She smiles back, but her lids fall again.
“You sleep, okay? I’ll be right here.”
She nods once and her face goes slack. She’s out.
I sit back down, sigh, lay my head on her hand and will my racing heart to settle.
Chapter 35
Everly
“I’m fine. It’s been a week. Can you stop hovering already?”
“It’sonlybeen a week.”
“The doctor didn’t give me any restrictions. I’m good. Besides, I already missed assignments from our honeymoon. Plus, Tatum and Lennon have been doing all the heavy lifting for the new brand. We have an interview with our first potential client tomorrow.”
“Can’t they do it without you?”
“Julie, this is huge. It’s a minor league baseball team. The coach is a retired major league player. I don’twantthem to do it without me. This whole business was my idea.”
“Okay, I get that. But, Ever, you haven’t even talked about the accident. You just pretend like nothing happened.” He’d resorted to calling it the accident or the incident because I guess he didn’t know what else to call it.
“What am I supposed to say? It happened. It’s over. I’m fine. We didn’t want to have a baby anyway. Right?” Even as he winces at the mention of the wordbaby,I know that’s the one thing I can say thatwill shut him up. I ignore the twinge of guilt for playing that card, but the last thing I want to do is sit around and relive it. I know Julian doesn’t want kids. I hadn’t really thought about it until it happened and then . . . went away—in a life-threatening way.
Julian made no secret of being afraid to pass on his genes to the next generation—claiming he got lucky escaping them himself.
Ever since the doctor told us I now only have one tube and half a chance of getting pregnant, it feels like something was taken from me. It wasn’t on my radar and now it’s screaming in my face. So I do what I do—tuck it away, ignore it. Points for not running. Although one could argue my self-distraction is a form of running. Sometimes I hate that I’m a psych major and know all the things. Ignorance really is bliss in situations like this. I know what I’m doing and I’m gaslighting us both that I’m not.
He nods, walks the three steps to me and envelops my face in his palms. His sigh is heavy, his lips in a tight line. He pecks a kiss on the tip of my nose. “Just take it easy, okay?”
I nod slightly, restricted by his hold on my cheeks and smile. “Promise. I haven’t even gone surfing yet. But that clock is ticking, mister.” I arch a brow at him.
He pulls me into a bear hug and I let him. Everything goes quiet when he does. Everything feels safe, like nothing can hurt me. I blink back the pressure behind my eyes. We’re going to be fine. I have him. I don’t need babies—little carbon copies of him with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. I dig my nails into the grooves of his back and pull him tighter to me until the image fades.
***
“This is exactly what I’ve been looking for. Depending on how we structure it, we can make this a win-win.” Jason Ross, retired Angels middle infielder and now the head coach of their minor team, the Sun Rays, leans on his desk and looks from me to Lennon, then Tatum. He plans to incorporate mental health as a major part of his coaching philosophy, especially for the rehab process of injured major league players. He cast his net wide to find grad students in need of clinical hours. The competition had to be fierce.
Sitting across from him in his office, I can’t help but wonder if Ashley’s glowing recommendation likely tipped the scales in our favor. It doesn’t embarrass me like it probably should. Tatum, Lennon and I work our asses off, and Ashley knows that. We deserve this as much as anyone. But it does drive home that saying, “it’s not what you know but who you know,” and frankly breaks my romantic, idealistic heart just a little. Not enough to take us out of the running for this opportunity, I admit to myself silently.
“Since we’re new at this, it would greatly benefit us to structure it as an internship. The university approves it. We get clinical hours. You get the mental health support of professionals. Tatum and I will shadow the CMPCs and Lennon will shadow your trainers.”
“We will still offer a fair wage for the hours worked.”
“That’s very generous of you, Mr. Ross.”
“Please, call me Jason.”
“Okay. Jason. Thank you again for this opportunity.” I shake his hand as we stand to leave and note the warm dimpled smile, kind eyes that crinkle with years of laughter, life or playing baseball in the sun. Probably all three. I’m excited to work with him.
Outside on the sidewalk of the Sun Rays’ athletic complex, Lennon booms, “This calls for a celebratory toast.” She immediately slaps her hand over her mouth, making an O with her lips. “Wait, can you drink?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Lennon. I can drink. I’m fine. No restrictions. Except . . . no sex for four weeks. Three more to go.” I wiggle my eyebrows, and when they both open their mouths, I put my hand up before either can speak. “Don’t you two start, too. I get enough of it at home.” I keep my hand up until they both acquiesce. “Where to for drinks?”
Lennon waves her hand like a game show host toward the buildings across the street, one boasting a sign that says The Sun Deck, aptly named for its rooftop bar overlooking the minor league field and the rolling Agoura Hills. Typical Southern California weather has us choosing the rooftop for our celebratory happy hour.
Tatum orders three pineapple mimosas and a basket of fries.
