I cup her face. “I’ve never blamed you. My heart shattered when I learned about the miscarriage. When you came back from Africa and said you wanted to start a family, I couldn’t have been happier. I want that life with you: kids, a dog, and the house cluttered with toys. I was just as ready as you were. As devastated as I was that we lost our chance at a baby, never once did I ever think it was your fault. I’ve come to accept that it wasn’t our time. I know there isn’t much comfort to take from that, but it wasn’t our time. There is no doubt in my mind that our time will come one day, when it’s right. You don’t need my forgiveness because there’s nothing to forgive. This isn’t your fault.”
Shirking away, she says, “What else are you going to say? Are you going to sit there and admit you blame me for killing our baby? You’d never say that!”
“If I thought you had deliberately killed our child, then yes, I would. I’d have left you in Sweden and ended us for good because I’d never be able to trust you again. But I do trust you. I love you.” But that’s a lie. If I did think she had killed our child, I might have left her in Sweden, but I couldn’t have ended us for good. Somehow I would have found a way to forgive her. No matter how much pain or hurt we endure, there is no end. There is only forever.
She lets out a small laugh. “You’re right. You would have. You’re a spiteful son of a bitch.”
I clasp her hands and look into her eyes, hoping she hears me. “You have to believe me. Otherwise, that future you just described, the one with you and me and nurseries and babies, that can never happen. I know you want it just as badly as I do, but it can’t happen until you stop blaming yourself. Sure, I can get you pregnant and we can have a kid, but you’d miss it. You’d miss all the joy because you’d still be stuck in the past. For us to have that happy future, you have to allow yourself to move forward.”
“I want that. I thought I was closer, but as soon as the words ‘we’re pregnant’ came out of their mouths, it all just rushed back. I couldn’t find a way to be happy for them.”
“Like I told you before, we’re going to take steps forward and steps back. It’s going to happen, and that’s okay. Things like today may stir up those feelings again, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you human. We’ll get there together, but your first step has to be forgiving yourself.”
She picks pieces of fuzz off her robe. “All this time, I thought you secretly hated me.”
“I don’t keep secrets from you. We’ve told enough in our lifetime, and I won’t do it again, no matter how hard it is to face the truth. Secrets are cancer.”
She winces, staring at her hands in her lap. “There’s something I’ve been keeping from you.”
I pause for a moment before I answer. Since starting therapy, Ari has been committed to being completely honest. If she’s been hiding something, it must be serious. Judging by the way she’s picking the nail polish off of her thumbnail, I’m guessing she’s petrified to tell me. Placing my finger under her chin, I tilt her head up so I can look in her eyes. “Talk to me about it. Whatever it is, it’ll be better when it’s out in the open.”
“I’ve been avoiding having sex with you. I’ve been so scared that I would get pregnant and lose another baby. I know I’m on the pill and the chances of it failing again are slim, but in my heart, I’m petrified.”
I think back. Sex has been tough because of my cracked ribs. The nights we spend together are after my games, and I’m so sore I can barely hold her hand, let alone do anything else. But now that she mentions it, the times we’ve been together, she’s always given me a blow job. An epic, “knock me on my ass so that I can’t move for a half hour” blow job. I certainly wasn’t complaining, but I never realized there was more to it. Now I feel like twice the insensitive prick for not picking up on it.
I don’t know how to navigate this. As hard as the miscarriage was on me, I know it pales in comparison to what she suffered both physically and emotionally. I can understand why she would be nervous, but there’s very little I can say to ease her nerves. The doctors told her this was a fluke, but she won’t accept that. If I try to come at it from her perspective, that she has committed to a healthy lifestyle and hasn’t even touched refined sugar in the last six months, she’ll think I do believe she was responsible for the miscarriage in the first place. If I tell her there’s nothing that would make me happier than for her to get pregnant, she’ll think I’m being selfish and rushing her. If I remind her she’s on the pill, she’ll think I’m pressuring her for sex. I’m backed into a corner and have no idea how to help her without coming across as a total dick.
I take a deep breath and pray the words coming out of my mouth don’t make things worse. “I promised you we could take this as slowly as you need, and I meant it. Sex with you is amazing, but I won’t do anything to jeopardize the life we’re building together. If you need to wait two months, two days, or two decades before you feel comfortable, then we’ll wait. If and when you feel ready to take that step, we’ll take whatever precautions we need to to make you comfortable. If you were to get pregnant, I believe the doctors when they say there’s no indication you would miscarry again. We will have that magical moment of utter happiness knowing we created a miracle. I know there are no guarantees and there’s always the possibility something may go wrong, but I have faith that we can overcome any adversity we face. And most importantly, I have faith in you. You’re so much stronger than you think. But until you’re ready for more, all I need is you. Everything else can wait.”
She curls into my arms like a kitten. “I don’t deserve you.”
I kiss her forehead. “Yes, you do. One of these days you’re going to have to start believing that.”
I hold her until she drifts off to sleep. Lying her with her, I feel raw and tender, like a scab has been pulled off too early. Wounds were opened tonight, exposing painful truths we’ve been keeping to ourselves. I never wanted her to know how I mourn for the child we lost. Her burden is heavy enough. But maybe it needed to be brought to light. Maybe she needs to see my pain to trust that I can understand hers.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Arianna
I wake up with a crick in my neck. We must have fallen asleep talking because we’re lying on the bed lengthwise without pillows or blankets. Poor Chase. As if he wasn’t sore enough from his ribs and his back, now he’s had an uncomfortable night’s sleep. Practice will be brutal for him. I debate waking him, but he looks so peaceful. After last night, he deserves a little peace.
Sitting up, I run my fingers through my hair, and almost instantly, they get stuck in a tangled rat’s nest. I was so upset last night I didn’t condition or comb out—a sign of how emotionally wrecked I was. Curly hair is not forgiving when it’s not taken care of. Careful not to wake Chase, I slip out of bed and pad to the bathroom to work on these knots.
Spraying in copious amounts of leave-in conditioner, I think about the trove of emotions I cycled through last night. I’d honestly thought I was in a good place. I thought I had a handle on my emotions. But then out of nowhere, I felt as if I stepped on some sort of Indiana Jones-esque emotional booby trap. One moment I was having a great day. I felt so positive about my life and the direction it’s going, then two little words sent me spinning out of control, forcing me to relive all of the negative feelings I thought I was moving past. Giant boulders of guilt trying to barrel me down, a pit of self-loathing snakes threatening to swallow me whole, arrows of resentment and jealously whizzing by my head. The harder I tried and failed to keep control over my rapidly escalating emotions, the worse I felt about myself. By the time Chase found me, I was in shambles. Slowly, he put me back together with words of love and forgiveness.
As close as we’ve gotten, a piece of me has been holding back. A small place inside me hasn’t let go of my shame over my mistakes, and it perpetuates the fear that he harbors resentment and anger toward me. That one day he’ll realize I’m sullied and undeserving and then leave. W
ith all of this fear swirling around in my mind, I’ve been hesitant to really give myself to him—emotionally, physically, spiritually.
But he’s right. Secrets are cancer, and whether I realized it or not, mine have been rotting inside me, hidden under a layer of progress. I’ve kept Chase at a distance. I can’t be there for Charlie the way she deserves. When this baby comes into the world, will I keep him or her at arm’s length as well? All in the name of emotional flagellation?
How long do I let this go on? At what point do I deem myself worthy of clemency? Chase forgives me. As hard as it is for me to fathom, I believe in my heart he was being truthful. If he can forgive me, when will I pardon myself? Keeping myself trapped in emotional purgatory isn’t going to bring the baby back. I can’t undo it. I have a chance to try again, to find redemption, but I can only do that if I move forward.
I think it’s time. I finish combing out the tangles and go back to bed. Walking back to the bedroom, I see Chase lying in bed. He fell asleep in his clothes. His button-down shirt is rumpled, and his jeans are bunched up in such a way that I hope they aren’t cutting off his circulation. Despite his awkward position, he looks peaceful.
The last year has brought a whirlwind of drama and hurt into his life. He could have walked away at any time, but he’s stood by me every step of the way, even when I was pushing him away. All at once, it hits me how lucky I am. I would be irrevocably lost without him, and I used to think that made me weak. It’s taken until now to realize that his love and support give me strength. I shake my head at how stubborn and narrow-minded I’ve been. As I sit on the bed next to him, I study his face. For months, when I looked at him, all I would see if everything I ruined. But after last night, all I see is my future.
What am I waiting for?
He inhales deeply then shifts, stretching his legs. His eyes open a crack. “Morning,” he says with a scratchy voice. He looks over my shoulder at the clock. “You’re up early.”
I shrug. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“You should have woken me.” Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he props the pillow up behind him and sits up. “You okay?”
I scoot over so I’m sitting next to him. “Yeah, I’m fine. I needed some time to think everything through.”
He puts his arm around me. I welcome his embrace but pay careful attention not to put too much pressure on his ribs.
“Is there anything you want to talk about?" he asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I feel much better than I did last night.” I pull at a loose thread on my robe. “Maybe I just needed that catharsis. Despite how hard I’ve been trying to be honest with myself, I think this was one area I was trying to will myself to be over, and it just doesn’t work that way. So all those emotions had been building, and I needed to let them all out.” I turn so I can look him in the eyes. “Thank you.”
He smiles bashfully. “I didn’t do anything.”
I can’t help but laugh at his absurdity. “You’ve done everything. I shattered into a million pieces, and you put picked them all up and help put me back together. I’d still be in shambles if you hadn’t done everything you’ve done. I’ll never be able to explain to you how appreciative I am.”
“You never have to thank me for loving you. It’s like breathing. Or my heart beating. It’s an inherent part of who I am. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.” He puts his finger under my chin then tilts my face toward him. “Which I don’t. I love you. Being in your life is a privilege, and one I don’t take for granted. I want to be there to wipe away every tear, to see every smile, to celebrate every joy, to mourn every loss. I want to share it all with you. We’re in this life together, and I don’t want to miss a second of it. I think we’ve proven through all our ups and downs that I don’t work without you, and you don’t work without me. So you never have to thank me for loving you. If anything, I should be thanking you for allowing me the honor.”
My god, this man… just when I think he couldn’t be any more perfect, he says something like that. I can see in his eyes he means every word. How could I have ever doubted him? Or us!
“I love you,” I whisper then lean forward and kiss him softly.
His lips caress mine, and I’m overcome with the burning need to be closer to him. Sitting next to him isn’t enough. Kissing him isn’t enough. I’ve never felt this emotionally and spiritually connected to him, as though we’ve reached some new pinnacle in our relationship, and I want more. I yearn to deepen that connection, to feel him inside me, a part of me.
This need isn’t about orgasms or carnal pleasure and isn’t driven by lust or because I feel I have something to prove. This goes well beyond desire to forging a physical bond that says so much more than I could ever say with words. I could search for a lifetime and never find the words to fully convey the magnitude of my feelings. The words simply don’t exist.
There’s only one way I can show him I trust him with my heart, my soul, my pain, and my fear. To show him that I know with every molecule in my body that I have faith in him, in us.
As our kiss deepens, I unbutton his shirt then break our kiss to help him ease out of his shirt. Careful not to put too much pressure on his ribs, I place a gentle kiss above his heart.
He tugs on my belt, and my robe falls open. I slip my arms out of it and allow it to fall as his eyes go wide. Even though he’s seen me naked a million times, he still admires me as though he’s seeing me for the first time.
“You are so beautiful. A vision,” he says. “How the hell did I get so lucky? I must have done something good in a past life.”
“Oh, I think you’ve done plenty good in this life.”
He leans forward then winces. “Fucking ribs.” He taps my hips. “Come closer.”
He guides me to straddle him. With his back propped up against the pillow, when I sit on him, my breasts are right in front of his face. My nipple brushes against his lips, and he smiles then waggles his eyebrows.
“Perfect. This is my version of heaven.” He takes my right breast into his mouth and swirls his tongue around my nipple. His hands rove over my body, caressing my skin.
From the way he moans, I’m not sure who’s enjoying this more: him or me. My back arches, making my pelvis grind against his hard length beneath me. The friction leaves me craving more. As he continues to lave and suckle my breast, I rock my hips against him.
He reaches between us and rubs his thumb against my clit. His speed and tempo mimic what his tongue is doing to my nipple, and I moan as my head falls back. My legs tingle as I feel an orgasm beginning to build. But as amazing as this feels, this isn’t what I want.
Chase looks confused when I pull away. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong? We can stop if you want.”
I smile at him as I move down the bed. “Everything is perfect.”
I unbuckle his belt, and the worry in his face dissipates when I pull back on his button fly. He lifts his hips so I can remove his jeans and boxers with a gentle tug, then I toss them on the floor next to the bed. Running my fingertips along his muscular thighs, I inch up the bed then return to straddling his hips.
As I settle over him, Chase tenses. He looks at me with a furrowed brow and an expression that could be fear or shock. Perhaps it’s a combination of the two. “You don’t have to do this. I told you last night, I’ll wait a lifetime until you’re ready. I don’t need sex, Ari. All I need is you.”
I put my finger over his lips. “I want this. I want you. I can’t bear for anything else to come between us. In fact, I want nothing between us at all.” I hope he can see in my eyes that I’m ready.
He gasps when his tip touches my wet entrance. I lower myself slowly, enjoying the delicious stretch as he fills me inch by inch. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me against him. In this moment, we’re bound together in every possible way. Skin to skin, heart to heart, soul to soul. We’re so intertwined, I’m not sure where I end and he begins.
Chase looks in my eyes
, and I feel as though he’s looking right into me. He sees me completely. All the light and the dark, the beauty and flaws that make up who I am. I’m completely vulnerable, exposed, yet I’ve never felt so safe. So adored.
“I know this might hurt your ribs, so we’ll go easy,” I say as I move my hips.
His eyes roll back. “You could shove tacks under my nails and I wouldn’t feel it right now.” He bites his lip as he thrusts his hips upward. “All I can feel is how good it is to be inside you. So wet and tight. I was wrong before. This is heaven.”
Putting my hands on the wall to gain leverage, I rock up and down, allowing him to reach the deepest parts of me. His cock hits the perfect spot every time I move, as though it was made to give my body pleasure. Chase reaches between us and rubs his thumb against my clit.
He grimaces, and I’m not sure if it’s from pleasure or pain. I open my mouth to ask him, but he moves his thumb in faster circles and pleasure overtakes me. I can’t think coherently, let alone speak.
My eyes don’t leave his. The fire burning in his eyes reveals all his emotions and passion and couples with the pleasure building within me. The intensity becomes almost too much to bear, but I refuse to look away. I want him to know what he does to me. I want him to watch me come undone.
He moans in ecstasy as he comes. His hips thrust deep inside me, hitting my pleasure spot and sending me over the edge. Panting and sweaty, we lean against each other as we come down from the high. I know our position is probably killing him, but I’m not ready to move yet. I’m not ready for the void I’ll feel when he pulls away. I lean my forehead against his and relish in these last few moments.
Love To Hate You Page 42
