She adjusts her watchband and grabs her bag from the table. “Okay, I’m ready.”
I help her to my Jeep and hold the door for her to climb in, but she doesn’t take my offered hand to lower down. With her eight months pregnant belly, she’d rather struggle and flop than hold my hand.
Awesome.
Setting off once she’s buckled in, I turn my music on low and turn toward the courthouse. In the silence, I think about her. Like always. Is she lonely at night? Is she sleeping with that wrench? Is she sleeping at all?
“Are you enjoying your newfound independence, Bubs?”
She startles at my soft voice. Her nervous eyes come up to mine, and her hands to her belly. “What do you mean?”
“Your new place. Alone. Is it nice?”
“Oh.” She sounds surprised. “Yeah, it’s kind of nice. I like not sharing the TV, or the bathroom. Or living with a stinky teenager.”
“Is Jack a pig?”
She snickers. “No, he’s actually great. Kit runs a military camp as far as dirty socks and wet towels go.” Her pretty eyes meet mine. “He’s a sweetheart.”
I turn onto Main Street and slow to an almost crawl as hordes of people crowd the front of the courthouse. “Shit. Hold on.”
I should’ve expected this. I should’ve known. Kit’s media coverage wasn’t small fries. She was the girlfriend of the reigning heavyweight champion. Bobby forfeited his fight to sit with her in the hospital. Their lives were flogged on national TV for months, then re-flogged again a couple months back when he fought and won his title back.
Of course today’s gonna be splashed all over TV.
Instead of driving through the street and alerting anyone that Iz is here, I drive around and park behind Tina’s studio. We can walk the extra block. I know I’m an asshole for being relieved; those cameras are here for Kit. Not Iz. Bobby will take care of his wife, and with any luck, I can sneak Iz through unnoticed.
Stress is bad for the baby. Having a hundred cameras in your face and people screaming questions is stressful.
She won’t be dealing with that if I can help it.
“Come on.” I pull her out of the car and lead her to the alleyway. I ignore the way she flinches at my touch. I ignore her resistance when I pull her close. We’ve held hands before. A lot.
This flinching bullshit takes a chunk from my soul every single time.
In rebellion, I tighten my fingers around hers and refuse to let her loose. Her spare hand rubs circles into the side of her belly. I stop and wait for her pained eyes to meet mine.
“What…?”
“Are you okay? Baby giving you trouble?”
“I’m fine.”
She tries to brush me off and walk ahead, but I pull her to a stop. “Are you in pain, Iz? Tell me the truth.”
“No, I’m fine.”
Again, I pull her to a stop. “I don’t believe you. You keep rubbing your stomach.”
“Because it soothes me!” She snaps her hand from mine. “Stop asking questions about my damn belly and let’s go.”
I groan and look up at the crowds barely fifty feet ahead of us. “I just wanna know you’re okay, Bubs. I don’t want you to hurt when I could make it better.”
“Too late,” she grumbles bitterly. “I’m fine. I’m going in. You can come. You can stay here. I don’t care, but I’m going to see Kit.”
I jog a few feet to catch up. No way in hell is she walking in alone. No way in hell am I not holding her hand through this shit. Again, I ignore her flinch and clasp her hand in mine. For today, for this week, I get to touch her and blame it on the trial.
Not exactly a healthy adult relationship. But I’m taking it. I’m running with it.