Make It Sweet

by Kristen Callihan

I didn’t expect it. But the second she did it, my body reacted with a full shudder, my heart kicking against the cage of my ribs. I cupped her slim forearms, rubbing her silky skin, needing that contact.

“I don’t want to fight,” she said. I turned then, pulling her close. “I ...

“If you play for your old team, that means you’re going back to DC.” The truth rippled out like a stone thrown into a pond. Again, she’d voiced something I hadn’t wanted to. But it was out now.

Emma babbling was not a good sign. A lump formed in my chest, growing in size as she talked about what she wanted to do to this place.

Sorrow swamped me. This felt like a death. The end of us. I wanted to stop it. I could. All I had to do was say the right words. But they’d be a lie. I had to try, or I would forever be wondering if I had made the right decision.

I’d never get out from under the loss. And I couldn’t take any more loss in my life. Not right now. “I don’t want to lose you,” I blurted out.

Emma glanced over at me, an uncomfortable expression drawing the lines of her face tight. I stared back, imploring her to understand. “I just found you. But I can’t walk away from this ...

Her shoulders slumped on a sigh. “I know you do.” She visibly swallowed. “I’m not going anywhere, Lucian.” But I was. And we both knew that it w...

Not that either of us apparently wanted to admit we were in a prolonged fight. I was too good at pretending pain away, and so was he.

A silent sigh rippled through me. I had hoped he would love the kitchen of the house I wanted to buy. I had hoped he’d see the possibility of turning that house into a home for the two of us.

Which was just plain stupidity on my part. It was too soon to expect him to live with me. Not that I had gathered up the courage to even ask. We never spoke of love or forever. Why should I have expected anything?

anything? But...

I had built castles once again, picturing us in that smaller version of Rosemont. A place all our own. And he’d crushed ...

It might have been easier to take if it wasn’t for a career that could very likely kill him...

Stilted and not in the least bit genuine. That was how we talked now.

Swallowing convulsively, I grabbed the big breadbasket as he watched me with those cool-green eyes. I knew it upset him that I wasn’t instantly on board with his plan. Just as I knew he honestly didn’t want to hurt me. We were simply at an impasse.

My lids lowered, emotion filling me too hard and fast. And he knew it. His lips brushed my temple as he breathed my name. “Em.” I loved this man. And it was killing me.

“Thing is, I’m not going to be at Rosemont for a while.” “Oh?” Amalie sent a knowing glance my way, as if she’d been expecting this. I wanted to crawl under the table. She was oh-so wrong.

“You promised me, Lucian.” Her voice cracked at his name, and she glanced away. “I know.” Lucian’s jaw worked. “But I have to do this for myself. Not for you or anyone else.” I cringed when they turned their outraged glances on me.

“Don’t look at Emma like that,” Lucian said in a hard tone. “She’s got nothing to do with this.” That hurt more than I expected, and I ducked my head, my fingers twisting in the linen napkin on my lap.

“I will not be party to this,” Amalie said, rising. Her voice shook as she glared at her stubborn, proud grandson. “I love you with all my heart, bu...

She walked away, and I saw something crack in Lucian’s eyes. But he didn’t try to stop her. I understood then that Lucian would never beg for affect...

One by one, they left me at the table, their bitter

disappointment clear and cutting. All of them except Emma. She sat quietly at my side even now, her slim shoulders slumped.

“Anything. The truth.” “You don’t want the truth.” I pushed back from the table. “I know you’re all worried—” “No,” she cut in sharply. “We are terrified.” I took the hit and breathed deeply.

She didn’t understand. None of them did. “I want you to be proud of me.” “I am. In so many ways. You’re smart, multitalented, dryly funny, and so very strong. You’re a fighter, Lucian. I admire that so much in you.” “Then how can you not see that this is me fighting? I’m climbing back to the top.” Her hand gripped the edge of the table as she leaned in. “You’re clinging on to an ideal. That isn’t fighting. That’s desperation.”

She pitied me. That was worse than any anger she could have thrown my way. It clung t...

“How can you not see? I’m doing this for us. I’m trying to be someone who can hold his head up and be fit to stand by your side.” It was as if I’d slapped her. She literally rocked back on her heels before standing straight.

I trailed off because I didn’t know if what she’d said was true. And it frustrated the hell out of me. I needed her. Just her. Not Cassandra, not anyone else.

I thought Emma understood me on a soul-deep level. How could she not see how much I needed this chance?

“I don’t know what to say anymore.” The finality of her tone chilled me to the core. “So that’s it? You’re dumping me?” They’d all left me. But she had stayed. I’d expected . . . “No, Lucian. I’m not going to leave you. I’m telling you how I feel. That the idea of you doing this terrifies me and breaks my heart.” She pressed her fist to her chest. “This is your choice. You decide where we go from here.” “Sounds an awful lot like an ultimatum to me, Em.”

“I’m not saying do this or else. I’m saying choose. Choose the life you want, but don’t be surprised if the people who care for you can’t stay and watch.”

And I wanted to scream and kick him for his stubborn stupidity, his willful arrogance. Only I’d seen the desperation in his eyes, the pain. He was crumbling, too, and nothing I said or did would alter his course. He’d only dig in deeper and resent me even more for it.

And that was the first lie that I’d told him. That I wasn’t leaving him. Because I couldn’t stay and watch this. I couldn’t.

He ducked his head, met my gaze with his sorrowful one. My lip trembled. “I just . . . I just . . .” I looked away, tears blinding me. But he knew. Of course he knew. Lucian knew me on a level that no one else had managed to get to.

“I’m sorry, Em. I’m so sorry.” He was sorry. But he wouldn’t change his course. And now, neither could I.

“What does Emma say about all this?” Emma. Just her name had the power to slice me open. She hadn’t left me; I’d left her.

For two weeks we’d pretended that nothing had changed. We barely kept our hands off each other. There was something almost frantic about it, a desperation to get as close and as deep as possible during the time we had left to ourselves.

But it was an illusion, and we both knew it. One that broke when she took me to the airport.

“I know.” But her eyes were dead, her spirit already slipping away from me.

Irked at Brommy, I scowled. “Don’t bring Emma into this.” “Why not? She’s your girl, isn’t she?” My fist tightened. “Fuck off, Brom.” He made a sound of annoyance, but I didn’t care.

I missed her. I missed her with a strained yearning that had me looking around corners, hoping to catch a glimpse of her wide smile. I missed the feel of her warmth, the fresh sweet scent of her skin, the sound of her voice. I ached for Emma.

The kitchen that could be mine as well. It had been there in her eyes, that promise, the question she hadn’t

asked. Because I’d thrown a puck into the glass and shattered it all.

This didn’t feel like love or freedom. It felt like work. Worse. It felt like a farce. The end of the day was a relief.

Everyone else had long gone home. My home was in California, likely swimming in a pool that stretched before a kitchen window where I could keep an eye on her while I kneaded dough or tempered chocolate.

No. No. My home was here. I’d made the choice. This was my life now. All I needed was time to get back into sync with everyone else.

I felt like vomiting again. I couldn’t keep much down anymore. It was as though my insides were filled with sludge. Closing my eyes, I felt the various aches and pains that came with performing a sport at the top level. My thighs burned in protest and fucking screeched whenever I flexed them. My back killed me when ...

You don’t have to hurt. But who would I be? You’d be hers. You’d be ...

EmmaMine: I just wanted to say, whatever may come, knowing you, just as you were at Rosemont, was the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are a good man, Lucian. You always were.