by K. Webster
I POKE MY head back out the window and see him trudging back toward me. I’m thankful that he’s found some of our snacks, but when he waves my gloves at me, I burst into tears.
“You found them!” I shriek. You’d think I’d just won the lottery from the excitement I can barely contain.
“I also found my phone,” he grumbles.
My excitement is snuffed out, because even though finding his phone should be an awesome discovery, he doesn’t sound happy about it.
“Is it broken?” I question as he leans against the car, his chest heaving from his exertion.
“Almost dead.”
“That’s okay. The charger is still plugged in. We’ll charge it and then call the police. They’ll rescue us,” I chatter.
He pulls it from his coat pocket and hands it to me.
No signal.
Biting my bottom lip, I try to blink the tears away, but they well in my eyes and eventually run down my cheeks.
“What are we going to do, Bentley?”
Frowning, he hands me the items he found. “We’re going to survive the night and then we’ll go from there. I was able to get a signal for a few minutes and spoke to Harley. They know we’ve been in an accident and will come looking for us.”
“That’s great news,” I sniffle.
“Plug the phone in and stay inside. I’m going to clear a path around the muffler so the fumes don’t back up into the car. I’ll also inspect the damage to the engine if I can.”
The old Caroline, the one from just two hours ago, would have been miffed at being told what to do. But the new Caroline knows that her husband is trying to protect her.
“Okay, but here,” I say as an icy gust of wind whips my hair around. “You need to put on your gloves.”
He nods and approaches me. I pull off both of them, and when I’m about to hand them to him, I see that his hands are quivering. He’s so cold.
“Let me,” I tell him sternly.
With a grunt, he holds his hands out to me. They’re as cold as ice in my warm ones. So I sandwich them between mine and bring them to my lips. Huffing out hot breaths, I attempt to warm them up and end up kissing them between each exhalation.
“Care,” he gasps.
My eyes lift to his and I see such love in them that I almost collapse from the weight of his gaze. He truly does still love me. I’d be blind not to see that.
Once I’m satisfied that his fingers have come back to life, I ease his gloves on much like a mother would for her own child, careful not to put two fingers into one hole.
“There you go,” I say with a smile. “Now, please hurry. You’ve been in the cold too long.”
He nods and then digs the snow away from the back of the car. After he seems pleased with his job, he staggers around the vehicle to the front.
“Fucking hell!” he shouts above the hum of the engine.
“What? What is it?”
“A leak. It’s too dark, so I can’t tell what it is, but I think it might be antifreeze from the radiator. If that’s the case, the car will overheat, which means that, in a short period of time, we’re going to be without heat,” he says in frustration.
“But it’s cold outside. Why will it overheat? Can’t you just put some snow on it?” I question. Seems legit.
The man I am divorcing suddenly appears out of nowhere. “Goddammit, Caroline! No, you can’t just cool it off. We’re fucked! There’s no way in hell Harley can get help here in time. We’ll freeze to fucking death before that happens!”
I understand that he’s upset, but my hopeful heart is crushed. For some reason, I allowed myself to believe that this accident was not, indeed, an accident, but an act of God—he’d put us into this situation so we could fix ourselves and work things out.
I was wrong.
There is no fixing us.
Bentley is no longer the person I married.
Giving him a tearful shake of my head, I lower myself back into the car.
His face suddenly appears above me. “Baby, I’m sorry.”
I stare at the cracked glass on the windshield but don’t verbally answer him. A simple nod is all I can muster.
“Fuck that,” he growls as he climbs in through the window.
Being that we’re trapped together, I can’t exactly run away and avoid him like usual. Now, my behemoth of a husband is invading every inch of my space as he drops into the car practically on top of me. I attempt to scramble away from him, but I’m no match for his brute strength as he envelops me in a bear hug and twists us so that I’m sitting in his lap.
This reminds me of one particular fight we had in college.
“Don’t run away from me, pretty girl. I’ll always catch you.”
Our first “fight.”
I wanted to watch The Notebook again and he wanted to watch the newest Batman movie. When he started quoting The Notebook word for word in a ridiculous country accent, I got pissed and left him standing in the aisle of the video store, holding both movies. I’d just made it outside the door when his strong arms encircled my waist and I was pulled against his massive chest.
I deliberately hold my breath so I don’t smell him. After our shower together earlier, every time I’ve gotten a whiff of the soap on his skin, I’ve felt all flushed and my panties have gotten annoyingly wet.
“Leave me alone, Bentley,” I snap.
But when his mouth finds my neck, my body betrays me and I relax against him.
“You can’t just manhandle me and use your wicked tongue on me every time we have an argument,” I scold but whimper as his tongue teases my flesh.
“I can and I will. I’ll always have this tongue in my arsenal. When you’re mad, I’ll always chase you down and make you forgive me.”
As he suckles my skin, the fight leaves me, and suddenly, the action movie sounds quite nice, especially considering we’ll be making a little romance on our own.
“Promise?”
“To lick your pussy until you come all over my lips every time you get angry? Definitely,” he chuckles. The vibrations ripple through his chest and down to my core.
“No, you animal. Every time we have a disagreement, promise me that you’ll fight for me—not against me. And that we’ll always end it with a kiss.”
“I promise.”
My memory fades, and I feel him stroking my hair. Turning my head, I look into his chocolate eyes. When did he start breaking his promise? When did we stop fighting for each other?
His eyes fall to my lips, and before I can stop him, he leans forward and captures mine. At first, his kiss is soft and apologetic. But when a sad whimper leaves my mouth, he swallows it down and tastes me more aggressively. My hands, not at all on the same page as my head, slide over his chest, up his neck, and into his hair. Gripping him, I tug him closer to me and tangle my tongue with his.
It’s been so long.
So long since he’s kissed me with such . . . ferocity. Such passion.
“God, I’m so sorry, Care. What happened to us?” he questions in a pained voice between our kisses.
“You stopped fighting for us.”
His hands find my hips and he maneuvers my legs so that I’m straddling him. I’ve missed being this close to him. And I’d say that he missed me too by the massive erection that sits between us.
“I’m fighting now, Caroline. Please tell me it’s not too late.”
I kiss him again as his hands find my ass. “I don’t know, Bentley.” My words are unsure—mimicking the way I feel. I don’t understand the flood of emotions I’m feeling right now. He upsets me, yet, if we were in better conditions, I’d let him tear a hole in my leggings and make love to me right now.
“Baby, we can fix this—us. Let me fix us,” he whispers against my lips.
It sounds so good. Too good, in fact. Still, I’m tempted to say yes.
“I’m not sure that you can.”
My words are snuffed out when he kisses me hard. One of his hands slide
s around to my front, and I almost shoot through the window above us when his finger tentatively touches my clit through my pants.
“Can I touch you?” His voice is gravelly as it travels all the way through my body, leaving a wake of goose bumps that have nothing to do with the freezing air. He gently touches me again when I don’t answer.
I nod briefly and then drop my head back the moment he fingers me more firmly through my clothes. His hands have mastered the pattern of bliss my body so desperately desires. The pattern not even I know—just him. My body responds to him and I rock with him, knowing my part of this erotic dance only we can perform.
“You’re so beautiful, Care Bear. Come for me. I want to make you feel so good—it’s been too long, baby.”
His words are now the lyrics to our sexual song, and all I can do is moan out my sounds of agreement. My skin begins to flush and tingle as a long-overdue orgasm cloaks me. It’s so intense that I shudder hard against him, but he holds me to him, never losing his rhythm.
“That’s it—ride it out,” he coos, his hot breath on my neck only intensifying my responsiveness.
My climax holds my body prisoner longer than I expected. Finally, though, I’m released from its delicious clutches and collapse against him.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so damn long,” he murmurs.
Lifting up, I stare into his eyes. In the midst of everything we’re going through, I’m able to lose myself in him—even if only for moment.
“You should have done it sooner,” I breathe against his lips.
He squeezes my ass and sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. “Baby, I’m going to do that every day for the rest of our lives.”
My heart patters at his words, and I allow myself the luxury to wonder.
I wonder if we can fix this.
I wonder if we can harness the love we once had and ride it together.
I wonder if we can live happily ever after.
A tiny piece of me hopes we can—no matter how long that may be. As it stands, our time together might end tomorrow if Mother Nature decides to steal the warmth of our love and our bodies with her storm. The thought of that notion lights a match in my soul.
I’ll fight that bitch tooth and nail for the man who’s finally fighting for me again.
It’s not too late.
We can fix this.
AS I STUDY her blue eyes, they flicker with hope and I want to be true to my promise. I’ve made plenty of mistakes, and being an asshole is the main one. This whole time, I thought she had grown bored of me—that she preferred the company of her hoity-toity friends over me. I imagined she preferred another man’s touch to mine, even though the thought of it nearly sent me into a blind rage.
But now, as I stare not at her, but into her, I know. I know she’s never stopped loving me. It’s clear that she assumed I quit on her. And maybe I did. At one point, being a money-trading badass did amazing things for my ego. My bosses loved me. My coworkers thought I walked on goddamned water. But Caroline?
Caroline was never impressed.
I often wondered if she was just jealous of all the new attention I received. Looking back though, I see I was just selfish. Caroline has always wanted me to be happy—fulfilled—but unfortunately, it was at the expense of her.
Right now, the stocks are probably tanking and my clients are probably cursing the very Earth I sit upon. But for the first time in nearly a decade, I feel free. The moment my laptop died in a dramatic death on the hill, the chains that bound me were broken. And my angel was waiting for me.
It takes hindsight to realize this. It takes having everything ripped from you except for the thing you cherish most to make you see that you were a fool for having ever let anything come before her.
Speaking of angels, mine has relaxed against me and is running her thumb across my neck.
This.
Is.
Perfection.
I feel like the heavens have opened up and performed some divine intervention to give us this chance. And earlier, when the frustration of the gravity of our situation almost consumed me with rage, I went off on her. Stupidly. I hurt her feelings and then hated myself for it. From here on out, I’m going to work on harnessing the part of me I despise and begin to eradicate it. I want to be who I used to be.
Bentley.
The half-crazy, playful guy who spoiled his girl with love—not with things. No matter what I bought Caroline—homes, cars, jewelry, vacations—it was never enough. However, the times I’d surprise her with a milkshake on the way home or surprise her for a lunch date? Those were the times she looked at me with so much adoration.
I want that again.
I’m ready to clobber the snobby, workaholic asshole and find myself again.
Caroline deserves to have him back.
When the car struggles and makes a choking noise, she sits ramrod straight and her eyes are widened in horror.
“What if it stops?” she hisses.
It will. And soon.
“Not if, baby. When. We need to be prepared that it will probably die soon. We’ll just stay close and keep our body heat contained.”
As if Mother Nature overheard our plans to survive, the wind picks up and whistles around the vehicle. Snow starts to come down thick and heavy, making its way into the window above us.
“Shit! We need to figure out a way to cover the opening,” I tell her.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I found something that could help,” she grins with now pleased eyes.
My wife has never been one to fix things or come up with solutions to problems. She’s always let me handle them. But the fact that she thinks she has something figured out and is proud as punch has me wanting to squeeze her tight and never let go.
“What, baby?”
“Well, while rooting around in the back seat, I found an umbrella from the dealership. Maybe we could open it and it could keep the snow out?”
Her eyes are expectant yet nervous. She’s afraid I’ll shoot her idea down. Two hours ago, I would have had a better solution. In fact, I still do. We could get one of the suitcases from the trunk and cover the opening, which would block out the cold better too.
But I won’t shoot her balloon of hope down. Not anymore.
“That’s a great idea, Care. Grab it and let’s get it so we can block out this storm.”
She beams at me and reaches into the back. Then I watch her as she efficiently sets to sealing the snow out for us. She’s positively fucking glowing with pride. I’m not at all worried that my toes may fall off because the look on her eyes right now warms me to my core.
“Crap! Bentley, the wind is too strong. It will get blown away,” she pouts as she struggles to keep the umbrella in place.
I untie my boot. “Here,” I tell her as I hand her the lace. “Tie it around the bottom and then to the steering wheel. Make sure it’s taut and it should be fine.”
She nods and begins rigging the umbrella. Once she finishes, I stretch my legs toward the floorboard. Sitting on this laptop bag is uncomfortable as hell, but we’ll have to make do.
“Come straddle me again. It was pretty warm that way,” I instruct with a smirk. It was warm, but not in the way I said it.
She giggles and squats down to sit on my lap. Her humor dies down when I begin unzipping her coat. The trust in her eyes causes my chest to fill with some fierce, manly shit. Knowing that she believes I’ll take care of her is the best feeling ever.
And I will take care of her—until my dying breath.
Once her coat is open, I do the same with mine.
“Slide out of yours and come here,” I murmur.
As she removes her jacket, reflection of the dash lights allows me to see the curve of her breasts through her sweater and my mouth goes dry. What I wouldn’t give to taste one of her pink, tender nipples right now.
She slips her arms around my back and lays her head on my chest. After she settles, I wrap the coat around her and pull her to m
e. It’s much warmer with our bodies pressed together this way.
“We’re going to get through this,” I assure her, kissing her hair.
She squeezes me and nods. “I know we are.”
Cold.
Numb.
Wake up.
My lids are thick and heavy, which is making it difficult to wake up. The cut on my cheek feels swollen and hurts like hell. When I finally blink my eyes open, I groan.
Why the fuck am I so cold?
When clarity finds me, I realize that the umbrella has capsized and snow has piled into the car with us. We’re practically buried in it. And the silence besides our breathing indicates that the car died sometime in the middle of the night as well.
“Fuck! Baby, wake up,” I choke out. The cold seizes my lungs as I try to speak, and my throat is dry from not having had anything to drink.
“Is it morning?” she murmurs against my chest. Her breath warms me, and I want to snuggle her closer so we can go back to sleep.
“Yes. It seems early. But listen, we need to get out of here or we’re going to freeze to death,” I urge, though my muscles don’t even try to move.
“Five more minutes,” she pleads.
I close my eyes. The snow doesn’t seem that cold. Maybe we could just sleep a little longer and—
Shit! No! We’re covered in fucking snow—we’ll die if we don’t get moving.
“Up! Now!” I command more urgently.
As I lift up, every muscle in my body screams in protest. Not only do I hurt from the accident, but the cold has chilled all of my extremities. I need to bring warmth to them and quick.
“But I’m tired and I hurt,” she complains as she snuggles against me.
“Baby, there’s snow in the car. We have to get this shit out of here and figure out what the fuck we’re going to do.”
The panic in my voice alerts something deep inside her, because she sits up and stares at me sleepily.
“It’s on my back,” she hisses. Suddenly, she starts to swipe at the snow like it’s a bunch of poisonous bugs.
“Calm down. Can you crawl into the back seat?” I ask, trying desperately to relax my voice.
