LUKA (The Rhythm Series, Book 2) (23 page)

I didn’t look up.

“Five days. And it’s not like it’s a surprise. We’ve talked about this. God, we’ve talked about it endlessly. You’ve known about this for months,” I answered calmly, although inside I felt a bubble of hot anger.

“It was supposed to be for rehearsals!” she snorted. “But the tour has been put back until April.”

“We need to audition a new dancer for your role.”

I winced. That sounded harsh.

“God, you’ve written me off already!”

“What? You were always going to be a part of it.”

“And now I’m bloody pregnant,” she snapped, folding her arms protectively. “What if I go into labor early?”

“Call your mom.”

“You arsehole! Don’t you even care?”

I carried on packing. “I have to earn money,” I said reasonably, repeating the same old arguments.

“You could stay in
The Bodyguard
,” she shot back.

“As a backup dancer—not as co-lead in a successful show.”

“As Assistant Dance Captain! And you don’t know
Slave
will be successful this time around.”

I shot her an irritated look.

“I’m not saying I don’t want it to be successful, of course I do! I love Ash and Laney—they’re like family!”

I grunted my agreement.

“You don’t even want to be near me,” she sniffed, her argument changing direction as swiftly as the tears came. “You never touch me. I have to practically beg to get you to fuck me.”

That was true, so I didn’t answer.

“Do you even want this baby?” she wailed, the waterworks now in full flood.

The anguish in her voice was obvious and I couldn’t take it. I turned around and pulled her into my arms.

“Of course I do,” I murmured into her hair. “Maybe not at the beginning, but I’ve
seen
her, heard her heartbeat, felt her moving. She’s real. She’s something amazing that we created, and she’s going to be so beautiful, like her mother.”

Sarah relaxed into my arms. “And like her father. You’re the beautiful one, Luka. My God, men and women stop in the street when you walk past. And then I trail along looking like a homeless person.”

She rested her head against my chest as I rocked her slowly, her swollen stomach bridging the gap between us.

“This pregnancy thing is hard. I know I’m supposed to put on weight, I know that. But I just feel so fat. It goes against everything I’ve tried to do since I was ten! And the other day, a little boy pointed at me and said, ‘Look at that fat lady, Mummy.’ I wanted to burst into tears.”

“You’re crazy. You’ve never looked more beautiful.”

She pushed away from me. “Then why are you leaving us?”

“
Prekleto!
”

I slammed the lid of the suitcase shut, and she jumped.

“What does
that
mean?”

“Stop riding me, Sarah! I’m doing the best I can.”

“No, you’re not,” she shot back. “You’re doing
exactly
what you want, as always. I’m going to be stuck here, by myself, fat and useless.”

I grit my teeth, biting back what I thought about her constant complaints.

“You’ve got your mother and . . . Seth will be back from Singapore in a few days,” I pointed out, almost choking on his name.

“It’s not the same!” she wailed. “I’ll be so scared by myself. What if the baby comes early?”

I ground my teeth in frustration, trying to rein in my mounting temper.
She can’t help it
, I told myself.
It’s her hormones
.

“The doctors say there’s no reason why she would. I’ll be there. I promise.” I kissed her forehead. “You’ll be fine,” I said, rubbing her arms gently. “They told you three days ago that it was a false alarm. And you can always go and stay with your mother—you know she’d love that.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” she snarled.

And we were back here again.

My patience snapped.

“No, I really fucking don’t!” I yelled at her. “I have no answers! None. You say you want me to be a part of our daughter’s life, then you push me away, you fucking run away and won’t take my calls for three days. I didn’t know if you were coming back, or if that was it.”

“Of course you knew . . .”

“No, I fucking didn’t!” I shouted. “I’m not a mind reader! Your mom hates me and you do everything she says.”

“I don’t . . .”

“What happened to you, Sarah?”

“What do you mean?” she said, sounding shocked.

“You were so full of life and . . .”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” she snipped, her eyes shooting sparks at me. “I have a life growing in here, so yeah, I’m full of life. But you’re
not with us
. Oh sure, you’re in my flat, and very occasionally you’re in my pants, but it’s all just temporary. I’m not an idiot, Luka. I know there’s someone else.”

I felt like she’d gut-punched me.

“What?”

She laughed, a harsh, brittle sound.

“Could you be more obvious?! I don’t know who you’re fucking when you’re balls deep inside me, but it sure as hell isn’t me.”

“I’m not seeing anyone else,” I argued, dodging the heart of what she was saying.

“Liar! Just fucking go to Chicago, Luka, because I don’t care.”

We were both breathing hard, and her face turned red. I was worried about her blood pressure.

I took a deep breath.

“We can’t keep tearing each other apart like this,” I said quietly. “But I give you my word, I’m not seeing anyone else. I’m not fucking anyone else.”

She didn’t answer, and just sat staring at her hands.

I threw on my coat and picked up my suitcase. When I leaned down to kiss her, she turned away.

“I’ll see you on Monday.”

“If I’m still here.”

“Sarah . . .”

“Just go, Luka. You obviously can’t wait to get away from me, so just go.”

She stroked her stomach protectively.

“Christ, I won’t go, okay? I’ll stay and we’ll talk.”

“Fuck off,” she said.

Then she walked into the bedroom and slammed the door.

I picked up my suitcase and left the apartment, furious for losing my shit, guilty for yelling at a pregnant woman, scared that she was getting too close to the truth.

My head was cloudy with warring thoughts, and I don’t even remember the journey to the airport.

Day after day, I was pushed to my limit. It just needed one more awful thing to happen before I broke, or lashed out, defending myself. I didn’t know which it would be—either was possible.

The piercing cold of Chicago felt amazing after the choked closeness of the nine hour flight.

Snow lay in banks where it had been scooped and dumped, and the sidewalks were gray with slush and ice. I stared up at the wide blue sky, my breath clouding in front of me, the cold creeping across my skin. It felt clean and new.

With my head clear for the first time in months, I took a cab straight from O’Hare to the rehearsal studio. Despite the six-hour time difference, I didn’t feel tired. If anything, I was energized. Being away from Sarah, I felt pounds lighter. Being away from Seth . . . I didn’t want to think about that too much.

Because of the timing of the flight, I was at the studio before everyone else. A woman at the front desk let me in, smiling when I explained what I was here for and who I was with.

I changed quickly and walked into the warm studio, breathing in the faint scent of floor polish and sweat. The final slice of tension I’d been carrying in my body slipped away and the crushing weight in my chest began to lift. I could breathe here. London had become stifling.

I sat on the floor doing stretches, easing myself into box splits, when I heard footsteps.

I glanced up and saw Yveta.

“Ciao, bella!” I grinned at her. “How are you?”

She cocked her head to one side, a small smile on her face.

I frowned at her, wondering why she wasn’t answering. Then my mouth dropped open in shock.

“You cut your hair!”

Her long, thick, straight hair that had reached almost to her waist was gone, cut into a spiky pixie cut. She looked amazing, and it showed off her wide cheekbones and slanted Slavic eyes, a striking cobalt blue.

She patted her hair teasingly, still smiling that enigmatic smile—the one that women use when you’re missing a glaringly obvious point.

“What?” I said, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious under her steady gaze.

I looked down to check that I had pants on and my shoes on the correct feet.

“What?” I asked again, a note of frustration in my voice.

Yveta laughed and shook her head, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

“It’s good to see you, Luka,” she said in her husky contralto voice. “You look well. Fatherhood must suit you.”

My smile became forced and I had to look away.

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

She raised her eyebrows. “How’s Sarah?”

“Great,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “She sends her love.”
She hadn’t.

“I must call to congratulate her,” she said. “She always wanted a baby.”

My head snapped up. “She did?”

Yveta’s eyes widened in surprise, but she covered it well. Then she sat down on the floor next to me, starting her warmup.

“
Da
, she said she wanted a baby before she was thirty.”

I was silent. That was definitely news to me. And it shined a new light on her ‘accident’.

Yveta threw me another loaded look, then changed the subject.

“How was London? I heard you got a gig there.”

“Yeah, it was okay. But I’m glad to be back in Chicago. Being in the chorus line gets boring.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course, but it pays the rent.”

She seemed different, and it wasn’t just the hair, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Happier, maybe?

I stared back, really stared at her, seeing a faint blush rise in her cheeks.

Frowning, I concentrated on stretching out my hamstrings. Then realization hit me and my eyebrows shot up as I studied her face.

“Your . . . your scar!”

My voice faded, and I swallowed hard.

The ugly, jagged scar that had run the length of her cheek, pulling the side of her mouth into a perpetual sneer had gone, leaving only a faint pink line behind.

I smacked my forehead.

“I’m such an asshole! You had your surgery!” I peered more closely. “It’s amazing, you can hardly see it.”

Tears glistened in her eyes.

“Luka, we’ve been talking for ten minutes and you didn’t even notice.”

I felt like such a shit, and I started to apologize.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I . . .”

She wrapped slim fingers around my wrist.

“No, don’t apologize. You never saw my scar, it never bothered you. You were the only one, Luka. Right from that very first day. You were the only one who saw past it—you saw me. I remember exactly what you said: ‘I stare at all the beautiful women’. You don’t know how much that meant to me. And now I am fixed and men look at me again. But you . . . you still see me. You see
me
.”

I pulled her into a tight hug as she cried silently against my chest.

“
Spasibo
, Luka.
Spasibo
.”

She tightened her grip around my neck and for the first time in months, I didn’t feel like a horrible human being. Or so alone.

Just then Gary came flouncing in, glaring at me as he tried not to smile.

“Oh my God, it’s the
other
terminally hot and insanely gorgeous Slovenian. What a drag.”

He didn’t comment on Yveta’s tears or the expression on my face.

I laughed and grabbed him a tight hug, so the three of us were wrapped together, laughing and crying.

“Admit that you missed me!”

“Never!”

“Admit it!” I said, pressing loud, wet kisses to his cheek that made him squirm

“Ugh! Get off!”

“Admit it!”

“Fine! I admit it! I missed your hot, showboating ass! Now stop slobbering all over me!”

I gave him one more kiss full on the lips, and grinned as he blushed.

“Missed you, too,” I said with a wink.

He muttered something under his breath and wiped his face with his sleeve.

“How’s that little minx of yours? I heard you knocked her up.”

Yveta moved away from me, pulling a tissue out of her purse.

My smile became strained as I answered Gary.

“That’s the rumor.”

He glanced up, his face questioning.

Jeez, I was really shit at hiding my true feelings from my family.

“Trouble in Paradise?” he asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I snapped.

Gary was taken aback, but he didn’t comment. Thank God.

Then Oliver walked over and shook my hand, pulling me into a man-hug at the same time and telling me all about the old warehouse he’d found. He was part way through a renovation to turn it into a dance studio. I was really pleased for him and almost promised to train there, when I remembered that London was home now.

We sat around chatting while we stretched out on the floor: front splits, box splits, chests to knees with our feet out in front, but it was becoming obvious that Ash was running late. It felt off. We’d had the same training: he was never late.

Gary sent him a text, but a minute later Ash stomped through the door, still in his street clothes, looking furious. But when he saw me, a huge smile spread across his face.