by Billie Dale
Despite sweat pouring down my spine, I couldn’t help ogling Joey, whose sea-matching, heated eyes never strayed from mine. My mind faded from our friends, switching them for us. I saw our entire life through a series of quick, still flashes: marriage, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. It wasn’t all berries and woo but pure, radiant, endless love haloed us in each visage. My soul aches for those moments. I want it. All of it.
I don’t care about the big hoopla ceremony. One day of pomp and circumstance can’t compare to what comes after. The marriage. A lifetime spent growing and living with the man who shines bright stars to light the shadowy parts of my soul.
Since the reception is still a few days away, we volunteered to keep Mazzy Jae while her parents frolicked as newlyweds. Kind of a win for us since she enjoys pestering and challenging Cash, with her high intelligence, enough to keep them both out of our hair. Even better is how all the excitement and sunshine tire them out. Mazzy might possess the mind of a thirty-year-old but her body is still nine.
Can’t say being in my late twenties proved any more fruitful for me either. But I enjoy the bonus of sitting on the deck outside our room under a midnight cloudless sky, blanketed with clusters of white constellations and a glowing half full yellow moon. Kicked back on a cushioned chaise, all snuggled and sleepy lidded against Joey’s chest, listening to the waves crash and the partying insect nightlife with a goblet of white wine is pure dream-come-true bliss.
“I’m so happy Sam and Maz finally got their happy after everything they’ve been through,” I say. An agreeable hum vibrates his chest against my back. “The ceremony was so perfect and I swear I could see their souls melding.” Again, he responds with a hum. I twist, cranking my neck to meet his eyes. “Cat got your tongue? Why so monosyllabic?”
In the half-light, questions furrow his brow, dimming the glow of the moon reflecting in his eyes. Whatever is keeping him quiet weighs heavy on his mind. The narrow line of his lips and loose hold of his arms send goosebump-causing wiggens down my arms. A deep sigh lifts me up and down with its powerful inhale and exhale. My mind screams to abort, flee, distract, but I stay because whatever is plaguing his mind needs an out.
His lips part and I see him warring with himself. Several moments pass while I wait and watch. Finally, his hand cups my cheek and with his thumb sweeping my cheek, a breathy question slips through his lips, “Why did you really leave me behind?”
“I told you why. It was time to spread my wings.” I reiterate the same crap I spewed back then. “We were young…”
His index finger settles in my Cupid’s bow, silencing me. “No more lies.” His weary eyes beg for honesty.
My shoulders soften in defeat. If I hope for a future with this man than we need a clean slate. “You’re right.” I nod leaning out of his touch. “I was untruthful, but at the time I thought it best. Joey, you convinced yourself what I wanted was good enough for you. But you didn’t have the faintest clue what you wanted to do with your life, except love me. Love isn’t always enough. I figured I’d work my tail off in college while you floundered trying to find a job. I’d meet new people and grow while you still orbited around me, because I was all you knew. We’d dig ourselves deeper and deeper until the hole grew so cavernous, we couldn’t climb out and the first rainstorm would drown us. You were this sweet hometown guy with Southern charm and heart eyes. I couldn’t stand to watch it slowly drain from you.”
“So why didn’t you stay in touch or come back? You could’ve checked in, reevaluated where we stood.”
“I planned to. My goal was to settle, plant my feet. Then I’d see what might work for you, but then you asked me to marry you.” Eyes squeezed shut I sit up, wrapping my arms around my knees. I’m unable to bear the emotion darkening his face. “Everything inside me screamed to say yes but one small shred bellowed how we were too young, with no idea how to navigate life. We threw the words ‘I love you’ around in a slapdash manner without the depth required to make them true…”
“I meant it every fucking time I said it. Fuck, Preslee,” he shouts. “Yes, we were young but I meant those words with every fiber inside me each time I said them. Our youth didn’t keep your leaving from ripping my heart to fucking shreds.”
“I meant them too. But, Joey, you experienced marrow-deep love the day Cash was born. The swallow your heart kind, which makes you willing to die if it means they’re safe. So pure nothing can break it. The bond between a father and son. What we had was a whole lotta firsts and while we threw our heart in, it was all immaturity riddled with fits of jealousy and wrapped in bratty arguments. We loved with all we had, but at the time we hadn’t lived enough to sustain it. Can you honestly say what we felt was anything close to what overcame your heart when first laid eyes on your son?”
“That’s a different love, Preslee.” Anger eclipses his words turning my name into a curse.
“There is nothing my son will ever do to stop my love for him. A relationship between two people can’t hold that level of unconditional. Infidelity, lies, and abuse end couples every day. You can’t compare the two.”
Tears blur my vision. “It’s all sharing your soul with another human being. A willingness to forgive and an unwillingness to quit.” I swallow around the lump knotting my throat as a fat tear drips down my cheek. “When I said no, your pain leveled me and said the damage I’d done was irreparable, unforgivable. I was afraid to see you hate me, so I absconded a chunk of my soul and never looked back. Sometimes you have to break your own heart to feel what really makes it beat.”
“But yours wasn’t the only heart broken,” he scolds. Unable to keep still, I move to stand. His arms become dead weight, keeping me in place. “You selfishly took away my choice. Instead of asking why I wanted to come, you assumed it was all about you. Yes, I admit I was young, dumb, and ruled by my dick, but I had jobs lined up and I checked into a community college. I spent hours searching so I wouldn’t be a burden. I believed we could conquer the world, together.”
Damn, damn, damn. All the hurt and agony I’ve repressed strangles my heart with guilt. Months spent questioning my decision and fighting the urge to pick up the phone. Hours toiled away trolling his social media pages, praying for a sign he was waiting for me. He was never much for updating his status. Aside from an occasional tag in a post, I learned nothing of his life, marriage, or son. I never worked up the courage to dig beyond his personal page. Sam would’ve kept me in the loop, but I refused to admit how much I missed him.
The past is there and we are here. Older, somewhat wiser, and hardened in a good way. “Do you believe everything happens for a reason?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Listen before you deem me crazy.” I trace the veins across his hand, trailing my index finger up his corded forearm. “The mystic spirals of the universe present us with path choices. Remember those choose your adventure books? Both roads lead you to the same place but one way offers speed bumps while the other holds tire-shredding potholes to slow you down. The path of least resistance is easier and faster, but stopping to fix what’s broken is vital. If you don’t take the harder way, you might lose some of the most important pieces of your life.”
I chance a glance at his face. Teeth gnawing on the corner of his mouth, his vacant gawp over my shoulder says he’s mulling over my babbling. I’m on a roll so might as well unload all my insightful foolishness. “While my leaving threw you into a jagged, axle-breaking cavity of broken pavement. Pausing your life made you stop and take inventory. It led you to Buford and a job you were meant to do, but most importantly, without all the bullshit you wouldn’t have Cash.”
“But he could’ve been yours instead hers,” he argues.
“Then he wouldn’t be the same Cash Josiah Holmes. And I, for one, think he is one spectacular little man, perfect the way he is.” He grumbles all sullen about how I’m right. “Look, Joey, we took the long road but this is where we belong. I’m having major feels and that pesky “L” word wants to fall out so o
ften it’s choking me.”
His torso shifts, straightening his spine. His focus is on me, but I need it undivided. Nakedness is a surefire way to capture a man’s attention. I wiggle out from between his legs, tug his baggy tee I slipped on before coming out here over my head, leaving me in nothing but a lacy thong with a peach bow above my butt. Due to the thickness of the chaise lounge, slinging a leg over his thighs proves a tad less graceful than I intended. Thanks to my nakedness, he doesn’t notice my blundering. Straddled over his thighs, I cup his face between my hands. Gotta keep his eyes up away from the bare boobs. My thumbnails scratch through the hair covering his chin.
“Preslee,” his soft voice turns hoarse, “I lo…” My index finger silences him this time.
When I plopped down his palms landed on my back, rubbing up and down while I situated myself. Now, his spanned fingers inch through the ticklish place under my arms, gliding until both my breasts sit in his hands. A slight ocean breeze peaks my nipples. The pads of his thumbs brushing against them makes keeping my thought train maddening. I deserve top accolades in the resisting temptation Olympics, but I need to say this.
“Show me. Exhale our past. Inhale our present. Until our world slows on its axis, threatening to grind to a halt, we make our second chance more than words. So many times, people use those eight letters in place of the sentiment to make them true. Love is a hug for no reason, support on the worst of days and shared joy on the best. It’s breakfast in bed, a ride from the airport, a forehead kiss, holding hands, sending a song which makes you think of me, handling vapid telemarketers, saying ‘bless you’ when I sneeze, thinking I’m beautiful when I’m really a hot mess, and seeing no other woman but me, trusting someone with all of you… it’s an entire planet of little subtle conveniences, flirts, and simplicity but conveying what matters without uttering a syllable. We save the words to use when actions can’t.”
A lopsided grin hooks up one side of his lips for a fraction of a second before they touch mine. He draws back, waggling his brows. “I’m all for a little less talk and a lot more action.” A whispered kiss followed by a sinful smirk. “Lovin’, touchin’, squeezin’.” I expect another peck but he shifts, dusting his lips along my cheek instead before hitting me with a hell of a smolder. “Everything I do, I do for you.” He finds the other cheek. “I don’t want to miss a thing.” Now my nose. “More. Than. Words. Preslee, you’re the flame. You were the first and you’ll be the last.” Warm breath skates down until his mouth takes mine in a searing possession.
Our frenzied hands tear at each other. He yanks my thong to the side a blink before he fills me. Hands on my hips, he slams me up, down, back, and forth on his length. Thrusts so powerful I can’t maintain our kiss. From the bottom he controls me. My head falls back as pleasure consumes me. It’s quick, brutal, and laced with everything we won’t say. He spears deep, I spiral into a screaming orgasm. Thighs aching, body sated and weak, I hold his shoulders. Pain burns where his fingertips hold me. The thought of wearing his fingertip-shaped bruises tightens my core. Up he raises me, my opening to his tip. Face buried in my chest, his grip clamps harder as his length swells and hands force me down. A roaring groan echoes through the night air, singing in harmony with his release.
He carries my useless but tingling body inside. After a quick warm cloth cleanup, we cuddle under the blankets. My front to his back, our legs scissored. “Mad props on the song title verbiage, Mr. Holmes. Let’s see, you covered Toby Keith, Journey, Bryan Adams, Aerosmith, Extreme, you even slipped a tad bit of Cheap Trick in there,” I whisper, my cheeks hurt from the cheeky smile widening my lips. “Are we officially a we, warts and all?”
Joey is silent behind me. Maybe he dozed off. I twist to check. He’s not asleep, but he is statue stiff. His lips move, but the words come out so low I’m forced to lean closer to hear. “Can you say you’ll be there once it’s safe for you to go home?” he asks.
I need him to see my face when I answer. A wiggle and flip maneuvers me to face him, settling on the pillow until we’re a hairsbreadth from our noses touching. “I sacrificed you once and it almost broke me. I’d never survive losing you again. Home is where you and Cash are, Josiah Carter Holmes. All the rest is static waiting for dial spin to clear the signal. We’ll figure it out. Together.”
“Sounds perfect.” His breathless whisper tickles my lips. The column of his nose slides up and around mine in the most decadent Eskimo-style kiss. He rings an arm underneath me, pulling me to lie on his chest. Legs knitted, arms locked, he can’t hold me close enough. His love singsongs through every hair follicle and pore without a word from his lips.
Forty-Four
Preslee
Kids wake up too early.
Our Cash-style alarm consists of him flinging himself on the bed between us. Before my eyes open and too far ahead of ample caffeination, he’s ready for our scheduled treasure hunt for the elusive town of Bikini Bottom.
If I weren’t naked and still half asleep, I’d love his enthusiasm. But at six in the morning I’m not feeling it. Joey demands he eat a solid breakfast, using the search for the man made of sponge as incentive to usher the excited boy out of the room long enough for us to dress.
We negotiate a few more hours by suggesting he watch a few episodes of the show while mapping out a strategy for the day. Mazzy tries to tell him we will never find the pineapple under the sea, but the boy is undeterred. They argue fact verses cartoon while I drink coffee and Joey cooks pancakes.
Is there anything hotter than a man standing shirtless at the stove cooking? Yes. The same man eyeing you with so much love it wraps you in a hug while cleaning up the mess, after serving me a heart-shaped blueberry flapjack drowned in buttery, syrupy goodness. My God he’s as magically delicious as a box of marshmallow only Lucky Charms.
Mazzy asks how we plan on searching the sea without scuba gear, claiming no smart sponge would build his town so near the shore. Cash’s bright smile slowly lowers. I swoop in to stop his oncoming meltdown by bringing out the snorkeling sets I picked up. While I slip on my swimsuit, he paces outside my door telling me to hurry. Joey offers to join us, but Cash informs him this is an Elvis and Johnny only thing. He promises to alert his dad when we find Sponge Bob so Joey can meet him.
He’ll be crushed when we can’t find the fictional character, but I tasked Joey with setting up a hard yellow kitchen sponge, a dried up starfish, a stuffed squirrel, and a real-life snail on the beach halfway through the day while we’re underwater.
If you’ve ever seen the movie where the cast ventures to dry land then you know this is what they look like out of the water. Plus, when our adventure ends, Cash keeps Gary the snail as a pet.
∞∞∞
I teach him how to breathe through the mouthpiece. Hours later, as predicted, we haven’t found Bikini Bottom but Cash collected a bucket of unique shells, sand dollars, and sea glass. When I sense he’s running out of energy I coax him to the beach for lunch. A picnic basket with PB&J sandwiches, chips, and bottles of water sits on a large weighted blanket. Along the back corner, pretending to eat tiny gummy Krabby Patties, are all the friends he’s been diving for.
Cash is smart enough to understand they’re not real, but excited all the same. He rambles random show specifics around mouthfuls of food.
I love listening to his vigorous youthful lilt. When he pauses to breathe and take a drink, a rumble snags my attention. My eyes turn owlish at the darkness swirling miles offshore above the ocean. The sweeping foam playing on the shore grows longer and stronger with each swelling wave. Joey yells something about a storm warning, but the roaring wind and sea steal his voice. It’s on us faster than we can respond. I see him struggling to close the shutters on the house, but I need to collect our stuff and move Cash inside.
“Go!” I shout to Seth and Miguel who hover close, keeping watch. “Help him seal the windows. I’ll grab this stuff and be right behind you.” They hesitate but no one can access to our private section o
f beach, so after I send them a scathing hairy eyeballed glare they race up to the house. The wind picks up our blanket scattering items all down the beach. Cash runs chasing his blowing characters while I scramble to grab the blanket and our towels. Hard rain pelts my skin as I catch up to my suit coverup. Chilly air from the rapid temperature drop pebbles my skin to gooseflesh. “Yes,” I cheer, fisting the fabric. Elated over my stellar garment capture, I wave it in the air all capture the flag-style grinning ear to ear despite, the drenching wetness on my face.
Items hugged to my chest, I spin to run toward Cash. An arm rings my neck from behind. A scream lodges in my throat, trapped by a crushing grip on my windpipe. Down the beach I see a small and big blob fighting through the sheeting rain. Cash! I cry out in my mind. All at once I drop; hoping the dead weight of my body will break the vise stealing my air. The person restraining me counters my movement, lacing their other arm under my boobs, muscling the air from my lungs while keeping me up. The wind carries Cash’s high-pitched sobbing bellow for help. Before I can thrash or kick, a sharp stab digs into the side of my neck. Speed equaling a bolt of lightning crashing in the sand sends numbness burning a fiery path through my veins. The edges of my vision fuzz, my mouth floods with metallic sweetness, and as my limbs turn liquid, darkness devours me.
Forty-Five
Joey
Mazzy sat on the deck kicking my ass at chess. All we could see of Preslee and Cash were the bright yellow tubes of their snorkels. Our expanse of beach stretches wide. They cover it from one end to the other, heads breaking the surface every few feet so Cash can show Preslee his finds.
This woman never stops wowing me. From the way too intense and accurate ramblings on her view of speaking our emotions, to how she handed me a bag filled with a sponge, a squirrel, a starfish, and a snail in a tiny terrarium directing me on when to stage them. She even buried half the bucket in the sand beyond the surf to deposit all of Cash’s treasures. She is beyond description. Not only did she buy surface diving gear, she planned to avert my son’s disappointment.
