by Blair, E. K.
“I know. I just . . .” I see the worry in her eyes and the lines in her forehead.
“You can tell me anything, babe. I’ll never judge you.”
She takes her time as I run my hand up her arm and into her hair. When she does speak, it’s strained as she confesses, “He’s the only one that’s touched me there.”
I work hard to not get upset. To stay calm so that I can talk to her about this because we can’t keep avoiding it. I know this is the last thing she probably wants to discuss, but it has to be done, so I choose my words carefully, telling her, “You know that I would never hurt you.”
“I know. It isn’t that.”
“Then tell me what it is. I need to understand.”
She tucks her chin down, and when I lift it back up with my fingers, I explain, “I need you to talk to me about this because I need to know.”
“It’s embarrassing,” she admits quietly.
“There is nothing for you to be embarrassed about, babe. But I’m gonna be honest with you—it hurts when you push me away because I don’t want you to be scared of me.”
“I’m not scared of you.”
“Then what?”
After she lets out a slow sigh, she finally reveals, “It makes me feel dirty.”
My forehead gently falls against hers, and I close my eyes, shaking my head. With my hands on her back, I feel the soft heaves, letting me know she’s crying. It infuriates me that he did this to her. That this is how she views intimacy. The last thing I would ever expect or want her to feel when she’s with me like this is dirty. Knowing that makes me sick to my stomach.
“Listen to me,” I say when I pull my head back to look at her. “That guy was a piece of shit, we both know that. He’s a sick fuck, and yeah, what he did and how he touched you was dirty. The disgust is beyond that. But that isn’t what this is. That isn’t us,” I try to explain to her. I pull her in tight, continuing, “I want to touch you and feel you. He made that something ugly for you, and I hate him for that. That he could take that away from us.”
“I’m sorry,” she cries.
“You have nothing—nothing—to be sorry for,” I scold. “He did this, not you. The way I want to touch you is nothing like that. I love you, and I want to touch you like this because it’s a way for me to feel close to you. It’s a way for me to love you and to make you feel that too.”
The tears run down the side of her face as she responds, “I want to give that to you. I do. I feel awful that I can’t, but I’m trying. I need you to know that I am trying.”
Wiping her face, I say, “I know you are. I see it. I’m not blaming you, but we need to talk about this so that I can understand.”
“I hate this,” she confesses and then buries her head in my chest.
“I know you do, and if I could do something I would. I just don’t know what that would be. But I love you, even the parts of you that you think are ugly. I love it all.”
“What the hell is this, Mark?” I call out from the kitchen when I open the box with the cake.
He’s on the couch, drinking a beer with Jase, and responds nonchalantly, “You put me in charge of the cake, so I got her a cake.”
“She’s turning twenty-three, man.”
“Yeah, I know. Trust me, she’ll like it,” he tells me with an exaggerated wink.
“There are fuckin’ rats in tutus.”
“They’re mice,” he corrects as I look back down at the cake that’s fit for a five-year-old. “It came with a free ‘Angelina the Ballerina’ ring,” he laughs as he holds up his hand to show me the pink plastic ring he’s wearing on his pinky.
I shake my head and laugh with them as I grab a beer and join them in the living room.
“You gonna give that to her?”
He smirks, saying, “No way, man. This is mine.”
We hang out and watch TV for a few minutes until Candace walks through the door. She gives Mark and Jase each a hug and kiss before I call her over and pull her onto my lap.
“I missed you,” I whisper as I run my nose up her neck and then tease, “Mmmm . . . coffee.”
She always smells like she’s bathed in a latte when she gets off work.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower. I’ll be back,” she says as she hops off of my lap.
I watch as she goes up the stairs, and as if we had planned it, my phone buzzes with a text from my mom letting me know she’s about fifteen minutes out.
“Did Candace find out about her audition yet?” Mark asks.
“Not yet. She should know tomorrow.”
“So what are you guys gonna do this weekend?” Jase asks as he takes a sip of his beer.
“My mom is only able to stay through tomorrow afternoon, so we will probably just lay low.”
We continue to talk about nothing in particular for a while when the doorbell rings.
“Hey, Mom,” I greet as I open the door.
She steps in and gives me a big hug, saying, “It’s good to see you, dear.”
“Donna?” I hear Candace call out from behind me, and when I turn to see her walking down the stairs, the surprised look on her face makes me smile.
“Candace,” Mom says, excited to see her.
“What are you doing here?” She is completely caught off guard, wearing her pajamas with her hair pulled on top of her head, as she gives my mom an excited hug.
“I wasn’t going to miss your birthday. But I’m a little disappointed that I had to hear about it from Ryan when you and I talk every week.”
I step beside Candace, shoot her a wink, and kiss her on the cheek.
“Sorry, I . . . I don’t normally do anything for my birthday, but I’m so happy you’re here,” she says and then hugs Mom again. “I can’t believe you drove all this way.”
“It’s a few hours, dear. Hardly a chore.” I watch as my mom takes Candace’s hand and walks over to Mark and Jase.
Candace introduces them, and I make my way into the kitchen.
“Mom, what do you want to drink?”
“A glass of wine will be good.”
“Me too,” Candace tells me, and I laugh at the memory of her drunk the last time she had wine with Jase, so I just have to tease her, asking, “You’re not gonna get drunk, slap my ass, and tell me how sexy I am, are you?”
“Ryan!” she scolds, completely embarrassed, and shoots a look towards my mom.
I laugh at her, knowing that she has nothing to be concerned about when it comes to my mom. She adores Candace, and the two of them have become quite close in the past couple of months.
I take a seat on the couch next to Candace as the three of us chat. I wanted to do something more for tonight, but this was probably the best idea. As we spend the evening relaxing and visiting over pizza, wine, and beer, I take in the fact that I have never had this before. At least not here in Seattle. I’m close with my family back home, but never felt that connection here, until now—until her. I’ve always known from the start that Jase, Candace, and Mark were tight. Just the three of them. And before I realized it, I’d become a part of that.
I’ve never had friendships and connections like I have with these people. I never wanted to. Even though they are all younger than me, when I saw the level of closeness and trust between the three of them, I saw what I had been missing. Candace made me want that—the connect. The commonality between us was something that was lacking in my previous friendships. For the first time since I moved here, the first time in the past ten years, I have people that I trust and care about.
It’s unfortunate when I think about it, but in a way, it’s Candace’s trauma that has bonded the four of us. I know we all love her in our own unique way, and at the root, there’s never been jealousy. Only three men that love this girl. And knowing that she has all of us gives me a level of security that I never expected to feel.
So we take this night, and like any family would, we laugh and eat cheap birthday cake straight from the box. Mom helps me clean up
in the kitchen while Candace sits on the floor, cuddled into Jase, bantering back and forth with Mark, determined to get that plastic ring from him.
“I love her.”
I look at my mom when she says this to me as we load the dishwasher.
“She’s really something special,” she adds.
“Yeah, she is,” I agree as I watch her from across the room.
We finish up and wipe the counters down, and Candace asks as we walk back in, “Hey, you guys wanna watch a movie?”
“You all go ahead. I’m going to get some sleep so I’m rested for tomorrow,” my mom says.
Candace walks over and gives her a hug, saying, “Thanks again for coming, Donna.”
“How about we spend a little girl time tomorrow, just the two of us?”
“That sounds perfect.”
“I love being ditched by the women in my life,” I tease as I step behind Candace and wrap my arms around her shoulders.
“I’m sure you can find something to busy yourself with,” my mom shoots back at me. “Good night, you two.”
“Let me help you get settled in,” I offer when she starts to head back to the guest bedroom. I stand there for a moment with Candace in my arms and then turn her around to face me. Tilting her head back to look up at me, I kiss her before saying, “Give me a couple of minutes.”
When I return, the lights are off, and the three of them have made a pile of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room with the fireplace going.
“You guys work fast,” I murmur as I lie down next to Candace and tuck her into me.
We watch ‘The Breakfast Club,’ and about halfway through, Jase and Mark call it a night and head out, leaving Candace and I alone for the first time tonight.
She rolls over in my arms and weaves her legs with mine.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
“For?”
“Your mom and the cake.”
I kiss her nose, and she smiles as I say, “Anytime.”
“I love you,” she says before she kisses me.
When our kisses turn into more, I stop and sit up. “Come on.” I grab her hand and tell her, “I want you in my bed, under my sheets,” before taking her upstairs.
As expected, the girls woke up this morning and went out for breakfast and shopping. I decided to take the time and work on the photos of Candace’s legs that I took the other day. I spent most of the morning in my office, working on the computer before going to the gym to grab a quick workout.
It’s a little after noon by the time they get back. When they walk through the door, their hands are full of shopping bags.
“Damn, that was a long breakfast,” I joke as I help them with their bags.
“Sorry, time got away from us. If I didn’t have to go home, I would have spent the whole day with her,” Mom says.
“Well, thanks for bringing her back. I’m sick of sharing her,” I tease as I wrap my arm around Candace.
Nudging me in the gut, she playfully scolds, “Ryan!”
“Sorry, babe, but it’s the truth,” I remark and then go in for a nibble on her neck.
“Okay, kids. I’ve seen enough. I’m going to go pack,” my mom says, heading down the hall.
“Ryan, that tickles,” she laughs, trying to squirm out of my arms. Picking her up, I haul her over to the couch where I lay her down and start planting soft kisses on her. “Did you have a good time this morning?” I ask between my nips and then lick the hollow of her neck.
“Uh huh.”
I continue to kiss her like this until she says, “Ryan, we should stop.”
“Why?”
“Because your mom is about to leave, and you should go spend a little time with her before she goes.”
Not wanting to stop, I let out a groan and tell her, “Okay, but I’m not done with you.”
Candace takes her shopping bags and goes upstairs while I check in with my mom.
“Did you two have fun?” I ask, sitting on the edge of the bed as she gets her things together to leave.
“We did. She took me over to the coffee shop where she works.”
“What did you guys talk about?”
“You’re nosey,” she quips, and I laugh at her, but she quickly straightens her face and comes to sit next to me on the bed. “She’s worried.”
“About what?” I ask.
“Have you given any thought to what’s going to happen after she graduates?”
“Yeah, Mom, I have. Is that what’s bothering her?”
“It would be odd if it weren’t. Isn’t it bothering you?” she questions.
“I try not to let it. But whatever happens, I’d never leave her.”
“Sometimes girls need a little extra reassurance,” she offers as she pats my knee and smiles.
I help my mom with her bag as I walk her out.
“Candace,” I call to her upstairs.
“Coming,” she responds, and as she’s walking down, I see the sadness creep across her face. She doesn’t say anything, going over to hug my mom. I feel bad as she starts to cry, knowing she wants to spend more time with her.
I reach out and place my hand on her back when she pulls away from the hug, and my mom says, “Come see me, okay?”
Candace nods her head, and I know that she hates the sound of her voice when she’s this upset, so she stays quiet as I wrap my arms around her from behind.
“When is your next break?”
“She has the last two weeks of this month off before her last quarter,” I answer for her so she doesn’t have to speak.
“You and Ryan come visit, okay?” she offers as she looks at her.
We say our goodbyes, and she leaves to drive back home. Turning Candace around, I hold her in my arms and give her a few minutes to just be sad. I’m grateful for the bond the two of them have forged, but I don’t like seeing my girl upset like this.
“You okay, babe?”
“I hate that she lives so far away,” she says as I wipe her face. “I really like having her around.”
“I know you do. We’ll go visit her when you’re on your break.”
She rests her head on my chest and sighs before saying, “My parents never even called me.” I grip the back of her head and hold her tight as she adds, “I mean . . . I knew they wouldn’t, but it still hurts.”
“I know it does.”
And this is the shit I hate. Thinking about her mom and dad, wondering how they could turn away from their daughter so easily. I know it’s possible because of my own dad, but thinking about everything Candace has gone through in the past several months cuts me deep, and all I want to do is protect her from anything that could hurt her.
“Come on, let’s go grab something to eat before we go to the campus,” I tell her and just hope to God that she got this solo because I don’t want to see how upset she’ll be if she didn’t.
Seeing the look on her face was priceless. She was shocked and giddy and couldn’t control her enthusiasm when she jumped into my arms, squealing. She got her solo, and I couldn’t have been more proud. This girl works her ass off, but it got me thinking more about what my mom said. I’m not ignorant of the fact that Candace will probably get a job that requires her to move. I’ve been taking a lot of time away from the bar these past few weeks, and I need to start considering what her moving means for me and my business.
When I walk into the bedroom, I notice that the door to the bathroom is cracked open. Slowly opening the door wider, I see her standing there in my boxers and a tank top, finishing up brushing her teeth. It’s been a long day, and she’s been through a string of emotions since this morning. I walk up from behind and slip my arms around her as I drop a few kisses along the curve of her bare shoulder. She holds on to my arms with her hands as we watch each other in the mirror.
She turns around, and I lift her up onto the edge of the sink and look down at her; she has a peaceful look about her tonight.
“You’re fuckin’ g
orgeous,” I tell her, and my words make her laugh as I lower my mouth to hers.
Sliding my tongue past her lips, she hooks her ankles behind my waist, burying her hands in my hair. Her touch excites me but in a soothing way. I pick her up, walk her across the room, and fall into bed with her. I stare down, and I know, that no matter what happens, she has me. I don’t want to belong to anyone but her.
She runs her hands up my chest and around to the back of my neck, pulling me down, and we kiss. We kiss in a way that’s different than all the times before. I can’t explain it, but it takes over me, holding a new level of passion. I press her firmly to me, tasting the mint that still lingers in her mouth.
Lifting her back off the bed, I sit her up and watch her as she removes her top. I get caught up in her and press her back down onto the bed, situating my hips between her legs. She’s so warm against me, and my chest begins to tighten with the effect this girl has on me.
I never gave my heart to anyone before. I never wanted to. I was scared. But maybe I was just saving it for her. And now, I want to give this girl more than my heart. I want to give her everything.
Realizing that I’m getting too carried away with myself, I pull back, nearly panting, “We should stop,” as I rest my forehead on her sternum.
She runs her hands through my hair, whispering, “Don’t.”
Her words are unexpected, so I pull up to look over her face, to try and read what she’s thinking.
“Babe,” I breathe out, heavy.
She looks me straight in the eyes and tells me, “I don’t want you to stop.”
“I need you to talk to me,” I respond with nerves coursing through me, unsure of what to do here.
“I don’t want to stop tonight.”
Fear. That’s what comes over me when I hear her words. Closing my eyes, I drop my head to hers. My heart is racing when I urge, “Please tell me this is okay,” because the thought of this scares me.
She nods her head against mine, but it isn’t enough. “I need to hear you say it, babe.”
I finally open my eyes when she cups my face and assures me, “It’s okay. I want this, with you, I just . . . I don’t know if I can.”
