by A. C. Bextor
God, she’s sweet. “Thank you.”
Her hand moves to my face and her finger traces my eyebrow and down my nose. “You’re welcome.”
“Can we make out now?” I ask without meaning.
“I haven’t had sex in so long, Hayden. I’m probably tighter than an unused vise.”
My eyebrows lift and sadly my cock twitches hard in my pajama pants. Fuck, it’s been a long time. “Did you seriously just say that?”
Her shoulders shake as she laughs. The bed moves with her as she slams her arms on the bed in dramatic movement. “I did. Pregnant women go through stages. I’m in one. I think about sex all the time. I’m too fat now to even enjoy having sex alone.”
“You’ve been having sex alone?” Cock twitch again. Fuck me. As ridiculous as this sounds, I’ve missed our comical version of foreplay.
“Yes.”
“In here? While I’ve been out there on the couch?” I point to the door that leads to the offensive room where I’ve been sleeping on that ridiculous couch, not listening close enough to what’s going on in here, obviously.
“Yeah. I hear you doing it in the shower; it’s the same thing,” she accuses.
“Did you seriously just say that?”
“So? Shut me up, Hayden. I’m pregnant, emotional, and horny. I’m a sexual ticking time bomb. Do something before I explode into bits of pathetic and hard-up all over the room.”
I start to move in closer to her face, but since I’ve never had sex with a pregnant woman, I’m about to make this awkward. “I don’t want to hurt you or the baby.”
“Go at me from behind.”
Cock’s about to blow. “Christ, I’m hard. If you keep talking like that I don’t stand a chance.”
“We can fuck however you want, Hayden. I’m a house, not a concubine. It’s safe.”
“Take off your clothes,” I demand before having a chance to process. I’ve fucking missed her and I’ve lost the will to sustain. We’re already completely fucked-up; things can’t get worse.
“Bossy.” She smiles. “I like it.”
She’s not moving fast enough, so I lean to her side and help remove her shirt. Her chest heaves with excitement when I throw it to the side and let my hands explore her body as I once did so long ago.
“Lay back,” I tell her and wait as she complies.
Positioning myself between her legs, my hands travel up her thighs, to her waist, and then her stomach. She inhales when I stop there, admiring the part of her that carries part of me.
Her hand finds mine and she interrupts my thought. “Hayden, are you okay?”
“Yeah, Lace. I am. I’ll be gentle.”
Her eyes look to the ceiling; she’s clearly frustrated. “Please, for the love of our fucking, don’t change now. Don’t be gentle.”
I smile at her and lean my face into her neck. The warmth of her body feels foreign and forgotten. I hate it.
“Brace for it then.”
“Thank God!” she shouts as I enter her body with my own.
I let out a subtle groan she matches with her own and we start to move. Her hands find my chest, neck, then back. She’s pulling me to her with greed as she wraps her legs around my back, her heels digging in; my hips thrusting into her. The sweat from our bodies finally getting reacquainted.
It’s a frenzied mix of passion, excitement, and anger for being delayed. It’s us.
“Hayden.” My name from her mouth causes me to slow. Emotions are heavy; we’re surrounded in anticipation; doubt loses to hunger and pleasure.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she pants, biting the edge of my jaw.
My hands anchor to either side of her head before I look down at her sweet and tender expression. Her voice clings to my senses as she admits, “I’ve missed you.”
Not knowing how to respond, I move a hand to her clit and my finger circles it aggressively until I watch her neck straighten, her eyes close, and her panting stops. She releases her climax, and in response, my body surrenders to its own.
“Jesus, I’ve missed us, too, Lace,” I admit my own truth while spilling into her.
It’s only moments that pass before I’ve realized I’ve made the confession I had never wanted to make. She stills under me as I finish in a shudder. Another second passes before I pull out and sit up.
She turns to me with a look of surrender, loss, and confusion. “You do miss me.”
“What?” I need time to think. I’m stalling.
“That wasn’t something you just said in the heat of the moment, Hayden. Don’t think you’re playing that up.”
Walking out and to the bathroom to get a towel, I think fast. It doesn’t matter; there’s no way out of this. I can’t convince her or myself that I’ve not missed who she and I used to be. There’s no point in trying.
I stand at the bathroom entrance with a towel and watch her put on her shirt. Her movements are careful.
“I miss you,” I say, this time not screaming it against the walls. “I miss how things used to be.”
“It can be that way again. You’ve never given it a chance.”
“I know.”
“You never explained why you dumped me.”
“I didn’t dump you.”
She corrects herself. “You never explained why you wanted to stop fucking me.”
“I never fucked you. Not really. No more than you did me.”
“Still not an explanation.”
“It feels like that was a million years ago. Doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.” She settles back in bed, getting under the covers. “It does.”
After sliding on my sweats, I take a seat on the edge of the bed. My back is to her as I try to explain what she’s owed. “When you got cut, Lace . . .” I stop the memory of her in my arms before it holds the power to unravel me as it did then. “I got scared. I realized at that very moment I was falling for you and I hated how that felt. I hated it. All my life, it’s as though I had been programmed in some way to avoid that feeling, and I felt like I was betraying myself by letting you get so close. Close enough to hurt me if you ever left.”
“Hayden, it’s not wrong to care about someone.”
“If you’d have told me that then, I wouldn’t have believed you.”
“I’m telling you now.”
“I still don’t believe you.”
Wiping my hands on my thighs, I look to the bedroom door and, as always, contemplate an escape. The will to explain and make her see what I was feeling stops me. “I couldn’t remember who I was before you.”
“Do you remember now?”
I don’t answer her question; now isn’t what’s important. “When we came home and I hurt you . . .”
“You didn’t hurt me. You surprised me.”
“I was trying to remember what it felt like before you. I couldn’t and I hated you for it.”
She doesn’t talk anymore, so I continue as I stare at the floor under my feet. “I thought if I could erase what you mean to me, I would go back to that person.”
“Do you want to go back?”
Running my hands through my hair, I answer, “I can’t ever go back. I’m having a little girl.”
“We’re having a little girl. You’re not in this alone.”
I turn toward her and watch as she flips the light off. “I know I’m not alone, but sometimes people are the most alone when they’re faced with the one person who sees them for who they don’t know they are. You’re that person to me and it scares me, Lace.”
She doesn’t say anything but burrows into my side once I lay beside her. Her head rests under my chin and she drapes her arm across my waist.
“I didn’t kiss you,” I tell her as soon as the thought crosses my mind.
“What?”
“We had sex tonight and I didn’t kiss you. You didn’t notice?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Come up here, Lace,” I demand with one thing in mind.
When she pulls away, she smirks slightly. “I miss your flirting.”
“You got jokes?”
“I’m serious. I miss your flirting . . . and seducing.”
“I can turn that shit on for you now if you want.”
“Maybe tomorrow. I’m tired. Goodnight, Hayden.”
I kiss the crown of her head. “Goodnight, Lacey and company.”
“I’m a house,” she mumbles quietly before she drifts off to a sound sleep.
“You’re perfect,” I mumble to the room before finding my own.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Hayden
THE LAST COUPLE of months with Lacey have been going well. The sex, on the other hand, has been epic.
God, we’re good together.
Fucking fantastic.
If ever there was a woman designed for me, it’s her.
I’ll admit I have some reservations and express them often in regards to our rough sexual play causing the baby harm, but Lacey assures me she’s read every word of every paragraph of every book and my cock will in no way hurt my unborn child.
I’ve accepted the fact I’m having a girl. At times, I find myself relishing the idea of holding her, feeding her, and smelling her. Lacey insisted she rub me down with that lavender baby lotion shit she’s always going on about. I lied and said I found it offensive to so much as wear around the house. Secretly though, I love it and plan to buy a case upon my daughter’s arrival.
I’ve got to be certifiably insane.
Fuck, I should be studied.
The banter Lacey and I shared in the past comes and goes, depending on Lacey’s rapid mood swings. Although still so fucking beautiful, she now carries with her the ability to ruin my morning as she cries into her cereal because the rain’s hitting the window too hard or the dog on the commercial looks sad. It’s a challenge for me to keep quiet, but I do.
This morning, I’ve made my way to my dad’s house. I left Lacey at home as she was washing the baby clothes Rae and Sarah bought for her. The shower was small, per Lacey’s instructions, so she didn’t get much, which is fine; I’d rather pick out my daughter’s things myself. I offered my thanks to the others for their gifts, but my girl won’t be wearing that cheap shit the other kids wear. She’ll be wearing what her daddy chooses.
Raegan told me last week that she noticed Lacey was starting to ‘nest.’ When I asked what the fuck that was, she explained. It was still lost on me. The clothes have been washed, cleaned, dried, and put away three times. I’m going to have the cleanest child for about five minutes.
“Dad?” I yell past the foyer, closing the door behind me. The house is still. He was supposed to be here waiting this morning. He told me over the phone that he had a joint venture he wanted to discuss and asked I be here on time.
Walking through his kitchen, living room, and den, I still don’t find him.
I take a seat at his table and wait. Opening my phone, I see Lacey is still busy at home. She sent me pictures of a pile of linens with the caption, ‘Freshly washed.’
09:08 a.m. Keeping busy, I see.
Seduce me 09:09 a.m. Yellow boats or pink bows? Which sheets should I put on the crib?
Her excitement enthuses me, but I don’t care about sheets as long as my baby sleeps safely and wakes up happy each day.
09:10 a.m. Got any pink rabbits?
I laugh to myself as I type it, remembering Raegan’s vibrator and the others’ reaction to it.
Seduce me 09:11 Don’t make me laugh, damn it. I just peed in my pants a little.
There are comical aspects of this pregnancy I’ll miss when it’s over. Lacey pisses herself when she laughs, sneezes, or moves too quickly. It’s a running joke between us. Some men may find it disgusting, whereas I find it fucking hilarious.
09:13 a.m. Get off your phone and go change your underwear. You’re gross.
Seduce me 09:13 a.m. I’m not wearing any.
Christ. No wonder I’m half-crazy; I live with a full nut.
Deciding I’ve got no comeback to speak of, I flip through some pictures on my phone, finding a variety of memories to choose from. Sarah, Ace, Rae, Lacey . . . all of my closest friends take up the memory card with honor. I smile as I slide through them slowly, one after the other.
Thinking of Bean’s pictures of us when we were kids makes me wonder about my mom. I’ve only seen one picture of her; it was taken by my dad on the beach before she got pregnant. Dad told me she didn’t like having her picture taken and respected her wishes, most of the time. When she slept, though, he’d snap them to develop later. She left us before he ever found the time. I always wonder where those picture rolls are and if he’d let me develop them to keep for myself.
Walking the stairs to Dad’s room, I open the door and find Cathy’s already been here. His bed is made and his dresser is clear of his scattered change he’s always carelessly thrown into random places.
The closet is just as organized as it’s always been. The box of pictures sits next to a small red lock box I’ve never known him to have. I grab the pictures first and take a seat on the closet floor. Bean’s pictures hold more memories than the first few of these I sort through. However, Bean also probably planted those specific pictures on top of the pile before playing me that afternoon.
Smart woman.
Not finding anything appealing, my curiosity gets the better of me and I stand to reach for the red lock box. It’s unlocked and open. Sitting back down on the floor, feeling somewhat guilty for snooping but still curious, I sort through various paperwork.
Dad’s birth certificate, my birth certificate and passport lay on top. Shaking my head at the hairstyle I sported for that picture, I set it to the side and continue to rifle through the miscellaneous items. A picture of my grandparents I never remember meeting is next. My grandfather looks to be about my dad’s age in this picture. I don’t spend much time wondering why it’s not with the other pictures before finding what causes me to lose all the air in my chest.
It’s a formal document; outlined, dated, and embossed.
NAME OF DECEASED: Olivia Marie Vasquez
My chest restricts seeing my mother’s name next to the word deceased.
SEX: Female
MARITAL STATUS: Single
AGE: 20 YEARS 8 MONTHS 13 DAYS
DISEASE OR CAUSE OF DEATH: Self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.
I drop the paper after reading the last description that finalizes my mother’s death long after it happened.
My mother didn’t leave us as I’ve always been told she did. She didn’t make the cognizant choice to walk away and not look back. She made the decision to take her own life, leaving me behind in a world without her.
Tears for a woman I never knew form in my eyes. I don’t fight them. I let them fall uninterrupted. She was sick, my father had said. She was depressed, he had explained to me once I had gotten older.
Some people don’t want to be found, Hayden.
I remember those words spoken when I had asked him about her only months ago. The morning after I met Lacey was the first time I had thought to ask Dad how he knew my mom was the one for him.
He lied to me then as he’s lied to me my entire fucking life.
I’ve been betrayed by my father. My stomach rolls and my hands shake as I try to keep hold of the document. My mind filters through memories of my childhood, where I longed to have a mother to come home to. Many times I cursed her for not being around to help me with my dad when he was sick from his addiction.
She should’ve been here.
I should’ve known the truth.
Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have treated women as I have my entire life.
Maybe if I had known, I would’ve been more careful with Lacey.
&nb
sp; Maybe if I had known the truth, I would’ve been able to accept it with the grace of a man and not feel as I do now, a lost child full of remorse for the mother he never got to know.
Tears of anger start to replace the sadness when I stand and put both boxes back on their place on the shelf. I keep the certificate with me as I make my way into the living room. Cathy stands near the door, looking at me with a blank expression. Dad passes her until he sees me, then he stops mid-motion. His eyes search my face, then body, and finally my hand, which holds his secret of lies and deceit.
“Hayden.” His voice is terse, bracing himself. He moves Cathy behind him, shielding her for what he thinks is coming.
“Dad,” I state with accusation. My eyes, now dry, don’t hide the pain in my chest or the hurt in my voice.
Dad turns to Cathy, placing his hands on her arms and moves her back. “I need to talk to Hayden. Go home. I’ll call you later.”
Cathy peers from Dad’s side and her eyes shine. I’m not sure if she understands what I’m holding, but she studies my expression for a minute before walking around Dad to come to me.
Her hand comes to my face, her thumb wiping away the traitorous emotions the tears hold. “Hayden, what’s wrong?”
“Cathy,” my dad snaps with impatience.
She looks back to him, then back to me. “If you need something, honey, you call. You have my number. I’m always here for you to use it.”
My jaw ticks with her kind words. She doesn’t know. She can’t possibly. If she did, her patience with this situation wouldn’t be as it is. My father wouldn’t be who she thinks he is.
“Cathy, please,” my father begs, his voice threatening to spill emotion with the next syllable.
“Okay.” She pats my cheek before turning around and walking to him. “Call me, Brian. I’ll come back.”
His head falls to the floor once the door shuts. I give Cathy a few seconds head start before spilling the venom each beat my heart sends through my veins.
I wait . . . wait . . . wait . . .
“You fucking bastard.” My first words, generic as they may seem, express my foremost thought. “You fucking coward.” The second thought is only truth. “You knew this!” I throw the certificate of my mother’s death at him and watch him cower in place without argument. “My mother! My mother, who brought me into this world, shot herself! You never thought to mention it? To maybe mention what you’ve known my entire life?”
