Thinking about those long, hot nights put a smile on my lips.
“I’m going to take that smile as a yes.”
“That wasn’t my answer.”
“Were you thinking about what we did out on the balcony?”
My face heats, even as I roll my eyes. “No.”
His face falls. “Really?”
“I was thinking about our honeymoon.”
“Oh, that’s better, even though I’m slightly jealous that you have those memories and I don’t.” He rinses my hair, and then turns me around so he can wash the rest of me. He’s already told me his masterplan of eating, making love, showering, then eating again, and making love again, and then showering.
I told him that it’s been a while and unlike him, I’m sore... so I need time to recover, which only served make him cockier than an old rooster strutting around the henhouse.
“Thinking about me again, I see,” he gives me that cocky smile. “Eventually, the newness of improved me will wear off, but hopefully no time soon.”
“Lord help us,” I mutter.
“We both heard you and are deeply offended,” he says flatly, and he sounds like he’s pouting, which only serves to make me laugh until my side starts to hurt. “It’s not funny.”
I laugh even harder. “It’s not funny,” I mock.
He presses himself against me. “Does this feel funny?”
With a dreamy sigh, I shake my head. “You feel perfect.”
“That’s better.” He goes back to washing me. “Now about me moving in with you?”
I hold onto his shoulders while he cleans my feet. “Your name is on the deed, Laird.”
“Don’t care. I want your permission,” he says, his mouth dangerously close to where my thighs meet at the top. “Mmm, this spot right here looks very tasty.” His tongue darts out, licking water from my skin and I shiver in want. “As I suspected, so damn sweet.”
“You have it.”
He juts out his bottom lip. “I really wanted to try to persuade you more.”
“By licking me.”
“From top to bottom.” He wriggles his brows, his hair falling in his eyes. “I have to make up for years and years of missing out on this.”
I smile at him. “You’ll have years and years to make up for it Plus, I want a turn to make up for lost time.”
He stands up, cuts off the water and all but drags me out of there. “Back to bed with you.”
“I’m wet and cold.”
“I know and I’ll heat you back up.”
True to his word, he does exactly that.
THE NEXT MORNING, WE decide to get dressed so we can go to the kitchen to forage. I’m not sure if Jane Ellen is home or not today, but she usually keeps the fridge and pantry well stocked.
“Sit,” he says, motioning to one of the chairs at the large island. “I’ll serve you.”
“We can serve each other.”
He arches a brow as he opens the fridge. “You look dead tired, love. I’ve worn you out.”
“I wore you out, too.”
“But I’m a man.”
He bends over, his sweatpants stretching over his very fine ass. “Yes you are.”
“Stop ogling me, wench.”
I snort as he begins to make trips from the fridge to the island and back again, dumping all the food he finds on the counter. I dig into a container of fresh chicken casserole while he rips into some crackers and tosses them at me, before devouring cold steak.
“The oven and microwave are literally steps away.”
He shrugs. “I like cold steak.”
“I know you do, but again...” I make my fingers walk along the island countertop. “Steps away, Laird.”
“When can I move in?” he asks, like a dog after the proverbial bone. “If you’re going to make me wait, then I’m going to keep you with me until you change your mind.”
“Your methods of persuasion are so good that I don’t want to change my mind,” I admit.
He pauses mid-bite. “Are you saying that the orgasms I give you are having the opposite effect?”
“Well, one can only assume they’ll stop once you get your way.”
“That’s not happening. In fact, I declare that there will be no more orgasms for my wife, Ophelia King, until she agrees to take me home with her.”
“Come home with me now,” I shove my food away and make a run for the door.
Laird is right behind me. He chases me down the hall and right smack into his mother.
Did I mention that I’m only wearing one of his shirts and he only has on a pair of sweatpants? And yes, I realize that we are married, but still, the idea of anyone in his family, especially his mother, seeing me like this is almost mortifying.
Laird slings an arm around me, kissing me on the head. “I’m moving back home.”
Obviously, my husband has no qualms with his mother seeing me like this.
“That’s wonderful to hear, sugar.” She turns her smiling face to me. “Ophelia you have a cracker in your hair, honey.”
“Oh my gosh,” I croak.
Laird snags it before I can, popping it into his mouth. “Problem solved, babe. Do you like babe?”
“No.”
“Strike that off the list.” He grins, so obviously pleased with his life right now that I grin right back.
I pat his arm. “Stick with what you know... although wench was fun.”
See? Contagious.
“We have a guest, dear, but it’s your mother, so I’m sure she’s seen you like this.”
“I haven’t ever seen my daughter looking like a floozy, but since her husband put her in that state, I’ll allow it.”
Momma comes to stand beside Jane Ellen. I can’t help but notice how kindly the years have treated Laird’s mother over mine. Then again, Jane Ellen never let bitterness be her go-to.
“Is there a reason for this visit?” I ask, apprehension sneaking up my spine like a rat trying to evade the light.
“I ‘ve come to apologize,” Momma announces.
“We can have tea,” Jane Ellen says.
“Nonsense. I have tea at home and these two look very full... of themselves.” Momma arches a brow. “Like I was saying, I came to apologize to Laird and your family for opposing my daughter’s marriage to him for so long. I’d planned on speaking with Laird privately since he and Ophelia weren’t on the best of terms when I last spoke to her.” Her arch grows higher. “I’m pleased to see for myself that this has changed. So, I’m sorry.”
Laird holds out his hand to her, and as if under his spell, she takes it. Charm like I’ve never seen before emanates from his pours. “Ma’am, your daughter makes me incredibly happy and I want to do right by her for the rest of my life. I can promise that I’ll remain faithful and true to her. Nothing separates us.”
“Everything’s been laid out?”
He nods. “Yes.”
That snaps my mother out of the spell she was under. She snatches her hand away. “See that you don’t. And, to show my good will, I’ll allow Laird to visit Connor whenever he likes.”
Oh God. No. I haven’t had a chance to tell Laird about our baby. About the miscarriage... about any of it.
Oh God.
“Who?” Laird asks as I have an internal meltdown.
My knees begin to shake, and I look to Laird’s momma for help.
“Thank you so much for coming, Penelope,” Jane Ellen says. “Let me show you out so our two kids can get dressed and head on home. To their home.”
“Jane Ellen, I’m so happy to have buried the figurative ax between our families,” Momma says, and I know what she’s going to say next, but my feet are firmly planted on the ground. I can’t move while this disaster happens, can’t do much more than chant no, no, please, no, as she says, “I’m just very sorry that it took Connor’s death for me to realize how much I loved a child our respective children created together. I tend to his grave on the days Ophelia can’t come.”<
br />
Laird’s head whips around so fast that I stumble back and into a table. He catches me as I fall.
I grip his arm, pleading with him. “Forgive me, Laird. I’m so sorry.”
“What do you have to be sorry about?” he asks.
“I lost him. He died and I tried so hard to keep him safe. I did everything the doctors told me to, but my placenta had disrupted, and his heart couldn’t take it. He was so perfect, Laird.” I dig my fingers into his skin, trying to make him understand how much I loved our baby. “I told God to take my life for his. I did everything I could think of. I even said that if I couldn’t have you, I’d settle for your baby. I didn’t mean it like that, but I was so desperate for him to live.”
My chest heaves with the force of my sobs, but my eyes are dry. I cried for months and months over my angel baby. It took me years to be able to mention him without collapsing in a heap, but with one word from my mother, I’m back to square one. “Please believe me. I know you don’t know me... don’t remember me enough to know that I have never lied to you. Ever.”
“I know, love. I know,” he says, but he sounds so far away. “Ophelia, it’s not your fault.”
“I named him Connor.”
Chapter Eighteen
Laird
“I NAMED HIM CONNOR,” Ophelia whispers. “He was so perfect, Laird.”
“Let me take her home,” Penelope says. “I think this has been a shock for her.”
I scoop her up in my arms. She trembles as she tentatively puts her arms around my neck. “I’m so sorry, Laird.”
“I know, love.” It’s all I can say to her in the moment. I can’t even process the news. All I can do is be there for my wife. I shoot Penelope a look. “Maybe next time you should check with your daughter before you share something like this with me.”
Penelope touches Ophelia’s arm. “I didn’t mean to cause any harm.”
Ophelia nods, burying her nose into my chest. “I know.”
“Let’s go home, little mermaid.” I gather her closer to me and walk out of my childhood home, down the path that leads to the home we were trying to make together. The sun is not as bright today, a haze over the sky making it hot as hell though.
Ophelia doesn’t say a word the entire way and I don’t either. I don’t know what to say to her. Hell, I don’t know what to think... it doesn’t feel real right now.
But her reaction certainly did.
“Think you can walk up the stairs for me?”
She nods and I set her on her feet. “I never did tell you the code.”
When we get to the door, she punches it in slowly, making sure that I see every number. “Got it.”
I take her hand and lead her inside to the living room. I’m on autopilot at this point, but when I sit down on the sofa, I don’t allow her to leave me. “Stay.”
She climbs into my lap like a trusting child, her dark hair hiding her face from me. I rest my chin on her head, my mind running a million miles an hour.
When did she know she was pregnant?
Did I know she was pregnant?
“No. I didn’t either,” she says. “We hadn’t been trying very long.”
I jolt. “I didn’t know I asked you out loud.”
She traces a pattern on my skin, like I did to her the day before. God was that only yesterday? It feels like weeks have passed, months even.
“I feel so numb. It doesn’t seem real... I know it was, but I... had a son.” It’s not a question. I had a son, a perfect son named Connor. I work my jaw, unsure if I should fight against the rising tide of anger and sadness, or trust Ophelia to ride out the storm of emotions that are raw. New.
Ones she must have felt as well, and she sure as fuck didn’t have me to lean on.
“It’s okay, Laird. I’m here for you.” She pats my shoulder, then runs her hand down to my chest, resting her palm against my heart. “I’m here for you.”
She looks up at me, her pale eyes so pure. Did our son have her yes or mine?
I try to speak, but all I can do is bawl. All I can do is cling to her, follow the light she provides like a lighthouse to a ship during a hurricane to a safe port.
And she lets me.
I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG we sit like this, with her arms around me, comforting me like I’m the one sitting on her lap, not the other way around. But when I come up for air again, I feel calmer.
Strong.
With that comes a burning desire to see our son’s grave.
“Would you mind if I went to see... him?” I can’t bring myself to say his name outloud.
Ophelia shakes her head. “Do you want me to go with you? Or would you rather do this alone?”
I take a deep breath and set her beside me on the sofa. “I need some time alone, Ophelia.”
“Of course.” She stands. “Would you like some clothes to put on? I still have your things that you left here.”
“If you could put some in the bathroom for me, I’d appreciate it.”
“Down the hall, first door on the right,” she says. “Laird?”
I lift my gaze to hers. “Yeah?” I ask, but inside, I’m pleading with her not to ask me more questions.
“Take as long as you need.”
PENELOPE TAKES ME TO the family plot. “You and Ophelia also have a place here.”
I guess that’s her way of saying welcome to the family, but... “Thanks.”
When we get to the gate, she turns to me. “I don’t know how much you remember about me or my daughter, so I’m simply going to say this, be gentle with her. She needs your love not your condemnation.”
I simply stare at her. Why would I ever condemn Ophelia for something she couldn’t help?
Penelope opens the gate. “Mind the smaller ones along the way. Those are my angel babies.”
Smaller ones? I walk through the gate, counting four tiny graves with only the word Randolph etched on them and the date. They’re consecutive, as if she tried over and over.
“Ophelia was my rainbow baby,” she whispers and closes the gate, “Please treasure her like she deserves.”
“I will.” I say that just as much to myself as I do to her. “I promise to give her all that I am.”
Penelope nods, then leaves me alone.
I walk around back, to where a headstone seems out of place. There are flowers placed at the bottom, bright and colorful. I read the inscription and fall to my knees. With my finger, I trace his name, whisper it like a plea.
“Connor.”
Fresh grief overwhelms me, and I succumb to it without Ophelia at my side. It hits me, to my very soul, that I have no idea how she endured this, no idea how strong she was to not only lose a husband but a son in the same year.
I can only imagine how it felt to see me again and to be rejected by the only person in the world who could share the burden of her pain. Even now, my need for her is selfish. It’s about making me happy, not making her happy.
It’s about my wants and needs dominating hers to the point of keeping this from me. I wonder how long it would have taken her to trust me enough to share in her sorrow.
And I just had to tell her I didn’t want kids right now. And only if things worked out.
A real upstanding moment of mine, for sure.
I’ve caused her nothing but misery, nothing but pain and suffering when I could have given her everything from the start. Like a child, I threw a tantrum instead of learning the why behind it all.
My brothers were right. I did regress.
“But you know what, son,” I say. “I’m going to fix all that.”
I press the tips of my fingers to his name again, whispering my goodbye.
Chapter Nineteen
Ophelia
IT’S BEEN HOURS SINCE Laird left to visit Connor’s grave. I can’t stop pacing. I can’t stop worrying that this was his breaking point. That maybe he’ll add this to his list of things I’ve done to make him feel miserable.
I could have handled t
hings better. I could have listened to my own brain instead of a doctor that didn’t know me, didn’t want to know me because he was worried for Laird. I was, I am his wife and I should have acted like it, then he wouldn’t have felt so rejected, so alone.
Did I know how that felt? Hadn’t I felt rejected as a mother and alone for years.
Why would I—
The door opens.
Heart in my throat, I spin around to find Laird standing there. His hair is a mess, but his ocean eyes are calm.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I run to him, but he stops me with one hand. “Not so fast. There are a few rules we need in place to make this marriage work until you’re basically tired of my old, wrinkly ass.”
“Never.”
“Good answer.” He fists his hand in the material of my shirt, pulling me closer. “One, we don’t keep anymore secrets from each other except in the case of birthdays, Christmas, and sex.”
I wrinkle my nose.
“Like if you want to surprise me with sex, I’m okay with that.”
A giggle snort leaves me. “Two, we go to therapy together, and I’ll continue to go by myself, too.”
“Agreed.” I try to wrap my arms around him, but he pushes against me. “Why won’t you let me do what I want?”
“Be patient.” He wriggles his brows at me. “You have to be patient with me, because whatever you had before isn’t what you have now, but I promise to be the best of who I am for you.”
“I promise to be the best for you, too.” I grab his hand, pushing with all my strength against it. “Any other rules?”
“Naked Thursdays?”
“Deal.”
He lets go of my shirt, and I tackle him. We go to the floor in a laughing heap. “Wasn’t sure if you’d appreciate my humor.”
“The new you is very contagious.”
He grows serious. “I want to talk about Connor, love, but not right now.”
“Whenever you want, I’m here for you.”
“But I do want you to know that I admire you, Mrs. King. I admire the hell out of you.” He kisses me softly. “I’m glad the old me loved you, too.”
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