by Celeste, B.
It was early morning—I’d woken up before him, trailed my hands down his naked torso since he hated wearing shirts to bed, and stirred him awake using my fingers and lips. He’d groaned, and didn’t push me away, and something about the need I’d had deep inside me, not just for sex, but for more empowered me to look at him from where I was laying on my side beside him and say, “I’ve wanted you to fuck me so bad since last night.”
And Hunter, the man I’d been with for a decade, the man I’d been married to since nineteen, had laughed.
Not groaned with the same yearning.
Not encouraged it.
But laughed.
At me.
At that thread of something, I was holding onto so tightly, hoping it would mend us.
Instead, it snapped.
When my husband laughed at me, the thread frayed piece by piece until there was nothing left but emptiness and embarrassment.
I’m not sure when Fletcher pulled out or when his body moved to my side, still hovering using one of his arms to encase me in his scent and warmth. Still, when I force myself away from the memory, I look up at him with glassy eyes. I don’t know when I started crying either, but the lust on his face is long gone and now filled with worry.
“I ruined this,” I cry, turning my head away so he won’t see the tears that start streaming down my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I thought I was ready, but I don’t think I am because I can’t stop thinking about the other moments I’ve done this and how bad I must have been and the things that happened and—”
“Stevie,” he tries stopping me.
“And now I’m talking about my ex-husband and thinking about him when I shouldn’t be thinking about any other man because I’m in bed with you means I’m a mess.” I roll out from under him, pulling my knees up and grabbing the blanket to cover my naked body. “I’m sorry, Fletcher,” I whisper again, squeezing my eyelids shut. “I’m so sorry.”
I feel the weight on the mattress behind me disappear. I think he’s getting dressed and leaving, something I wouldn’t blame him for, but I startle when he ends up kneeling in front of me, still nude and unabashed, as he puts those big hands on my arms.
“I need you to listen to me,” he says in a strong yet soft voice. “You never have to apologize to me for anything like this. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. It doesn’t matter why. All that matters is that we stop before you do something you regret. Understand? You’re not a mess, Stevie. I don’t ever want to hear you say that about yourself again. You’re trying to move on, and sex is not an easy part of that. I understand. I’m not going to pressure you. I told you before that I’ll wait however long you need until you’re really ready. And I don’t want you pretending you are for my sake or anybody else’s. Get what I’m saying?”
It’s hard to look him in the eyes when I give him a slow nod. “You need to know something. I…” My voice cuts off, the rasp and guilt thick in the words. “I was only ever with him until this one time I got drunk at a bar and…”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Did somebody hurt you? Force themselves on you?” His voice is no longer soft but murderous. “If somebody took advantage—”
“No, it wasn’t anything like that. I remember enough to know I’d been willing. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with the decision. I shouldn’t have done it. I cried for days after it happened. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. Bex had to see me breakdown over it, and she said something that helped me get past it, but I still think about how much I regret doing it. It’s not me. It never had been. Not that…that I’d know. Like I said, Hunter was the only person I’d ever been with before then.”
His jaw hardens, and his eyes look away.
I know it’s not right to have this conversation, to bring up the man I was married to or the other man I’d had a drunken fling with, considering what almost happened between me and him. But I know if I want this to work with Fletcher, it needs to be said. Out in the open, or else I’d feel too guilty and have another breakdown later on for keeping it a secret.
But Fletcher does what he always does because he’s a good man. The best one I’ve ever known, if I’m being honest with myself. “I’m sure as hell no saint, Stevie. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. Things we regret. But we can’t hold them over our heads or let them get to us. So, I’m glad you told me but know that I’d never judge you for anything you do.”
My nostrils flare, emotion threatening to come out any way it can. With sobs. Tears. Everything. “You’re too good to be true sometimes.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. When he shakes his head and squeezes my arms before dropping them, I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about. Where his head is at now that I spewed out my baggage. “Trust me, I have my faults. I’d hardly call myself anybody’s fantasy man.”
He’ll never take a compliment or accept that he’s exactly every woman’s fantasy. He’s either too blind or too humble. My money is on the latter.
Fletcher passes me my clothes, gives me his back to have privacy to change, and dresses simultaneously.
After we’re both covered again, I look at my bed, then back at the man who’s staring out the window at the lit-up street. “Can you stay? Not to… Just to sleep. If you want. If you’d prefer going home—”
“I’ll stay.”
He’ll stay.
He’ll stay.
He doesn’t take off his jeans again or his sweater. He simply peels off his black socks, folds them, and puts them on the floor beside the bed before laying back and opening an arm for me to settle next to him.
I take the invitation, curling my body against his and listening to his even heartbeat.
That’s how I fall asleep.
And how I wake up eight hours later.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I don’t realize I’m absentmindedly touching the necklace until my mom says, “It’s beautiful. Where’d you get it?”
We both know I rarely buy myself things, least of all jewelry. The wooden box resting on my dresser at home was handmade by Dad and filled by Mom and Grandma and a few of my friends who’ve told me that I need more accessories in my life. Even my grandmother’s diamond engagement ring is sitting inside there.
Looking up to see my mother watching me, I murmur, “It was a gift.”
One of her eyebrows arches in curiosity as her gaze drops back down to the blue gem set inside a silver pendant. “From…?”
I reach for the coffee she’d poured us when I got to her house fifteen minutes ago. “It’s from someone who’s…special to me.”
Mom blinks.
Blinks again.
Then…smiles. Beams would probably be a better term. “A male someone, I presume?”
I roll my eyes, something she’d usually scold me for but she’s too busy trying to wrap her head around the thought of me with somebody again after so long. “Yes. His name is Fletcher.”
It doesn’t take long for that smile to twitch and waver until it’s minuscule in comparison to the wide curve it was. “That’s an interesting name.”
“It’s a military name,” I offer, focusing on the coffee in front of me and not the face my mother is probably making.
“Military.” Her tone is off but not completely displeased. Surprised, maybe. Definitely skeptical. But nothing I can’t work with.
“Yes.”
Then the sigh comes. “Stevie—”
I make myself look at her. “Before you say anything, know that Fletcher is a wonderful man. He treats me well.”
Her eyes are sympathetic as she pushes her coffee away from her. “Sweetie, you said the same thing about Hunter.”
My heart drops to the bottom of my ribcage. “That isn’t fair.”
“I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I’m simply saying that military men are not always the best to be with. I thought you’d learned that lesson already the hard way.”
Eye t
witching, I take a long, deep breath before letting myself answer. “Mother, I love you. I value your opinion—” Most times. “—but you can’t compare Fletcher to Hunter. There is no comparison. Trust me, I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. And shouldn’t you be happy? You’ve been bugging me to date for a long time. I’m finally doing it.”
“But not with someone like him.”
Defense flares in my chest as I wrap my fingers tightly around the coffee mug and feel the slight bite of pain from the hot liquid inside of it. “You don’t even know Fletcher, so you can’t accuse him of being wrong for me. You’d like him, Mom. Really.”
“I just want—”
“What’s best for me,” I finish for her, almost coolly. “I know you do. You love me, you want what’s best for me, but sometimes that means letting me make my own decisions without inserting your opinion every step of the way or trying to deter me from making choices you don’t approve of.”
This time, she’s quiet.
My hand goes back to the necklace. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I’ve thought about this. Fletcher. A relationship with him, and about relationships in general.” Eyes moving over to her distantly, I lift a shoulder. “I like him, and that scares me. I like that he respects me, but I’m afraid that will go away some day. He’s done nothing to prove it will. It’s everything that happened with Hunter that makes me feel that way. And it isn’t fair to judge Fletcher, to make any kind of assumption that he’d eventually treat me the same way as the first man I loved, just because of my baggage.”
I know I’d hate being compared to a man’s ex simply because she’d done him wrong in the past. But, if Fletcher can look at me without seeing Traci, without getting lost in whatever they had—even if it wasn’t nearly as serious as what I’d had with Hunter—then I owe him the same. It’ll be hard, and I’ve certainly failed way too many times already, but I can try.
Try harder.
Try because I know it’s right.
If he’s willing to be patient with me while I figure out how to deal with my thoughts, then he’s already somebody worthy of staying in my life. No matter what Mom thinks.
“I want to be happy,” I tell my mother, my voice barely above a whisper. My eyes flick up, giving her a timid look. “And sometimes, even now, I still don’t know if that’s possible.”
Her hand reaches out, cupping mine. “It is. Stevie, you’re going to be happy one day. Look at everything you’ve already done for yourself since…things happened. If I haven’t told you recently, I’m proud of you. I want you to be happy too.”
I swallow, licking my dry lips and nodding. “Then you should give Fletcher a chance. For me. He’s already seen me breakdown on more than one occasion over Hunter, and he’s still here. Still in my life. Why, I don’t know. But he’s a great man. A wonderful person.”
“Is he…still active?”
I don’t feel like telling her what his role in the Army was, so I simply shake my head. “No. He retired to take care of his son.”
Her eyes widen. “He’s a dad?” Those widened eyes quickly narrow. “Wait a minute. Is this the man Victoria mentioned before?”
All I do is press my lips together.
“You teach his son, don’t you?”
I nod again.
I’m not sure what she’s thinking, but I don’t like the look in her eyes. They’re wary and full of concern, a look I’ve gotten used to seeing aimed at me by her and a lot of other people over the past couple of years. “Please be careful, Stevie. If you…if this Fletcher is who you want, then I’ll support you no matter what. I’m always going to be Team Stevie. Okay?”
Letting go of my coffee, I put my hand on top of hers and squeeze. “Thank you, Mom. That means a lot to me.”
We’re quiet for a few minutes as we hold hands, letting our coffees cool before her fingers twitch under my palm. “Can I ask you something, sweetie?”
Nervousness makes the nod I give her weigh down my skull as it moves up and down slowly.
She hesitates. “Do you think part of the reason you’re attracted to this man is because of his background? Because he’s a father.” My lips part by the question, but she quickly adds, “Please don’t take that the wrong way. I don’t mean anything bad by it. I want to make sure that the reasons are something you can live with and not something you’re searching for.”
I didn’t expect her to ask that. I’ve never even given much thought to it. But the truth is, it has nothing to do with either of those things.
“I was actually hesitant because of his previous employment,” I admit to her, staring at our hands. “I had no interest wrapping myself up in another military man. In fact, it scared me for a lot of reasons that I don’t want to get into right now if that’s all right. As for Nicki—Dominic, that’s his son—he’s a great kid, Mom. And Fletcher as a father is definitely a big reason why I…care for him. But it’s not because he’s a father. It’s because of what kind of father he is. He loves Nicki so much. He’d do anything for him. Sacrifice his job. The life he lived for years, all to focus on his child. I admire him a lot for the choices he made to be a better man, a better parent, to Nicki.”
Mom watches me carefully, absorbing my answer, dissecting it with her eyes and silent thoughts, before squeezing my hand. “Okay.”
Okay.
She eventually asks, “Does your father know?”
All I do is shake my head.
A secretive smile reappears.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I’m finishing up dishes when the knock comes. My heart reacts instantly as I grab the dish towel to dry off my hands and walk to the door.
Fletcher and I haven’t had a lot of time to see each other over the past week because he’s been busy working on a new rush project for a man who’s pushing to get his vehicle back quickly, and making sure Dominic receives plenty of attention without me butting into their one-on-one time—though Fletcher told me I wouldn’t be if I wanted to join them for dinner or walks. He’s tried convincing me to come over to hang out at their house while Nicki is there a handful of times now, but I haven’t agreed yet. I still worry about my job and what Ms. Clifton, or others, might say if they knew where I was spending my free time.
Beyond his invitations we’ve only exchanged a few good morning and goodnight texts along with a few waves and smiles in passing outside. I tried not letting my mind wander as to why I was so hesitant to accept his offers to see him and his son. Even though I wanted to, I also want him to know that I understand he has his own life—a son, and small business he enjoys—just like I have teaching, and friends and family that I liked to spend time with too.
I didn’t want to be clingy.
To feel like I’m moving too fast.
And considering the compromising position we found ourselves in not that long ago, I’m not sure if my hesitation is such a bad thing. Because if I can strip down and let a man rock my world the way he did and then cry after almost having sex with him, then there’s a reason for me to go at a turtle’s pace.
Even if that means only waving at him from a distance and sending him a text before I fall asleep in the bed, that sort of still smells like him.
I turn the lock and am about to greet Fletcher with a big smile on my face when that smile instantly drops.
Blond hair. Blue eyes. Square jaw.
Hunter shoots me that boyish grin that used to do me in and says, “Wow. I wasn’t quite expecting that look from you.”
I stand there, unable to speak. Unable to think. His hair is back to its regular short cut unlike when I saw him at The Penny, but nothing else has changed. He’s still standing here like he never left, his clothes unwrinkled, probably ironed by his mother or some company he hired to do it, with a hand in the pocket of his expensive jeans. He never liked the clearance ones in stores like Target or Walmart, two stores I’ve always loved shopping in, and bought clothes that were three times as much as I’d ever spend on anyth
ing for myself.
Clearly, his tastes haven’t changed in almost three years since we’ve been apart.
“Hi, Stevie.”
Hi, Stevie.
He greets me with so much causality I almost wonder if the past few years ever happened. How has he viewed our time apart? It has to be different from how I have based on the way his lips kick up higher like my reaction is somehow amusing to him.
“Can I come in?” he asks next, finally snapping me out of my stupor.
I force myself to shake my head. “What are you doing here, Hunter?”
His stance doesn’t budge from the straight posture and sure confidence that exudes from him, making me grip the towel in my hands tighter. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
All I do is stare at him.
So, he adds, “I told you before that I wanted to talk to you. Talk. That’s all. Can I come in?”
For a brief moment, I weigh my options. I was raised with manners, told not to be rude to guests. But I know if my parents were here, especially Dad, he’d tell Hunter things that Mom would probably chide him for later even if she secretly agreed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Only then do his shoulders drop a fraction, along with those lips. “Really?”
Is he kidding me? “Really, Hunter. I don’t think it’s a good idea. I already told you that I didn’t have anything I wanted to say.”
“Fine. But there are things I need to say to you. Will you at least hear me out?”
I want to tell him no. Tell him to go.
But, for some reason, I don’t. “Whatever you have to say can be said right where you are.”
The look on his face can only be described as disbelief, and I’ll probably high-five myself for it later. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
“Why would I be?” I challenge, lifting my shoulders weakly. “I’m not trying to be rude or anything, but I don’t want you inside my house. This is my place, and I’d rather people from my past not taint it.”
