“I wanted to get one with Sam, but he’s not supposed to lift anything heavy. Doctor’s orders—which he has to follow this time.”
“How’s he doing?”
“They think his ribs didn’t heal properly after the Quebec fight because he did too much in Exuma, so he’s reluctantly taking it easy.”
“Isn’t that why you went to Exuma? So he could rest and get better. What the heck was he doing there?”
I raise my eyebrows and give an innocent shrug.
“Lucy! You could have at least waited until the second week to start the honeymoon.”
“I tried! But he can be very persuasive. And athletic.” I laugh softly and bite my bottom lip.
“Oh, my God, Lucy. That’s…actually pretty hot,” he says, picking up a box of lights. “But no more athletic bedroom antics until he’s better, or he won’t be able to keep fighting.”
“Are you saying this is all my fault?”
He shakes his head, but before he can get a word out, I groan, “Ugh, it is my fault. This rift between Joe and Miles is because of me, isn’t it?”
“What rift?”
“Since Sam got hurt again so soon, Joe wants him to stay out of the ring for a while. He wants him to take a real break from boxing.”
“And Miles wants his paycheck.”
“Well, I think it’s more than that. I think Miles is thinking about the longevity of Sam’s career.” I look at him and ask, “Is that really what you think?”
“Well, isn’t that what most sports managers want?”
I shake my head, considering it, but that’s not Miles. “Miles loves Sam. He’s just worried about the perception it’ll give off if he’s out of the ring for too long, because of the retirement rumors.”
“I like these, get these,” he says, handing me another box of twinkle lights. “So, are they just rumors?”
I give Bas a preposterous look. “He’s not going to retire, Bas. He’s twenty-seven.”
“Yeah, and in the boxing world, that’s practically an old man.”
“What? No. That’s crazy.”
“Not when you’ve been taking hits to the head since you were a teenager. You want him punch-drunk by the time he’s forty?”
I try to ignore the worry Bas has painted all over me, but it sheens my skin in the form of dewy sweat.
He looks up from the box he’s reading and stares at me for a moment. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “I feel like I…” I pant and swallow the saliva pouring into my mouth. “I think I—I think I’m going to be sick.”
I throw the boxes of lights back on the shelf and run down the aisle, which thankfully has a Restroom sign hanging in the middle of it. I make it to a stall just in time to throw up.
“Hi. Pardon me. Sorry, my friend’s in here,” I hear Bas saying to the ladies walking out, who are mumbling under their breath. “Sweetie? Are you okay?”
I wipe my mouth and stumble over to the sink, where I proceed to wash my hands and face. I dry them with a paper towel. “I’m fine. I feel better now.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you. Geez. I wasn’t expecting that reaction.”
“I think I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed by everything right now. I wanted this, Bas, I did. I do. But it’s a lot to take. Between the media constantly making up stories about me and Sam—”
“Which you dispelled during the LA interview.”
“And the paparazzi splashing topless pictures of me across the internet. And Sam’s ex-whatever-she-was pressuring me to work with her. And that stupid reporter insinuating I’m too uncouth to make it as a real artist.” My eyes start to well up. “And Sam getting beat to a pulp for a living.” The tears spill over and run down my cheeks. “Now he’s going to be punch-drunk?”
“Lucy,” Bas says softly, approaching me with caution.
“I just want to have a house that’s mine and decorate it with Christmas lights and a stupid Christmas tree,” I sob against Bas’s shoulder, which is pressed firmly against my cheek now. “So much for having a nice, normal life.”
He holds me and uncharacteristically lets me cry in his arms for several long seconds.
I step back and look at him with pathetic, watery eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I say into the rough paper towel in my hands that scratches my puffy eyes.
He pulls his dark eyebrows together and says, “Nothing’s wrong with you. You’ve just had a lot to deal with lately. It’s going to get better. The media will settle down, it’s inevitable. One minute you’re news, the next no one cares. Sure, there will people who make stuff up about you and presume to know things about your life, past or present, but that’s true of anyone. And Sam isn’t going to get punch-drunk, because you won’t let him.”
“Let him? Have you met Sam? When he wants something, no one can deter him.”
“He wants you, Lucy. You’re probably the only one who can deter him, which I know you would only do to protect him. So you have to be the voice of reason when that time comes. He’ll listen to you. And only you.”
I bob my head and wipe my nose. “How did you get so smart?”
He shrugs. “One of my many gifts.”
I inhale a deep breath, discard the tear-soaked paper towel in my hand, and splash some water on my face. I pat it dry and look at my pink nose and watery, pale blue eyes with matching pink rims.
Sebastian snaps a picture of me with his phone and I spin around.
“What are you doing? Delete that.”
He shows me the picture. “Paint this.”
“What?”
“Paint this. It’s…a moment.”
I pull my eyebrows together and drop my chin. “What should I call it? Bathroom Breakdown?”
“Stronger.”
“Stronger?”
“Stronger,” he says seriously. “Because you’ll only get stronger from here.”
I press my lips together and nod at his poignant interpretation of a painting I haven’t even created yet. “I love you.”
“I know. Now…” He glances around the bathroom with distain. “Can we please exit this public lavatory?”
“Yes.”
* * *
I adjust the lights in my studio and position my paint cart next to my easel, which I lower a bit so I can reach the top of the four-foot canvas that it’s holding. I gauge my blank workspace, but before I begin, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
“Hey,” I answer.
“What are you doing?” Sam asks, and I smile automatically.
“Painting. I was about to anyway, before you called.”
“You didn’t have to answer.”
“Yes, I did.” I smile and tell him, “I’ll always answer when you call.”
“Good.” He laughs softly. “It’s getting late. You coming home soon?”
I look at the time on my phone. “It’s six fifteen.”
“It’s after dark.”
“I won’t be too long.”