Released

by Shay Savage

  Inside of her felt softer as well. What had once felt like being gripped by a silk glove now felt like a warm, deep pile of silk instead. It was like everything inside of her was getting ready to give our baby a more comfortable journey to the outside, which was exactly what was happening. Again, not better or worse, just not the same.

  In fact, it felt fucking fantastic.

  Emphasis on fucking.

  Tria moved back against me as much as she could, but it was getting more difficult for her. The doctor told us we could have sex pretty much right up until it was time to give birth, and that it was actually a good idea. Good idea or not, I was just trying to get all caught up before the baby came so I could survive six weeks without being inside of my wife.

  She felt so good.

  I reached around her stomach and my fingers found their way down to her clit. I circled slowly—matching the rhythm of my thrusts into her. Tria moaned and tried to hold her leg up and out of the way so I could reach better, but she wasn’t having a lot of luck, so I reached under her thigh and brought her leg up for her.

  “Touch yourself,” I told her. “I want to feel you come all over me.”

  Tria moaned something incomprehensible but didn’t move.

  “Touch yourself!” I commanded a little louder. “You need to scream my name!”

  She moved her hand down, and I leaned up a little so I could watch her fingers.

  “So fucking hot,” I mumbled. “I love watching that…seeing you do that to yourself with my cock inside of you…God you’re hot. That’s it—harder and faster. Let me feel you.”

  I matched the rhythm of my thrusts with her fingers until she began to squirm.

  “That’s it…more…rub that clit! Yeah, baby…”

  She gasped and held still for a moment as she grunted out something that was more likely my name than anything else. She practically dropped into unconsciousness as I kept moving in her. I let her leg rest down around my thigh so my hands were free to explore her some more. I rubbed her hips, her stomach, and gently cupped her breasts as I kissed the back of her neck.

  “So beautiful,” I whispered.

  Tria hummed with her eyes closed, and despite the smile on her face, I knew she was going to end up falling asleep on me before too long. I finished quickly with my face buried in her neck as the waves washed through my stomach and out the end of my cock.

  “So good,” I said again. “You wore yourself out, didn’t you?”

  She nodded, but didn’t say anything. I let myself slip out of her and just held her against my chest as her breathing slowed into a steady rhythm.

  “I love you,” I whispered against her ear. I looked at her bulging stomach. “Both of you.”

  I was never one to settle down, but everything finally felt like it was falling into place.

  Chapter 19—Face the Music

  Numb was probably the best word I could have used to describe myself as I stood in Erin’s office, staring at the little plum tree with the rotting fruit hanging all over it. Mom had just left after I told her to fuck off, and Erin was looking at me with her you really need to try harder face.

  “Tell me what’s going on in your head right now,” Erin said.

  “That at least I come about it honestly,” I snarled. I drummed my fingers on the windowsill as I watched Damon help Mom into the Rolls. They drove off slowly, and I wondered if he’d come back to pick me up or let me ride the fucking bus.

  Whatever. I didn’t give a shit.

  “Come about what?”

  “Making excuses. That’s all she fucking does.”

  “What part was an excuse?”

  “All that crap about thinking I was going to just come back after he threw me out.”

  “She said you walked out,” Erin reminded me. “That your father simply warned you that if you left, you might not be welcomed back.”

  “Same thing,” I growled.

  “Is it?” Erin pressed. “There are certain images that come to mind when you use the words he threw me out. Those images aren’t completely accurate, are they?”

  I shrugged, unwilling to answer. I knew what she was getting at. It was the same thing my mother had been trying to say, but I just didn’t want to hear it.

  “You want me to say it was my own fault?” I snapped as I turned toward her. “You want me to say that if I hadn’t been so pig-headed, maybe it all would have been fine?”

  “No one knows exactly how things may have been different based on a change in past actions,” Erin said. “Playing the ‘what if’ game never helps anyone. However, not taking responsibility for your actions in the past can hinder your movement forward now. You can’t change the past, but learning from it could change your future.”

  I continued to stare out the window and chew on the edge of my thumb. It wasn’t nearly as good as a cigarette though it seemed to be better than nothing.

  “Would you sit back down, please?”

  “No.”

  “Liam—”

  “Fuck you!”

  I didn’t care if Damon was coming back for me or not, so I walked out of the office, ignoring Erin’s calls the whole way, and took off down the street on foot. It was a good two miles to the gym this way, and I figured both the walk and the cool air would be good for me.

  What I really needed was at the gym.

  As soon as I was through the door, I quickly changed into sweats and went to the closest thing I could punch. The heavy bag just outside the lockers wasn’t in use, so I started pounding on it. I didn’t even bother to tape up my hands first, and my knuckles became raw almost immediately.

  One of the workers came over and yelled at me, then helped me get taped up before I resumed punching. Punching felt good. Really good. I wished there were someone to hit instead of the heavy bag, but this was a lot better than nothing.

  “I heard you were a great fighter.”

  I didn’t recognize the voice or the face of the kid who leaned against the wall nearby and watched me hit the bag. I didn’t respond to him, either. Punching was far more important.

  “They said you fought in a cage in a bar,” the kid said with a bit of a laugh. “That didn’t sound like real fighting to me. I’ve been training since I was seven, and I’ll be getting a UFC contract as soon as I graduate from high school this year.”

  I looked him over, noticed the clear look of a challenge on his face, but shook my head.

  “You can’t weight more than one-seventy,” I said.

  “One seventy-four,” he said. “I’m close enough. Or are you worried a kid is going to smack you down?”

  I glared at him.

  “You eighteen?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “How about we get in that ring and I kick your ass?”

  He laughed.

  “I was hoping you’d say that!”

  He came at me quickly—almost before I was completely over the ropes. I dodged, ducked, and danced to the other side of the ring to watch him move. His footwork was good, and he shuffled elegantly around me—first a crossing step with his left foot and then a dragging step with his right foot moving along behind it.

  Rushing forward, he jabbed out at me with his foot, which I neatly batted aside. I could tell in the first sixty seconds that this was not a fight I was going to lose. The kid knew his moves, no doubt about it, but he obviously hadn’t been in too many real fights. Sparring, sure. Training, definitely. Not fighting though. He was making too many mistakes. Like people who had learned to speak a foreign language at a university or from a textbook—grammatically correct, but the linguistics of slang was completely lost on them. You could have a whole conversation, and they wouldn’t understand a word of it.

  The next time he moved forward, I kidney punched him and then parried away. I wasn’t gentle about it, either. I followed it with a blow to the back of his head, which left him stunned against the ropes.

  “That’s all you got?” I taunted. “My girl has a
better chance up here, and she’s eight months pregnant.”

  The kid growled and came at me again with similar results.

  “We’re having a daughter,” I said easily as he panted for breath a few feet from me. “Maybe in a few years, you can challenge her.”

  With two long strides, I grabbed him by the arm, twisted it around, and then wrapped my arm around his neck. I could have compressed his carotid and made him pass out, but I slammed my other fist into his face a couple of times instead and then let him go.

  He staggered. There was a cut above his eye now, and the blood was getting in the way of his vision. He tried to keep up with his own footwork, but I was much too quick for him.

  With a quick swing of my right leg, my foot slammed against the side of his head, and he dropped to the mat. A moment later, I was beside him. I tossed one leg across his neck and the other across his midsection as I grabbed hold of his arm and pulled it toward me. Twisting his wrist so his thumb pointed toward the ceiling, I lifted with my hips and pulled hard on his arm.

  The kid screamed and started slamming his hand on the mat over and over again.

  I released him and jumped back up. He rolled over to his side, grabbed his shoulder, and moaned.

  “Maybe next time, you’ll think about weight class,” I suggested. “It exists for a reason.”

  I swung a leg over the ropes and dropped to the floor of the gym. I looked back to make sure the kid really was all right. He was sitting up, holding his shoulder and calling for Al to get him some first aid. There wasn’t enough blood for stitches, so I snickered and walked away.

  “You feel better now?”

  I turned around and saw Dr. Baynor sitting on a bench near the ring. I hadn’t seen the guy in months, and I wasn’t sure what to think of his sudden appearance except to be glad it wasn’t Yolanda showing up again.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Does that kid remind you of anyone?” He stood and walked toward me.

  “Only the other assholes who thought they were better than me,” I replied.

  I grabbed a towel and ran it over the back of my neck and chest before tossing it into the bin. Baynor continued to eye me, and as much as I wanted to ignore him, the man had a way of getting under my skin.

  “You have an interesting way of not seeing the obvious, Liam,” Baynor said. “What’s that saying? Something about the only people who are truly blind are those who refuse to see?”

  “I don’t think that’s the saying.”

  “It’s still the same point.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Yeah, you’ve said that before when I was right,” he replied. “You going to keep saying it? Do you say it to Tria? You going to say it to your baby when it’s hungry at night and won’t let you sleep?”

  “Of course not,” I snapped back.

  “Then get your head out of your ass.”

  “What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?”

  “Just checking up on you,” he said. “Erin called, and I had a pretty good idea about where you might have gone. She was worried about you.”

  “Well, she can pretty much kiss my ass.”

  Okay, so the fight hadn’t quite put me back on my game. I was annoyed again and definitely in the mood to punch someone else.

  “How about you get up there and go a few rounds with me?” I suggested with a sneer.

  “Would that make you happy?”

  “It might.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  I laughed.

  “Did you see the last one?” I asked. I pointed across the room at the bleeding kid. “You don’t even have any training.”

  Baynor shrugged.

  “I did some wrestling in high school.”

  “When was that?” I asked. “In the eighties?”

  “Yep. So where do I get some tape or whatever for my hands?”

  I laughed again, but then I realized he was completely serious.

  “I’d kill you up there,” I told him.

  “Maybe,” he agreed with a nod. “Not the point though. If that’s what you need to get yourself over this and realize there are people out there who care about you and want you to get your shit together, I’m willing to take a few hits.”

  I examined his face, and I couldn’t see any bluff there. It might have been that he was just that good, but I didn’t think so. I sighed and dropped down on the bench near the ring.

  “Your life is about to change,” Baynor said as he placed one foot on the bench next to me and leaned over his knee. “Big time. More than you realize.”

  “I know,” I replied quietly.

  “No, you don’t,” Baynor said. “You can’t—not until you are there. But you can get prepared. You have to let go of all that anger, Liam. You gotta start rebuilding the family bridges you’ve burned, or you’re going to be constantly struggling to make it all work.”

  “I don’t need them to make this work,” I said. “I’ve gone this long without them.”

  “Okay, sure,” Baynor nodded. “You don’t need them.”

  He leaned over and put his nose close enough to mine that I pushed my back against the wall behind me.

  “But does Tria?”

  *****

  Deep breaths.

  Fists clenched.

  I walked up and down the steps, looked up to the sky, danced around on my feet a bit, and then walked the length of the porch and back again. Stretching my arms up over my head, I tried to get my heartbeat a little more under control but failed.

  I didn’t know why I felt so nervous. I’d been on this porch literally thousands of times. I’d parked my bicycle here instead of putting it away in the garage. I got grounded here after Ryan and I were caught throwing dirt clods at the front door.

  This place was familiar.

  So why was it so hard?

  I lifted my hand and pressed the button for the bell. I could hear the chimes echoing.

  Ringing the bell…had I ever rung the bell before?

  One of the maids opened the door. I could tell by her expression that she recognized me, but I had no idea what her name was. I just looked behind her, feeling weird about looking into the house where I grew up and knowing I wasn’t really a part of it any more. Not wanted. Not welcome.

  “Liam?” Mom stepped into my field of vision.

  My throat bobbed as I swallowed, but I still couldn’t get a word out. I just looked at her, and she looked at me. After a good hour and a half of that—or thirty seconds, whatever—Mom took a step forward, dismissed the maid, and opened the door wider.

  “Will you…will you come in?”

  Taking a slight step forward, I ended up partway in and partway out of the house, not sure what to do. Everything was cream and deep green, just like it had been when I was a kid. There was one of those sets of cubes that stacked up to look like stairs on the side of the foyer where Dad used to hide Easter eggs. I could smell garlic bread coming from the kitchen, and I was pretty sure I could hear the sound of Chopin coming from down the hall, which meant Mom had been sitting in the library reading.

  I couldn’t go any farther.

  “I was a stupid kid, okay?” I said quickly before all my nerve left me. “I was stupid, and that part of it wasn’t your fault. Not Dad’s, either. It was…it was me. I was stupid.”

  She blinked a few times as she stood still in what might have been shock.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to cope with that shit,” I continued. “But Tria…Tria needs everyone here. She doesn’t have a family, and she’s going to need everyone’s help, not just mine and not just Chelsea’s.”

  My hands were shaking so badly, I shoved them into my pockets.

  “She needs…she needs you, too, okay? And the baby—she’s going to need a grandmother.”

  I swallowed hard and looked away.

  “I…I need you, too. I don’t know how to be a parent.”

  I glanced back at her, and Mom just nodded rapidly, licked
her lips, and tried to speak but failed. She nodded some more, and I nodded back.

  She took a partial step forward—nervous and hesitant. I didn’t move. I was immobilized by what was happening—the house, the smells coming from it, and my mother coming closer to me. There were too many emotions inside of me fighting to claw their way to the surface, and I just couldn’t move.

  She stood right in front of me, and she moved her hands to my shoulders. Then her palms rested on the side of my face for a second before she wrapped her arms around my neck and held me to her.

  Part of me wanted to push her away, to make her pay for all the suffering of the past, but I couldn’t. I’d spent so much time rejecting her, the reaction was as natural as breathing.

  No, not as natural as breathing—as natural as punching. As natural as lashing out. As natural as taking out all my frustrations on another person’s face.

  All of a sudden, I knew.

  It wasn’t just her. It wasn’t just him.

  Some of it was me, and I was going to have to take responsibility for it.

  For me and my actions.

  I had to do it.

  It was the only way to bury the past and move forward with my life.

  With Tria.

  With our baby.

  “I’m sorry!” I cried out as I encircled her with my arms. I held her so tightly I heard her gasp before I loosened my grip and tried to be more careful.

  “I’m sorry, too, Liam,” she said. “I’m so sorry for all of it. I never meant…we never meant for any of this to happen…never wanted you hurt…”

  “I didn’t know, and I wasn’t thinking…I was just stupid, and I didn’t know what to do…”

  “I know, Liam…son…I know…I’m so sorry…”

  “Mom…”

  “My son…”

  Time evaporated. We stood in the doorway right about an eon, and then shifted to the little sitting bench in the foyer where I used to take off my snow boots. We moved to the couch in the living room at one point, still just holding on to each other, barely talking and trying to remember who we once were.

  Dad came home at six o’clock, just like he always had when I was growing up. He must have already known I was there because he started looking around as soon as he walked in the door and then tentatively approached us.