He hasn’t said anything specific, but I know this man too well. His expressions. His tones. His posture.
“Did something happen there today?”
“What could have happened?” he asks, which isn’t an answer at all.
“What’s going on?” I ask, because now my curiosity is roused. “What was today’s trip about?”
“I told you. Just some business with Charles.”
“And you don’t want to go to Santa Barbara because . . .?”
He stands up. “Dammit, Nikki, why don’t you want to go to Lake Arrowhead?”
“No.” I stand up, too, my hands on my hips as I stare him down. I’m not sure if my certainty that he’s holding something back is real and rational and based on the fact that I know him so well, or if it’s some sort of pregnancy-induced psychosis. All I know is that, in that moment, I am absolutely, one hundred percent convinced that he is keeping something from me.
“Do not try to turn this around on me,” I say, my voice rising. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Nothing,” he says in a calmly infuriating way. “There’s nothing going on.”
“Bullshit.” I slam my hands up against his chest and give him a light shove. “Do you think I’m blind? Deaf? That I can’t see your face and hear the tone of your voice. I love you, remember? And I know you think you’re protecting me. But dammit, you’re not. All you’re doing is pissing me off.”
“Nikki . . .” His voice is tight with emotion.
“You say I’m strong, but then you build these walls to protect me.”
“No—”
“And you’re so busy protecting me that you aren’t even here for me.” The words burst out, the anger behind them surprising me as much as Damien. “I came back here needing you, Damien. And you were off chasing some secret bullshit that you won’t even tell me about? No—I’m sorry, but no.”
I draw a breath. “We promised each other no secrets—and over and over again you’ve told me that I’m strong enough to handle all the shit that keeps getting piled on us. Was that all smoke and mirrors?”
“You know it wasn’t.”
“Is it the baby? Do you see me differently now?”
“Not differently,” he says, stepping closer, so that I have to back up to keep some distance. “More.”
He’s right in front of me, so close I can feel the energy buzzing off him. “You’re the mother of my child, Nikki.”
“And that makes me weak? That gives you the right to keep secrets from me?”
“No—God, Nikki, no.” He starts to run his fingers through his hair, but stops and reaches for me instead, looking more lost than I’ve ever seen him. I lean toward him, wanting so desperately to fall into his arms. But I know what will happen. I’ll lose myself in his touch. I’ll drown in his embrace. And I’ll forget my fears and my anger and my worries because the bottom line is that I do know that he loves me.
But I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to be coddled.
So I shake my head and lift my chin. I look at him through tear-filled eyes. “You made me a promise once, Damien. No more secrets.” I press my hands protectively over my belly. “And no matter what you think, this shouldn’t change that.”
I wipe tears away as I rush to the bedroom, expecting him to follow. He doesn’t, though, and my insides twist even more, this time with fear. There’s a gulf between us right now. A gaping chasm filled with uncertainty and secrets, and it’s one that I don’t know how to cross. I don’t even know where it came from.
Except I do. And as I press my hand over the baby, my tears start to flow in earnest, because how the hell can we manage as parents if we can’t even manage a pregnancy?
It’s a horrible, terrifying thought, and the weight of it pulls me under as I lie there for I don’t know how long, listening to Damien pacing in the other room, then his footsteps coming closer and closer.
He pauses in the doorway. “Nikki?” His voice is soft. “Sweetheart?”
I keep my eyes closed and my breathing steady. I’m tempted to lift my head and roll over so that I can see him, but I’m lost in that space between sleep and wakefulness. And the truth is that I don’t want to emerge from it. Not yet. Not even for Damien. And so I keep my eyes closed and my breathing steady.
After a moment, I hear his footsteps again, this time coming closer. I wait for him to kiss me or rub his hand over my arm, anything to gently wake me. But instead, he simply takes the folded blanket from the foot of the bed and pulls it over me. Then he runs a soft hand over my hair before turning back toward the door.
For the briefest moment, I consider calling him back. But then the lights go off and the door snicks softly closed, and I’m left alone in the dark with my thoughts and my fears.
16
I’m still on top of the bedspread and under the thin blanket when I wake in the morning. Damien isn’t beside me, and a horrible loneliness washes over me. Except when one of us is traveling, we’ve always slept together. And I hate that it’s secrets and lies pushing us apart now. Especially since we’d fought so hard to shine a light on the gray areas between us before we’d walked down the aisle. I push the blanket away and sit up, and only then do I notice the dent in the pillow beside me and the afghan crumpled at the foot of the bed. I close my eyes, fighting tears that I tell myself are from a morning rush of hormones, but that I know very well are tears of relief.
As I pad into the kitchen, wishing for coffee, I remember that Damien mentioned an early-morning teleconference this week. That explains why he’s gone when it’s not even seven yet.
He’s left bagels out for me, but that doesn’t sound good at all. I open the refrigerator and stare inside, as if some amazing gourmet breakfast will fly off the shelves and onto a plate. When that miracle doesn’t happen, I open the freezer with the hope of finding frozen waffles, then gasp with delight at the bags of Milky Ways and boxes of Thin Mints that confront me.
