An Imperfect Heart

by Amie Knight

But her eyes darted back to my chest over my heart when they stopped. She stared, and then squinted before the shock registered on her face, her eyes wide. “What the hell is that?”

  Placing my hand over the tattoo that sat above my nipple and right over my heart, I just stared. This wasn’t how I wanted this conversation to start. I didn’t want to talk about that night.

  “What the fuck is that? Is that a tattoo? Does it…” she trailed off and sat back down in the chair, placing her head in her hands.

  God, I was a fuck up. She was emotionally drained and now this.

  Her head came up, her eyes trailing over the tattoo again, the slight sheen of tears in them. “Does that say what I think it does?”

  It did. And I wasn’t sorry it was there. I was only sorry that she had to see it now. When she was already so upset.

  The words The Music Of Life sat right over my heart. A few EKG waves and music notes scattered around the words. A little of me. A little of her. A little of him.

  I nodded slowly and swallowed, scared she’d get up and run. She wouldn’t understand. That morning had been so awful, but that night had meant so much to me. That night would get me through the dark days that had lain ahead. That tattoo was a reminder of her. Of him. And of the promise I made myself the day I got it.

  “How long have you had it?” She was coming toward me now and I stood so still, so quiet. I was terrified she’d run off on me and I’d never get to tell her how I loved her. How I wanted that baby almost as much as she did.

  I swallowed down the fear. “Nine and a half years.”

  Standing close to me, she asked, “But why?” And I knew she wasn’t just asking why I’d tattooed her words on me. She was asking why I’d thrown her out then. Why I’d tossed her aside now.

  I couldn’t make the words come. I was frozen. I couldn’t tell her that her greatest fear, I’d already experienced in a sense. It would crush her soul, her spirit, her hope and we’d need an abundance of those things in the coming months. Hell, years.

  She traced the music notes around the tattoo and smiled sadly, like I was already a lost cause. She knew I wasn’t going to tell her. She knew I couldn’t.

  Cradling her face in my hands, I forced her eyes to mine. “We have to talk.”

  She snatched her head away. “What? You want me to find another place to live now?” She stormed through the bedroom door and into the living room. “Fine!”

  “Stop, Kelly.” I tried to keep my voice even.

  With her hand on the front door she turned to me. “What is it? You want to break my heart a little more? Or do you want to be the one to throw me out? Is it not enough that I leave on my own?”

  She was fucking killing me. Jesus, this was a fucking mess. I had a feeling no matter what I said right now, she wasn’t going to listen.

  Walking over to the couch, I said, “Come sit down. We need to talk about the baby.”

  Any anger on her face evaporated into thin air only to be replaced by fear and trepidation. Her hand immediately went to her stomach. “What about the baby?”

  “Come. Sit.” I patted the cushion next to me. I could do this. She was going to cry and be upset. I’d remain calm. I could do that, for both of us.

  She waltzed over, her face wary, making sure to sit as far away from me as she could on the couch. I didn’t care, I just moved into the center of the furniture so I could be closer. She’d need me. And I wanted to be there to lean on.

  I wanted to pull off the Band-Aid quickly, so it hurt a little less. I took a deep breath and counted to three. “I can’t do the surgery, honey.”

  Panic colored every feature of her face and I felt terrible, sick for her, but she had to know this was coming. She had to understand what I had to do. For her. For us.

  Her head shook back and forth slowly. She grabbed my wrists tightly with both hands, clutching them in her fists and pulling.

  “No, no, Anthony. I need you. She needs you.”

  I pulled her hands away from my wrists and cradled them in my own, holding them firmly, using my thumbs to caress the insides of her small palms. I wanted to soothe her. I wanted to help her get through this, but I didn’t know how.

  “I can’t do it, baby—”

  “But why?” She sobbed.

  Her cries destroyed me; her pain my own.

  I cradled her face in my hands. It was my way. I loved her small heart-shaped face. I wanted to plant tender kisses all over it.

  “You know why, honey.”

  She shook her head again, tears springing to her eyes. “No, no. I don’t.”

  I brought my face close to hers. “You do,” I whispered.

  “No,” she said again, but I could read the emotion all over her face. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that she knew exactly what I did. That I loved her. That I loved that baby.

  She knew it long before I did.

  “Please don’t do this. Please.” She squeezed her eyes shut like she could make me disappear. Make this moment dissolve into nothing when I knew that in the years to come this moment would mean everything because it wouldn’t just be the day I told her I couldn’t operate on her child. It would be the day I told her I loved her, too.

  “Baby,” I whispered raggedly, rubbing my thumbs along the apples of her cheeks. “I can’t do that surgery and you know why. You knew it before I did. I’m in love with you.”

  “No, it has to be you,” she said. “I trust you. I only trust you. It has to be you.” Her hands covered my hands, gripping hard, like she was holding onto the past. And perhaps she was. Maybe she was clinging to that day in the parking lot at the office. But so much had changed since then and we couldn’t go back. We could only move forward.

  “I tried. I really did, little bit. I tried to stay away from you, but I just can’t.” Not that it would have mattered. I was crazy thinking a few weeks would change how I felt about Kelly. She was the love of my life and part of me had known that for ten years.

  “Please,” she begged. I didn’t know what she was begging for. Maybe she was begging me to stop talking. Maybe she was begging me to take it all back. But I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t take back a single minute of our time together the last six weeks. They had meant the world to me. It wasn’t ideal, this situation, but it was us and we could get through anything together.

  I looked deeply into her eyes so she didn’t misconstrue or misunderstand me. “I can’t do the surgery because I love you and because I love her.” I dropped a hand and touched her stomach gently.

  Tears poured down her face.

  “Because it wouldn’t be just her heart and your heart on that table, it would be my heart, too.” I used my thumbs to angle her head toward me. “Look at me.”

  She opened her eyes and I hoped she saw the love, the truthfulness in mine. “It’s okay, baby. I’m gonna make this right. I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna take care of her. I’m gonna take care of us.” I pressed a chaste kiss to her tear-soaked lips. My heart bled right along with hers, but I was making the only decision I could.

  “I’m good, but I’m not the best. I’ll make sure she has the best. I promise. You said you trust me. So, do it. Just trust me.” And I would make sure she had the best. I would call in every damn favor I could. I’d beg. I’d bargain. I’d steal. This baby girl would have the absolute best doctor I could find. I’d die trying.

  “I want to take you on a date.”

  Somehow Anthony had managed to persuade me to stay over again last night. We’d spent the day cuddled up watching TV and it was exactly the kind of day I needed. I needed time to marinate on what he’d said. He loved me. He couldn’t do the surgery. Part of me had already known and the other part of me was still freaking out about it. Still, I was glad I’d stayed. I’d let him wrap his long arms around my baby bump and spoon me. Doc was one hell of a big spoon, and me, well, I was an itty bitty one, but we made it work. It felt good to be held. I’d needed it. Maybe it was because my emotions were so raw from his
confession yesterday. He’d told me he couldn’t do the surgery. That he loved me. It was probably the most bittersweet day of my entire life. On one hand I was crushed that he couldn’t do the surgery. On the other hand I was ecstatic that he loved me like I loved him. I hadn’t told him yet. I was scared to. Like somehow if I said the words everything would change. I couldn’t lose our friendship now. Over the last seven days without Anthony I’d realized how vital he was to me and my happiness.

  I was in the kitchen making pancakes for my big guy and he was standing on the other side of the counter, toweling off his wet hair and looking utterly delectable in a T-shirt and jeans when he sprang that doozy on me.

  I looked at him like he was crazy and continued on making the pancakes like he hadn’t said a damn word.

  “Did you hear me?”

  I looked at him again like he’d lost his mind. “Oh, I heard you.”

  “So?”

  Flipping the pancake I answered, “So what?”

  “Will you go on a date with me, Kelly Ann Potter?”

  I put the rest of the pancakes on a plate and moved the skillet off the burner. “No way.”

  “Why not?” His look was incredulous.

  “Because I’m almost nine months pregnant.” What kind of harlot did he think I was? I couldn’t just be going on dates. Going on dates was for women who were single and not pregnant. Women who could wear skimpy dresses and drink cocktails and laugh like they didn’t have a care in the world. I had responsibilities. Like a baby and myself. That was all I could handle right now. If the past ten years were any indication, I was a far cry from adult material. I needed to mom-up, stop being so damn selfish and start thinking like a momma bear. He wanted me to add dating to the mix. I could barely handle my life right now without the added dating part. What was he thinking?

  “What does that have to do with anything?” He added a ridiculous amount of syrup to his pancakes. The man’s sweet tooth was out of control.

  “I don’t know. It’s weird.”

  “It’s only weird if you make it weird.”

  I gave him the look again.

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re making it weird. Pregnant women go on dates all the time.”

  “With their husbands,” I agreed.

  He leaned over the counter, his face deadly serious. “You need a ring to go on a date with me, baby?” He sounded like he was about to take me down to the courthouse ASAP.

  Eyes bugged out of my head, I answered, “Oh my God, no!” I might have lied a little. I’d love for Anthony to be my husband. He was caring and sweet and the only man I’d ever loved. But he was asking me for a date, not my hand in marriage. “Besides, I can barely fit in my sweats I’m so big. I don’t have anything to wear on a date.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you wear.”

  “It does to me.”

  “Why are you so argumentative all the time?”

  I quirked an eyebrow. “Then why do you want to take me on a date, if I’m so argumentative?”

  “Christ almighty! You drive me insane!”

  “Again, why—”

  His big frame leaned over the counter and he placed his hand over my mouth. “Don’t make me shut you up, little bit.”

  I grinned as he removed his hand. I was feeling saucy and flirtatious. Maybe it was that his hand had been pressed to my lips. Maybe it was sleeping with him wrapped around me. Maybe it was all the talk of dating. I was flattered. This big, beautiful, kind man loved me. He wanted to take me out and show me off like I was a prize even though I was anything but. “And how are you going to do that?”

  His eyes heated. “I’d walk into the kitchen and I’d pin you to the refrigerator and I’d kiss you. Hard. Greedily. Really fucking kiss you like I’ve been waiting for what feels like forever to do. But I wanted to take you on a date first.”

  I licked my lips. Kisses were good. I wanted kisses. Dates, not so much. But yes to all the kisses.

  “What if I want to just skip to the kissing part?”

  He stared at my lips hard, considering my words. “What about if I kiss you and then you let me take you on a date?” He prowled around the counter and into the kitchen, the pancakes long forgotten.

  He was like a big, stalking lion, so slow but every step so deliberate, his eyes hot on mine, and I backed toward the refrigerator, falling completely into the trap he’d voiced only minutes ago.

  “What if we stay in and kiss all night?”

  My back hit the fridge and his front hit mine. His hand went to the back of my neck, his face a few inches from mine.

  “What if I kissed some sense into you, instead?” His deep, growly voice ghosted over my skin, making me warm from outside in. His head lowered and I held my breath. Yes, we’d shared small friendly kisses but nothing like this. Pecks, that’s all. Nothing sexual, really. Not since years ago when we were young and I wasn’t pregnant with someone else’s baby.

  His soft lips met the corner of mine, sweet, tender, like he knew I needed time. And then the other corner the same way. He was going slow and I was dying, my stomach quivering.

  Once he kissed my cupid’s bow.

  Twice he kissed the pillowy pad of my bottom lip.

  Three times he rubbed his nose along mine.

  I’d kissed this man with my eyes a thousand times over the last month, but nothing compared to the real thing.

  “Breathe, baby,” he whispered across my lips.

  I exhaled into his mouth and he moaned low into mine before giving my lips a lazy, slow lick right up the center. It surprised me. It sent my belly flip-flopping. It made me ache between my legs. It tasted like maple syrup and man. It was dirty in the perfect kind of way, that lick.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised. These kisses somehow perfectly personified the man who gave them. Sweet but so sensual. Thoughtful but incredibly sexy.

  “Up, baby,” he muttered against my mouth, our breaths intermingling, as his hand left my neck and trailed down my back to grip my ass. His other hand joined in and before I knew it I was hoisted up. I immediately wrapped my legs around his waist for leverage and because, well, I knew it would feel good. My arms tangled around his neck and his mouth finally took mine. His kisses went from slow and sweet to fast and hard, and I was right there with him, his tongue sliding along mine, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip. I groaned and the bottom of my body involuntarily pushed against his.

  His body was pressed to me, and oh God! His cock was right there. Right at my center, the thick head pressed to my clit and it was so hard and big, and I could feel it all too well through the sheer fabric of my granny panties and yoga pants. And I wanted it. I wanted to push down his pants under his cock and have him slip it inside of me right here against the cold fridge in the middle of the kitchen. So, I rocked against him again and this time he didn’t miss it.

  “Fuck,” he growled before pushing me harder into the fridge and grinding that thick cock against me, my big stomach only slightly encumbering our grinding.

  It felt too good. I couldn’t breathe. I hadn’t done this in so long. I’d wanted him for weeks. My brain had absolutely no control over my body. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. All I could do was feel. I was mush.

  I snapped my head back against the hard surface behind me, desperate for air. “Oh, God.”

  “Mmmm,” he growled against my throat and he licked up the column of it before assaulting my collarbone. He sucked there, biting the spot and then licking it better. He was driving me mad and he knew it. Every suck, every lick, every kiss spurred me on and still I continued to rock against him, my head thrown back, my eyes squeezed shut, trying to suck every bit of pleasure I could out of the moment.

  “That’s it, baby,” he husked against my throat. “Use me.”

  And those words, use me, they did something awful, something amazing to me. Something unexplainable. My insides split apart at those words. I did. I wanted to use him up. I wanted to press aga
inst him until I came. I couldn’t stop it. I was as helpless and wanton as the grunts and groans that seemed to echo out into the kitchen.

  And he had to have known what those words did to me. It was so obvious they pushed me over the edge of oblivion into some unknown space.

  With one hand still holding me up at my ass, he used the other to grab the back of my hair tight, turning my head so that my ear could meet his mouth. It started with a small suck at my lobe but turned into the dirtiest words I’d ever heard.

  “Ride it, honey. Ride my cock.” His words fucked my ear. “It’s yours. Take it.” Dirty whispers filled my fuzzy, sexed up brain. “I can feel how wet you are through your clothes.” I should have been embarrassed. Instead, I pushed against him harder.

  “God, you’re going to come on me, aren’t you, baby? And I haven’t even really touched you yet. Fuck, but you’re perfect.”

  I groaned loud.

  “I remember it, you know. How tight you were. How wet you got for me. How your pussy almost felt too small for me,” he panted. “Fuck, I remember it and I stroke my cock.”

  And the simple thought of him touching himself while thinking of me sent me racing toward my climax, spiraling down a vortex of pleasure.

  “That’s it,” he coaxed as I curled my shaking body around him, my face planted into his shoulder, his mouth still to my ear. “Come on me. Come all over my dick.” His voice was thick and rich with lust.

  And then his hands were back to my ass, pushing me against his thickness. The head caught my clit, one, two, three more times and stars burst behind my eyes. My head shot back, his hand already there to protect it as my body locked tight.

  Breathe, I encouraged myself and he continued to rock his body against mine and kiss the spot behind my ear, the place where my neck met my collarbone, the dip at the base of my neck. I groaned long and hard as I rode out the longest orgasm of my life before finally my body fell slack against his.

  I had nothing left. Every bit of my everything had been zapped out of me. I couldn’t even wrap my legs around him anymore, so Anthony carried me to the couch where he propped me in his lap and brought my head to his chest.