by Mia Kayla
“I can’t believe we’re flying.” I inhaled deeply again, letting the air fill my lungs.
He slung an arm around my lower back, and butterflies fluttered in my belly, as though I were a teenager. As I peered up at him, smiling freely, I realized one thing. “You didn’t have to google first dates.”
His stare met mine.
“Any date you picked would have been perfect because I’m with you.” I playfully nudged my shoulder against his.
“Cornball,” he said.
“I know, right? And I didn’t even have to google that line.”
Chapter 27
Charles
I didn’t want the night to end. After the balloon ride, we’d gone to dinner at this restaurant overlooking Lake Michigan. It was quiet, romantic—something I’d also searched online. The day so far had gone perfectly, as planned, and as I drove us home, I was already thinking of our next date in my head.
In a normal first date, I would have been driving her home, to her own place, but this was far from a normal situation. Instead, I was driving to my home, where she also lived.
I stepped out of the car, reaching for her hand. I walked us through the garage, into the house, and through the kitchen. It was eerily quiet, which never happened in my house. No laughter. No bickering children. Just complete silence.
“What time are the kids getting home?” Becky asked as she strolled to the cupboard to grab two glasses, and then she walked to the fridge.
My throat felt tight all of a sudden. I had to clear it. “They’re not.”
Her hand stilled on the fridge as she turned to face me.
“The girls wanted to sleep over at Brad’s. They haven’t been over there in a while.” Could she tell I was lying? It was just a tiny one. Could she blame me?
“Oh.” She poured us some water, and we sat at the table. When she gazed up at me, her eyes were thoughtful. “Doesn’t it feel like we’ve known each other forever?”
Yes, I thought. But I wanted to hear what she had to say. “How so?”
Her fingertips lightly tapped on the glass. “Maybe it just feels like that for me because you’re the only one who knows me truly. Because there’s no present without one’s past, and I’ve never told anyone about my past.”
My fingers met hers across the table. They were long and delicate, and by looking at her, one would never know she’d been through so much. She looked so perfect, untouched by life. I hated that she’d been through so much.
“I feel like everything between us is moving at lightning speed yet not fast enough,” I said. “I don’t only want to know the things that hurt you in the past. I also want to know the good things, too, what makes you, you, what makes you smile. What’s your favorite color? Favorite foods? I already know you make the best pancakes I’ve ever tasted.” I smirked as I played with her fingers.
She flipped my hand over and traced the lines on the inside of my palm, nodding. “I totally get it. It’s the little things, the everyday things that makes us, us. What is your favorite color?”
I narrowed my eyes in thought. “I don’t really remember. For the longest time, I saw things only in black and white. Yes or no.”
I thought about how I’d lived every day after Nat passed away—getting up, going to work, taking care of the kids. And now, more recently, since I’d decided to live more for myself, that life that had been a muted gray was slowly becoming more … vibrant.
I intertwined our fingers again, pressing my palm to hers. “I don’t know what my favorite color was before, but I know what it is now. Green.”
Her sparkling emerald eyes shone, and she averted her gaze, blushing. “You, Charles … have the best lines.”
I laughed because no one would ever pay me that compliment. I’d been out of the dating game for so long. “Those lines only come out when you’re around.”
And I was officially turning into a cheeseball. Who knew I had it in me?
We talked for hours, sitting at the table where we’d originally bonded over nightmares. I found out the minuscule things. Her favorite Disney flick was The Little Mermaid. Spaghetti was her favorite meal. And she loved anything chocolate and with ice cream.
Hours later, I finally walked her up the stairs, dropping her off in front of her bedroom door.
She pushed her toe into the plush carpet, nervous all of a sudden. “I had a great time tonight. As all first dates go, this has been the best one I’ve ever gone on.”
“Have you been on a ton of first dates before?”
She shook her head. “No. But if I had, I imagine nothing would top this.”
I nodded, swallowing, assessing my next move. We had reached that awkward moment right before you said good-bye at the door, that moment when you decided to kiss her, to try, to see if she’d let you.
I swallowed again.
I should kiss her.
No hesitation.
We stared at each other for a good few seconds before she laughed, pulled me in by the shirt, and kissed me. My arms wrapped around her lower back, bringing her in, and I deepened our kiss. She felt like heaven in my arms, my lips on hers. She pushed against me, crushing her breasts against my hard chest. My body was on high alert, wanting, needing. I gripped the back of her shirt, bringing her closer yet it wasn’t close enough.
We went from zero to one hundred in a nanosecond, my hands in her hair, her back against the door. After a beat, she placed a hand on my chest, and both of us were breathless.
I rested my forehead against hers, pressing on the brakes, not wanting to rush anything. “Sorry. I …”
“Do you want to come in?” she whispered.
“Uh …” Shit … I really shouldn’t. Not on the first date at least.
Was this rushing things? I knew that once we crossed this line, there would be no turning back, and I was well on board with that—with all of her in my life.
I just wanted her to be sure because I’d never been more certain that I wanted to be with her.
Her hand was already on the knob of her door, leading me in.
“Okay,” I said.
As soon as her door shut, I lifted her in my arms, and she wrapped her legs around my waist, grinding into me. I groaned, barely able to guide her to her bed, where I laid her out on her back. We made out like teenagers, kissing and groping until we were both breathless and naked over her comforter.
But then I stopped cold. “I don’t have a condom. Not with me. Not here,” I said, pulling back to meet her eyes.
She stroked my cock up and down, and I groaned, dropping my head against her neck.
“Well then, get one,” she whispered, her voice husky soft against my skin.
I pushed myself off the bed, reached for her, and pulled her into my arms, carrying her down the hall, both of us buck naked. In my room, I kicked the door shut behind me. Gently, I placed her on the bed, her hair a mess of blonde splayed out on my gray comforter. The green in her eyes sparkled with want, with lust, and with a deep emotion I was familiar with because I was sure my eyes mirrored hers.
“I’ll be back.”
I rushed to the bathroom, seeing my reflection in the mirror above the double sinks. My cock was hard, needy, and it wanted one thing—to be inside of Becky. Dropping to my knees, I opened the cabinet, searching for the box of condoms. After finding it, I pulled out the string of condoms and tore off one.
I stood but stopped, stoic and still because something had caught my eye.
Nat’s and my wedding rings sat in a small ceramic dish that we had painted together when we went to Mexico. I swallowed as a slew of emotions bombarded me at once.
This is me moving on … and that’s okay.
Nat would be okay with this.
As long as I am okay.
But as I repeated the mantra over and over in my head, I knew it wasn’t true.
That I wasn’t fully healed because, if I was, why did I place her belongings on that side of the sink? It wasn’t even her side
of the sink. This was my parents’ house. I’d moved her in even though she was no longer physically here. In the beginning, after she’d passed, seeing her belongings had given me comfort. Now, it just reminded me of everything I’d lost.
I closed my eyes, and the only thing I saw behind my eyes was Nat—her smile that Sarah had inherited, the blonde in her hair that was so much like Mary’s. Our wedding day, filled with love, our families and both of our parents surrounding us.
The birth of Sarah.
Her first birthday.
Her first day of school.
Me taking over as CEO of Brisken Printing Corporation.
Then, the endless sorrow that hit after.
I rested my palms on the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
Maybe I’d been lying to myself all this time, thinking I was over it. That I’d healed and moved on. I’d been with Vivian, hadn’t I?
But that was different, purely physical. She didn’t share a place in my heart.
And I was making room for Becky, in a place that Natalie had once taken residence.
Problem was, Natalie was still very much present even though I’d thought I’d closed that chapter years ago.
Chapter 28
Becky
I was staring at the ceiling, wondering how much time had passed. It wasn’t hours, but it felt like it. The door to the bathroom was still shut. And now, as I lay naked and waiting in his bed, I wondered what was going on.
When he finally emerged, he had boxers on and one hand on his hip, his gaze toward the ground. I pushed myself to my elbows.
“So …” He scratched his head, still not meeting my eyes. “This is embarrassing. But …” He was no longer hard.
While my lady parts wept, I sat up, meeting his stare, smiling because I didn’t want to make an awkward situation more awkward. “Too much excitement for one day? Maybe we should just call it a night.” I moved further up the bed to the headboard and patted the spot beside me.
His eyebrows pulled together, and his gaze teetered back to the ground.
Well, shit. This can’t be good.
Maybe I was reading this situation all wrong. I shouldn’t have assumed that I was allowed in his bed, right? My jaw locked. Talk about throwing me all kinds of weird, crazy, mixed signals. My cheeks flamed as I moved off of the bed, taking the sheet with me, remembering that I was naked.
“Where are you going?” The worry was heavy in his tone.
“To my room.”
I exhaled loudly, but just as I made it to the door, he advanced toward me and gripped my wrist, forcing me to face him.
“Don’t go.” His shoulders slumped as he stepped into me, his eyes downturned.
I sighed and tugged my arm back so that I could readjust my sheet and hold it against myself. I suddenly felt too exposed. “What’s wrong, Charles? One minute, you’re hot and heavy, and the next, you’re icy cold.”
I tried to read the emotion behind his eyes, but they were guarded, unreadable.
My voice quivered as I asked, “Did I do something wrong?”
“Of course not.” Panic settled in his features.
“Is this happening way too fast?”
His hands went to my waist, pulling me in. It was then, as I met his chocolate eyes, that I read the emotion swimming in them. He was scared. And here I’d thought, I was the only one afraid of this new relationship.
My fingers brushed the light stubble at his chin. “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”
“Nothing.” His voice trailed off, his gaze drifting to somewhere over my shoulder. “I don’t think it’s happening too fast. Or maybe it is.” He laughed without humor. “Now, I’m not making any sense.” He shook his head and pulled me further into the room until we were both sitting on the edge of his bed. “I’m not used to this, Becky. Sharing my thoughts, my kids, my life with someone else who isn’t”—he exhaled heavily—“Natalie.”
In that moment, I understood him, where he was coming from. We were both scared but for totally different reasons. I was scared of getting hurt again, and he was scared of letting go.
I wrapped both hands firmly around his neck. “We’re both afraid of what’s happening between us. Maybe because it seems like it’s too good to be true. But”—I exhaled, deeply, meeting his eyes firmly—“I’d like to believe that we deserve happiness. That everything we’ve gone through was enough trauma for one person in a lifetime of lifetimes and that we can finally be happy.”
His arms wrapped around my waist, and he bent down and placed a chaste kiss on my lips. Then, he pulled me in tightly against him. We held each other in silence, comforting each other without words, until he finally pulled us to the bed, and I found myself lying on his chest while his fingers rustled through my hair.
After a few long, quiet moments, he stilled. “When I moved into this house, I moved her stuff in too. Her clothes are still in the basement. Her toothbrush and our wedding rings are on her supposed side of the bathroom.” His voice was soft, and it was as if he was talking mostly to himself. “What crazy man moves his dead wife’s belongings into his parents’ house?”
His breathing turned shallow beneath my cheek, and I could hear his heart pounding faster.
“In the beginning, the insane part of me thought maybe she’d come back. But …” He held his breath for a few seconds before getting the next words out. “She can’t. She’s dead.”
Tears formed behind my eyes, and I bit my lip, willing myself not to cry. I’d suffered tragedy and heartache and pain during my lifetime, but so had he on a different level. He’d lost his other half, his wife, the mother of his children. The thought gutted me. To have it all and then, in a split second, have that taken away.
“And I think of putting it away.” His voice choked with sadness. “I tried to once. But then it seemed like … I was erasing her memory. It felt … wrong.”
All my restraint was weakened by the sound of his voice, and the tears fell, streaming down my cheeks. I lifted up higher on his chest and kissed him, wanting to comfort him—or more so, needing him to comfort me. “It’s not like that. You can’t think of it like that.”
He visibly swallowed. I couldn’t help but think of how we were opposite on this. I had lived my life, trying to forget my past. He was afraid he wouldn’t remember it anymore.
“Everything happens for a reason. Every single thing,” I said. “I wholeheartedly believe that. Every heartache, everything that has happened in my life, every hurt—it’s made me who I am today. Stronger … more resilient.” I paused, framing my own thoughts in my head. “I’m ashamed of my past. More than that, I’m trying to forget what has happened because I hate reliving those memories.” I touched his cheek, staring at the newly formed stubble. “But you’ve helped me get over that.”
He had. I wasn’t healed from everything that had happened to me, but telling him had been a huge hurdle to overcome and one more step to me getting where I wanted to be—healed and whole and new.
“Moving on for me means something different for you. You have happy memories with Natalie, joyful ones.” I touched his cheek as a shudder ran through him. He had one hand thrown over his eyes, and then I knew. I knew he was crying. “Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting. Moving on means remembering. Remembering how she impacted your life, how she showed you love, shaped you to be the father and CEO you are today.”
My tears fell down my cheeks because it was true. There was no doubt that she’d played a major part in shaping this man—this kind and thoughtful man in front of me. They had known each other since high school.
I pulled his arm away from his eyes, forcing him to look up at me. “Her love is shown through you—how you love your kids, how you lead the company, how you have compassion in everything you do. And I …” I inhaled deeply. “One day, I want to be the recipient of that same love.” I lifted myself higher on his chest. “It’s okay to remember because if there wasn’t Natalie, there wouldn’t be the you that yo
u are today.”
Chapter 29
Charles
I didn’t get an ounce of sleep that night, my mind rampant with thoughts of Natalie and Becky, my past and future meshing.
But the longer I held Becky in my arms, peace filled me. There were a lot of things said yesterday, in the early morning. Things that we needed to deal with, but we both realized we had come a long way already from where we had been with emotionally healing from the past.
I slipped out of my bed, careful not to wake Becky, and walked to the bathroom, staring at Natalie’s belongings on her side of the sink. I could almost hear her voice as though she were in the room, her nose wrinkling when she didn’t agree with something that I had done.
What are you doing, Charles? This is ridiculous.
It was me holding on, and in my heart, I knew that she wouldn’t want me to do that. With a huge breath for courage, I took a duffel bag from my closet and carefully packed up her side of the sink. As I placed her makeup brushes and her perfumes and her toiletries into the duffel bag, surprisingly, the tightness in my chest lightened.
Letting go is not forgetting, I could practically hear her saying.
And I knew that Natalie, my angel, was watching over me.
It didn’t take long to get her side of the sink cleaned up, and as I bent down to zip up the duffel bag, that same voice whispered in my head, Keep on going.
And so I did.
The clock said three in the morning, but I headed to the basement to go through all her belongings. It would have been easier to just walk the bins straight to my car and take them to the donation center, but I opened each bin and allowed myself to reminisce, grieve as I folded the clothes and placed them back in the bin. I kept certain items, ones I knew that Sarah and Mary would want when they were older—her favorite sweater; the shawl she’d always worn while she was reading; the shirt that said, Today’s not the day to get on my nerves; the shirt I’d bought her that read, Best Mother Ever because she had been. The girls were the luckiest to have had Natalie Mary Brisken as their mother.
