Crank

by Shauna Allen

  “You feeling all right, babe?” he asked, concern in his deep eyes.

  “Yes.”

  Silence descended thick and heavy as our eyes kept colliding then bouncing away. Our lovely night was quickly becoming awkward as the elephant in the room reared its big head.

  We were served our dinner and ate without a word. Finally, about halfway through his meal, Blake dropped his fork. “Did I do something wrong, Dee? I’m trying to do everything right here.”

  His words coated me like liquefied pain. I swallowed. “No. Nothing wrong, exactly.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I swept my fork through my noodles. “I just . . . we can’t . . .” I stumbled on my words.

  Suddenly, his hand was cupping mine and my eyes flashed up. He seemed so sincere. I was just . . . scared. Plus I had a baby to think of now. “I love you, Delilah.” His voice was low, seductive. My toes curled.

  The breath quaked in my lungs. “I know.” I’d never doubted it, not really.

  “But . . . ?” His thumb swept along the back of my hand, his callouses rough on my soft flesh.

  “But it’s just not enough.” I pulled my hand back. “Not anymore.”

  Hurt, followed by frustration passed across his face. “What do you want from me? How can I fix this?”

  Stop hating yourself and just love me.

  I swallowed those words. I knew I wouldn’t be able to make him see his worth. I hadn’t been able to all these years. That was the devil he had to contend with. It just broke my heart that it had driven the wedge between us that it had.

  His dark eyes bored into me as he waited for an answer. I finally shrugged. What could I say?

  He nodded once, as if he understood, then signaled for our bill. He paid it and we left in silent agreement, a world of hurt coursing between us.

  We drove home with just the hum of the nearly silent radio. I watched the streetlights filter past in hazy bursts of light in the winter darkness. Sadness was bitter on my tongue.

  Quiet filled the car when he parked and killed the engine. I closed my eyes and listened to his ragged breathing. In. Out. I could almost imagine the heartbeat I knew so well pounding in his chest.

  “I’m not giving up,” he whispered, his voice ragged and emotion-filled. “I won’t lose you.”

  I blinked up at him and saw the tears shimmering in his eyes. I nearly broke. I wanted to reassure him. God, how I wanted to fix this. For him. For me. For our family.

  Suddenly, his mouth was on mine, his hands gripping both sides of my head as he angled for better access. I groaned into his mouth and he seemed to eat it up. This. We’d always been good at this. My body hummed to life as his fingers traced down my throat to the neckline of my dress. I frantically began clawing at his shirt, seeking skin-to-skin contact. Comfort.

  He drew down the zipper on my dress he’d done up earlier that night just as I got the shirt down his arms and threw it into the backseat.

  He cupped my breast and took a lace-covered nipple into his mouth. I gasped and arched further into him. Reason was gone. All I could think, all I could feel, was Blake. It’s all I’d ever wanted.

  We clambered into the backseat, a tangle of limbs and hormones, my dress falling off. I would’ve laughed at the fact that we hadn’t made it into the house to our bed, but he’d released the clasp on my bra and was laving my naked breasts with his tongue.

  “Blake . . .” His name was a whimper on my lips.

  His dark eyes glimmered back at me in the darkness, full of desire and something deeper. I didn’t examine it as his hands slipped down my legs, releasing me from my panties, hose, and heels in one fell swoop. I was naked before him, splayed out on his backseat.

  Instead of feeling exposed or ridiculous, I felt delicious. Wanted.

  I reached for him, raking my fingernails down his back as he leaned over me, kissing me, his tongue sweeping in and tasting faintly of the beer he’d had with dinner. I tugged at the waistband of his jeans, but he drew back, his mouth torturing me along my collarbone, down my chest, to my belly button.

  Smiling eyes met mine as he swirled his tongue into my navel, which he knew was ticklish.

  I giggled and ran my hands over the thick stubble of hair on his head. Then all laughter faded as he continued down. His tongue, his lips, found me, and I bucked my hips at the heat of his mouth.

  I clutched desperately at the vinyl of his seat with one hand, the other fisted in my hair, as sensation rocketed through me. He worked me expertly until I was quaking and crying out in release, every nerve in my body lighting up.

  He placed one more soft kiss to my inner thigh then crawled up, adjusting me until he had me snuggled across his lap. He pressed a kiss to my jaw and I could smell myself on him. I felt him hot and hard beneath me, but he didn’t move. Just his hand caressed up and down my back in a hypnotic rhythm.

  I burrowed into him, my nose in my favorite spot on his neck, as the cool December air began to fill the car. I knew this moment wouldn’t last, yet I didn’t want it to end.

  I shivered and he pressed one last kiss to my temple. “Let’s get you in before you catch cold.”

  He helped me slide back into my dress, then led me inside and to our bathroom. He drew a bath and helped me step in. I wondered what was going on, but I was so languid and he seemed so content to take care of me, I let him. Just for tonight. He knelt next to the tub and ran my bath sponge across every bit of skin, cleaning me gently.

  When he had me clean enough to eat off of, he towel dried me and drew one of my flannel nightgowns over my head. He gripped my hand and led me to the bed, tucking me in like a child. When I realized he had no intention of climbing in with me, much less seeking his own release, I frowned in the dark. “What are you doing, Blake?”

  He leaned down and kissed me on the forehead, his lips trailing down to the tip of my nose, and finally my lips. “Goodnight, baby.”

  I watched him walk out, closing the door quietly behind him, and suddenly felt the hollow pit in my stomach that I’d been ignoring threaten to swallow me whole.

  Blake

  I’d made a decision to win my wife back. Win her trust back. And, by God, I would do just that.

  I spent the rest of that weekend and the following week doing everything I could think of to pamper and love her. I cooked, I cleaned, I rubbed her feet, I had flowers delivered to her clinic. And, each night, I tucked her in with a kiss then made my way to the guest room.

  We hadn’t done anything more since the night in my car, and by all that was holy, it was so hard to leave her alone in our King-sized bed, the scent of roses and sex still seeming to cling to her skin. Especially when she stared up at me with those big blue eyes, her body language practically begging me to touch her again. I had no idea what I was doing, I was just going on instinct, trying to prove myself. Surely, she had to know how much I loved her, how I’d work myself to the bone to provide everything she could ever want. Everything she never knew she wanted.

  Delilah had been my heart, my soul, my fucking everything, for the past ten years. I could feel her down to the marrow of my bones. I would figure this out. I had to. The alternative would shred me to pieces.

  By Friday, I was going insane with the need to touch her. To taste her. To make love to her. But, no, another kiss to her forehead and another cold shower. As I laid down in the guest bed and stared at the ceiling, I wondered if the baby would look like Dee. If it would love cars as much as I did, or maybe something unique and special all to themselves. I was so excited to find out. And that was what made this torture worth it.

  I turned and curled onto my side, my gaze locked on the moonlight filtering in through the blinds. I wanted to go to my wife. I didn’t think she’d turn me away. But I knew it would only be sex at this point. And I wanted more than that. I wanted our life back. Our love.

  I woke early Saturday and rolled out of bed with a yawn and a stretch. Tiptoeing down the hall, I cracked our bedroom door to m
ake sure Dee was still sleeping. She was splayed out on her stomach, her arm curled under my pillow, her lips slightly parted as she breathed deeply. I suddenly remembered how exhausted she’d been early in the three other pregnancies. Tenderness swamped me and I gently closed the door.

  I moved down the hall to the kitchen and let my eyes adjust to the early morning sunlight streaming through the windows. I yawned again and padded to the coffeemaker, getting it cranked to life. I fed a nagging Chevy his breakfast with a pat that he ignored in favor of tuna, then surveyed our little house as the coffee brewed. Delilah had worked so hard to make this a home. Homey colors were literally everywhere. Yellows, blues, greens. She’d stuffed our couch with dozens of little pillows that I always thought were more trouble than they were worth, but she said they added color. Same with our bed. And she’d hung photos and prints all over, including a few vintage car images. I studied one she’d added recently after a trip to Galveston with Rachel. A watercolor image of three children playing in the surf. They faced the ocean, one crouched with his fingers digging in the sand. My heart clutched. Did they represent our lost children?

  I approached and traced the little girl’s long, blond hair. Would our daughter have my light hair? Her mother’s darker hair and blue eyes?

  A rustle behind me had me spinning. Dee stood in the kitchen doorway, her morning hair rumpled around her face, her blue eyes sleepy.

  “Hey, baby,” I said softly. “Want some breakfast?”

  She eyed me skeptically a moment than shuffled to a chair and plopped down. “Sure. Thanks.”

  I poured her some decaf coffee and liberally added her frou-frou flavored creamer before giving it to her. “Waffles?” I asked.

  She sipped her coffee and seemed to think about it. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

  I puttered around our kitchen, pulling out the waffle maker and mixing up the ingredients to my mom’s famous waffles. As the sweet fragrance of the cooking batter filled the kitchen, I peeked over. Dee seemed more awake as she sipped her coffee, her eyes on me speculatively now. My chest filled with love.

  I served her a plate of hot waffles and grabbed the peanut butter and syrup I knew she liked on them. She smiled sweetly up at me. “And it’s not even Sunday.”

  “Nope.” I got my own plate and sat across from her.

  “Gotta work today?” she asked between bites.

  “Yeah, but I’ll be off in time for Jesse’s party.” I glanced up and caught her eye. “You’re coming with me, aren’t you? I know the Joyners would love to see you.”

  She stuffed another bite into her mouth, obviously avoiding the question. I waited while she swallowed and sipped her coffee. “Do they know?” she finally asked.

  “Know what?”

  Her blue gaze crystallized. “About our divorce.”

  My breakfast became a brick in my gut. We stared each other down for several long seconds. “I told Jesse, yes.” I bit my tongue before I told her—again—what I thought about those damn divorce papers.

  Her gaze dipped to the peanut butter jar. “And you still want me there?”

  “You’re my wife. Of course I want you there.”

  She finally nodded. “Okay.” Standing quickly, she froze, paled, and plunked back down, her hand to her head.

  Alarm sliced through me and I jumped up, coming to her side. “What’s wrong? You okay?” I brushed the hair from her face and sought her eyes.

  Finally, her gaze cleared and she lifted her head to face me. “I’m good. Just stood too fast and got dizzy.” When I didn’t say anything, she offered a tremulous smile. “Really. I’m fine.”

  I stepped back and watched her stand slower this time. She didn’t wobble, so I let her move away from me. She picked up her plate with her half-eaten waffle and shuffled to the sink to rinse it off.

  I ran a hand over my head. I really needed to get to the garage, but I hated to leave her. “What’re you gonna do today?” I asked.

  She kept her back to me, wiping invisible crumbs from the countertop. Her shoulders lifted in a shrug then she faced me. “I dunno. Clean up here. Maybe I’ll do some laundry, go to the store. I’ll probably get a nap.” Her eyes smiled at that.

  I approached and ran the back of my hand down her cheek. “Sounds really good. Sorry I’ll miss it.”

  The pulse in her neck jumped. I stifled a smile. The scent of her shampoo met my nose as I leaned down to brush a kiss to her temple. “I’m gonna head out, but I’ll see you later.” Pulling back, I met the reluctance in her eyes.

  She nodded and I made myself turn away. I sauntered out and went to shave and change into some work clothes. Her mysterious girly scent was strong in our bedroom and I inhaled deeply. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it.

  She slipped in and grabbed some things from her drawers, then with a small smile, she closed herself in the bathroom. A moment later, I heard the shower kick on and I paused. The image of my naked curvy wife bombarded me and I wanted nothing more than to follow her into that shower, make love to her, and cleanse every bit of hurt that had poisoned our marriage.

  On instinct, I turned the knob. She’d locked the door. I frowned as hurt coursed through me, but I stifled it. Pocketing my keys and my heart, I left.

  “Merry Christmas!” Leta Joyner greeted me and Delilah at the front door, her cheeks rosy, eyes bright, and rocking a hideous, multi-colored reindeer sweater.

  “Merry Christmas, Squirt,” I said, hugging her.

  She smacked my arm, her eyes dancing over my shoulder to Dee right behind me. “I’m no squirt. Not anymore.” She focused on my wife. “Hey, Delilah.”

  “Hey, Leta.” Delilah’s voice was quiet, almost shy.

  I tucked her under my arm and we stepped inside and headed to the kitchen. In about two seconds flat, we were flanked by the Joyner family. Mrs. Joyner was puttering around with a turkey as she shooed Mr. Joyner away from the hors d’oeuvres. “Hey, honey,” Mrs. Joyner said, reaching over to pat my cheek. “Glad you could make it.” She turned kind eyes to Delilah and said hello, then got back to the food.

  Leta bustled in with a couple of their cousins and an older aunt with white-gray hair. Jesse came bounding down the stairs just as their older brother, Dwayne, strolled in with his cute little blond wife and one of their three kids in his arms.

  “Hey, dude,” Jesse said, his eyes gleaming as he glanced at his family. It suddenly struck me how many Christmases he’d missed in prison and how happy he must be to be home.

  Dwayne knuckled my head just like he did when we were kids and greeted Dee with a kiss to the cheek. Jesse stepped away to help his dad grab more chairs and snag a cookie as we chatted with Dwayne and his wife, Audra, for a while. I couldn’t help but feel the ugly nudge of jealousy at what they had. Their subtle glances as if they knew what the other was thinking. The unconscious touches. Their obvious love and the family they’d created together.

  Audra put a hand to her stomach and said something about expecting number four. My gaze whipped to Delilah whose face was suddenly pale. I grabbed her hand and squeezed, offering her my unspoken support. If she wasn’t ready to tell people, we’d keep our secret a little longer. But I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. I was going to be a father. It had to be different this time, it just had to.

  A few more friends and family members trickled in, including Trace and Ryder. Micah sat it out like he did every year since he got back from Afghanistan and I made a mental note to call and say hey later.

  Finally, we were all summoned to the dining room for the traditional prayer and buffet-style feast. As we passed through the large living room, I noticed their Christmas tree, its white lights sparkling gently against the evergreen and multi-colored ornaments. Dee and I needed to put up our tree . . . we had something to celebrate this year. Or, at least, I was banking on it.

  Everyone gathered into a huge circle, linking hands. Dee stood to my right, Jesse to my left next to his parents.

  “We’re thankful toda
y for our family and friends here with us,” Mrs. Joyner began the prayer, her head bowed slightly. “As well as those absent. Please bless us all, and this food to the nourishment of our bodies.” She was silent a moment and I peered at her from the corner of my eye. She was dabbing tears from her eyes. Finally, she went on, her voice emotional and wobbly. “And we thank you for bringing our Jesse home to us safe. Amen.”

  A sedate ‘amen’ was murmured by everyone else as emotion hung heavy in the air. Then, it was quickly replaced with smiles as Mr. Joyner lifted his fork. “Let’s eat!”

  Delilah

  I kept my head bowed, focused on the heat of Blake’s hand in mine as the prayer came to a close. When everyone broke off to start serving the food, he kept my fingers laced with his. I glanced over and he was studying me, his eyes dark, hard to read. What was he thinking?

  I was trying to enjoy the moment and not focus on the future. Today was about celebration and his friend, Jesse. My emotional crap could wait and I could fake it. But Blake had me so tied in knots.

  He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my cheek. Sweet, soft. Then he tucked some loose hair behind my ear. “Hungry?”

  I nodded and he handed me a plate. I offered him a tremulous smile and then proceeded to fill my plate with entirely too much food. As usual, Mrs. Joyner had outdone herself.

  We sat tucked into a corner of the living room on folding chairs next to their Christmas tree. Jesse’s older brother, Dwayne, got his family settled across from us, his youngest on his knee with a bib that said ‘Daddy’s Boy’ in bold red letters. I smiled at the chubby-cheeked baby, wondering how it felt to bounce a baby on your knee.

  Blake seemed to sense my mood and scooted just a little closer, his smiling eyes meeting mine. He really was being so sweet. It wasn’t the Blake I knew, at least not for a long time, and I had a hard time not letting myself fall into him. Could I just forget the divorce and give us another shot? I wanted to. So badly. Especially now that there was a baby . . . but how did I know this time things would be different? That he wouldn’t work himself sick, leaving me home alone and lonely. Our marriage a shell of what it used to be. Could we get that back?