Chapter 4

Sitting on a stool in his studio, the setting sun shining brightly through the window warming his bare back, Cristian swirled the mixture of azure oil paint and turpentine around on the palette with his size six Filbert paintbrush. Studying the canvas carefully, he took the brush and made several short strokes before sitting back and sighing heavily. His hand still wasn't giving him the control he wanted. I can do this. I'm going to do this.

He had made a total success of his new painting style and had so many commissions coming his way stemming from his New York exhibit he had to turn more than a few down. He hated having to do it but he only had two hands. He sighed, looking at the canvas in front of him. Make that one. Dipping the brush into some fresh paint, he made a few more strokes on the canvas, the result looking better than the last ones had. He smiled. A year ago, he never would have imagined he'd be where he was now: an unbelievable amount of money in his bank account, all of his medical bills paid off, a write-up in the famed Parkett artists magazine, and the creative juices flowing through his blood like never before. He finally had it all. Well, not everything. He began thinking back to the night he had spent with Layla in her apartment when his phone rang, jarring his thoughts. Getting off of the stool, he grabbed the cordless phone sitting on the shelf to his right and pressed the Talk button. "Hello?"

"Hey. What are you doing tonight?" It was Antonio.

"Why? What's up?"

"What do you say to going out with Talia and me to the Jazz Festival? She's got a friend she wants you to meet."

A blind date. I don't do blind dates. "Antonio, you know I don't do blind dates."

"It's not a blind date, Cristian. It's just two people who happen to be of the opposite sex going to the Jazz Festival with two other people who happen to be of the opposite sex. Come on, I know you wanted to go this year."

"Antonio, you know I've got a lot of work to do--"

"It's Friday night, Cris. You've been locked up in that studio for weeks. You need to get some air, have a few drinks, relax."

Trying to figure a way out of the torture, Cristian decided to stall. "Okay, so who is she?"

"Who?"

"This friend of Talia's. Who is she?"

"Oh, her name is Marisol. I've met her a few times. She loves your statue--she works the Angel Square beat and--"

"Wait, she's a cop?"

"Yeeeeeeeah..."

Bingo. "Antonio, you know I can't date a policewoman."

"Why not?"

"Because I'll only get to see her from my jail cell downtown."

"What?"

"Anytime I hear about some perp roughing her up or giving her a hard time, I'm going to have to kick his ass. And that means I'll only get to see her from behind bars."

Antonio laughed. "Ah, come on Cris!"

"I'm serious, Antonio."

"Cris, you're impossible, you know that?" He continued to laugh.

"But you love me." Cris couldn't contain his grin.

"Fine. Whatever. Stay in that studio and drive yourself crazy if you want to. I'll tell Talia she's going to have to find someone else."

"Ah. You really do love me."

"Bye, Cris."

Cris chuckled. "Bye." Crisis averted. While it was true he hated blind dates, he didn't tell Antonio the real reason he didn't want to go on a date with some woman he didn't know. And her name was Layla Williamson.

Sighing heavily, he set the phone back on the shelf and sat down onto his stool. Instead of grabbing his palette, he gazed at the unfinished canvas and let his thoughts wander. That night he'd seen something in her eyes that had inexplicably drawn him to her. Having replayed the evening in his head countless times since it happened, he thought he had finally pinpointed what it was. It was more than her hurt, more than her pain. While she had let herself be so easily, so completely, so openly vulnerable with him, it was more than that. She was hurting but he knew he could see his own pain in her eyes. Looking into them that night, he had felt that if she could, she would have made all of his hopes, every dream he'd ever had, come true. He had found hope in his life again when he was given his own show in New York and, when he'd thought it had all been taken away from him again, it had broken his spirit into a million pieces and he wanted nothing more than to get away from it all. He was angry at himself, the world and, he was ashamed to admit, God. In the whole scheme of things, it really wasn't a big deal--there were people in the world starving--but for him it had been everything after so many years of pain. Yet, with her own heartbreak and humiliation fresh in her mind, she had taken on his pain, felt it, and wished she had the power to take it all away. He saw that. He saw it in her eyes.

When he thought back to his previous relationships, he realized he'd never really experienced that before. He had always been so steadfast in making sure Jessica, Jennifer, Natalie, and Evangeline could always trust him with everything and depend on him for anything that he lost himself and his own needs in the equation. Maybe that had been why those relationships had failed. He had been so wrapped up in their needs, he'd let his own fall by the wayside. He had never learned to be just a little bit selfish or to take even a little as he gave so much. Layla, whom he'd once thought of as just his friend, his good friend, his beautiful friend, had shown him what he had been missing: someone who would put him first even above her own pain. He saw it. He felt it. And it had felt good.

For weeks he had wanted to tell her. All of it. Everything. That she was his best friend. That making love to her had made him feel more whole than he'd ever felt. That he had feelings for her burgeoning from deep within his soul. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. She's Evangeline's sister. He sighed heavily and pursed his lips.

He didn't love Evangeline anymore. No, that's not true. He wasn't in love with her anymore. Just like with Jessica and Natalie, there was probably always going to be a part of him that loved her. He believed in that theory that once your heart had been given out, it never came back whole. You always hoped if you ever fell in love again, that person would make it complete again.

With Evangeline, there had always been a fight. He had to fight her stubbornness when she was blinded during the tornado. He had to fight her John McBain demons when he wanted to take their relationship further. He had to fight her demand for his perfection, that he do everything the way she wanted, that they did everything when she was ready, that he always make the sacrifices while she made none. He loved her. There was no doubt about that. He had loved her more than anyone else before her but hindsight was 20/20. He had been too blinded by love to see that they weren't going to make it.

And Todd Manning. He frowned. That one had hurt. She had said she'd do anything for him but when the time came to put him first as he always did for her, she refused. And it didn't help that he had heard Manning confessing to Blair a few months ago, as they were working on repairing their relationship, about everything that had transpired between him and Evangeline. She had lied to him about the ski lodge. That had hurt, too.

It's over. It wasn't meant to be. Life goes on. Sighing heavily, Cristian grabbed the palette and paintbrush and returned his attention to getting his right hand to make the stroke precisely as it appeared in his mind. She's Evangeline's sister. He studied his strokes again. Not too bad. Putting the palette and paintbrush down again, he reached for the phone and dialed Antonio's number. He really did want to go to the Jazz Festival this year.

The next day, Adriana stood up quickly from her chair in the waiting room when Layla returned. She studied her friend's face as she approached folding the carbon copy detailing her visit into her purse. Her features laced with concern, Adriana asked softly, "Well?"

Layla stood in front of her friend and only nodded, looking as if one tiny push could send her into hysterics. She had expected it. She had. But the doctor giving her the news with absolute certainty had made her want to break down and cry. What if Evangeline woke up tomorrow? What would she tell her? Would she feel betrayed? That she was right about them when she accused them of sleeping together at the ski lodge? No. She was just projecting. You and Cristian were just friends. Because of her. You were friends. You know that.

Swallowing hard and biting her lower lip, Layla fought to keep the tenuous hold on her composure and put a tight, forced smile on her face. "You ready? I'll drop you off at work."

"You sure you don't want to stop and get a bite to eat first?" Adriana really didn't know what else to say. She knew her friend had just received the shock of her life and she didn't know how to make it better. She had offered to go with Layla to see Cris to lessen the tension but Layla had insisted she do it alone.

"No. Let's go. I have to get this over with." Repositioning her purse on her shoulder, Layla led the way to the elevator, her heart pounding so hard it made her head hurt. You're not even there yet and you're having a panic attack. It's Cristian, Layla. It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay...

Well, the music was good. Cristian was back at work in his studio the next day, doing what he loved. With his button-down shirt flung over the ladder against the wall, he reflected on the evening before. Would have been even better if the company hadn't sucked. Marisol was a nice woman but she was trying too hard. And fawning all over him. He hated it. It made him feel uncomfortable and self-conscious. And it didn't help that he didn't want to be there with her. Layla would have loved it. Jazz and R&B were her favorites. Layla.

He wondered what she was up to. He hadn't seen her much since he returned a few weeks ago and when he did, it was usually in passing as they both were busy with work and he knew she was uncomfortable being around him. Truthfully, it was awkward. What had happened between them was so sudden and had forever changed the dynamics of their relationship. He wanted to talk to her, tell her what he was feeling and what he knew she had felt that night, but he didn't feel right about putting her in that position. She was his ex-girlfriend's sister. Antonio had fallen in love with his former love but Cristian had moved on from Jessica and had always believed that everything happened for a reason, that one couldn't control whom he fell in love with. He knew Layla and Evangeline loved each other to death but everybody wasn't like him and Antonio. The last thing he wanted to do was put a strain on the sisters' relationship more than he already had. He was beginning to convince himself that it would be for the best that they let that night go.

She sat in her car, hands gripping the steering wheel in a death grip. She had dropped Adriana off at Craze and drove directly to Cristian's building, forcing herself to take deep breaths and not turn around and run back home. Putting things off never made them any easier to deal with. It only increased the amount of time spent worrying over them, sometimes needlessly. She took a deep breath. "Okay, girl. Go in there. Tell him. Then go back home and grab some Rocky Road and a spoon and watch some talk shows. Just get it over with." Oh God. She leaned her head on the steering wheel and reconsidered sending Adriana to tell him. Okay, wait, I can just write a note and slide it under his door. He'll get the shock out of the way and then call me. "Ugh! Stop it! Don't think about it. Just go." She put on her game face, grabbed her purse, and exited her car, willing her mind not to think about what she was about to do. Oh, look. Those are pretty rosebushes. What a lovely day. Sun's shining. Birds chirping. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about. Everything's okay. Everything's okay.

Soon, she found herself inside his building and the fear hit her all over again. Every step she took made her heart beat faster. It seemed to take forever to get to his door and, frankly, she didn't mind. Okay. Knock on the door. Her arm didn't move. Knock on the door! She threw her head back, took the deepest breath of her life, and brought her hand up to Cristian's door. Knock!!! Her hand finally obeyed. And then her brain shut down.

Cristian, his back to the door as he worked on his canvas, turned briefly at the sound of someone knocking on his door, his attention on his piece. "It's open."

Feeling as if she were having an out-of-body experience, she saw herself twist the doorknob and push the door open. She saw herself looking at Cristian's bare back. She saw him turn to see who had entered his studio.

Surprised to see her, he spoke. "Hey." Wanting to finish a few more wild strokes before the vision left him, he quickly turned his attention back to the canvas. She stepped further into the room and shut the door behind her, her voice suddenly gone MIA.

Still working on the canvas, Cris continued, "You have the day off?"

No answer.

"It's a nice day for it. I was thinking about going for a jog, get some air..."

Still no answer. When he realized he hadn't heard her voice since she arrived, he turned back around to face her. She stood there, her eyes trained on him, looking as if she had something on her mind that she really, really didn't want to tell him. He quickly put his paintbrush down across one of his paint cans and walked to stand in front of her, a crease in his brow. When he reached her, he focused piercing, concerned eyes on hers. Her brain finally deciding to let her know it was still there, she thought, Why is he looking at me like that? Like I'm the only other person in the world right now and he'd do anything to make everything okay.

"Is everything okay? Did something happen?"

She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it. The concern in his eyes was killing her.

"Here, sit down." He reached to grab a yellow, plastic chair and placed it in front of its match. Taking her gently by the hand, he led her to one of the chairs, settling himself into the other, the cross on his gold chain reflecting the rays of sunlight beaming into the room.

His thoughts were racing. Is it Evangeline? Their mother?

She couldn't explain it, and she didn't understand it, but looking into his eyes was giving her strength and calming her beyond frazzled nerves. How does he do that? It wasn't too much longer before she was able to find her voice again. Without breaking contact with his eyes, she finally spoke, "I-I went to the doctor today." He nodded his head in understanding, his eyes still trained on hers, expression intense with worry. Is she sick?

She glanced down at her hands where they were fiddling in her lap. She took two deep breaths. Come on, Layla. She let out a short, nervous laugh and her eyes began brimming with moisture. Just say it. She began nervously looking around his studio as her courage finally found its way into her spirit. She took one final deep breath, surprised she hadn't sucked all the air out of the room. "You think this place is big enough?" That's good. Ease him into this. Ease yourself into this.

He immediately looked confused but spoke softly. "Big enough for what?"

Here goes. She swallowed. "A baby." She held her breath and focused on his eyes again, trying to read him before she spoke again. He shifted in his seat and leaned towards her, a truly bewildered expression on his face.

"A baby?" His voice was low and unsure of itself. His thoughts raced again, this time in a different direction and in remembrance of their night together. Wait a minute. No way...

He's looking at you like you're crazy. If you don't just say it--. "You know how when two people..." She immediately stopped that line of thought. "Cris..."

He studied her face even more closely, waiting with bated breath for her to continue.

"...I'm pregnant." She nodded and released a long stream of air. "We're having a baby." She could see the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smile as she waited for him to say something, anything.

His mouth opened but nothing came out.

Having already gotten it out once, it came easier this time. "I'm having a baby...Your baby." She continued to study him as her news made its way from his ears to his brain processes and his mouth slowly broke into a grin that soon made its way to his eyes.

"What? W-wait. You're-you're serious?" She felt some of the burden lifting from her shoulders as she nodded her head again and his smile got even wider. She is serious. Feeling in shock, Cristian rose from his chair and slowly walked over to the window by the stairwell, bracing himself against the pane. She's having my child. Layla's having my child. So many emotions washed over him: anxiety, joy, fear, hope...Guilt. Evangeline. He couldn't imagine what Layla was feeling.

The grin quickly leaving his face, he turned around to look at her and saw her with her head down, looking as though the weight of the whole world was on her small shoulders. He took a deep breath and walked back over to sit across from her. Now that he was closer, he could see her fighting back tears. He wanted nothing more than to hold her and tell her everything would be okay. Only he wasn't sure he could do that and not have it be a lie. Looking down at his hands, he spoke softly, "It's okay to be upset about this, Layla. I understand."

Her head still down, she only nodded. After several seconds, she finally spoke, her voice cracking. "How am I going to tell her?" She raised her head and looked heavenward. "How am I going to tell my sister that I'm--." She inhaled sharply, trying to get herself back under control. She knew it wasn't true and she shouldn't say it but her emotions were getting the best of her. "You two would still be together if she wasn't in a coma, Cristian. How can I tell her--"

Still speaking softly, Cristian continued, "No. No, we wouldn't, Layla. You know that--"

Her eyes focused on his, she cut him off. "You two were in love, Cristian. I know she hurt you but--"

He shook his head. "Layla, listen to me. Just like you couldn't and shouldn't have been second with Vincent, I couldn't keep being second to Todd. He'd been there from the beginning, Layla. We weren't--it wasn't going to work. I accepted that. She accepted that. We moved on." Not being able to stop himself, he continued, "What you and I did--what we felt--it had nothing to do with Evangeline. I wasn't trying to replace her with--"

She had to leave. She had to go now. She knew he was right that it was over between her sister and him before the coma but she just couldn't handle this right now. It was too much. He was starting to talk about feelings and that night and she just couldn't do it right now. "Cris, um, I have to go." She reached down to grab her purse and rose quickly from the chair.

"Layla--"

"I have to go, okay?" She hurried over to the door and opened it. Determined to keep herself together until she was out of his presence, she added, "I'll talk to you later." She escaped the confines of his studio and closed the door behind herself, leaving Cristian standing in the middle of his studio staring at the closed studio door. He wanted to go after her but he knew she needed some time to deal. He knew the feeling--sometimes he just needed to take a walk, just get away from it all for awhile. Sighing heavily, he returned to the seat Layla had vacated and rubbed his face in hands before interlocking his fingers and resting his chin on them. That had not gone well. It was too soon. She was dealing with a lot--a whole lot--and he had put too much on her. The last thing he wanted to do was add to her stress. It wasn't good for her or the baby. The baby. He was going to be a father. For real this time. It was the best news he had ever heard in his life. But he felt like hell. I need to go for a walk. Better yet, a jog. Rising from the chair, he walked briskly up the stairs to change into his jogging gear.

When he returned to his studio an hour later, he quickly removed his soggy workout clothes and headed straight for his shower. Like always, his walk/jog had brought him some much needed clarity. He couldn't make her feel better about her sister. For obvious reasons, he just wasn't going to be the one who would be able to do it. Only her sister could ameliorate the guilt he knew she felt. He leaned his head back and let the water cascade down his face. Until then, he was going to focus on the life they had created together and leave it at that. My little boy or girl...