Reckless Surrender

by R. C. Martin

  “Yes, ma’am,” I reply with a smirk.

  “Good. Tell Daphne I said hi.”

  Pete hands me the dish as Grace turns to leave. “She’s a little mad,” he whispers.

  “I’m not mad!” she calls out over her shoulder.

  Pete and I both chuckle as he waves goodbye. “Thanks, Grace!”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I lift the edge of the foil and take a whiff on my way back inside. When I’ve reached the kitchen, I spot the time. 3:07. A lazy smile pulls at my lips when it hits me that the last time I looked at a clock was about twelve hours ago.

  “Trevor?” I can barely hear her as she murmurs my name on her way out of sleep. I like being the first word she speaks upon waking.

  “Coming!” I grab a bowl and scoop out a generous helping of Grace’s casserole before I grab two spoons and head for my room.

  “Hey,” she grumbles as she sits up and frowns at me. “You’re breaking the rules.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. Hold this,” I tell her, handing over the bowl. As soon as my hands are free, I lose my jeans and crawl back into bed. “Better?” I ask.

  Before she can answer, I steal a kiss.

  “Much. Now, what’s this?” She takes a bite of the casserole and hums in delight. “It’s delicious so I know you didn’t make it.”

  “No, I didn’t,” I say as she feeds me a bite. Talking around my food I explain, “Grace just dropped by.”

  “Uh oh. Was she mad?”

  “Not exactly.” I shrug.

  “She was mad…”

  “Let’s just say, we only get one freebie day and this is it.”

  She smiles at me and then talks around her recent bite. “Well, I think we’re doing a fine job of taking advantage of our freebie, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, I would.” She puckers her lips, silently asking for a kiss, and I don’t hesitate to give her one. “You know, now that we’ve christened this bed and my shower, I was thinking we could christen my bathtub. I’ve never used it.”

  “What do you mean by, you’ve never used it?”

  “I mean, I’ve never taken a bath in it.”

  “That big ass jacuzzi tub has never been used? After seven years of you living here?” I shake my head and she sets aside our half eaten bowl of food. “Wofly,” she murmurs, straddling me. I draw in a deep breath, the warmth of her body against mine making it hard for me to think of anything else. “Do you have candles?”

  “Maybe. There might be some in the basement somewhere. Why?” I ask, pulling her closer.

  “Because we’re going to need them. Will you go look?” I nod and she kisses me sweetly before climbing off of me and out of the bed. “Be quick, okay?” I watch her as she makes her way to the bathroom and grin when she stops at the door to look back at me. “I said be quick,” she giggles.

  “I’m going,” I promise.

  I don a pair of briefs before I go searching in the dusty basement for any of Grams’ old candles. It’s been a long time since I’ve even thought about going through her things, but I’d be surprised if I didn’t find a box filled with scented jars of wax. It takes me a few minutes, and the thought crosses my mind to give up the hunt, but then I find what I’m looking for. I hurry back upstairs, sure to grab matches on my way to the bathroom. I walk in just as Daphne’s finger combing her hair up into a little ponytail. She smiles at my reflection as she twists her bangs back and pins them in place.

  “Damn, you’re sexy.”

  She spins to face me and closes the distance between us. “I love you for thinking so,” she says, taking a couple jars from my hands.

  She lifts herself up onto her tiptoes to reach for my mouth with her own. The instant her lips find mine, I lean into her and deepen the kiss. She follows my lead and then finds the rim of my underwear. Slipping her fingers inside, she slowly pushs the garment down as she glides her hand over my ass. Her touch has me ready to hoist her up onto the counter to have my way with her until we’re both spent, but I don’t. We’ve had sex twice today, if you don’t count when we got home from Cooper’s late last night, and I know she’s sore, which is part of the reason I suggested a hot bath.

  I force myself to end the kiss as soon as the offensive piece of clothing that stood between us hits the floor. “Do you need help with the candles?”

  “Sure. I’ll set them out, you light them.”

  As I finish lighting the candles, she steps into the steaming water and eases her body down. I join her, making room for myself behind her before I fold my arms around her and encourage her back onto my chest. She relaxes against me and, for a while, neither of us says a word.

  I can hardly believe that this weekend has happened—that I’m here, with her, and that I’m so incredibly happy. For so long, Daphne has been the person who understands me—the person who knows me—like no one else; and I’ve been the person she’s trusted with her most intimate secrets. We’ve belonged to each other and we’ve been in love with each other, but we were fighting this—what we have now—because we were fearful of breaking the one relationship we were most afraid of losing.

  It’s been over a decade since I’ve even thought about having a girlfriend and it’s been just as long since I’ve had sex with the same woman more than once. Now that I’ve been inside of Daphne a half a dozen times, I’m sure that I never want to know another woman. I wasn’t wrong about sex and intimacy—it is powerful, like a weapon of mass destruction. Daphne has ruined me for anyone else. Grace was right, too, when she told me that sex and intimacy was the greatest expression of love. For the first time, I’ve been able to show Daphne just how much she means to me. Over and over and over again.

  I want to do it a million more times.

  Over the past two days, I feel like I’ve been falling in love again. I now see her without any filters, whatsoever. We’ve experienced each other and our bodies are no longer keeping secrets from one another. She wants me and I want her and we will no longer deprive ourselves of our need for one another. This is what it feels like to be truly connected to someone. What she and I share is mentally, emotionally, and physically stimulating. I now know what it means to consider someone to be your soulmate—and I don’t give a flying fuck how cliche that might sound.

  “There is one drawback to all of this,” she says, breaking the silence.

  “All of what?”

  “You and me together.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I murmur, tilting my head to kiss the side of her face. “And what’s that?”

  “I’m going to miss you like crazy when I can’t be with you.”

  “That’s only a drawback if I don’t feel the same way, which means it’s not a drawback.”

  “Then what would you call it?”

  I smile, pressing my lips against her ear. “Totally worth it,” I whisper.

  “Trevor Aiden Rockwell,” she gasps.

  “Daphne Elizabeth Holloway,” I mock.

  She giggles as she asks, “Are you getting sappy on me?”

  “Me? Never,” I tease. I then tighten my grip around her as I rest my cheek on top of her head. “You’re right, though. I’ve had you almost all to myself for two days now. It’s going to suck when I have to drop you off at work tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. Eventually I’ll have to go home, too. It’s weird how Logan and I have been playing phone tag all weekend, but I’m sure the kitchen is almost done.”

  I furrow my brow at the mention of her going home. Just the idea of sleeping in my bed without her seems horribly lonely. It’s our bed now. She’s the only woman who’s ever slept in it and now she’s the only woman I’ve made love to in it and I don’t want her to leave.

  I think back to Friday night, coming home to Daph, it was nice even then—before everything changed. Now, after these past couple of days and all the time we’ve spent together in my space, she’s left her mark in a way she never has before. A spare night every once and a while is nothing compared to this
weekend. I look around the room and I see her makeup on the counter, her toothbrush by the extra sink, and our towels draped over the shower door. I think of the leftovers in the fridge and the trail of her clothes that I’ve left all over the house. I don’t want it any other way. It’s no longer enough to call this place my own. I want to share it with her.

  “You should move in with me,” I boldly suggest.

  “Wait—what?” she asks, sitting up abruptly. She twists around so that she can see my face and the shocked expression on hers makes me smile.

  “Will you think about it?”

  “You’re—serious,” she hardly manages.

  “Come ‘ere,” I say, encouraging her to turn toward me. She spins around and bends a knee on either side of me as I pull her into my lap. “Baby, everything I have is yours already, anyway. My heart, my body…I don’t have to tell you that I’m in this. You asked me, once, why I live here all alone. It’s my home. It’s sacred. I never wanted to taint it with women I never had any intention of keeping around. Except, now there’s you—there’s us. We promised that we wouldn’t let anything come between us; I think that should include separate beds on opposite ends of town.

  “I love you. I’m in love with you, Daphne. I couldn’t imagine life without you before and now I—I don’t know. It seems like we’re finally exactly where we’re supposed to be and I’m so fucking happy that I don’t want to miss a single moment with you that I don’t have to. It’s just like you said; I’m going to miss you like crazy when we can’t be together.”

  “Trevor…” She stares at me for a moment, obviously speechless, and then she grabs hold of my face and kisses me urgently. I pull her closer, so that her chest is pressed firmly against mine, and match her fervent affection with my own. When she begins to grind against me, I know exactly what she wants and I don’t delay in giving it to her. I break away from our kiss as I reach down between us and position myself at her entrance. She eases her way over me, her eyes locked with mine as she consumes every inch. “I love you,” she moans. “You’re my everything and my always.” I grab hold of her hips, guiding her as she begins to rock back and forth. “Of course,” she breathes. “Of course I’ll move in with you.”

  I grin at her, elated by her yes, and then capture her mouth with mine.

  I make my way back to my room after my shower and find Logan in my bed. My sheets are bunched around her feet as she sits with her knees propped up, balancing the journal in which she’s writing. She makes no sign of being aware that I’m watching her, so I lean against the doorframe and take her in. I’m starting to loose count of all the things she does that surprise me. I had no idea that she kept a journal. I instantly like that about her—it’s another thing that makes her seem more down to earth than I ever perceived her to be. It’s also another thing to add to our list of things we have in common. I don’t know what she’s writing—but I keep a journal too; mostly, I write lyrics for songs usually only Daphne or my roommates hear.

  This weekend has turned out to be nothing like I thought it would be. After breakfast yesterday morning, we just hung out for the rest of the day. We each had errands to run so we went together and kept each other company. I made her dinner and then when I told her that I needed to get ready for church, she insisted that she wanted to come. After service, I asked if she’d like to go out—since we stayed in the night before at my request—but she was fine with coming home for more strawberry sherbet.

  What intrigued me the most was how much she wanted to talk to me about the pastor’s sermon. She had tons of questions and I took my time answering all of them. I don’t think she’s exactly sold on Christianity, but she’s definitely curious. I can’t tell if it’s for Daphne’s sake or for her own; either way, she’s left her heart open for God to do something. I’m interested to see what the future brings for her.

  Despite my late start, I didn’t want to get up to go to work today. Both of us woke up before my alarm clock went off and we stayed in bed and talked and laughed and flirted until I had no choice but to go. She texted me for the first half of my shift. She and Daphne have been missing each other’s calls and Logan’s been filling me in on their messages. Then, after the texts stopped, in she came with Ryan and Trisha. When she told me that they had invited her to join them for dinner, I was incredibly impressed. They all sat together at the bar. After I questioned them both with a glance, Ryan shrugged, Trisha winked at me and I knew, without them having to tell me, that they’re both trying to make an effort to get to know Logan better.

  A couple weeks ago, it would have been a wasted effort. Now, in spite of the reality that Logan and I aren’t really in a relationship, I can’t ignore the truth. I’m falling for her. The fact that my friends are willing to give her a second chance, it only fuels this crazy idea that maybe I really do want to be with her.

  “I know you’re there,” she says softly, her pen moving swiftly across the page. “You smell too damn good for me not to notice.” When I laugh, she smiles and looks over at me. “Are you tired?”

  “I’m alright. You?” I ask as I enter the room, shutting us inside.

  “The same.”

  I go to stretch out beside her and she closes the pages of her journal and looks down at me. “How long have you been keeping one of those?”

  “Since I was ten.” I don’t bother to hide my shocked expression, which makes her giggle. “Are you impressed, Double-O?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. You must have a ton of those.”

  “Thirty-two,” she states. “Most of them are at my parent’s house in L.A., but I’ve got a growing collection here.”

  I try and imagine her when she was younger, scribbling down her thoughts on paper. I bet some of the things she’s written about are outrageously hilarious. I also wonder what secrets she’s recorded. From what I’ve come to see in her now, I’m sure she’s written pages and pages of profound thoughts as she’s documented her dreams, her fears, her hopes, her disappointments; all the while hiding her true self from the world. The one Daphne knows. The one I’m beginning to see.

  In her journal, the mystery of Logan is unraveled.

  “Dear Diary,” I jest, playfully reaching for the journal in her lap. “Logan-hearts-Roman.”

  She laughs, batting away my hands. “First of all, it’s Dear Madge,” she informs me.

  “Madge? Why Madge?”

  “That was my grandmother’s name. I started journaling after she died. It was actually my parents’ idea. I went through a phase where I was really sad but I wouldn’t talk to anyone. It was suggested that they encourage me to start writing things down.”

  I reach for her journal again, tentatively this time. “May I? I won’t read it.” She studies me for a moment and then releases her hold. It looks like an old, hardcover book. The front is embossed with an intricate pattern of gold on a green background. I flip through the pages and notice that they are unlined, filled only with her elegant script. I don’t know why, but that impresses me even more.

  “What are you thinking?” she asks as she lays beside me, propping her head up with her fist.

  “You’ve got great penmanship,” I joke. “I had you totally pegged for the girl who dotted her i’s with little hearts.”

  “Shut up!” she laughs, nudging my leg with her foot. “It’s actually way easier to write in cursive—all the letters strung together, kind of like my thoughts.”

  I roll to my side and mimic her pose. “Why aren’t you like this all the time?”

  “Like what?”

  I shrug as I try and find the words. “Sweet. Honest. Real.”

  She hums a sad laugh and looks away from me. I watch as she stretches her hand out between us and begins running her fingers along the design of her journal. “Because every time I let my guard down, even just a little bit, someone hurts me. Daphne is the only person who has stayed by my side through thick and thin. She knows every version of me and she loves every version of me and she’
ll tolerate every version of me—whoever I need to be.”

  I tip up her chin, running my fingers along the side of her face once her eyes find mine. There’s so much that I don’t know about her. So much pain that has prevented me from being anything more than her target all of these years. Even still, I want to know her. As I stare into her beautifully bright green eyes, I surrender. I won’t fight it anymore—my curiosity, my longing, my attraction. I want to know her. I want to protect her. I want to spoil her. I want to show her that there are still guys in the world that won’t use her, hurt her, and leave her—but, instead, love her and appreciate her. She’s worth it; a truth I’m afraid has been stolen from her.

  “What about me?” I speak softly. “You’re letting your guard down for me.”

  She takes hold of my hand and laces her fingers with mine. “Am I making a mistake?”

  “No.”

  “Roman?” she asks, leaning toward me.

  “Yeah?” I ask, leaning toward her.

  “What are we doing?” she whispers.

  Four words—four words have lifted the thin veil from between us. I grow nervous as the truth rushes to the tip of my tongue. Once I say the words, that’s it. Once I say the words, the facade that is our fake relationship, the one that I can no longer decipher from what is real, it will cease to exist.

  “Falling. We’re falling, Logan.”

  Her breath hitches in her throat as she leans in even more. Now, we’re so close I can almost kiss her. “What if we don’t work? What if we’re too different?” she asks, her eyes searching my face.

  I smirk at her and touch my nose to hers. “We thought our differences and our past would make us the perfect fake couple because then we wouldn’t fall. Look at us now.”

  “I’m not a Christian,” she blurts out anxiously.

  It’s not news and yet hearing her say it out loud discourages me less than when I repeat the truth to myself. I know what I’ve been taught. I know that being in a relationship with someone who doesn’t share your beliefs is hard. Not just hard, sometimes impossible. But the way I feel about Logan seems impossible; it’s practically a miracle that we’re even having this conversation. Maybe it’s stupid or maybe I’m just being stubborn or maybe it’s meant to be—whatever, I’m done fighting. I want her and I won’t settle for less.