Make Me Sin (37 page)

And freeze when I hear a slightly garbled but still understandable, “Drama queen.”

With a cry of shock, I straighten. A.J.’s eyes are closed, but he’s smiling a drowsy, happy smile. He lifts the hand I’m not holding an inch off the bedcovers, and makes a motion with his forefinger. He’s pointing at something across the room. The television? The little dresser?

“What?” I ask breathlessly. “What is it, honey?”

He swallows, running his tongue around his mouth like it’s desert dry. He tries to say something else, but the nurse comes in with the ice chips and I lose whatever it was when she cheerfully greets us.

I snatch the cup of ice from her hand and bark, “He’s talking! Be quiet, he’s talking!”

She raises her brows at me, but doesn’t say another word.

I turn back to A.J. and lean close, desperate to understand what he wants. “A.J. Tell me what you want. What are you pointing at?”

He swallows again. I feed him some ice chips, and he sighs in contentment. Two excruciating minutes pass as he slowly chews on them, sucking the moisture. Then he lifts that finger again and points. “Closet. Jacket.” His voice is weak, the words slurred.

The nurse says, “I think he wants his coat.”

I’m about to argue with her that it makes no sense that he would want his coat, but A.J. slowly nods.

“Please, would you get it?” I ask her. I don’t want to let go of his hand.

The nurse, a slight Filipino lady in pink scrubs with her hair in a messy bun on top of her head, rummages through the closet and pulls out the big, zippered plastic bag that holds A.J.’s jacket. Everything was tagged and entered into a personal property log before surgery, which is good, because when they move him out of ICU, they’ll make sure all his stuff gets moved with him. She hands the leather jacket to me. I stand there holding it, unsure of what to do next.

“Okay, honey, I have it. Are you cold? Do you want me to put this over you?”

A.J. smiles. It’s an odd smile, one I don’t think I’ve seen before, both cunning and satisfied. It causes me a moment’s pause, but then he whispers, “Pocket.”

Now I understand; there’s something he wants, and it’s in the pocket of his coat. Relieved, I hold it up and reach inside, feeling around for the inside pocket. There’s nothing in it. I try the right pocket, but there’s nothing in there either. I hope whatever it was he wanted didn’t fall out.

But then I reach into the left pocket. When my fingers close around what’s inside, I fall still.

A.J. moves restlessly in bed, his eyes closed, waiting for me to say something.

I slowly remove my hand from the pocket and look at what I’ve pulled out.

It’s a black velvet ring box.

I drop the coat on the floor.

A.J. makes a “give me” motion. My hand trembling, I set the box in his palm. Slowly, with great effort, he lifts his other hand and cracks open the box.

Staring at the incredibly beautiful origami ring, I sob. Atop a braided circle sits a pair of small, fiery orange birds in flight, the tips of their wings touching. I’ve never seen anything so exquisite, so finely made.

“What are they?”

“Phoenixes.”

I lift my gaze to his. In the faintest, breathy whisper, A.J. says, “Because even though it might burn the whole world to the ground, true love can never die. Marry me, angel.”

And I blubber like a baby, even though not three minutes before I promised myself I’d be strong.

I take the ring from the box and slide it on my trembling finger. Then I lower the metal bar on the side of the bed and carefully crawl up next to him, ignoring the protests of the nurse. I kiss his neck and his face, crying and laughing, trying to be gentle as I hug him and rest my head on his chest.

Then I say the only thing that’s left to be said:

“Yes.”

E
pilogue

F
or the hundredth time today, I check my phone to see if I’ve gotten any new texts from Trina.

It’s a sunny, beautiful Sunday, five months after A.J.’s surgery. I’m
supposed to be relaxing, but I can’t because this particular sunny, beau
tiful Sunday is Valentine’s Day . . . Fleuret’s busiest day of the year.

And I’m at a barbeque at Nico and Kat’s house.

I’m also as big as a whale. The bean—who has grown to the size of a watermelon on steroids—is due any time. Hence my being banned from the shop by A.J., who flatly told me a month ago I wasn’t standing on my feet for twelve hours a day any longer. (If he could see the way my ankles were swelling he’d have banned me from the shop way sooner, but being blind does have its upside: no disturbing visuals of your pregnant fiancée’s bloated body parts.)

A warm kiss on the back of my neck distracts me from my cell phone. I tilt my head back and see A.J. leaning over me, smiling. The sun glints gold and copper in his hair. As it always does when I look at him, my heart skips and stutters before settling down into a normal beat.

“You’re getting to be a ninja, sweetie,” I grumble. “I can never hear you sneaking up on me!”

He chuckles. “Let me guess: you’re out here checking your phone.”

I guiltily tuck my phone under my arm. “I’m just enjoying the sunshine!”

His chuckle turns to a laugh. “Lying to a blind man? That’s fucked up, angel.”

My lips twist. “What’s effed up is this heartburn. Seriously, it feels like I swallowed a habanero pepper. And my back is killing me. To top it off, I’m totally gassy today. You might want to go upwind. Ugh.”

Moving carefully, A.J. lowers himself to the chair beside me, and then turns his head and smiles brilliantly, bathing me in a warmth even hotter than the sun. “Don’t stop, baby, I love it when you talk dirty. Seriously, lay it on me—constipation? Spider veins? Stretch marks? Give it your best shot, all that shit gets me so worked up I might just throw you down on the grass and have my way with you right now.”

You’d think he’s kidding, but he’s not. He loves hearing every detail about the pregnancy, no matter how raw.

“You’re gross.”

He reaches for my hand. I give it to him, and he raises it to his lips and kisses it. “I’m in love,” he says softly. “Every little thing you do is magic.”

Though I get misty-eyed at that, I still have to snort. “No fair quoting eighties song lyrics, superstar. You forget I’m the girl who knows every word to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.
’
”

“That’s from the seventies,” he shoots back with a smirk.

“Shut up.”

He playfully bites one of my fingers. “Make me.”

“Ha! Be careful what you wish for.”

His smile fades. He opens my hand and presses my palm against his cheek. “You’re all I wish for,” he says in a husky voice, and my breath catches. Suddenly I can’t wait to go home and get him alone.

Always, always this heat between us, this sweet, crackling urgency. I can hardly believe it’s real.

I lean over and press a kiss to his lips. I whisper, “And you’re everything I need.”

He deadpans, “Except maybe some charcoal underwear. How many of Nico’s extra spicy Tennessee ribs did you eat, babe? Because I’m totally getting that gas thing you were talking about—”

Cursing, I smack him on his muscular bicep. He falls apart laughing, then grabs me, hauls me onto his lap, and nuzzles his face into my neck.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” I say with mock sternness.

“Or what? You’d kick my ass?”

I harrumph. “Into next week, buddy!”

He tickles me, I squeal and squirm in his lap, and then from behind us someone clears his throat. I look up and Nico is standing at the sliding glass patio door, looking a little embarrassed.

“Don’t mean to interrupt playtime,” he drawls, “but your man is supposed to be helpin’ me clean up the mess in the kitchen. Considerin’ he made most of it.”

“I can’t help it if I have a big appetite,” says A.J., sounding unconcerned. “I’m eating for two.”

Nico looks at me with his brows raised.

“Sympathy hunger,” I explain with a shrug. “It’s a weird pregnancy partner thing. He even thinks he has morning sickness. I swear he’ll be screaming louder in the delivery room than I will be.”

Nico mutters, “And here I thought penis envy was weird.”

A.J. quips, “Aw, that’s sweet, man! But don’t worry, I’m sure your average-sized junk does the job just fine. Kat seems real happy.” He beams, and Nico rolls his eyes.

“Fuck you, brother.”

“Right back at you, brother.”

They both grin.

I lumber from A.J.’s lap, groaning as I straighten; my lower back is in knots. “Okay, I’ve had enough of the male bonding. C’mon, Big Daddy, let’s go inside.”

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. But now that A.J.
is
a daddy—or a daddy to be—calling him “Big Daddy” seems to fit, even if I did have such a stick up my butt about it before.

Plus, the way it makes Nico cringe is totally worth it. There’s not much that makes that man blush.

A.J. takes my outstretched hand, and I gently lead him across the sunny patio to the house. He can still see light and shadows, and some colors, but shapes and faces elude him. Driving is out of the question, as is going anywhere alone outside of our house, which he’s learned to navigate expertly. He wears sunglasses much of the time because he thinks it makes people uncomfortable to look into his unfocused, faraway gaze, but around the band and close friends he doesn’t bother.

And, thank God, his sightlessness hasn’t affected his ability to play drums at all. Sit him down behind his kit and he still whales on it until his fingers bleed. I think his timing might even be better now that he’s relying fully on his other senses.

I can definitely vouch for how acute his other senses have become, especially his nose. I swear he can
smell
when I’m horny. I don’t even have to say a word. From all the way across the house he’ll make a beeline toward me, and then we’re in bed.

Silver linings, people. You either focus on the bad, or the good.

I’ve chosen to focus on the good. It’s not hard; there’s a lot of it.

Inside, Kat is trying to feed Barney another one of Nico’s amazing ribs. Barney protests that he’s already had enough, but the way he’s looking at the plate Kat’s holding makes it obvious he hasn’t. Ethan and Chris are lounging on the sofa in the living room, playing a video game and insulting each other with good-natured name-calling, while Kenji sits to one side, examining his manicure and looking bored.

I don’t see Grace or Brody anywhere.

“Okay, A.J., I’ll wash, you rinse,” says Nico. He’s standing in front of the kitchen sink. One side is filled with fluffy white bubbles; beside the sink on the counter is a stack of plates and a mess of cups and silverware from all the food we devoured for lunch.

I lead A.J. to the counter. He follows with one hand resting lightly on my right shoulder, and then positions himself in front of the sink beside Nico, feeling for the edge of the counter, the water faucet, and the dish rack. Once he’s set, he holds out a hand for the first plate.

I love it that no one treats him as if he’s any different than he was before. He still has to pull his own weight. With the band, with everything. There’s no pity, another gift for which I’m grateful.

“Who’d have thought our men were so domestic?” I say to Kat, watching two of the most famous rock stars on the planet soap and rinse cutlery.

Kat snorts. “Oh, please, it’s all for show. As soon as everyone leaves, Nico will call the housekeeper. He doesn’t even wash his own underwear.”

A.J. jokes, “That poor fucking woman. I hope you’re paying her six figures.”

Nico hands A.J. another fork. “At least I own underwear.”

“Bet it has little flowers on it, too.”

Nico shakes his head, chuckling.

I set my cell phone on the big marble island in the middle of the kitchen and ease my bulk into one of the chairs around it, groaning. Kat comes over and starts to rub my back.

“Sore?”

I groan again when she digs her knuckle into a knot in my shoulder that’s been growing bigger in direct proportion to my belly. I had no idea pregnancy would be so
uncomfortable
. It’s a miracle anyone has more than one child.

“Yes, but that’s helping. Thank you.” I close my eyes for a moment, enjoying the massage, then ask, “What’re Grace and Brody up to?”

Kat’s hands falter. I turn to look at her and she’s frowning.

“I don’t know. She left to go to the bathroom like . . . ten minutes ago. And now that you mention it, Brody was pretty much right behind her.”

Nico turns to share a look with Kat and me. “Well,” he drawls, “ain’t that interestin’.”

Before anyone else can comment, Grace breezes around the corner of the kitchen, looking like a cat that’s just swallowed a mouse.

Or a lead guitarist.

“That front powder room is fantastic, Kat—all those mirrors! It’s like a fun house in there.” She fluffs her hair, sits at a chair across from me, crosses her legs and sighs. There are two spots of color high on her cheeks.

“Emphasis on ‘fun,
’
” I murmur, looking at her pointedly.

She cocks her head, furrows her brows, and says innocently, “What do you mean?”

At exactly that moment, Brody strolls into the kitchen and takes a seat beside Grace. She doesn’t look at him, but the spots of color on her cheeks darken. She stands abruptly, announces, “I think I’ll go get some sun,” and whisks past us, headed to the patio doors.

As soon as she’s in the backyard and out of earshot, Kat says, “Sun? She hates the sun, she can’t tan.”

Brody, looking all sorts of cocky, leans back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest. Without a word, he grins.

Nico says, “Oh it’s like that, is it?”

Brody’s grin grows wider. “I’m working on it.”

I say, “Oh my God!”

A.J. turns from the sink. “What am I missing?”

“Brody’s into Grace!”

Nico winks at Kat. “Told you.”

Now I’m confused. “Wait, you guys knew this?”

Kat sits beside me. “According to Nico, Brody has a long-standing
fetish for redheads. They’re like his kryptonite; he goes weak in the knees every time he sees a ginger.”

Brody says, “Guilty. And your friend makes me weak in every part of my body except one.”

I wrinkle my nose. “TMI, Brody.”

He grins wider.

Kat excitedly asks, “Is she into you?”

Brody shrugs. “So far she’s told me I’m too young for her, she doesn’t date musicians, it would be weird if it didn’t work out because she’d have to see me all the time because of you guys, and she couldn’t be with a man who dresses better than she does.”

A.J. says, “Sounds like you’re striking out, bro.”

But Brody doesn’t look convinced. His grin hasn’t faltered. “Maybe. Or maybe she likes the chase as much as I do. Never met a woman who tells me to get lost while she’s staring at my crotch like it’s the Rosetta Stone.”

A.J. and Nico laugh, but Kat and I are too busy having a wordless conversation to join in. By her face, I can tell she’s thinking what I’m thinking: One, wouldn’t it be awesome if they got together; Two,
what’s the real story about why she’s not going for him; And three, why the hell hasn’t she told us about any of this?

We are
so
going to find out.

In the meantime, I’m going to help Brody along.

“A word of advice? Ease off a bit. If she thinks you’re too serious about her, it’ll scare her away.”

Brody cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

I look at Kat. She nods, knowing what I’m going to say, and approving. I think a moment, trying to find the right words. “Grace isn’t the girl who wants the roses and the love poems and the happily-ever-after. Thinking too much about the future makes her uncomfortable. So just keep it casual and you’ll have a much better chance.”

For the first time, Brody’s cocky grin fades. He puts his elbows on the table and leans toward me. “Did she have a bad breakup? Someone hurt her?”

I glance at Kat. She says, “Go ahead. If she finds out, I’ll tell her it was my idea.”

Looking confused, Brody says, “Okay, now I
really
have to know.”

Thinking, I tap my fingers on the marble. I don’t know how much detail to go into. This is Grace’s story to tell after all, not mine. But the temptation to see Grace with a man who understands her, who gets why she never talks about the past or looks forward to the future is too great. If Brody really likes her, and he knows what makes her tick, maybe they’ll have a chance.

“Okay, it’s not a big secret or anything, and she’s never sworn us to silence, so I’m going to tell you, but I’d appreciate it if you’d be careful about how you bring this up with her. If you ever do.”

Eagerly, Brody nods.

“When she was eighteen, Grace was involved in a bad car accident. Her parents were killed.”

“Shit.” Brody looks distressed. “Was she badly hurt?”

I glance out the sliding glass doors to the patio. Grace is lying on the chaise lounge, eyes closed, her face turned to the sun. Though she’s well out of earshot, I lower my voice. “She lost her memory. She can’t recall anything before the crash. She had to relearn who she was when she woke up; she didn’t recognize anyone, she didn’t remember anything about her life. So now she has this whole ‘live for the moment’ philosophy. Especially with relationships. If she thinks someone she’s dating is getting serious, that’s it. It’s over. Because she thinks it could all be taken away again, like
that
.” I snap my fingers.

Brody sags back in his chair, stunned. “That’s awful. I can’t even imagine.”

I sigh. “Yeah. It doesn’t help that they never found the bastard who ran into them.”

Brody’s gaze flashes up to mine. “Sorry?”

“It was a hit-and-run,” says Kat. “Some asshole ran a red light, then hit the back of Grace’s parents’ car just right to send it into a tailspin. They wound up wrapped around a telephone pole, and the other guy just took off.”