“Want me to bring you dinner?”
“You’d do that?” I ask happily. I’m starving, and Sebastian left hours ago.
“Of course. What do you want?”
“Chicken biryani,” I say without hesitation. I’ve been craving it all day.
“That’s very specific. Care to tell me where I can find that?”
“It’s Indian. You’ve never had it?”
“No. Can’t say I have.”
“Well, you’ll love it, it’s spicy. There’s a really great Indian place around the corner from your—I mean, our apartment.”
“Okay.” He laughs. “I’ll ask Terrance. Be there soon.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Lucy,” he says, making me pause before I end the call.
I put the phone back up to my ear. “Yes?”
“Is the alarm on?”
“Yes. And the doors are locked.”
“Good.”
I push my lips together over a small smile. Always the protector. “Remember the code to get in?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, hurry up. I’m hungry.”
“Okay.”
He hangs up and I slip my phone back into the pocket of my painted, tattered cutoffs and my stomach growls loudly. I grab my water bottle off my paint cart and take a sip, but it does little to assuage my hunger. My mouth begins to water, so I take another sip, but it doesn’t stay down for long. I run to the bathroom and heave over the toilet.
I close my eyes as the nausea leaves me and get up to wash my face. I rinse my mouth with mouthwash and make a mental not to not skip lunch again.
I walk over to the couch on wobbly legs and sit down…just for a minute. I lean against the worn leather armrest and pull feet up on the cool cushion.
Lucy.
…
Lucy.
…
“Baby, wake up.”
I crack my eyes open and see Sam hovering over me with small, concerned smile on his face. “Hey.”
I sit up quickly and catch myself on his arm.
“You okay?” He laughs softly.
“Yeah.” I pull my hand to my face and rub my eyes. “I guess I fell asleep. Sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for?”
“I don’t know. I just…didn’t mean to fall asleep. What time is it?”
“Almost seven. You couldn’t have been out long. I did get a little worried when I called a few minutes ago and you didn’t answer.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and see his missed call. “I didn’t feel it vibrate.”
“You were out cold. You sure you’re feeling okay?”
“Yeah. I feel okay. I got sick after we hung up, but—”
“You threw up?” His hand goes straight to my forehead, and it reminds of when we were kids. We always took care of each other when one of us got sick.
“Yeah, but I’m not sick. I just went too long without eating. I skipped lunch today.”
“Oh.” He makes a funny face. “Well, don’t do that again.”
“I won’t, believe me.” I breathe in the delicious smell of the warm, spicy chicken and rice and my mouth waters again. “Let’s eat.”
We sit on the couch, eating our biryani, which Sam soon discovers he loves as much as I do, and we catch up on the day. When he’s full, he throws his paper bowl back in the bag and waits for mine, which I scrape clean before handing it to him.
“That was so good. Thanks for bringing it to me.”
He props his elbow on the back of the couch and looks at me.
“What?”
“I don’t know, there’s just something about being here.” He grins. “Seeing you in those shorts.”
I wrinkle my nose at my ratty old cutoffs.
“Reminds me of that day we kissed, right over there.” He glances at my easel.
I smile automatically, recalling how he made me drop my paintbrush. “I remember.”
“Our first kiss.”
“Not the first.”
“The first one of the rest of our lives,” he says, inching closer to me until our knees are touching. “I wanted you so badly. It took everything in me not to take you right here on this very couch.”
I look in his eyes and fortify my defenses.
“I still want you just as much as I did that day.” He wraps his hand behind my neck and leans in to kiss me. “Right here. Right now.”
“Sam, we can’t.”
“Why?” he asks, caressing my neck with soft, warm kisses.
“The doctor said you have to heal, correctly this time.”
He sits up and rolls his eyes.
“Don’t you want to be able to fight again?”
“Not if it means I can’t be with you.”
I drop my head to the side. “Fighting or no fighting, you have to heal this time. I want you too, but preferably in one piece.”
He gazes at me with his beautiful eyes and reaches for my hand. “I have been healing. I’ve been wearing the wrap every day since the fight, just like the doctor told me to.”
“I’m not really in the mood,” I lie, and the look on his face sends my heart plummeting.
“Oh.” He pulls his hand back. “Okay.” He forces a small smile.
“I’ve just got a lot on my mind right now.” I put my hand over his. “That’s all.”
He flexes his fingers beneath mine and laces them together. “Like what?”
“You, my career, the fate of my studio.” I glance around and sigh heavily.
“Well you can take me off that list.”
“Are you kidding? You’re in bold caps and highlighted in yellow.”
“Why? I’m fine.” He gives me a serious look. “You don’t have to worry about me, Lamb. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
An incredulous laugh escapes quietly between my lips. “The fact that you think that is what worries me. You’re not invincible, Sam.” I hold his stare until he looks away. “Look at me,” I say, squeezing his hand. “You are all I have.”
He looks at me and says, “I know. You’re all I have too.”
“Then protect yourself. For me.”
“What is it that you want me to do, Lamb? Just say it and I’ll do it.”
I stare at him for a moment, trying to lift the weight of his words off my shoulders. “Listen to Joe. He loves you like I do, and he knows what’s best for you. Take a break from boxing.”
He inhales a slow, deep breath through his nostrils and stands up.
“Just for a little while.”
He studies me for a few seconds and then puts his hands on his hips and says, “Okay.”
Okay?
I stand up and he wraps his arms around me, and I hide beneath them, afraid to face the fact that I’ve just become a wedge between Sam and the other love of his life—boxing. But Sebastian’s words echo in my ears, and I know that it’s the only way to protect him.
“You ready to go home?” he asks, releasing me.
“Yeah.” I’m not really in the mood to paint anymore.
We lock up the studio and ride to the apartment together in unusual silence.