I understand why he's angry. I feel his pain. If I were in his shoes, I would probably feel the same way he does.
“I'm so sorry. I was doing what I thought was right at the time.” I swipe a hand across my wet cheek.
He finally turns. His hands are clenched into fists. “What you did was wrong. How could you not tell me that I have a kid out there? How could you turn me into an absent father?”
The sword of guilt stabs me hard in the chest and I double over, my hands around my stomach, my heart breaking into even smaller pieces. “You don't understand,” I say in a suffocated whisper.
“Then explain it to me.” I detect a thawing in his tone. When I look up, I catch him walking back to me. I wait until he drops down next to me.
Despite choosing to hear me out, I can still feel the heat of his anger scorching my heart.
I lift my hand to touch his arm, but he shakes me off. He’s only interested in what I have to say.
I’m terrified of telling him everything. What if he reacts badly and ends up jumping to his death after all?
I let out a breath and close my eyes. “When I found out I was pregnant, it was a hard decision for me not to come looking for you, to tell you. But I followed your career in the press and everything was going so well for you. I thought that bringing a baby into your world would somehow ruin it.”
“I already told you that’s not a good enough excuse. Try again.”
“I don't have a better excuse. I'm sorry I didn’t tell you I was pregnant.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “But after she was born, I knew I had to tell you. You deserved to know.”
“Damn right, I did.” He drags a hand through his thick black hair. “I do. So, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“It wasn't that simple.” Bitter cold despair washes over me. “Something happened that made me change my mind.” I cover my face, catching my tears with my hands. I'm crying so hard that my words desert me. And he's too angry to offer me comfort. I don't blame him.
“There's one thing you probably don't know about me,” he says in a hoarse voice. “My father walked out on me and my brother when we were kids. I was three when he decided not to be a part of our lives. Our mother raised us alone.” I hear him shift next to me. “At a very young age I swore to myself that I would never walk away from my kid. And now I did through no fault of my own.” He inhales sharply. “What’s my daughter’s name?”
“Melinda.” My daughter's name trembles from the tip of my tongue. It still hurts to say it. “I was going to introduce you to her, but she left.”
I drop my hands into my lap. “What do you mean she left? Please tell me you didn't give her up for adoption without telling me. She's my daughter too.”
“Was,” I murmur. “She was your daughter, our daughter. And she was so beautiful.”
My breath catches in my throat when he grabs me by the shoulders. “Why are you referring to her in the past tense? What are you telling me?”
“She’s dead, okay? I’m sorry, but our little girl died.”
“Oh my God.” He drops his hands from my shoulders, draws his knees to his chest and rests his forehead on the tips. “Tell me it’s not true. You didn't have a stillbirth.”
“No, I didn’t. She was one year...She was one year old when I woke up one morning to find her gone.” I swallow down the warm tears clogging my throat. This is even harder than I could have ever imagined it to be. “When I put her to bed the night before, I didn’t know it would be the last time I would see her eyes open.”
I force myself to look at Seamus. The strong, handsome man who had made me feel alive and so special, two years ago, is being torn apart by sobs, crying so hard, his shoulders are shaking.
I'm the only one who understands his pain, so I wrap my arms around him, inhaling his familiar musk cologne mixed with sweat. At first, he stiffens and tries to pull away, but I refuse to let go. The harder he tries to push me away, the more I tighten my grip on him. I’m determined to fall with him into the lake of sorrow.
I clamp my lips to stifle a sob as I bury my face into the side of his neck. “Sometimes when the pain gets too hard to bear, my mom tells me that Melinda was too beautiful and perfect for this damaged world. That’s why God took him away. Sometimes it makes me feel better. Sometimes it doesn’t.” I sniff. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for a year now, but I couldn't find the courage to face you. I didn’t want to bring you pain.”
“Why now?” he asks between sobs.
“I don't know. Maybe I'm looking for some kind of closure.” A hiccup escapes my lips. “Or maybe I just need to share my pain with someone who will understand it.”
He pulls away suddenly, and his damp eyes reach into my soul. “I need to know more about my daughter.” He rises to his feet and stretches out his hand. I nod and take it.
A few minutes later, we’re sitting on the couch in his hotel suite and I’m forced to relive the worst moment of my life. Even with the pain I’m already carrying, that I have been carrying with me since Melinda died, I know that by the end of tonight, I’ll have more added to it. I’ll be carrying Seamus’s pain as well. I also know that tonight, I’m going to have to hold us both together.
Tomorrow night, I’ll leave Ireland as planned, to return to a life I had neglected since my daughter left me.
As hard as it was to come to Ireland, to face my painful memories, I’ll forever be grateful that I showed up in time to stop Seamus from killing himself.
“She had your eyes,” I say, after sharing with Seamus memories of all the bittersweet moments that will forever be imprinted on my heart.
I tell him the story of the day Melinda was born, how she loved to sleep with her little fists covering her eyes, and the way her bright eyes widened with confusion when her fingers got tangled in her curly hair.
I also tell him that she died two days after she took her first steps, when she was just getting ready to take on the world. Before my baby died, that day was one of the happiest days of my life. Now it’s one of the most painful to remember.
I’m not sure whether telling him that she looked like him would make things easier or much harder, but he wanted to know everything.
His body is rigid now, his gaze focused in front of him at the large flat screen TV that covers most of the wall. It's turned off, but you’d think he's watching something of interest.
“And she had my hair. I called her Little Red.” A faint smile tilts the corners of my mouth, but guilt erases it almost instantly. If only I had told him about Melinda sooner, to give him the chance to meet her before she was gone. I was a selfish coward. “Seamus, you don’t know how sorry I am. I should have—”
“Yeah, you should have, but I understand now why you didn’t,” he says in a wary voice. “It must be so hard for you.”
“For you too. She was your daughter.” I shift closer to him, hoping I can give him comfort this way. I don't expect anything from him. Just like the last time we were together, I don't expect any promises. I didn’t come to Ireland with the intention of sleeping with him again. I just yearned for closure. I’m twenty-six years old and feeling stuck is stopping me from moving forward.
Maybe I’ll get my closure, maybe I won’t. But at least he’ll know the truth.
“Our daughter.” My heart nearly stops when he puts an arm around me and draws me closer. I hold on to him because right now, he feels like the only solid thing. I didn’t expect this, but I guess we both need each other to start the healing process.
One. Two. Three.
I wonder which number I’ll reach before he lets me go.
We sit for a long time, just holding each other. Our shared pain merges into one. By the time he pulls back and gets to his feet, I’ve counted to one hundred and forty-five.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks, his handsome face blank.
“Water would be nice, thank you.” I clasp my hands in my lap and watch him approach a pitcher of water on the tabl
e by the window. He spills some of the clear liquid on the table because his hands are shaking so much.
“Can I help?” I ask.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” He manages to fill two glasses and our hands brush when he gives me mine. I know I’ll feel the tingle of his touch for many days to come.
Ignoring the butterflies in the pit of my stomach, I wrap both my hands around my glass and lift it to my lips. I only take one sip before putting it down on the coffee table.
I need to get this over and done with, to rip off the Band-Aid as quickly as possible. “Tell me what more you want to know. Anything.”
He drinks in silence for a while, then lowers his glass next to mine on the table. He turns to me, his eyes droopy with exhaustion. “Do you have photos? I’d like to see her.”
“Of course.” I brought photos. They would tell Melinda’s story more accurately than I ever could. But I didn’t show them to him immediately because I wanted him to be ready.
I rise to my feet and lift my handbag from where it’s hanging on the back of a chair. My knees wobble as I return to the couch, the intense emotions of tonight have drained me of energy.
I pull out a stack of photos, the best from Melinda's short life. My gaze is averted when I hand them to him. It's hard to look at her in the photos, looking so full of life, then having to remember her still body that fateful morning. It was tough having to go through the albums in search for the good photos without turning into a weeping mess.
Seamus tilts his head back, draws in a deep breath, then lowers his gaze to the photos in his hands. I hold my breath when he spreads them out on the coffee table. Then he just sits staring at them, saying nothing.
“She has your smile,” he says finally, picking up a photo of Melinda lying in her crib with a gummy smile on her face, her little arms stretched above her head.
I force myself to look at the photo and I smile in spite of myself. “The nurses said she was the most beautiful baby they had ever seen.”
“She's gone too soon.” I watch as Seamus’s fingers curl around the photo. Before he can damage one of the few precious memories we have of our daughter, I gently take it from his hand and place it next to the others. Then without thinking, I turn him to face me and pull him into a hug that we both need. I rest my chin on his strong shoulder, drenching his black T-shirt with my tears as fresh sobs rock us.
He finally breaks our contact and puts his hands on both sides of my face. “Thank you for coming to tell me even though it's torture for you.”
I swallow hard and place my hands on top of his. “I'm sorry I came too late. I wish I could have done things differently.”
“Stop. Don't.” He rests his forehead against mine. “Don't do that to yourself, not anymore. You've hurt enough.” He pauses. “I forgive you. “
“I don't think I'll ever stop hurting but it's good to know I don't have to carry the pain alone.”
Sitting here, close to him, feeling his breath on my face, memories return. Memories of us on a drunken night falling into each other's arms and giving each other a beautiful, but fleeting gift. I long to feel that good again, as happy as I was back then.
One of Seamus’s hands moves from my face to the back of my neck. Before I know it, before I can stop him, before I can think straight, his mouth finds mine and his tongue slides between my lips. The kiss. Oh, that unforgettable kiss he had given me that night felt just like this. It was a forever kind of kiss, the kind one never forgets no matter how much time passes.
It didn’t stop at one kiss two years ago and now as I drown into him, I doubt I’ll be able to stop it from going further. My mind tells me to stop, but my body disobeys. I find myself following his movements until I’m lying on my back. This is definitely not what I came for, but it feels right, as though I'm finding something I had lost.
“I never forgot you,” he whispers against my pulsing lips, the caress of his beard making my lips even more sensitive. “Each time we were on stage, I searched for your face in the crowds.”
His words send a ripple of excitement spiraling through me. My nipples are already hard, tingling against the fabric of my top.
“I never forgot you,” I croak as tears seep through the corners of my eyes.
“I'm so sorry I hurt you,” he kisses my tears away. “I gave you a beautiful girl, but I couldn’t keep her from being taken away.”
“I did the same to you.” I close my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Let's get some of it back.” He presses a kiss to my forehead.
My eyes fly open. “A baby?”
He brushes my hair from my face, shaking his head with a sad smile. “No, not a baby. The magic that created our baby. Let's get back that beautiful feeling.” He slips a large hand under my top. First, he pauses at my belly, then his fingers move lower to dance around the waistline of my skirt.
His touch sends shivers scattering across my skin. With his words and kisses, he has created a hunger in me that only he can satisfy. I want it, whatever he wants to give me tonight.
“Tell me you want this as much as I do.” He kisses the tip of my nose, then each of my eyes. “I want to feel better. I want to make you feel better.”
My hand slides between us, pushing down my skirt. “Yes, please,” I whisper. “I also want what you want.”
His mouth recaptures mine, then I hear a zipper. But before the flames of ecstasy engulf us, we stop and he carries me to the bedroom. There's no going back now.
This is how it all started. Maybe it’s also the only way we can both move forward.
I feel small and fragile under the broadness of his muscular body. His arms are like tree trunks on both sides of my body as he drinks me in with his eyes.
It’s the first time we’re seeing each other naked. As soon as we entered the room, he got to work peeling off my clothes, saying he wanted to see all of me.
The time we made love for the first time, he only unzipped his pants and I hiked up my skirt. Only the important parts of our bodies were exposed.
This time, the only thing separating us is the condom wrapped around him.
When he kisses me again, an invisible electric shock zaps from my lips to my entire body. I can even feel my toes tingling.
At the place where our bodies meet, his cock is pressing into my belly, tortured by the wait just as I am.
“There’s no rush,” Seamus says when I start to writhe beneath him, arching my back, aching to merge my body with his.
“Piper, your beauty makes me speechless.” He lowers his head to my breasts and covers a taut nipple with his mouth, licking, sucking, nibbling, teasing.
A ripple of pleasure spirals through me. and my sex clenches in response. “Oh, Seamus. Oh, God.” I’m about to raise my hand above my head, to find something on the headboard to hold on to, but without stopping what he’s doing, he takes one of my hands and guides it to himself.
I gasp with agony at the hardness of his shaft, desire swirling in my belly. I haven’t been with a man since him and the wait was worth this explosive moment.
Seamus rolls to his back, taking me with him, placing me in the driver’s seat. His eyes are droopy with lust, his full lips slightly parted. His fingers dance down my body, from the base of my neck, past my breast bone and stop at the C-section scar right below my stomach, a constant reminder of what I lost.
“Thank you for bringing our daughter into the world,” he says. His hand moves away from my scar to wrap around my waist.
I nod, biting back tears. Being reminded of Melinda creates a deep void in me that only Seamus can fill. With a renewed hunger for him and driven by my pain, I bend down to kiss him so hard that when our lips part, we are gasping for air.
Consumed by his own pain and lust, he grips my hips and with a deep, tortured groan, he flips me onto my back. Before I can take the next breath, he glides the tip of his shaft down my aroused clit to my opening.
A moan bursts from me when he glides into me an inch at a t
ime until he has filled me to the hilt. His thrusts are slow at first to give me a chance to adjust to having him inside me, but once I start rocking impatiently against him, he slides his hands under my body, presses his lips to mine, and speeds up. We soon find a rhythm that turns our lovemaking into a dance.
Inside my head, music is playing, one of the Blackthorn songs. As my body melts into his, my dormant sexuality finally comes alive.
Moving even faster, pushing me closer to the brink of climax, he whispers into my ear, “Piper you’ve made me an addict. I think I’m addicted to you.”
Holding on to his rock-hard arms, I close my eyes, too overcome with emotion to speak as my body reaches the point of no return.
He grabs hold of my legs and pushes my knees to my chest. His movements become even faster. His cock hits a sensitive spot deep inside me.
Desperate to hold on a little longer to the sweet sensations he triggered in me, I press my lips together and clench tight around him, but it’s too late. I can already feel liquid fire spreading from every part of my body toward the center of my belly, where it forms a ball that expands and bursts into dozens of stars so bright they blind my vision and cloud my brain.
“Hold on tight, baby,” Seamus says as he races to catch up with me, pounding hard until his own climax rocks his body. His jaw tightens and the veins in his neck press against his flushed skin as he tries one last time to keep from falling. But he stills, then crashes onto me.
We lie still for a long time, catching our breaths, enjoying the magic we created. It’s the same magic that made Melinda, and this time it will heal us.
“Do you still feel like dying?” I ask, tracing one of Seamus’s bicep tattoos with the tip of my finger.
We spent almost all night awake, making love and talking about Melinda.
He cried. I cried. We laughed when I spoke of the happy moments. We touched. We kissed. We started to heal.
Forever Kissed: An Ireland Forever Short Story Page 2
