An Unexpected Life (Carolina Rebels Book 5) Read online

  “Sylvie—”

  “There is nothing you can say to me right now that I want to hear, so please, shut up!” I curl into a ball, suddenly crying silently. When I feel his fingertips on my elbow, a new surge of fury comes. “So help me, if you touch me, I’ll kick you in the balls.” His fingers quickly disappear.

  The tears continue to fall. I wish I could kick him out of our bed, but I’ve never done that. Never been pissed enough to do it. I wonder if he’d actually leave.

  “Happy anniversary,” Scott mutters.

  My eyes flick to the clock to see that it is the wee hours of the new day. What a way to start our tenth anniversary of marriage together. Unfortunately, that breaks me down more, and I start to sob.

  “Oh, Sylvia.” Regardless of my threat, he pulls me in his arms. “I’m sorry, okay? I fucked up. I do not want my number one girl crying. Please stop.” He turns me over to face him, but it’s hopeless. “Are you still feeling off?”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe you should go into the doctor for a full workup.”

  “Oh, so I’m going crazy now? Maybe my husband shouldn’t point out that I’m getting fat on our ten-year anniversary! Ugh, get away from me.” I try to push him away, but the asshole is an athlete, he’s a man, and those things mean he’s stronger than me. If he doesn’t want to budge, he’s not going anywhere. That only pisses me off more. My knee comes up and his hand moves just in time to save his balls from my wrath.

  “How can I get us back on track?”

  “Why would you even mention something like that?”

  “I was curious if you actually had or if I was imagining things. I’m an idiot. You know I don’t care about your weight as long as it’s a healthy one.” The first time he said that to me, I was a bit insulted. Only because he should love me no matter what, but then he added, “The healthier you are, the more likely you are to live a long life and I need you to live as long as I do.”

  That melted away any negative feelings.

  Scott’s hand moves under the covers to my knee and draws lazy circles. He doesn’t say anything. Just waits for me to tell him what we’re doing next. I’m so embarrassed that he noticed. Then again, he noticed because he grabbed my boobs, not because he looked at my waistline. Scott is a boob man, so maybe I should’ve known that he’d realize they were a little bigger and heavier.

  He shouldn’t have said anything, but surely he’s learned his lesson and that’s no reason for me to miss out on the sex we were planning to have. On that thought, I scoot closer to him, hands on his chest, and kiss him. The only time Scott gets a free pass and can order me around is during sex. Still, he doesn’t do it too often or excessively.

  Tonight, however, he’s bossy and I find I don’t mind one bit. This is the distraction I need from feeling bad, from the anxiety I’ve been feeling, and everything else going on right now. Let Scott take control. I’ll be better at the end because of it.

  There’s a vase of red roses on my nightstand when I wake up. A note is sticking out amongst the petals. I don’t have to reach for it to know that it says only five words: I love you. Happy anniversary. That’s part of our anniversary tradition. I’d bet all the money in our bank account that Scott is in the kitchen making breakfast right now too. It’s Saturday, so the girls would be here, but I happen to know that Scott talked my parents into taking them today for a sleepover.

  The aroma of his breakfast hits me all at once and I rush to the bathroom. Ugh. I’m so over this! Why can’t I get better already? I brush my hair and teeth and return to lie in bed. What I should do is tell Scott that while I appreciate his efforts, I don’t want any of his breakfast, but any minute now, he’ll walk in with a tray of food.

  Speak of the devil...

  “Good morning, beautiful.” He smiles as he walks around the bed. I eye the tray warily because I really don’t think my stomach can handle it. “Don’t worry; there’s only French toast and some fruit up here.”

  Maybe that’s not so bad. Scott settles it over my lap. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll be right back.” He gives me a quick kiss and is out of the room.

  Gingerly, I test out a piece of French toast. So far, so good. My nose wrinkles as Scott reenters the room with his own tray. He’s having eggs and bacon to go along with his French toast. “Stay on the far end of the bed. I can eat for a change and I don’t want those eggs and bacon ruining it for me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What do you have planned for us?” I only really know the next part of our day. After breakfast, we’ll exchange whatever gifts we bought for one another. Thank goodness I’ve had Scott’s hidden in the laundry room for a month now. I don’t think I would’ve made it shopping with how I’ve been feeling.

  “Is there anything around the house you want me to do?”

  I frown, my brows pulling together. “On our anniversary?”

  “Yeah, Sylvie. You’ve been a bit high-strung and you’ve been sick lately. So, I’ll ask again. Is there anything you want me to do around the house?”

  “No. I’m not going to make you work today.” Sweet that he offered, though.

  “Then, we’re going on a day-long date. You up for it?”

  “I’m always up for anything with you.”

  A slow grin rises on his face. We need today. I don’t know what he has planned, but I bet it’ll be perfect and just what we need.

  Today is all about relaxation. Sylvia has been wrung tighter than I’ve ever seen her. I don’t fucking like it, but I don’t know what else to do. Actually, I made her an appointment with her doctor. I just have to wait for the right moment to tell her. Sylvia doesn’t particularly like going to the doctor. Not since she learned of her fate when it comes to getting pregnant. She has to be forced to go. Hence me making the appointment for her. I just wish they could’ve gotten her in sooner.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asks as I drive us to our first and most important destination. “You look worried.” She squeezes my hand; our hands are resting on the center console.

  “You.” I glide my hand down the steering wheel to flick on the turn signal to switch lanes.

  “Scott,” she whispers.

  “No, don’t start. You asked, so I answered. We don’t need to have a discussion. Not today.” I bring our hands up and kiss her knuckles.

  “I feel like I’m messing things up with us.” Her eyes well with tears, just like that.

  “Sylvie, things are perfect with us and—”

  “Then I’m going crazy!”

  Thank fuck we’re here. I pull into the first parking space I see and put the car in park before turning to her. I cup her face and pull her halfway across the console. “Stop it. Not today, okay? Look at me. Really look at me. Do I look unhappy?” I wait for her to shake her head. “Then not today. I don’t want you worrying.”

  “You are.”

  “I’m stopping. It’s our anniversary, Sylvie. Let’s focus on that.”

  Two tears slip onto her cheeks and I swipe them away with my thumbs. “Okay,” she finally says.

  This woman? She’s not my wife. At least, not a version I’ve ever seen. Hell, I’ve never known Sylvia to cry so much without there being a hardcore reason. She simply isn’t a cryer in general. This anxiety she’s feeling? I don’t know where it’s coming from. What causes anxiety to crop up out of the blue?

  But I told her I was going to stop worrying, so as we get out of the car and I lead her into the building, I turn my thoughts off. I wanted today to be about relaxation, and that’s what we’re going to do.

  “A massage?” Sylvia glances up at me with a question in her eyes.

  “We gotta relax, so yes.”

  After a few minutes of filling out forms and waiting, we’re called to the back. Soon, a pair of men are massaging us. Sylvia lets out a moan and then an embarrassed laugh. Best thing I’ve heard in days. That’s what ultimately helps the tension ease from my muscles. It’s weird if I t
hink too much about it because I’m not the one making her release little moans and turn her body into goo. But hey, she’s relaxing, I’m relaxing, and all is becoming good in the world.

  By the time our two hours are up, Sylvia refuses to sit up from the table and her cheeks are flushed. She apologized to the guy at least three times for not being able to contain herself. He thought it was hilarious and shrugged it off.

  “Scott.”

  “Yeah?” I ask as I get dressed.

  “I don’t think I can move.”

  I chuckle. “That’s good, Sylvie.”

  “Why can’t you give me massages like that?”

  “Because I’m not a professional, which means I’m not as good and I’m allowed to get distracted by your body. You can come back as often as you want.”

  She grins as she sits up, but quickly frowns. “Trash can!”

  I glance around the room, spot it, and give it to her as she starts to heave. I’m so leaving a bigger tip than I was planning to. When she’s done, I take the trash can, but can’t walk far because she leans against me.

  “I want food.”

  I laugh. “Really?”

  “No, but I feel weak.”

  Well, I don’t like the sound of that. Slowly, we get her dressed and I hold her against me as we walk out front, where I pay with a hefty tip and let them know about their trash can situation. Once we’re in the car, I head to the outskirts of Raleigh. Sylvia doesn’t question where we’re going. Then again, she has the seat reclined back and her eyes are closed.

  If they were open, she’d see where we’re headed. What better place to go on our ten-year anniversary than the diner where I took her on our first date? If the place wasn’t such a hot spot for college kids, I’d be surprised that it’s still here and as busy as ever. I don’t know if Sylvia will want to eat anything here, but it’s worth a shot.

  “Oh, Scott.” Her eyes are welling with tears again as she takes in the bustling diner. “We haven’t been here since college.”

  “I know. It’s about time we returned, don’t you think?” She nods. “Do you think your stomach can handle it?”

  “It better,” she says as she unbuckles her seatbelt.

  That’s good enough for me. I get out and walk around to open the door for her. We must have come at the busiest part of the day because we have to wait for a table. That’s certainly okay. I don’t mind holding my girl against me for a few minutes.

  “Do you remember how nervous you were?” Sylvia tilts her head back to look up at me with a smile. “One of the few times you’ve been so nervous with me.”

  “You were this beautiful girl who was giving me the time of day; of course I was nervous. I didn’t want to mess it up.”

  “When did you know you were going to marry me?”

  “Definitely not that night.” I chuckle when she frowns. “You’re a handful, Sylvie. I was enamored and I wanted you, but you were a bit much. I wasn’t used to it.”

  People think she’s nosy now? Our first date was like an extreme version of twenty questions, except there was like a million. Sylvia learned way more about me than I learned about her because she only answered a handful of the questions she was asking me. My laid-back personality and me actively trying to tame her has paid off over the years. She’s a lot calmer in that area than she was.

  She was high-strung in that she was super outgoing, loved to talk, didn’t like to be told to do anything, and she liked to banter. I like going with the flow and adjusting to whatever life hands me on the fly. Sylvia adjusts like that as well, but there’s more emotion that comes along with it. She expresses it more than I do.

  Meeting Sylvia was like moving right into a hurricane when I was previously floating in calm waters. Calm waters was what I was used to. I wasn’t sure if Sylvia was crazy or just a quirky girl. All I knew was that I had to find out and hope I survived.

  I ended up marrying her.

  “I’m not a handful,” she mumbles. Her lips turn into a pout as she rests her forehead against my chest.

  “You are, and we already know that I don’t mind. I did marry you, after all.”

  She’s saved from responding because we’ve been summoned to a table. We’re quiet as Sylvia tries to find something that won’t upset her stomach and I try to find the healthiest thing I can possibly eat. I might just get something small and rack up at dinner. Back in college, I didn’t watch what I put into my body, but I sure as hell do now. Makes a world of difference.

  Once we order, one glance at Sylvia, and I can tell she’s back to worrying.

  “Get over here.”

  She frowns at the order, but she moves to my side of the booth. I slide an arm around her shoulders and hug her tight to my side. “Anything else planned?” she asks.

  “Figured you’d want someone other than Stella and Stephanie to do your nails.” I lift her hand and kiss it.

  “I thought this day was supposed to be about us?”

  “Wasn’t exactly about us ten years ago,” I say with a low rumble of a laugh. When it came to our wedding, Sylvia was definitely in charge. She told me when and where to show up, and I did what I was told. “You need this more than me anyway. When was the last time I treated you to something nice?”

  “When we went on vacation, so just two months ago.”

  “And that’s a damn shame. Should be more often.”

  “It is. That was the last big one, though.” She smiles at me, her eyes full of contentment now. “We’re predictable, but I have no complaints about our marriage or how you treat me.”

  I frown. “What the hell are you talking about? We aren’t predictable.”

  She laughs. “Uh, yeah, we are. Every morning, you wake me up with some sort of touch, kiss, and you tell me you love me. I can’t ever remember to get everything from the grocery store, so you’re having to pick stuff up on your way home at least once a week. If the girls are with their grandparents, then we have a sex marathon, but the predictable part is that we go in the same order of which rooms we do it in every single time. Haven’t you ever noticed that? Laundry room, living room, hallway, bedroom, tub.”

  “Okay, stop it, Sylvia. We’re old and set in our ways. Thanks for letting me know,” I grumble.

  “I’m not complaining, Scott.”

  Maybe not, but I don’t like knowing that I’m apparently an old dog who doesn’t know any new tricks. Our predictability could be what’s wrong with Sylvia—what’s giving her the anxiety and uneasy feeling. What if she’s subconsciously viewing our marriage and love life as stale because we follow a particular pattern and routine?

  “Our predictability dies today,” I announce.

  Sylvia’s eyes widen. Damn, is that fear in her eyes? “No.” Her brows furrow as she shakes her head. “No,” she repeats. “I think I need it, especially with how I’ve been feeling. I can always rely on you being, well, you.”

  I still don’t like the idea of being this way, but if she doesn’t want to change, then life will go on as normal. Our food arrives. Sylvia eats slowly while we talk about the upcoming week. I have a preseason game in Indiana on Monday and then in Washington D.C. on Friday, which is when Sylvia’s doctor’s appointment is. I figure I’ll spring the news of her appointment on her tomorrow.

  Our next stop is her favorite place to get her nails done. She doesn’t get them done too often, but she does like to indulge herself here and there and I fully recommend that she does. I’m all for anything that includes Sylvia taking some time to do something for herself after all she does for me and my little girls.

  While she’s getting her nails worked on, I sit in a chair in the little waiting area and text Sylvia’s parents to check in on how they’re faring with the twins. Their response is a photo of the girls on the swing set in their backyard. Those two are the light of my world.

  I always wanted kids, never as badly as Sylvia, though. But once we started having problems and I realized just how badly she wanted them, I wonde
red if I wanted kids more for her than I did for myself. All I have to do is think of Stephanie or Stella and I know that I want kids just as much for myself as I do for my wife. I wouldn’t mind more, to be honest, especially after holding EJ’s little girl, Bree.

  I’ve thought about it a few times before, actually. But this is an iffy subject with my wife and things have been going very well in our lives. The last thing I want to do is send her into a tailspin unnecessarily. Sylvia would tell me if she wanted to attempt to adopt another kid. So far, she hasn’t, so I haven’t brought it up.

  Thinking of Bree, I text EJ.

  Me: Find a nanny yet?

  He’s been looking all summer for one, so his mom won’t have to spend another season here. So far, she’s back in town and will remain until he finds someone. He’s been going through an agency as sort of a middleman. They find good potential nannies, screen them, and he interviews them.

  EJ: Fuck no. That agency keeps sending me duds. They either seem like idiots, don’t seem interested, I don’t like them, or Bree doesn’t seem to like them. Losing hope.

  Me: You’ll find someone.

  He’s not settling for just anyone, it seems. He shouldn’t, but he doesn’t need to be so picky that he’s tossing good, legit choices out on their asses either.

  “I’m ready, Scott.”

  I glance up to see Sylvia standing in front of me. She flashes her navy and silver nails. “Team colors. Nice, Sylvie.”

  “What’s next?” she asks as I stand, take her hand, and lead her outside.

  “Feeling relaxed?”

  “Yes.” She slips a hand underneath my shirt, the tips of her fingers trailing over the top of the waistband of my jeans. “Why don’t you take me home and give me a massage with your own two hands?”

  I’m all on board for that plan. Anything to make my wife happy.