The Commitment (The Unrestrained #2) (37 page)

"Nothing," I said and grinned back, glad that his description of Drake fit my own. And then, even though I felt awkward doing it, I asked him a question that still nagged at my mind.

"Why does he love
me
?" My face flushed, and when he started to speak, I held my hand up to stop him. "No, seriously. I'm so much younger than him. I haven't even had a real job yet. I've barely done anything in my life."

"Oh, no. You've been through so much. You survived Africa, the camps, the death."

"I had a nervous breakdown. I hardly survived."

"Listen, Katie," he said, his voice lowering a register. "After he read your articles on Mangaize, Drake once said to me that if you hadn't suffered some kind of PTSD after what you witnessed, he'd wonder about your heart, and Katherine, dear, that is one thing he said he didn't wonder about you. Your heart is big."

"Drake said that?"

He nodded. "Before he even met you."

I reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. "Thank you, Daddy," I said, my voice choking a bit. "That's such a nice thing for him to say."

"He's like that too, Katie. He has a huge heart, maybe too big so he keeps it protected. He's like his old man in that way, I think."

"How on earth did you and Liam ever became friends. You're conservative politically. A staunch free market proponent. He was a Socialist."

"War is like love. Cuts right down to the bone, throwing off all the extraneous crap we carry around, to tell us who we really are. Love makes complete strangers intimate. War makes brothers out of complete strangers. Not only did Liam save my life and that of many other soldiers, I saw into Liam and knew he was a good man underneath the bullshit about Stalin."

"Trotsky," I said.

"Whoever," my father said, laughing.

"I wish I'd met him. He sounds wonderful."

"He was full of life. Just couldn't stay still. Always on the go. Couldn’t keep a woman as a result. Instead, he had a lot of them everywhere."

 We sat in silence for a  moment, drinking our coffee, and then my father continued.

"As to why Drake wanted you, why I think he loves you, I suspect he sees in you a kindred spirit. Someone who could be more than just a fling, the way he's used to operating."

I didn't respond, thinking of how many submissives Drake had gone through in the five years since his divorce. My father didn’t use the words submissives, but he did know about Drake's 'proclivities'. I still marveled that my father knew and accepted it. Maybe because he knew Drake wasn't sadistic, just dominant.

"This was hard on Drake," my father said, "learning about his son, seeing him so sick, trying to help, watching to see if his efforts to help succeed. All you can do is be there for him. Understand this is traumatic for him. You know what that feels like – to have your world ripped out from under you. To feel so much frustration that there's only so much you can do." He took my hand and squeezed. "Be there for him, if you love him."

"I
do
," I said, tears biting my eyes. "I do love him, Daddy."

He smiled. "I know you do. It might be hard for a while but it will get better, once things settle with Liam. Until then, and as long as he's good to you, loves you hard and true, just hold on tight and don't let go."

I nodded and we turned back to our food. My heart was filled with love and appreciation for my father. I wondered if I'd never met Drake that night at the fundraiser how long it would have taken for me to arrive at the place I was now, realizing how amazing my father truly was.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

After lunch with my father, I went back to the studio to put the finishing touches on the second canvas. The first was done and ready to be taken to the apartment in Chelsea. Keith had an old lemon-yellow VW van that he used to transport paintings and Jules's sculptures to various shows, so he helped me take the nude up the service elevator and into the bedroom.

One wall in Drake's bedroom had several paintings on it – prints, probably selected by the interior decorator. They were run of the mill and boring, so we took them down, and Keith drilled new holes for the canvas. In about half an hour, we had the canvas mounted on the wall. I couldn't wait for Drake to see it.

Keith had a smile on his face as we stood and examined it. "It's good," he said, "if a bit," he shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face, "wishful thinking."

I laughed. "It's art," I said, not wanting to admit it was in proportion. "A good portrait artist flatters her patron or she won't get another commission."

Keith smiled and we left the bedroom only to come face to face with Drake, who was standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on Keith's boots, which were on the mat by the front door.

"Drake, you’re home," I said and went to him, kissing him on the mouth. He was a bit standoffish, a tiny quirk to his lips. I turned and pointed at Keith. "Keith helped me with my canvas, bringing it over in his van and then helping me mount it on the wall in our bedroom. Come and see it."

I took Drake's hand and pulled him towards the bedroom.

"That’s my cue," Keith said and winked at me. "See you later."

I smiled at Keith, but my focus was on Drake, who followed me with reluctance as if he was still not entirely sure whether he should be jealous.

"Come on, Drake," I said. "I'd never be able to do it myself and I wanted it to be a surprise for you."

As we went into the bedroom, Drake saw the painting for the first time. He stopped for a moment, his jaw actually dropping. There, on the wall, was him in all his naked glory. The painting looked great against the grey walls, the white sheets, the warm yellow of the sunlight flooding over Drake's body, the fairness of his skin, his black hair such a stark contrast. His muscular body caught the early morning light so that his skin fairly glowed, his face in shadow underneath his arm, considerable scruff on his perfectly square jaw, his soft lips parted.

"
Kate
…" he said, letting go of my hand, moving closer to examine it. He stopped at the painting and took it in, shaking his head slowly. "I had no idea this is what you were doing."

"I woke up early on a few mornings and sketched you, then I painted from memory. What do you think? Can you understand why I'm so aroused in the morning?"

"It's beautiful. The lighting, the shadows." He turned to me and pulled me into his arms. "But no one can see it. I don’t want people looking at my
dick
…"

I laughed and pulled him closer. "I did another one with the sheet covering you up. I think I'll do a series of portraits. A collection."

"I don't know what I think about
that
."

"Don’t worry," I said quickly. "None of the nudes will show your face. I'll do some with your clothes on, too, although that’s
such
a waste."

He hugged me.  "Only if you agree to let me take some photos of you for a book."

I inhaled deeply at that. "I'd like that. A private book for our own enjoyment. I wouldn't want any pictures with my face to get out there as long as my father is running for office."

"Don't worry. My photographer is very trustworthy and maybe we'll use a mask to hide your identity."

We stood looking at the painting, and I felt completely happy, as if finally, I'd found what I was really meant to do. I didn’t know if I could paint anything that would be received critically well, but I didn't think I'd ever done anything that made me happier. Not writing, not research.

Painting. Art. It was my new sense of self, my relationship with Drake making it possible.

"You look pleased," I said, taking his coat and hanging it up for him. "You have good news about Liam?"

"The best. The preliminary tests show that his transplant is taking and there's no sign of rejection, either host-graft or graft-host. In a week, if things stay the same, he'll be in the clear. They'll test him every week for the first couple of months, and then, if he's still fine, every month for a year. I can come back to Manhattan if things take a turn for the worse, but as it is, we can leave next week. I've already booked our tickets."

"I'm so happy," I said and wrapped my arms around his neck once more.

He kissed me and then pulled me into the living room. After he sat on the couch, he pulled me down onto his lap.

"I have a mission for us tonight," he said, his face taking on a dark expression. "I've spoken with the staff on the pediatric oncology ward. They're going to let me visit Liam again while Chris and Maureen are at dinner tonight. I want you to come."

"
Drake
," I said, doubt about his plan filling me. "Do you think that's wise? The staff were instructed to call the police if you show up again."

"I spoke with Liam's oncologist and he cleared it with staff on the ward. They agree that as his biological father and as the one who gave him the donation, I have a right to just pop in – as a doctor – and see how he's doing. I won't identify myself except to say I was the one who gave him the donation. That's all."

I inhaled deeply, uncertain if this was wise. "Maybe you should talk to my father first?"

Drake shook his head. "Don't want to include Ethan in on this. It's my decision. I've passed it by Liam's doctors. We're covered." He kissed me as if to silence my protests and then he stood up, letting me slide out of his arms to a standing position. "Now, go get dressed. We have a very narrow window of time to get there, get inside, and get out. Chris and Maureen are having dinner with her parents so they'll both be away tonight for at least an hour. One of the nurses heard their plans and let me know.

"If you
really
want to do this…"

"I
really
want to, Kate. I want you with me. He's still in isolation because his immune system is still so new but we can both go in. I want you to meet him."

I nodded and went to get dressed, despite my reluctance.

We arrived at NYP and made our way to the pediatric oncology ward, past the bright blue and yellow playroom I remembered from before and to the ward where Liam was staying. Drake stopped at the nursing station and spoke quietly to the nurse behind the desk, who smiled at him brightly and nodded, pointing down the hall, giving us instructions about isolation. Because we were technically supposed to be hospital staff, we had to follow contact precautions, wash our hands, wear surgical masks and gowns, covers over our shoes. It was the only way they'd let us in.

Drake led the way to Liam's room. He was in a single room, the door closed. Through the window, I saw that Liam was sitting up in bed playing with a toy, watching the television that was mounted to the wall. He wore a hospital gown in blue, which highlighted his blue eyes. There was no I.V. nor any oxygen and so he looked like a small frail boy, his head bald, but he was obviously much better than that first time we saw him.

Liam turned when we entered the room. "Hello," he said, watching us warily.

"Hello, Liam," Drake said and went to the side of the bed. "I'm Doctor Morgan. We met a few days ago. I've come by to see how you're doing."

"I'm good," Liam said. He turned to look at me. "Are you a nurse?"

I shook my head. "Just a colleague of Dr. Morgan's."

Liam nodded, his eyes so blue, just like Drake's. His hair had begun to grow in and it was dark, like Drake's. Just a fine fuzz.

"You know, I was the one who gave you the stem cells," Drake said, his voice low. "I just wanted to come by and see if you were doing better. Your doctors said you were almost ready to go home."

Liam made a face. "
You
gave me the blood cells?"

Drake nodded. "We're a match so I did what I could to help."

"Thank you." Liam smiled. He still had his baby teeth, his smile perfect. Drake extended his gloved hand and Liam took it, and my heart squeezed to see Liam's tiny hand in Drake's. Then Drake leaned closer and ran his hand over Liam's head affectionately.

"I'm so glad I was able to help."

Drake finally let go of Liam's hand and I could see the reluctance in him. Drake's face was hidden behind the mask, but his skin was flushed as if he was overcome with emotion. Despite those emotions, he kept smiling, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

"What's that?" he said, pointing to the toy in Liam's hand.

"It's Bumblebee," Liam said, holding the toy up. "A transformer from the movie. Did you see it?"

Drake shook his head. "No, I never did see that one. What does it do?"

"You transform it into a car, like this," Liam said and proceeded to move the various body parts around until finally, with considerable effort, the toy appeared to be a yellow car instead of a yellow robot. "He works for Optimus Prime. He's the head autobot. They're from Cybertron."

"Wow," Drake said and took the car from Liam's tiny hands. "That's amazing." Drake fiddled with the car and then shrugged. "It's too hard for me." He handed it back to Liam, who quickly disassembled it so that once more, it was a robot.