The Commitment (Unrestrained 2)

"Tell Drake I'll be thinking about Liam. My prayers will be for success."

"Thanks Daddy," I said, emotion filling me. "I'm sure he'll appreciate the sentiment."

I spent the day working on my sketch, getting lost in the study of different parts of his body. When Drake returned late that night, he wasn't all that interested in doing any kind of scene. Instead, we sat on the couch and ate some takeout Thai food he picked up on the way home.

He was subdued, laying on the couch with his head on my lap, watching news while I ran my hand affectionately through his hair. He turned onto his back about ten o'clock and looked up into my eyes, one hand going to my cheek.

"I'm sorry I'm not up to too much," he said. "I'm a bit exhausted for some reason."

I leaned down and kissed him. "You've had a huge shock. It's understandable."

"Do you mind if we just go to bed to sleep tonight?"

I shook my head. "Of course not."

I forced a smile, understanding completely that he was a bit down after the news of the previous day.

We went to bed soon after, lying in each other's arms, but Drake took a long time to fall asleep, unlike his usual practice of sleeping almost as soon as his eyes closed.

I lay awake in the darkness, my heart heavy for him, determined to be whatever he needed me to be through this ordeal.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The next morning, I crept out of bed early, went to the kitchen and sat at the table, examining my work. I liked sketching, but I really wanted to paint Drake rather than just use pencils. His skin was so perfect and his coloring so attractive, I itched to try out some acrylics.

I decided to text an old friend of mine I met in a art class I'd taken in my junior year. He was a real artist, and was currently in the Master of Fine Arts program. He had a studio of his own in Chelsea and had offered to let me work there if I ever needed space and resources. From a really wealthy Texas family, he had everything he could ever need and despite his wealth, he was absolutely the least materialistic person I'd ever met.

I took out my iPhone and searched my contacts for his number, then sent off a text.

Hey, it's me – remember? I was wondering if I could rent some space in your studio. I've got a project and need solitude and some great lighting for a new painting. Let me know.

He texted me back almost immediately.

Katie McD – where have you been, sug? Sure. Come on by and check the schedule. There's one small room open this month so you can take it if you want. Just buy me some weed and I'll be fine. Glad to hear from you.

I was really excited to start the painting, needing something to keep me occupied while we waited for the transplant and to see how Liam responded to the treatment.

I put my sketchbook away and went to the bedroom but noticed that Drake was gone. He was up showering, the sound of the water and his contented hum filtering in from the bathroom. I went back to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. When it was done, I poured a cup and went to the window overlooking the street. Snow had fallen in the night and the neighborhood was covered in white, thick layers of it coating the bare limbs of the trees, drifts against the curbs and on top of parked cars. It was really quite beautiful, covering up the grime of the city.

Drake emerged from the bathroom, a towel around his waist, his hair damp and wild, his skin still a bit moist. He looked – delectable. In that moment, I wanted to kiss him all over, but he wasn't into being the object of a woman's attention. He was the one giving attention to the object of his desire. Maybe one day, he'd relax enough with me that he'd want me to be the one to seduce him. He saw me standing by the window and came to me, smiling.

"There you are," he said, pulling me into his embrace. "I have a meeting with the oncologist about my test results. My tech promised me he'd work on the test last night so he should have finished the tissue study and sent the results over by now."

"How certain is it? As his father, are you more likely to be a tissue match?"

He shook his head. "Not necessarily. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. It depends on the roll of the genetic dice. Identical twins are the best source, and then siblings, but sometimes a perfect stranger can be the best match."

I leaned against him, my cup of coffee on the windowsill. "If you are a match, how soon before they start the procedure?"

"Hopefully, right away. Depends on how the oncologist wants to proceed. I won't be feeling too well for a week or so, while they stimulate my bone marrow, so I hope we can do our scene tonight when I'm done with all my meetings."

I glanced up at him, a thrill of excitement racing through me.

"I think you're ready," he said and stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers. "If I tried it too soon, you'd be overwhelmed. Now, you're more familiar with submission so you'll be able to enjoy every element."

I sighed and slipped my arms around his waist. Then, the landline rang and Drake let me go, ending the embrace as he went to the phone.

"Drake Morgan," he said. He listened for a moment. "Oh, hello. Thanks for calling. What have you got for me?" He listened for a moment and then a look came over his face and I wasn't certain if it was good news or bad news. "Are you certain?" he said, his voice low. He stood with one hand on his forehead as if he'd developed a sudden headache. "Thank God," he said, shaking his head slowly. He was quiet for a moment, but I could tell by the sound of his breathing he was very happy, an expression close to joy on his face. "Best possible match?"