Reviving Haven

by CORY CYR

  “Very funny, Haven. I assume this young man loves you too; that much is obvious. He came all this way for you, not even knowing he was going to be a father, and his actions have to mean something to you,” my dad adds, sitting down on the sofa.

  “I have to think . . . I never dreamed he’d just show up. He’s done nothing but surprise me since we met,” I sigh. “Dad, can you just bring this file box up to my room, please?”

  My dad picks up the file box and proceeds up the stairs.

  My mom gently takes my arm as I walk past her. “Haven, I don’t know why you two aren’t together anymore, but I do know that this man loves you. He told us five minutes after he showed up. He had no problem telling complete strangers that you are his life. Honey, him being younger is irrelevant; you two will figure things out along the way. Your dad and I had too, and so will you. This baby needs a father. And I know you . . . I know my daughter. If you loved him enough to make a child, then he must be something quite special. Don’t give up on you and him and your future together. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

  I hurry upstairs, brushing past my dad. He sets the box on my bed then goes back down stairs. I feel tears start to form. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve and then take the lid off the file box.

  There are ten journals, and I spend four hours reading them in their entirety. Some make me laugh. Some make me cry harder than I ever cried in my life. If I had ever doubted this man’s love, I would never doubt it again. Latch loves me fiercely, as no other man ever will. Anything he had done to me or to himself, he had gone to bottom and crawled his way to the top. Latch had suffered so he could redeem himself.

  The fact is, most of the time, individuals aren’t forced to write in a journal. It’s merely a suggestion. They just hope you will. Latch had chosen to strip himself to the bone, and bear his entire soul. And now he’s letting me read it. The candor and truthfulness amazes me. He is right; I loved the old Latch, but this new Latch owns my heart and soul. I send him a text the following day. He shows up about an hour later, out of breath. His face reflects obvious concern.

  “Are you okay? Nothing’s wrong with you or the baby?” he asks in an anxious tone.

  I chuckle. “Everything’s fine. I’m sorry . . . I didn’t realize my text sounded so ominous,” I apologize, walking him into the den, “but I need to talk to you.”

  He appears tense. “You look beautiful, leannán,” he says, removing his jacket and undoing his scarf.

  I shake my head in doubt. “Yeah, someone needs to notify Goodyear and let them know their blimp is missing,” I groan.

  He’s next to me within seconds. I can tell he wants to touch me, almost as badly as I want to touch him. We both seem apprehensive.

  “I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you. You still take my breath away.”

  He’s so close. I inhale his delicious scent. All the emotions mixed with my hormones hit me at once and there is no doubt that he is my forever. He puts his hand on my stomach and gently caresses it. I feel small electrical pulses prickle throughout my body. I close my eyes as he lightly rubs my belly. A small moan escapes and my hand flies to my mouth, trying to stifle it. Latch’s eyes spark with understanding.

  “Leannán, you’re having my child—our child.” His voice cracks with emotion.

  “What do you think we should name him?” I ask dreamily.

  Latch’s eyes go wide. His entire body begins to tremble. “Him? I’m having a son?”

  Latch squats down on his knees with his head in his hands, softly sobbing. Hearing him cry brings tears to my eyes. He embraces my legs as he presses his head into them.

  “Tell me he’s all right, that the pills and the booze didn’t hurt him. I’m so sorry for everything. Please say you forgive me. Please,” he begs.

  I look down at him, running my hands through his hair and twisting it around my fingers. I had forgotten how much I missed doing that and how just the simplicity of the act gives me so much pleasure.

  “I love you, Latch,” I tell him without reservation.

  He stands up and his height towers over me. He bends his head down to meet mine.

  “Say it again,” he demands softly.

  “I love you, Latch.” I repeat it while I stare into his shining eyes.

  He reaches around my belly, not able to quite get as close as he intends. I cringe and he chuckles warmly. His mouth engulfs mine, his tongue sweeping between my lips and tangling with mine. I hear a quiet growl come from Latch’s throat, causing me to moan into his mouth. I try to press closer to him, but my belly isn’t cooperating. I have my hands running through his hair as his hands run up and down the back of my shirt. My breath quickens, but then I gasp when I feel his hardness pressing into my belly. I pull away, slightly shocked. I wag my finger at him teasingly.

  “Are you kidding me, now, like this?” I ask, laughing as my eyes look down at the apparent large bulge in his jeans.

  He looks almost shy, maybe slightly embarrassed. “What can I say? It’s what you do to me.” He shrugs. “I told you I’d always want to fuck you.” His voice is low, almost a murmur.

  “Latch, it’s my parent’s house, not to mention I’m huge,” I grumble.

  “I have a hotel room. You’re the mother of my child. The woman I love. The woman I need to fuck, like right this minute,” he whispers, seeming slightly anxious.

  “Okay,” I say quickly.

  He looks at me with surprise. “Okay . . . really? Thank God, because this has been the longest drought of my life,” he says, looking relived.

  “Let me go tell my parents,” I say. Horror flashes across Latch’s face. “I’m not going to tell them that.” I laugh. “I’ll just say we’re going to dinner.” I lean against the railing of the stairs. “We’re leaving now! Be back later!” I giggle, because there is no doubt they’ve been listening.

  “Ok, honey, take your time! Have fun!” My mom yells down.

  I don’t hear anything from my dad; my mom has most likely muzzled him. I grab my purse as Latch grabs his jacket. We walk outside. The chilly air embraces us.

  Latch stops me halfway down the walk. “You saved me, leannán.” His eyes meet mine and the look that passes between us is all knowing—and all loving.

  “You saved me too, Latch. You revived something in me I thought had died. I’m pretty sure we saved each other,” I say softly, my hand reaching to touch his cheek.

  Epilogue

  Five Years Later

  “Leannán . . .” My voice is just a whisper.

  I look over at my husband, who’s still asleep at noon. Even now, seeing him with the sheet pulled down to his hipbone, barely covering his ass, makes my breath hitch. Even though most of his bedroom hair gone, lost to the winds of change, he still is the prettiest man I’ve ever seen. Latch decided, when Logan was three months old, that he needed to look like a husband and a father. He left the house one morning with sexed up hair and returned three hours later with hair so short it bordered on a skullcap. Honestly, I cried. The loss was too much for me to bear. He has always surprised me with something, but seeing all of his hair gone was a shock, not a surprise. However, he had been kind enough to bring it home to me in a baggy.

  Ever since I turned forty-two, our sex life has spiraled out of control. I’ve officially turned into a sexual deviant. I just can’t get enough. If I had my way, I would chain Latch to our bed and have my way with him every hour. The sad thing is that he would let me. I had exhausted him completely the night before, hence him sleeping until noon. Lying on his stomach, I can see all the muscle definition on his back. The tattoos on both arms still make him look sexy and dangerous. He still makes my body clench with desire.

  One eye opens halfway. A smile curves his lips. He flips over and lets the sheet fall past his thighs.

  “Like what you see?” he asks with a voice still thick from sleep.

  “Always,” I whisper, licking my lips as I notice his cock.

  “Come here, lean
nán.”

  He looks enticing. And just like that, I’m wet. I pick up one of the bed pillows and throw it at him.

  “Latch,” I hiss. “We can’t do that right now. Everyone is waiting for you. They already started eating brunch. Your son is driving me crazy. He has been impatiently waiting to give his daddy his birthday gift since nine o’clock.”

  Latch groans. “Aww . . . hell! I’m thirty . . . I’m old.”

  I smack him with the pillow again, arching my brow.

  “Cover up your body parts so I can let Logan in.” I chuckle at his chagrin for the lost moment.

  Latch reluctantly pulls up the sheet and props his pillow behind his head. I open the door and Logan comes flying in like a bullet.

  “Happy birthday, Daddy!” he yells, jumping on Latch’s stomach, getting dangerously close to his pride and joy. I snicker.

  “And what is this?” Latch asks, all excited as Logan hands him a small package. Latch shakes it several times, then puts it to his ear and shakes it again.

  “Daddy, just open it,” Logan demands impatiently.

  Latch pretends to tear off the gift-wrap frantically. It’s a beaded bracelet with the word “Daddy” spelled out on it.

  “I love it, son. Best gift ever.”

  Logan smiles as he watches his father put the bracelet on. He has his father’s eyes and hair color. I can hardly wait until he’s a teenager and I have to peel girls off him like flies on flypaper.

  “Okay, Logan, let Daddy get ready now. Why don’t you go downstairs and see Grandma?” Logan looks excited as he jumps off the bed, clambering down the stairs.

  “I’m jumping in the shower,” Latch says, throwing the sheet back while yawning. “Care to join me?” He asks, wooing me with his glittering eyes.

  “As tempting as that sounds, and it is extremely tempting, we have family and friends downstairs waiting for you, birthday boy,” I reply, snapping him in the ass with a towel.

  “Ow, woman,” he bellows as he steps into the shower.

  As I make up the bed quickly, I hear Latch singing in the shower. I truly love my life—our life—and living in Scotland is a dream come true. Latch had brought me here for our honeymoon when Logan was six months old. I fell in love with his birthplace so much that we decided to live here permanently. Latch still owns McKay Enterprises. He still does most of the graphic design for the games, but he hardly ever goes back to the States. He has taken on partners in the company and they take care of the US business. My parents were very unhappy about us moving out of the country, especially because they wouldn’t see their one and only grandchild on a regular basis, but Latch had set it up so his private jet service can fly them back and forth whenever they want.

  Latch’s mother finally came around, especially after Logan was born. Those two are as thick as thieves, and we can hardly pry them apart when she visits. As for Weezie, as much as I love her, I give her crap about Keenan whenever they visit. They finally became an actual couple two years ago. I always ask her about the second date rule and I always get the same answer, “Keenan was a one-night stand who never went home.” She can still make me laugh and I will always love her to pieces.

  Latch had asked me to marry him right after I’d given birth. I mean immediately after. I wasn’t sure if he was in a state of shock after witnessing a live birth or if he really meant it. As I watched him take off the hospital gown, he had pulled his t-shirt off with it, leaving him gloriously shirtless. Below his belly button, he had tattooed the inscription “You are my other half” in Gaelic. I accepted right then.

  All of the trials and tribulations that I had gone through in my life had led me down this path, bringing me to this point in my life: married to the man I love, mother to a child I thought I’d never have, and having a wonderful family and great friends. I have always wanted to write, so maybe I’ll pen the next great novel, a story that celebrates rebirth—a tale of revival.

  The End

  About the Author

  I began writing music and poetry at an early age. My love of music became my sole focus and I spent quite a few years as the lead singer for many local rock bands. In high school, I was fascinated with the macabre and started writing science fiction and horror stories so dark they earned me the nickname "Gory Cory."

  After years of writing dark tales, I never thought in a million years my first two finished manuscripts would be Adult Romance.

  You can find me:

  Email: coyrcyr.author@gmail.com

  Facebook: Author Cory Cyr

  Twitter:@coryauthor

  Pinterest & Goodreads