"I'm home!"
Warm comfort smells welcomed me and make my empty stomach gurgle. I dropped my bag in the hall with a thud and kicked my shoes into the front closet. The hardwoods cooled my bare feet. I padded into the kitchen and came to an abrupt stop. It wasn't empty. My roommates weren't due back for three more days. Their ear-to-ear, beaming smiles dissolved mine.
Suspicious.
"Hey..." I breathed out the word. "Y'all are... smiley."
Michael's smile broke into a laugh. His arm wrapped around Abby's waist made their hips bump. "Can't we be happy to see you?"
"Not without cause." I narrowed my eyes at Michael's phone-free ear. "Shouldn't you be on Sam ego mop-up duty? Assuring him the world is still turning around him or touting his endless accolades to any other unfortunate team?"
Or nursing him back to insufferable status after he face-planted in my class. I spent the drive home wondering why the fuck Sam was even there, only to assume the culprit stood in my direct line of fire. Hint: it wasn't Abby. Anger still simmered in my veins, and Michael owed me an explanation. "Enlighten me, please. Why the fuck am I being haunted by Sam Pearson!?"
"Huh? We need to–oh." Michael's pocket rang with my least favorite ringtone. "Hey, Sam."
Here we go. I closed my eyes. Our reel of exchanges, if they even deserved that reference, always left a sour taste. I didn't need to look further than that knuckle-dragger's sexual gesture before I ground my teeth. What was more insulting, that he tried to charm himself between my legs or couldn't bother to remember who I was? We'd met countless times thanks to Michael. None were pleasant. The first time was Sam's draft night, and tonight's class joined the shit pile I still tried to forget.
"No, I'm not busy," Michael assured his asinine, one-directional boss. "Oh? Oh...sorry to hear that."
Michale's only reaction was frowning. He wasn't surprised. "It's for the best. Give her space to sort out how she feels. Hmm... yes, she signed an NDA...If she does, Simone will provide the appropriate counsel. I'll inform her...No, she can't say anything."
Legal counsel? Uh-oh. Dropping a multibillion-dollar franchise's quarterback on his face was less funny than before this eavesdropped conversation. Michael hung up with a frown, making me catch my upper lip with my teeth. "About Sam..."
"Never mind him. Mia, you look..." Abby's dark brown eyes traveled over my clenched teeth and furrowed eyebrows. "Tired."
I wasn't surprised by her assessment. Mental and physical exhaustion walked hand-in-hand with me. Some days, getting out of bed deserved a celebration. Not a Sam Pearson celebration. More like an endless nap or a bottomless cup of matcha tea. Or the blue lacy puppy Michael won't let me get. Unlike the life-sucking bookkeeping job, which I still hadn't told Michael about being fired from, I drew motivation from my classes. They opened up a perspective that all other dimensions of my life sorely lacked.
Tonight was an exception.
My feet tingled, and my limbs hung weakly from exercise but knotted up with tension. Fatigue sagged thoughts to the back of my brain. An invisible layer of dried sweat coated my skin, along with a perfume combination of BO, rubber mats, bleach-based cleaner, and incense. Absent from my normal release of stress, my forehead pounded.
I was tired. The admission sank my shoulders. My most significant class was my biggest mindfuck challenge. And that followed the shit from Midfield "Today was absolute shit." I cupped my elbows in my palms. "One day at a time, right?"
"So I've heard." Abby offered a humorless smile, concern filling her eyes. "Help me set the table, and we'll see if Michael's call ends by the time the plates are set."
My eyes rolled. "It's Sam. I'm not waiting."
The call would drag to thirty minutes or three hours, depending on how much stroking Sam's ego needed. And I spent tonight's class trying to bruise that ego, so we'd probably see Michael tomorrow. Assuming Sam never stepped into the studio again, all I cared about was him drawing my brother's attention away from his family.
A sparkle brightened Abby's eyes. "How did the Midfield meeting with Sam go?"
"Don't look at me like that." I scooped three servings of her delicious comfort chicken pot pie onto three plates. "He didn't recognize me...unless you count giving Michael's business card for a merch discount. Before he flaunted his untrained ass in my yoga class, which reminds me...How the fuck did he show up?"
A soft hum sounded in her dark-skinned throat. "Michael thinks Sam isn't seeing things well right now."
Mental note: kill brother. Probably best while he was on the phone so Sam heard. Abigail was a rare gem of infinite patience and empathy. Her heart, broken once like mine, was immeasurable. She made my brother a better man by loving him.
Before me introducing them, Michael fell victim to the temptations plaguing his clients' lives - the most dangerous being overindulgence and an inflated sense of his importance. Friends first, their relationship developed slowly, organically, and beautifully. Her open, honest admissions matured my brother beyond his twenty-eight years.
Unlike me, Abby was both a planner and an observer. Considering the unexpected angles of every story, she measured them with quiet, delicate grace. Which was why she tried– "Hold up." I juggled the water glasses over to the table. "Did you come back early to see the doctor?"
"Sure did," she hummed again.
I sucked in the room's air with one breath. "And? And!?"
"And she's pregnant," Michael announced behind us, pocketing his phone and palming Abby's lower back.
"Ahh!"
Those three words obliterated anything else in my life. Hallelujah! My body wasn't big enough to contain the thrill rushing through my veins. It was an instant explosion of feelings led by absolute joy. Electric lines of excitement drew under my skin, my heart leaped, and hot tears sprung into my eyes. I could burst. "Oh my gosh!" I wrapped my arms around Abby. Hot, ticklish tears trailed over my cheeks, one of which I pressed into hers. My throat tightened. "Really?"
Her warm palm patted my back. "Yes."
Wait. It could be–A small gasp left me. I pulled back and palmed her shoulders. My voice dropped to a raspy whisper, "Is it...his?"
Similar tears rose in her eyes. "Yes."
My hands flew to my damp cheeks. "That's...wonderful. I'm so, so happy for you. Both of - Michael, how are you feeling?"
With his shoulders relaxed and his eyes shining, quiet contentment surrounded my brother. His eyes studied Abigail's glowing face. "I thought I'd be weirded out, but... honestly? I'm excited to be a dad."
Michael's admission pulled at my heartstrings. Before Abby, I never would've expected this reaction from my self-centered brother. Pride swelled in my chest at his maturity.
His words fluttered Abby's eyes closed, pushing her tears down his cheeks. "You're the gift I never thought I'd receive," she whispered.
"Ooookay." I sat down at the table. Cupping my chin in both palms and grounding my elbows, I pressed Abby, "Details. How far along are you?"
Before she answered, Michael's phone rang again. "Simone, please send Candy's NDA to Sam...I know, again. Thanks."
"It's very early," Abby whispered, sitting near me. "But we saw the heartbeat, six weeks and three days. I'm due February second."
"Abby!" I squealed at her grainy picture of a black oval blob. A small white circle and a tiny white spot sat inside.
Restlessness crawled through me, making my hips squirm in my seat and my feet twitch. I didn't know what to do with my fidgeting hands. I cupped them, tapped the tips on the table, grabbed my fork, then squeezed Abby's again.
"Mia, we need to talk." Michael took the last table seat.
I snorted. "Are you kicking me out now?"
"What? No." He chuckled, then offered the last three words I expected, "Sam needs you."
Sam...huh? He what now? My mouth hung open, and a slight compression squeezed my throat. Again, concerning Sam Pearson, coherent thoughts evaporated from my brain. Flickers of irritation sparked in my veins, and I clenched my mouth. Why did Michael ruin our baby moment by bringing up the me-first man that constantly butted into our lives?
Michael smirked. "You're speechless."
I was. Unless rendered speechless by absolute asshattery, as Sam proved, my mouth had always gotten me in trouble. I earned a few trips to the principal's office for never holding back my opinions. They flew out of my mouth on their own accord, and I apologized later. My swear list bordered on sailor-level, one reason I got along with soldiers and less the regular yogis at the studio.
Nate liked that. Said he always knew what I was thinking.
The reminder triggered my usual reactions. Heaviness filled me, flooding my veins full of cement. Gravity pulled harder, sagging my already tired limbs. Fatigue rounded my back and shoulders, curling me inward.
Sam...was an entirely different species. Beyond my help. From under my lashes, Michael and Abby's blinks made me realize I hadn't answered him. "No."
They exchanged a glance, and Michael cleared his throat. "He needs–"
"I don't give a fuck what he needs." Sharpness coated my taste buds, and I directed the tip of my knife at Michael's nose. Traitorous brother. "He needs a football rammed up his ass, a sheet of plexiglass smacked in his face, and dismembered testicles fed to a pack of wild boars, but I do not need him back in my class."
In case it wasn't obvious, I became...detailed when angry. My body heat skyrocketed, and my breath turned shallow and hollow. I curled my fingers around the knife until my stubby nails brushed my palms. A slight sting erupted from the cuticle I ripped off during Sam's ass-kissing meeting.
The corners of Abby's pale lips twitched. "Are the boars getting all of him or just his testicles?"
Michael rolled his eyes, then paused and frowned. "Back up–what do you mean by back in your class?"
"Any part they can maim." I cupped over the heated throbs pulsing in my forehead like my brain smacked against my skull. The scrape of my rejected plate across the table and the clink of my dropped fork cut through the silence. "No. Fuck no. I'd rather teach yoga on Two-Ninety during rush hour to a group of rounded-up homeless people who haven't showered since the last time it snowed than interact with that...pathetic consumer of oxygen again."
Abby lifted a hand over her mouth, her eyes sparkling. "That's...very specific."
"And do you know why!?" I directed my glare at my brother, who wisely sat silent. "Because those people would appreciate it. Sam is all hat and no cattle...beyond decency. Let his Silicon Valley doormat of a girlfriend fix–"
"She dumped him," Michael interrupted.
"For real this time?" I slumped back and crossed my arms. Michael nodded and threaded his hand through his black waves. Interesting. "So, she has at least one working brain cell left."
Good for Candyland. The lack of surprise in my brother's eyes, medium brown and identical to mine and Dad's, drew my lower lip between my teeth. "You knew."
He offered a slight tip of his head. "More like suspected."
My last up-close encounter with Sam Pearson, before I dropped him on his head, elicited the usual goosebumps on my forearms and the back of my neck. A strong pulse beat in the side of my neck, where his lips had trailed dirty promises over my skin. I never told Michael what happened, although the entire house knew Sam arrived drunk off his ass. Tipsy and delusional, he slurred compliments to any pair of breasts within a ten-foot radius.
Including mine.
As I exited the bathroom, he grabbed my elbow and whispered half-compliments, half-suggestions in my ear. His warm breath fanned my shoulder, creeping goosebumps up my skin. His fingers stroked circles around my elbow. His scent was the bottom of a beer keg, expelling the filthiest promises.
Given the years since my body had any action, I wasn't immune to male attraction. A tall, handsome man whose eyes burned at me one 'yes' away from dropping to his knees and eating me out wasn't a common occurrence in my life. I hated the way heat flushed through me, my breath shortened, and my lower pulse point thrummed.
I wouldn't have been surprised if a tumbleweed snowman fell out of my vagina with his offer. While I second-guessed my biophysical reaction for weeks, my knee couldn't have rammed into his groin fast enough.
"Go find someone with a more desperate vagina and lower standards, Sam."
I blinked out of the sordid memory. An icy chill trembled down my spine, trickling into my bones. "Sam only cares about his own selfish existence."
Like always, Michael's mouth opened in defense. "He's–"
"Where should I start!? My bullshit day aside, he didn't come to your wedding!" I shifted my eyes to Abby. "Does he even know what you've been going through? Appointments? Pin-cushion impression?"
Her sympathetic gaze averted. "No."
I lifted my hands and yanked at my bun. Stringy locks spilled out and fell to the middle of my back, releasing my bun's strain on my roots. I wrenched the loose strands into a ponytail. "It's no secret how much I hate Sam. I can't...I can't help him. Tonight more than proved that."
"And it's no secret that I think you misjudged him," Mike retorted. "He's not a bad guy, if–"
"Michael," I dismissed his autorepeat accusation because, for once, my brother didn't know the entire story. "He was a disaster in Beginner Flow. And you know the men I try to help."
I left the obvious 'he's not it' to simmer in the silence that swallowed up the kitchen. Abby's eyes studied where she pushed her fork around her plate.
"Throwing in a spoiled, entitled athlete insults their progress."
Unlike Dad, and to some extent me, Michael possessed no athletic abilities. Tall, thin, and at a newborn deer coordination level, his strength resided inside his skull. A master manipulator and surveyor of all angles, he was the negotiator observing not only all the chess pieces but the players behind them. His ability to congregate opposing sides and mediate until each parted with the sense they made out better was admirable.
And he was way out of line here.
"I'm sure if you can help him, Sam would make a considerable donation to the trial." Michael stabbed the center of my bleeding heart. "And raise more awareness to support the rehab program."
Remembering my work discovery, and numerical examples of Sam's true sense of generosity, my nostrils flared. "I'm not a charity, Michael. And I have my shit to sort out, after being fired from Midfield. Get someone else."
"Fired? How the fuck did you get fired?" His eyes rounded, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "You were there for three days."
"Four," I grumbled. "Let's go with a misalignment of principles."
Abby's soft hand covered mine. "I'm sorry, Mia."
"Mia, what did you do?"
"Me!?" I coiled my hand under Abby's and glared at Michael. Of course, he assumed it was my fault. "Ruffled the wrong managerial feathers. What did you do!? Why the fuck do I now have a front-row seat to the Sam Pearson shit show?"
"He needs your help." His neutral tone burned my blood. "His shoulder–"
"Is lucky to still be attached after what he did tonight. No, Michael." My hands squeezed until the skin across my knuckles stretched white. "Some people are beyond–"
"There is no exercise better for the heart than reaching down and lifting someone up."
Abby gasped. "Michael."
Hot tears welled up in my eyes. Nate's quote was the lowest blow, a cleat kicked into my heart. I palmed the table and stood on shaky legs. Brotherly love. Never thought he'd sink that low.
"Still true," Michael's insistent words opened my eyes. Our family's stubbornness jutted up his chin. "And you know it, even if you don't want to acknowledge it."
Abby's dark hand palmed Michael's pale one. "Enough."
Shoving my chair back, I needed to walk away before I hurled the profanity accumulating in my brain without a filter. Taking a page from Abby's book, the newlywed couple opened their home and offered me a room until I was stable enough on my own feet. Except for their hushed conversation, the house stayed silent. I grabbed my bag and deposited my dirty clothes into the washing machine.
Warm water in my shower did nothing to ease the stiffness in my muscles. They locked up when my shoulders wrenched up to my ears. Finally, alone, the dark thoughts tapping at the edges of my mind returned. Not that I would thank him, but Sam's asshattery distracted me until now.
A shuddered breath passed between my lips. Under the spray, my eyes burned. I clenched them shut and dipped my head. The max temperature wasn't hot enough; my palms remained cold and clammy. My empty stomach contracted so hard, I gagged on my saliva. Pain crushed my chest. I dipped lower until my chin bumped into my pink-tinged skin. Thick swirls of steam choked the air.
"Nate, why did you have to leave?" My words were more spat out water than volume, each one tearing into me. My heart pounded against my compressing chest, and I shook with a gasped sob. One turned into five. Hot, damp air burned my lungs.
A dark hand turned off the water. Softness wrapped around me, a towel. Abby's hands patted my shoulders, then wrapped me up. Quivers vibrated my lips. "I remember when I needed you to do this," she whispered. "He knows he crossed a line."
"He doesn't do anything without reason." I tucked the towel under my armpits, the wet soles of my feet chilled by the tiles.
The scrutiny of Abby's gaze burned the back of my head. "Have you cut it since–"
"No." The damp, black, uneven, and split-end strings that reached my sacrum weren't up for discussion.
To no surprise, Abby followed me. I entered the spare room she and Michael offered me with an undetermined expiration date. Her gaze only offered concerned gaze. Had our terms and conditions changed? Abby and Michael would never kick me out but maybe me burdening their growing family prompted a self-eviction notice.
Not even the garbage truck woke me up every Monday morning, so newborn cries wouldn't have dislodged me from sleep. I proved that when I lived surrounded by new families on base. Getting to sleep in the first place was the issue. Sheer exhaustion led to either restless or near-comatose nights.
My child-sized bed was perfect for their use. I bought the smallest bed possible when I moved in, a tight fit given my height. The room was big enough to accommodate my queen-sized bed, but I couldn't bring myself to sleep in it alone anymore.
Leaving our bed behind was one of my hardest post-Nate decisions. Sleeping in a brand-new bed was easier than pretending the space he left behind didn't bother me, especially once his scent disappeared. Filling it with a body-sized pillow, or a sex doll as I humorlessly joked, spritzed with his cologne was inappropriate.
Hopefully, I wasn't that far gone. The first few months after Nate left me were a blur. Two years, and I had no fucking clue how I even got through those dark times other than alternating between uncontrollable tears, zombie-like shock, and numbness.
How he left me, how I failed him, crushed my soul to the point of questioning my existence.
Eventually, I got frustrated enough with my bare minimum existence to assign myself menial tasks. Despite their crushing pressure to perform, I exerted my best efforts. Eating was forced. Showering was hard but necessary. I needed six months before I comfortably left the house, prompted only by the time limit on my GI bill.
Little by little, I stole back fractured pieces of my life. Abby and Michael were lifesavers, but it was exhausting. On the exterior, I was a fighter. Inside...I was too tired to admit my faults.
"Michael's perspective has shifted." Abby's voice brought me out of my distracted thoughts. "It's made him...philosophical."
"You mean overbearing and boundary stomping?"
Her hand rubbed the hope blooming inside her. Her last piece of John, which I prayed made its way into the world, was the product of both a miracle and modern science. "We've both changed, Amelia."
She didn't detail the depths of their selflessness because she didn't need to. Her sympathetic smile and unwavering hand were enough.
My brother became a different person after I introduced them. With no doubt in my mind, his behavior changes were for the better. He gravitated away from his selfish, self-indulgent lifestyle choices and gave a rat's ass about others' feelings. Instead of partying to impress, Michael preferred his family's company at home. Abby had that effect.
"Just meet with Sam." Her eyes pleaded. "I'm sure you can come up with a compromise. Let Michael mediate."
Whatever Michael's motivations were for Sam, they weren't for my brother's benefit. And while I seriously doubted that they were to my benefit, I owed Michael after getting fired. I slid my eyes closed and sighed. "Fine."
"Good." She sat on the edge of my bed and pulled back my blankets for the coziest invitation. "Now, Ladybug, tell me about this bullshit day."
Bit more into Mia's character behind her tough spirit. 🥺 Any guesses on the situation with Nathan?