Page 94 of Sterling Fight

I turn my head a bit too quickly and notice Judd sitting in a black leather chair that typically rests in the corner of his room. He shifts like he slept there all night.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like the world needs to stop spinning. I want off the ride.” I scrub my forehead, finding my fingers shaky. My mouth feels like I licked a cat’s tail, and my skin is clammy. Slower this time, I roll my head on the pillow and stare up at the ceiling.

Judd chuckles. “Quite a party.”

I turn my head in his direction again. I should thank him. The party was generous, and kind, and unwarranted, especially when I hadn’t mentioned it was my birthday yesterday.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” Judd’s eyes hold that melancholy I witnessed too often upon first seeing him ten days ago.

Today marks day eleven.

I shrug, but even that motion feels like too much effort. “I just didn’t want to make a big deal of it.”

“But you’re forty. That is a big deal.”

“I’m officially over the hill, right?”

Judd’s brows cinch. “What hill? You’re currently on a mountain with peaks and valleys. Keep climbing or coasting.”

“I meant figuratively,” I snort.

“I don’t.” Judd slowly sits forward. “And you aren’t answering my question.” He pauses a second. “Did you want to be alone on your birthday?”

“I don’t think anyone ever wants to be alone on their birthday.”

“Then did you just not want to celebrate the day with me?” There’s a rawness in Judd’s voice as he lowers his eyes. Like he really believes I’d rather be by myself than with him.

We did spend the day together. A glorious afternoon where I drew new designs, discussed my business, and had two orgasms on his very sturdy dining room table. Plus, he threw me a surprise party.

“Judd, look at me,” I whisper, my voice shaky as my throat is dry.

He lifts his head, his expression weary. He looks almost boyish with his wide blue eyes. Caution is etched in the fine lines of his face.

“My birthday is always a difficult day,” I begin, not really wanting to share this story, especially as I’m hungover. But I don’t want Judd thinking my decision yesterday was about him.

My birthday is a me-problem.

Slowly, I press myself upright and shift the pillows to prop up my back.

“The night before I turned thirteen, I went to a sleepover at Heather’s house. I wouldn’t say we were friends. We were never friends, but we do have our mothers’ friendship in common and that meant sometimes we were forced together. This particular night, I hadn’t wanted to go to Heather’s. My birthday was the following day. My mom pushed the agenda, and I’d had a bad feeling about it all day. Not like a stomachache but a persistent, gnawing sensation in my gut.”

I fist my hand near my belly and swallow, feeling the lump in my throat from both the sadness this tale brings, and the awful reminder of all I drank last night.

“My parents had been fighting a lot. At first, I don’t think I paid enough attention or thought the arguments were out of the norm. My mother told me couples disagreed. But the disagreements seemed to grow more consistent.”

I lower my eyes and pluck at the blanket over my legs. My skin feels clammy for a new reason. I rarely tell this story. I’ve never dated someone long enough to delve this deeply into my past. Into the recesses of my history and my broken heart.

“That night, our dining room table was set with candles and flowers. I assumed my parents were planning to have a romantic evening with me away. Maybe they’d talk to each other instead of fight.”

I swallow heavily as the thickness in my throat grows.

“At Heather’s house, she’d stolen a bottle of champagne from her parents’ bar area. She said it was for my birthday. It wasn’t like she held the bottle to my lips and made me drink, but she did make me feel small when I said I didn’t want to try the stuff.” I toss my voice to mimic Heather’s. “But you’re becoming a teen. You didn’t want to be a baby anymore, do you?”

Judd’s eyes narrow as if he knows exactly how Heather made me feel. Like a coward.

I shrug. “I didn’t really care what she thought of me, but I was also twelve. There were other girls present. Turning thirteen is a huge deal, so I drank. And drank. And drank.”