by Cassia Leo
He kissed my forehead. “Thank you, baby.”
Grabbing the pink bottle off the shelf behind him, he squeezed some of the Chanel shower gel into the palm of his large hand, then he set the bottle down. I turned around, so he could spread the body wash on my shoulders and back, using the slick suds to massage away the tension in my muscles. I smiled and bit my lip as I felt his erection twitch against my backside.
He leaned in to whisper in my ear. “I’ve been thinking,” he murmured, his words barely audible over the sound of the water.
I closed my eyes as his slick hands slid over my ribs and came around to cup my breasts. “You know how much I hate it when you think,” I said, our standard phrase for keeping the mood light whenever a conversation started with “I’ve been thinking.”
He chuckled as he kissed my neck and the sound sent a fuse sizzling through me. “I’m serious. I’m going to ask you something,” he said, his hand sliding over my abdomen and finding my clit. “Just promise me you’ll say yes.”
I gasped and reached back to grab onto his neck as he plunged two fingers deep inside me, curling them forward until he located my G-spot. How could I possibly say no to anything right now? I couldn’t speak.
With one hand on my breast, he rolled my nipple between his fingers as his other hand worked my center.
Finally, I let out a stale breath, the air evacuating my lungs in a deep moan. “Oh, God, yes… Yes, I promise… I promise I’ll say yes.”
He let go of my breast and coiled his arm around my waist for support. My legs weakened as the pleasure flooded my muscles, my limbs twitching uncontrollably. I dug my fingernails into the back of his neck to steady myself as I writhed against his slick, hard chest.
He pressed his lips to my ear. “I want you to stop taking the pill.”
I let out a feral scream as the orgasm slammed into me, sending a shockwave of raw heat rippling outward from my core. Jack chuckled in my ear as he continued to massage my clit. I rode the wave until it crashed and I had to push his hand away.
“Is that a yes?” he said, turning me around and pinning me against the shower wall.
He pressed his chest into mine to keep me from collapsing on jelly legs. As I wrapped my arms around his neck and he leaned his forehead against mine, I remembered that gush of warmth I’d felt while watching him with Drea’s boys tonight. It was the first time I’d been able to see the kind of father Jack would be.
There was not a doubt in my mind that Jack would be a great father. The kind of father who ruled with fierce love and bottomless compassion. The kind of father who read bedtime stories and played one-on-one basketball games. Who encouraged our children to be the best at whatever they did, but to never forget their success and happiness were the two things no one but they could define for themselves.
I leaned my head back, so I could look him in the eye. “Yes,” I replied, still out of breath. “A thousand times, yes.”
* * *
Present day
* * *
Every day, our souls are wounded by shame.
When we drive by an animal shelter without stopping to adopt one of those desperate, adorable animals, we judge ourselves.
When we walk past a beggar without handing over the change in our pockets, we call ourselves selfish.
All these little moments of shame amount to a million tiny cuts. For a normal person, this kind of guilt amounts to brief moments of introspection, but it doesn’t define them. For a person with a fragile psyche, who carries the tremendous weight of guilt I’d been carrying around in the wake of my son’s death, these daily injuries spelled a slow, torturous death.
As I lay curled up under the floral comforter on my old bed, in the bedroom where I pined over many high school crushes, I felt as if that slow death had been fast-tracked. The guilt from the way I’d hurt Jack was killing me from the inside out.
The bedroom door was open. I couldn’t sleep with the door closed last night. Not that I didn’t trust my scrawny-but-lovable new roommate to protect me, but I doubted either of us would be a match for a would-be intruder. I should know, considering it was an intruder who murdered my baby boy and mother, the mother who bequeathed my childhood home to me upon her death.
It was a macabre unraveling of events and consequences. If my mother hadn’t died, I would not have had a place to stay when Jack told me he wanted a divorce. But it was my mother’s and Jack Jr.’s deaths that caused the breakdown of our marriage. In the end, everything led back to that night, the night that sealed my fate and the fate of all the people I loved most in this world.
“Laurel?”
I pushed the covers off my face as my head swiveled toward the voice. Dylan stood in the doorway, dressed in his usual indie band T-shirt — today it was The Decembrists — and skinny jeans. His dark-blond hair and hipster glasses were as neat as always. But the expression on his slim face made me want to cry. There was nothing I hated more than being pitied.
“I’m fine,” I mumbled, pulling the covers back over my head.
A few seconds later, the bed moved and Dylan lied down behind me, placing a gentle hand on my arm. “You’re so not fine, Laurel. You’re oceans away from fine. And that’s okay. But Drea just called the landline to say she’ll be here in a few minutes. I thought you’d want to know.”
I inhaled a long, shaky breath and pushed the covers below my chin. “Where’s Boomer?”
“He’s in the backyard. I just let him out to stretch his legs and do his business.”
I sighed. “I didn’t realize how many jobs I’d outsourced to Jack. Important things, like making me feel safe and loved. How will I ever feel safe again?”
He squeezed my arm. “You can figure that out later. Right now, I think you need to take a shower before your friend gets here. You kinda stink.”
I shook my head, unable to muster even a mild chuckle at the perfectly humorous insult. “Thanks.”
I took a fast shower, not wanting to linger alone with my thoughts. Jack and I had showered together in this bathroom so many times, it felt more like a torture chamber. When I came down the stairs, Drea and Dylan were sitting on the sofa munching on donuts.
“Donuts at six p.m. on a Thursday?” I said, grabbing a long cardigan sweater off the coat rack near the front door. It was late October, and not exactly cold, but I doubted I’d ever feel warm again.
“Blue Star,” Drea said, holding up a half-eaten donut with chocolate icing. “I brought a dozen of your favorite Valrhona chocolate crunch.”
I shook my head. “I can barely eat an entire one of those and you got twelve?”
She reached into the box and handed me a donut as I took a seat next to her on the sofa. “Maybe if you eat the whole box you’ll reach donut nirvana and discover the meaning of life.”
I stared at the donut with the crunchy chocolate pearls. “I already know what the meaning of life is.”
Drea and I leaned back and put our feet up on the coffee table in unison. “Oh, really?” she said. “Enlighten us, o wise one.”
I let out a heavy sigh as I picked a chocolate pearl off the top of my donut. “The meaning of life is… Life sucks. Oh, God it sucks so hard.”
“Ouch!” Dylan replied. “Can I get a refund? This is the worst motivational speech ever.”
Drea laughed and high-fived Dylan. “God, I love this man. Can I take him home with me?”
“No, he’s mine,” I replied strongly.
“Ladies, ladies. There’s enough of me to go around. But I do think Laurel needs me more right now.”
Drea shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. But let me know if you ever want to go to London. My parents have a gorgeous flat in Bloomsbury.”
I sighed. “Can we talk about me now? I really need you guys to wallow with me.”
“Of course!” Drea replied. “Let’s start with you telling us every miserable thing that happened with Jack last night.”
The donut in my hand became significantly less a
ppealing as my mind drifted back to the events of last night. Seeing Isaac with a gushing gunshot wound as he was throttled by Jack was the last memory I had before I woke in a hospital bed. Jack told me the paramedics sedated me to keep me from trying to climb into the back of the ambulance with Isaac. Then, according to Jack and Dylan, Isaac confessed his love for me before the ambulance whisked him away.
What a fucking shit-show.
I wished I could remember even a single second of those events, because it seemed I would be paying for them for the rest of my life. Yes, the rest of my life. Even if it wasn’t true, I was certain I would mourn the loss of Jack for the rest of my days. How could I not? He was, without question, the great love of my life. He was my best friend, my lover, my protector, my caregiver, my everything.
I gave Drea and Dylan the full rundown of last night’s events, even the ugliest and most personal parts, like the rough, filthy sex that ended with Jack declaring he wanted a divorce. When I was finished, they both stared at me with mouths agape.
I set my untouched donut back inside the box on the coffee table. “Well, you don’t have to look so shocked,” I said, getting up to go to the kitchen.
They both followed after me, Drea right on my heels. “Laurel, you have to excuse my prudishness, but Barry won’t get within ten feet of me when I’m on my period, much less…” She motioned with her hands as if she was wiping something off her lip. “He’s definitely never gone down on me while I was—”
“Okay, I get it,” I cut her off as I watched Boomer, Isaac’s German shepherd service dog, through the kitchen window that looked out onto the backyard.
Dylan leaned against the kitchen counter with a horrified look plastered on his face.
“Are you judging me too?” I challenged him.
He blinked. “Sorry, I just can’t imagine that being…” He stared at me as he tried to find the right words. “I just can’t imagine loving someone that much. He clearly loves you, Laurel.”
I rolled my eyes and yanked open the refrigerator to retrieve the water pitcher. “Whether or not he loves me is not the issue.” I sighed as I set the frosty pitcher on the counter. “I know Jack loves me. Believe me, I wish I could forget it, because it’s like living in an alternate reality. How could he love me and want to divorce me? How? Why?”
Drea came up behind me and grabbed my arms as she rested her chin on my shoulder. “Because that’s love. It makes absolutely no fucking sense.”
I wiped a tear from my cheek and turned to Dylan. “Let’s talk about something else. I… I think I can get you a job. But you have to invoke Jack’s name.”
Drea gasped. “You can’t invoke the Lord Jack’s name in vain.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m serious. I think I can get you a job at Barley Legal,” I said to Dylan. “They provided the beer for my wedding and Jack said the guy who owns it — I think his name is Houston — he’ll give me a job. I don’t know if I’m ready to go out in public yet, but he’d probably be willing to give you an entry-level job. I just have to ask him before the divorce gets ugly and rumors start to fly on the interwebs.”
Dylan gave me a skeptical sideways look. “You think it’s going to get ugly?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I hope not.”
Drea tightened her grip on my arms and turned me around to face her. “Listen to me. You are not getting divorced,” she said forcefully. “It may feel like you’re getting divorced. Jack may say he wants a divorce. But believe me when I say there is no way you two are breaking up for good. You want to know why?”
I tried not to laugh at the fierce glare in her eyes. “Why?”
Her lips curled into a knowing smile. “Because as long as I’ve known you — even after every horrible thing that’s happened — I’ve envied what you and Jack have. It’s…” She paused for a moment, her dark eyes blinking furiously as if she were trying not to cry. “Let’s face it. I have a comfortable marriage. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Love comes in all different shapes and sizes. And colors,” she said with a grin, referring to Barry being black. “But what you and Jack have… Well, it’s big. It’s messy. It’s consuming. But in the end, it’s still love, and it’s still very much alive. You can’t bury that.”
I wrapped my arms around her waist and tucked my face into the crook of her neck as I recalled how I’d buried my son and mother on the same day. Was I strong enough to grieve the loss of my marriage, too?
“I miss my mom,” I blubbered into her dark, shoulder-length hair.
She squeezed me tightly. “I know. I know.”
“I feel so incomplete, like I’ve—”
The ding-dong of the doorbell interrupted me, which was probably a good thing as I was just about to make a very shameful admission.
“I’ll get the door,” Dylan offered.
I shook my head. “No, I’ll get it. It might be someone serving me divorce papers.”
Drea tsked as she followed behind. “Don’t joke about that.”
I wiped the tears from my cheeks as I crossed the living room and opened the front door without looking through the peephole. The man and woman standing on the porch looked like they were in their late-fifties or early-sixties. She had round hips and a plump face framed by a whitish-blonde bob. He was a sturdy and handsome man, at least six-foot-two, with salt-and-pepper closely cropped hair and a plaid button-up.
“Can I help you?” I asked, as I smoothed down my hair and resisted the urge to wipe the lingering moisture on my jaw.
The man glowered at me in silence as the woman spoke up. “Are you Laurel?” she asked in a clear voice.
I nodded. “Yes, that’s me. May I ask who you are?”
The woman flashed me a pleasant smile. “I’m Carol Evans, and this is my husband Bill. We’re Isaac’s parents. We’re here to collect his dog, Boomer,” she said, pausing when she realized I was a bit confused. “The nurse at the hospital told us that Isaac’s dog was being kept here with you and, I think she said the name Dylan. Well, as you can imagine, Isaac has brought us up to speed and he really needs Boomer now.”
I stared at the woman with the graying blonde hair for a moment, completely dumbstruck. She had Isaac’s eyes, the swirling mix of green and hazel. I imagined if the woman were here under happier circumstances, I might see her smile that same crinkle-eyed grin. As it were, she was not here under pleasant conditions. And her husband’s scowl made that abundantly clear.
I swallowed my emotions and kept my eyes focused on the woman. “Hi, Carol. Yes, I’m Laurel,” I said, holding out my hand for her to shake.
The woman looked at my hand, almost confused by the offer, then she took it and gave it a gentle tug. I wanted to kick myself. Her son was just shot on my property and I was offering her a handshake?
Before I could change my mind, I stepped out onto the porch and pulled her into a hug. A soft oh spilled from her pert lips.
“I’m sorry about what happened to Isaac,” I said as I breathed in her scent, a soft blend of tuberose and sandalwood. “My bodyguard wasn’t prepared for what he encountered.”
When she didn’t respond, I let her go and stepped back. Her eyes were closed as she reached up and grasped the circular pendant hanging from her neck. Finally, she opened her eyes and flashed me a soft smile.
“I know Isaac has… problems. Things he hasn’t dealt with,” she began delicately. “We just spoke to him in the hospital and he insists none of this was your fault. He knows… Well, he was actually on his way to tell you about the program he enrolled in at the VA. He’s… very upset, obviously. But he doesn’t hold you responsible. He made me promise I would tell you that.”
My stomach curdled with shame as she tried to convince me I wasn’t to blame for her son’s brush with death. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll go get Boomer.”
I didn’t dare glance in Isaac’s father’s direction as I turned around. Both Drea and Dylan flashed me concerned looks as I passed them. Then, Dylan rushed ahead t
o open the back door for me. Boomer lifted his head from where he was sleeping on the back porch, hardly happy to see us.
“Boomer, it’s time to go see your poppa,” I said, and the dog turned his lazy head in my direction. He didn’t understand the word “poppa.” I would have to try something else. “Boomer, you want to go home?”
He let out a high-pitched bark as he leaped up, wagging his tail furiously as he raced toward me. And I couldn’t stop myself. I broke down in tears.
“Oh, Laurel,” Drea murmured as she folded me into her arms.
“Everyone’s leaving me,” I whispered. “Junior and my mom. Now Jack and Boomer. Nobody loves me.”
Drea laughed. “Well, that’s just plain insulting. Are you calling Dylan a nobody?”
Dylan and I both laughed. “Dude, I’m totally okay with being called a nobody if it gets the waterworks to stop.”
Drea let go of me and reached over to pinch Dylan’s cheek. “Of course you’re not a nobody. You’re gorgeous, darling.”
“Boomer, heel,” I said, patting my right hip so he could follow me inside.
As Boomer and I walked side-by-side through the kitchen and the living room, I felt my heart breaking more with each step I took. After I handed the dog over to Isaac’s parents, would I ever see him or Isaac again?
We arrived at the front door and Boomer sat down at my side. “He’s such a good boy,” I said to Carol as I scratched the dog’s head. “We’re going to miss him.”
She smiled. “We’ll take good care of him.”
“Go on, Boomer. You’re going home,” I said, as he made no attempt to leave. “Go on, boy.”
He looked up at me, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, as if he were asking for permission.
“It’s okay. You can go,” I urged him, motioning with my hand toward the front porch.
Boomer looked out across the street, but he didn’t move. Then, a sudden noise got all of our attention. The sound of a child’s laughter tinkling in the air, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. I flicked my head to the left, toward Isaac’s front yard, and saw a slim brunette chasing a small blond boy, who appeared to be no more than three years old. As she ran after him across the lush green grass, he squealed with delight.
