Just Breathe Trilogy Box Set (125 page)

“Emma?” Joe’s voice calls lovingly. His hands gently caress my head.

“What?” I sniff.

“Beautiful,” he coaxes.

“No,” I challenge. “I’m a mess.”

“I still love you,” he states.

“That’s not fair,” I say.

“How so?”

“It’s . . . it’s just not,” I reply, unable to think of any logic at the moment.

“Emma, please,” Joe says soothingly. “Please, beautiful, look at me.”

My head shakes gently in protest.

“You’re beautiful no matter what to me,” he professes.

“Shut up,” I whine.

“Well,” Joe sighs. “We’ve got another first taken off our list.”

“What?” I question as my head snaps up to look at him.

“There you are, beautiful,” he comments, leaning in and kissing my forehead.

“What do you mean another first?” I check.

“Technically, this was our first fight,” Joe shares.

“No,” I argue. “We’ve had other fights.”

“When?”

“I . . . .” my voice cracks as my brain flips through all of the events I can remember.

Is this seriously our first fight? It’ can’t be. We’ve fought about things — haven’t we? My head hurts as I desperately try to find an example. Each time I think I have one, I realize that they weren’t fights. If there was anything, it was me just not talking or avoiding. Shit. God damn it. He’s right.

“Fuck,” I sigh. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Joe laughs.

“For cursing in front of you and the baby, and for arguing.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Emma,” Joe comments. “It was bound to happen.”

“What was? Me cursing?”

“No,” Joe laughs. “Our first fight.”

“What the fuck is it all about?” I ask.

“I’m not actually sure,” Joe answers with a smile. “I think it had something to do with marriage.”

I roll my eyes, realizing that it’s all because of me.

“Yep,” Joe says smugly. “Definitely that.”

“How are you sure?” I ask.

“You rolled your eyes,” Joe declares.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Whenever you’re mad about something and don’t want to say anything, you roll your eyes,” Joe mentions with a chuckle.

“No, I don’t,” I challenge.

“Yes, you do,” Joe laughs. “You just did it again.”

“No,” I counter.

“Does it bother you?”

“What?”

“That everyone knows that I asked you to marry me and you said
no
?” he checks.

Heat surfaces in my cheeks. “No.”

Joe smiles, but doesn’t say anything.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” I press.

“You paused,” Joe says.

“So?”

“So, when you pause, it means you’re trying to omit something,” Joe comments.

“You mean me specifically or people in general?”

“You,” Joe answers.

“I pause when I’m thinking,” I challenge.

“There was nothing to think about,” Joe replies.

My mouth opens to rebut, but nothing, not even a sound comes out. Some mild irritation starts to boil inside me due to the smugness on Joe’s face.

“Come on,” Joe coaxes. “Time for bed.” He holds out his hands to offer assistance after he stands.

I stare at him blankly.

“What?” he asks with his grin widening.

My eyes narrow. “You know what.”

“No . . . I don’t,” he returns.

“Unless you want to have a second fight tonight . . . don’t,” I press.

“Sure thing, beautiful,” Joe says, kissing my temple as he pulls me into him after I stand.

“Stop it,” I command.

“Stop what?” he checks, still smiling.

“You know what,” I challenge. “Your smile says you know.”

Joe starts to laugh, but quickly curbs it when he notices my lack of amusement. “Come on,” he coaxes, pulling me back into the bedroom.

“No,” I argue.

“Why? I thought we’d moved past this?” he comments.

“We have,” I confirm. “But, I need a shower or bath to relax.”

“Want some company?” Joe ponders, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve got some,” I tease rubbing my belly.

“He doesn’t count for what I have in mind,” Joe says slyly.

“You always turn everything into sex, don’t you?”

“I’m a guy,” Joe returns, shrugging his shoulders. “Besides, you like the fact that you turn me on as much as you do.”

“No, I don’t,” I object teasingly.

“Yes, you do,” Joe debates, pinning me to the wall. “You like it. Admit it.”

“No,” I challenge with a smirk.

“I’ll spank you for lying,” Joe declares.

“I’m not lying,” I challenge.

“Now I know you want to be spanked,” he says with a laugh.

“Maybe,” I reply.

“Definitely,” Joe confirms, grabbing my ass.

I trap my bottom lip between my teeth, not wanting to reveal my smile that is growing, but Joe and I both know where this little banter is leading. “Make up sex?” I inquire.

“Yep,” Joe confirms with a grin.

“Another first,” I share.

“Another first,” Joe repeats.

A few days later, Joe and I head back to New York and New Jersey with the Nelsons and his parents for several reasons. Mr. and Mrs. Nelson are finalizing the details with their home. We need to sign off on the documents for the buyer who’s purchasing our joining properties. Also, there are a few things I’ll be going over with Mr. Steinburger in regards to my parents’ will.

Brenda and Gwen, our midwife and doula, travel with us so we all can become a little better acquainted and for them to become familiar with the second home Joe has purchased for the two of us for our New York visits. Joe wants to have our own place here just in case, for some odd reason, I give birth on the East Coast — like hell I will.

There’s minimal furniture in the two-story penthouse since Joe just closed on it while we were in California. He had movers take his things from the old condo where he lived with Jimmy and Allen, and move them over to the place so we’d at least have some things and a bed while we decide on how we want to decorate. I try to avoid the topic, not really wanting to be bothered by the idea of the new place since I don’t really see myself staying there much. New York isn’t home — and, I don’t want it to be for some reason.

“Emma,” Joe coaxes with a little sternness this time.

“I told you,” I reply. “I don’t care what you want to put in your place. Have Anna help you, she’d love it.”

“
Our
place,” he reminds.

I huff.

“If you don’t like it, we can find another one,” he offers.

“Honey, it’s fine,” I soothe unconvincingly.

“No, it’s not,” he challenges. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, brushing it off.

“Emma,” he presses.

“I’m glad you like the place. Like I said, you pick what you want,” I encourage. “Ive got to focus on the papers here, so that way I don’t have to make another trip back to handle all this investment stuff.”

“So, that’s what it is,” Joe comments.

“What?”

Joe takes the papers from me as I object.

“No place here will feel like home, will it?” Joe poses. “Even if Joe Jr. and I are here?”

I look at him carefully, trying to decide how I want to answer. “You and the baby, yes. The place . . . no,” I say honestly. “It . . . New York . . . doesn’t feel like home. I can’t picture myself . . . us . . . the baby here.”

“Do you think that there are some triggered emotions?” Joe checks.

“No,” I say sternly.

Joe looks at me questioningly.

“Maybe,” I add.

Joe smiles and nods. “I can work with Anna, Brenda and Gwen about baby proofing the place and taking care of what needs to be done here. If you want to add or change anything at any point, let me know. Okay?”

“Really?”

“Yes, beautiful,” he soothes. “Really. Focus on what makes you feel good. I can handle this.”

“Thank you,” I reply.

“Does this mean I’m taking care of the new house in Pasadena too when we pick one?” he checks with a smirk.

“No,” I challenge. “Definitely not.”

“Okay,” he states, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just checking.”

Joe and I study each other for a few moments.

“I’m glad we have Brenda and Gwen,” Joe shares.

“Me too,” I say with a smile.

“I love you,” Joe states, leaning in for a kiss.

My lips connect with his. “I love you.”

Joe stays quiet, laying his head in my lap as I shuffle papers back and forth as my brain begins to connect the dots for one of the companies that my father had purchased a good deal of stocks. There’s got to be a typo with the financials I pulled up on the company.

“What’s wrong?” Joe asks after some time, breaking the silence.

“I’m not sure,” I return. “I’ve never seen this before.”

“Seen what before?” Joe asks, shifting to a sitting position.

“This,” I say, handing him the documents. “These are the financials for the Hammer Corporation for the past ten years.”

“What about them?” Joe inquires.

“Look,” I say, taking the papers from him and laying them out by fiscal year. “These years . . .” I explain, pointing to three different years, “. . . it’s like they suddenly switch the way in which they were doing their reporting.”

“What?” Joe asks, sounding concerned.

“Here,” I repeat, showing him the difference. “They completely shift what format they’re using every few years with the balance sheets . . . almost like they were trying to cover up a huge influx of cash . . . or hide significant losses. There are inconsistencies between the balance sheets, income statements and financial statements.”

Joe’s expression changes dramatically.

I’ve seen business Joe before, but not like this.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, confused by the look in his eyes.

“Nothing,” he says. “You’re right, though.”

I know he’s not telling me something.

“What aren’t you saying?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he repeats.

“Joseph?” I push.

“What were you planning on doing with the shares you have?” he says suddenly.

“There’s no way I can comfortably or confidently keep stock in the company,” I state. “Aside from this challenge, they’ve also been listed as having been fined for hazardous environmental dumping over the past several years.”

“What?” Joe says with disbelief and concern. He takes all of the papers and starts scanning them rapidly.

“Joe?”

“Hmm?”

“Joe?”

“Hmm?”

“Joseph,” I say sternly.

“Yes,” he returns, glancing up at me and then back at the documents.

“Tell me,” I demand.

“What?” he tries to deny.

“Don’t,” I challenge, taking a deep breath.. “Don’t. Talk to me, Joseph.”

Pain, anger and several other emotions are seen in Joe’s eyes, but those emotions aren’t directed at me. “This is Mr. Ward’s company. Abigail’s father.”

“What?” I gasp in shock.

“Mr. Ward’s business,” Joe states. “Well, one of them.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“No,” Joe replies, eerily calm.

I sit, stunned by the whirlwind of thoughts coming into my head.

“How many shares did you father purchase?” Joe asks.

“Umm,” I breathe out, searching for the folder to verify. “It looks like he bought different chunks over the span of several years in the beginning and that as the stock gained in value, there was either a doubling or several splits of the stocks. Why?”

“Roughly, how many did he buy? Overall? And, did he buy when the company first went public?”

I do the figures in my head. “It looks like he bought an initial fifty thousand shares before the company went public which doubled as soon as they hit the market, and then split several more times. And,” I begin, checking to make sure I’m reading it correctly, “It looks like he purchased another twenty thousand overall, each time buying up chunks when the stock dipped.”

“How many shares total with all the splitting and doubling of the stocks?”

I check my notes. “just under two million shares. Why?”

“I’ll call dad in the morning to verify all of this,” Joe presents, avoiding my question.

“Joe?”

“He’ll be able to confirm if these documents are accurate,” he adds.

“Joe? What aren’t you telling me?” I press.

“I’m not sure,” he admits. “But, if what you’ve found is accurate . . . it’s not good. Not good at all.”

“Not good? As in, for who?”

“For all of the shareholders,” Joe reveals. “And, for Mr. Ward.”

The next few days I’m waiting impatiently for information from Joe and his father with regards to what I found out about Hammer Corporation. The longer this takes, the more I’m thinking that what I found is having a hard time being proven wrong. In the meantime, my neurotic need for control turns to anything I can control. This ends up becoming more research on pregnancy - all while trying to see if Joe is plotting a proposal and helping get the New York penthouse in order. Yes, I caved and worked with Anna several times on furniture and other things.

The days move slow even with everything that needs to be done. The last bits of furniture from my parents’ place have been removed — Joe doesn’t think I notice when a few items were not loaded on the truck that is meant for donations. The pieces he
kept
mysteriously show up at the new place or are shipped back to California. The Nelson’s have all of their final stuff packed and on its way to the West Coast with them flying out tomorrow to move into my old apartment. It’s amazing how quickly movers can get everything packed and moved — Joe hired at least twenty men for each property to handle everything.

Brenda and Gwen follow me around for at least half of each day as I make lists of things that need to be done or researched more. They assist with answering questions, but their answers always lead to me asking more questions. Both of them are friendly and patient with not just my inquiries, but all of the craziness of my life as Joe and I juggle everything that needs to be done. Thank God I don’t need to focus on Naturally Me or Raven Media, but then again that could help calm me.

With it being the beginning of May, Jared and Nathan have finally picked a date for their wedding. They were hesitant at first to have it early, claiming they didn’t want to be in the way of when Maggie and I were due, nor did they want to wait too long afterward just in case either of us got pregnant again — I did not find the humor in their comments. After checking everyone’s schedule, and I mean everyone with regards to our immediate family, they’ve decided to have their wedding in January. They’re going to have it on the same day that Nathan proposed to Jared, making it a winter wedding in New York since Nathan will have another runway show just before that date.

Tonight, I’m sitting in one of the guest rooms of Joe’s, I mean
our
new place in Manhattan with Leslie and Brittany. The three of us are hanging out for the weekend. With it being our second night together, we’re listening to more than watching a movie while we sit in our pajamas and do each other’s nails.

“Emma?” Brittany calls.

“Hmm?” I return.

“Do you miss them?” Brittany asks. “You know . . . your parents?”

I take a moment to think about my response. “Yes,” I admit. “But, it’s different.”

“What do you mean?” Leslie searches.

“I’m not sure how to explain it,” I begin. “Do I miss them? Yes. But, I’ve been able to let go . . . let go of the pain, yet still have the memories.”

“Does it bother you that you don’t have the pain?” Brittany asks.

Smiling, I reply, “Do you have pain when you try to remember yours?”

“No,” Leslie admits calmly.

“You wouldn’t remember them,” Brittany says to her sister. “So, it would be hard for you too.”

“I’ve felt pain before,” Leslie expands. “Wondering what it would have been like . . . with them. Did they love us? Why they let us go?”

“Can I ask you girls something?” I say.

They nod.

“Do you blame yourselves for them not being in your life?”

“I used to,” Brittany admits.

“Me too,” Leslie states. “But, it’s hard to, especially since I don’t have a point of reference for them.”

“What changed for you, Brittany?” I ask.

“You,” Brittany answers.

“Me?” I reply in surprise.

“Yes,” Brittany confirms. “I used to blame them for putting us with Dean and Amber. But . . . then you came along and saved us.”

“I was only around for two months,” I remind.

“Doesn’t matter,” Brittany replies. “Leslie and I were praying for something different . . . better, but we didn’t know what. If you didn’t come along, we wouldn’t have mom and dad.”

My heart melts hearing her call Martin and Celia mom and dad.

“We feel safe . . . loved with them,” Leslie shares.

“We never felt that before with anyone . . . other than you,” Brittany adds.

I lower my head, smiling at their kind words as a tear gathers in my eye.

“Do you blame yourself, Emma?” Leslie asks.

“I used to . . . for a very long time,” I share.

“What changed?” Brittany inquires.

“Me,” I state truthfully.

They look at me, waiting for an explanation.

“When I left you girls and went to California . . . I turned into a really dark person for a long time,” I share. “I did things . . . many things that most people would regret. But, I don’t regret the things that happened . . . the things that I did. Not anymore.” I pause, collecting my thoughts.

“What do you mean?” Brittany asks.

“I’m at peace with everything that has happened in my life. The good and the bad . . . which I don’t count as bad . . . just different. Those things that were different . . . the ones that I didn’t like . . . gave me opportunities to learn more about myself. Learn about who I was, who I wanted to be and what I wanted in my life. I was so upset about losing my family that I didn’t realize until this past year that I’ve recreated it and made it even better than I could have ever imagined.”

“Did it change . . . you change, when you met Joe?”

“He was an influencing factor,” I agree with a smile.

“How did you let go?” Brittany searches.

“I realized that any pain, and any happiness, that exists in my life was, is, my own doing. By holding onto those negative emotions and blaming everyone else, I wasn’t really letting myself grow as a person. Allowing my parents to be free . . . forgiving them and forgiving myself has drastically changed so much in my life.”

“Would you have done anything different?” Leslie questions.

“No,” I confess. “All of it has made me who I am today. It took me a while to learn this lesson and I’m grateful that I’ve learned it. I am in charge. I am responsible for anything and everything that happens in my life. The stuff around me, including the people in it, influence me as I influence them, but ultimately . . . my choices . . . my thoughts, my feelings and my actions are my responsibility. The consequences for those choices are solely mine.”

“You’re going to be a good mom,” Leslie says suddenly.

“Definitely,” Brittany agrees.

“Thanks, girls,” I accept, believing in myself just a little bit more knowing they believe in me.

“Hi, ladies,” Joe greets from the doorway.

My head jerks around to find him. “Hi,” I return.

“Hi,” Brittany and Leslie reply with a sing-song tone in their voice.

“Anna told me that dinner’s almost ready,” Joe shares.

“Awesome,” Britany exclaims, getting up from the floor. “I’m starving.”

“Me too,” states Leslie, rising to her feet.

The girls disappear past Joe, probably heading out to the kitchen to see if Anna needs help. They helped her last night when they were really hungry.

Joe offers his hand to assist me to stand. “Hey, beautiful,” he hums, kissing me.

“Hey,” I return.

Joe kneels in front of me after several more kisses. “Hey little prince,” he greets my belly.

“Or princess,” I add.

“Or princess,” Joe chuckles. “Daddy’s home.”

“We should get out there,” I encourage. “If dinner is ready, you know they won’t wait for us. They’re like teenage boys when it comes to food.”

“I know,” Joe agrees with a chuckle. “How was your girl time?”

“Good,” I confirm.

“Good,” Joe replies. “Any more information from Jared on the wedding yet?”

“Nope,” I return. “They won’t tell me much . . . still not convinced that I won’t try to take on wedding projects. Any news about our . . .
challenge
?”

“It’s not looking good,” Joe shares.

When he doesn’t say anything else, I give him a look to coax more information from him, but he gives me nothing in return.