by Claire Adams
“I am happy to hear that you guys are going to try to work things out,” my mother said.
I only nodded; I decided not to elaborate that there was really nothing to “work out” between us, as if we had some major conflict that we needed to resolve. If that were the case, I wouldn’t have told her about Declan to begin with.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Allie
I wasn’t going over to Cole’s house every single night after work, but it was pretty close. We’d all do something together outside—go for a swim, take a bike ride, play Frisbee in the backyard—and then we’d have dinner, either out somewhere or back at Cole’s place. And then we’d hang out some more, Declan would get ready for bed, and Cole and I would usually sit out on the deck and drink a beer, or relax in the hammock under the star-filled sky.
Tonight, we were sitting on the deck. I had almost finished my beer when Cole stood up and asked me if I wanted another one.
“No, I think I’m good,” I said.
“I’m going to grab another one.”
He went inside and then returned a moment later with a new bottle of beer. He sat down and took a long sip.
“So,” he said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this whole thing with Declan. It’s been a relief to have been able to tell someone else about it, but at the same time, that’s made me think about it in a different way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well... I guess I just mean now that you know—and you’re someone who wasn’t there through the whole thing, like Ben or my parents were—that’s got me wondering how this whole thing must seem to you, and maybe you think that I did the wrong thing, or I’m doing the wrong thing by not telling Declan.”
“Cole,” I said. “It doesn’t matter what I think, because this situation isn’t about me.”
“It does matter what you think though,” he said. “To me, it does.”
“I appreciate you saying that. But in this situation...it doesn’t involve me. Or, it might now because I’m part of Declan’s life, but all this was happening long before I knew you guys, so you made the choices you felt you had to at the time.”
“It is something that I’ve struggled with,” I said. “I don’t want you to think that I haven’t felt guilty about it or wondered if I’m doing the right thing. What would I want to have happen if the roles were reversed? Of course I’d want to know. More than that—I’d want my kid back. So I’ve been giving it a lot of thought.” He took another sip of beer, then sighed. I could tell that this had been bothering him quite a bit. “And I’m not going to tell Sam, or his sister, or anyone in their family.”
I nodded. “I think that’s the right choice,” I said. “Or maybe not the right choice, but the best one, given the circumstances.”
“Because what would the outcome probably be? They’d try to get custody. I could lose him and never see him again, and Sam is in no condition to raise a child by himself. Even if... even if that whole thing hadn’t happened between him and I, he very well could still be using drugs. It’s just not the sort of environment that a child should be in.”
“It’s not,” I agreed. “And Declan loves you and is so happy with you.”
Cole sighed. “I feel like shit about it, though. Deep down, I do. The whole thing is so messed up. I’m just trying to do the best that I can now within the situation that we have to work with, but I know that some people would think it’s totally wrong to raise Declan as my own when his real father is alive and only a few hours from us.”
“You are his real father,” I said. “Don’t tell yourself for a second you aren’t. The issue isn’t so cut and dry. That’s what makes it so complicated. In a perfect world, your sister would still be alive, she and Sam wouldn’t have ever touched drugs, and they’d be raising Declan together, but that’s not the way things turned out.”
“I just wonder sometimes if, later on in life, he hates me for it.”
“I don’t think he’ll hate you for being the best dad for him that you could be. If you do one day decide to tell him, he’ll be old enough to realize that you only had his best interest in mind. It’s not like this is a walk in the park, raising kids. When you’re a parent, you’re not just there for the fun stuff and then you get to leave the responsibilities to someone else. It hasn’t been easy for you, either.”
Cole stared at me for a moment. “Thank you,” he said finally. “Thank you for saying that. I’ve never let myself really say that out loud before, how hard this can be. Because it makes me feel like shit to think that because I know that Declan is a really fucking good kid.”
“He is, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.”
He shook his head. “My life has just turned out so much differently than I thought it would. And I know it’s not a bad life by any means, so I feel bad even bringing it up in the first place.”
I went over and put my arms around him. He stood and put his face against my neck, and we stayed there like that for almost a minute. More than anything, I wanted to be able to take away whatever pain or guilt it was that he was feeling—I knew that he was doing what he thought was right; he was doing something that many people in his situation might not have, whether it was because they couldn’t or wouldn’t.
“Declan is so lucky to have you,” I said. “Anyone can see that he absolutely thinks the world of you. You have done right by him so far, Cole; don’t let yourself think that you won’t be able to continue to do so.”
“That’s all I really want,” he said. “I want him to have a good childhood and be prepared for whatever it is that life throws at him when he’s an adult.”
We had pulled back from the hug, though our arms were still around each other. Cole smiled. I smiled back, and I felt so happy standing there, his arms around me, our bodies pressed against each other, and I knew, without a doubt, that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Cole
It was actually a cool night, more like early fall than summer, so I started a fire in the pit, and Allie and I sat in the Adirondack chairs with our feet facing the flames. We were wearing sweatshirts, and our chairs were right next to each other, so we were able to hold hands as we watched the flames lick the sides of the fire pit.
“I should have bought marshmallows,” I said. “I feel as though I’m depriving you of an authentic Maine camping experience.”
“Next time,” she said.
When the fire started to get low, I added another log and a few smaller branches and poked at it with a bigger stick. There was some crackling, and I stirred the ashes, watching the embers glow bright and then fade to a darker orange. It had always mesmerized me, the way fire could reduce almost anything to ash, the way that ash could so easily get picked up and carried off by the wind, only to disintegrate when it finally came to rest. And, just like that, an object that was something wasn’t anymore. It was gone.
I put the stick down and looked over at Allie.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
I went inside, quietly going up the stairs. I peeked in on Declan, who was sound asleep in his bed, the covers kicked off at the bottom of the bed. I went in and pulled them back up over him and brushed a few strands of hair back from his forehead. Then I went into my room, into my walk-in closet. I got the shoe box and pulled the letter out. I stood there and read it.
I just don’t want to live anymore. I know that’s not the right thing
to say, the right way to feel, but it’s the truth. I’ve caused other
people so much pain, and I’m so tired. I hope you can forgive me
and not blame yourselves because there is nothing anyone could
say that would change my mind. All I ever wanted was to be happy,
but for some reason, despite all the privilege I was born into,
I am unable to feeling anything but this overwhelming sadness.
I forgive you, Cole, for what you did to Sam. I know that’s
not who
you really are, I know that we all end up doing things sometimes
that we don’t mean to do. I probably know that better than
anybody. Please watch out for Declan. Take care of him. I know
that Sam can’t, so you have to. You’ll be a better parent than
either of us ever could anyway, so maybe for once, I’ve done
the right thing. ~Marissa
I set the letter down on my bed and put the shoe box back into the closet. I left the letter unfolded and carried it with me outside. I dropped it into the fire pit and watched as the orange flames snaked up the page, the way the corners curled in, darkening, disintegrating until it was reduced to ash that flittered through the air like snow. Perhaps one day, when he was old enough, I would tell Declan the truth about who his parents were. We could look at old childhood pictures of Marissa, and I could tell him how she liked to swim as far as she could underwater, pretending she was a dolphin, or her favorite flavor of ice cream. But I would not tell him that she had killed herself, and I would let my mother continue to think that it had all been a terrible accident.
“What was that?” Allie asked.
“That was the letter my sister wrote,” I said. “And it was time for it to go. I don’t want to have it anymore.”
Maybe it was a little dramatic, a little over the top to do it like that. But there wasn’t a need for me to keep the letter, and now that I didn’t have it, I wouldn’t feel compelled to look at it. It was, in a way, like putting the past to rest, closing the chapter on that part of my life, and starting a new one with Allie.
I sat back down, but Allie got up, came over, and sat on my lap. She wrapped her arms around my neck and looked at me, a smile on her face. “I just want you to know how happy you make me,” she said. “And how I love the fact that you are so willing to put other people’s needs and well-being ahead of your own.” She kissed me, but right as I started to kiss her back, she was sliding off my lap, kneeling between my legs. She unzipped my fly. “But now I want you to let me take care of you,” she said, her smile turning coy.
The fire crackled. I couldn’t remember ever feeling happier, more content, just at ease, knowing that this was the way life was supposed to be. I leaned back in the chair and let my eyes close as I felt her gorgeous mouth press against me.
Epilogue
Allie
“I think everything’s ready,” Cole said.
We stood on the deck and surveyed the backyard, which we’d set up for the cookout we were having that afternoon. We’d strung a colored cloth pennant that I’d haphazardly managed to sew together between two maple trees, and we had covered the picnic table and the table on the deck in embroidered tablecloths that Cole’s mother had given to us. It was actually Declan’s 6th birthday party/baby shower. Declan had had a party earlier that week with friends from school, so this party would be for our families. Both sets of our parents would be coming, as well as Amy and Ben.
“You feeling all right?” Cole asked. He reached out and touched my stomach, which, at seven months pregnant, was large and unwieldy. As he said it, I could feel the baby kick and squirm inside of me, a feeling that would never get old, even when it was happening at 2 in the morning and keeping me up.
“Yeah, I feel great,” I said, even though my lower back was a little sore from carrying all this extra weight around, and my feet were definitely tired. But aside from that, I really did feel great. I had never imagined when I moved up to Maine and into that little house that my next door neighbor would end up being the love of my life, the man I would marry. We’d gotten married last year on the coast of Maine, standing on a rocky ledge with a stunning view of the Atlantic Ocean. Four months later, I found out I was pregnant.
It wasn’t exactly how we had planned it, though we were both beyond excited. Declan was, too, and everyone else was dying to know if it was a boy or a girl, which we planned to announce at the party later today.
“Do you think we should make them wait?” Cole asked. “Not make the announcement until maybe the end of the party?”
I laughed. “Yeah right, good luck with that. You know that’s all they’re going to be able to talk about. They’re probably going to walk in the door, and that’s the first thing they’re going to want to know.”
“You’re probably right,” he said. “Maybe we should just tell everyone that we decided not to find out after all.”
We almost had decided to forego finding out the gender at the 20-week ultrasound. There were so few true surprises left in the world, it seemed (the good kind, anyway), but I wanted to know ahead of time; I wanted to paint the nursery and get some baby clothes, and not just the gender-neutral kind.
“I have been thinking about names,” I said.
“Oh, have you? I’m sure my mother will come with a list of ones she hopes we use.”
“My mom probably will, too. But... I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I think I know what I’d like to name the baby. If it’s okay with you.”
“Okay,” he said. “What?”
I paused. “Marissa.”
I’d known from the beginning that if the baby turned out to be a girl, that I wanted to call her that. And after the big ultrasound and we found out the baby was indeed a girl, I’d taken to referring to her as Marissa when I’d talk to her in my head. Yet now as I stood there, having just told Cole, I felt a flare of uncertainty; was it wrong of me to suggest that? I had never met Marissa, after all, though by now I’d seen pictures of her, and Cole and his parents had told me stories about her, and she seemed like someone that I probably would have been friends with, if she were still alive.
Cole’s expression was hard to read; his face didn’t immediately break out into a smile, though he wasn’t frowning, either. But just when I was about to say that we could think of something else if he wanted to, he pressed his lips together and nodded. His eyes had misted over.
“I think that would be perfect,” he said softly. “I really do.”
“Me too.”
He put his arms around me and pulled me toward him. “I love you, Allie,” he said. “And our daughter.”
“I love the both of you,” I said. He smiled, and I leaned in and kissed him. I felt baby Marissa kick inside me, as if she was saying I love you too.
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BILLIONAIRE’S ESCORT
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Jake
She had silicone breasts and a lower lip that drooped from the weight of her collagen injections, but I wasn’t focused on either of those things. When she walked inside my home, all I cared about was that bubble butt. It swayed up and down as her heels clicked on the marble floor.
“This place is crazy.” She turned around to take it all in, the chandelier, marble staircase, and of course, the centerpiece of the foyer: a three-foot-high floral display. She bent down to smell the flowers.
“They’re fake,” I said.
“Oh.”
I came up behind her, wrapped my arms around her stomach, and bit her behind the ear. She turned around, jerked herself away, and started walking up the stairs. I kept my eyes on her hips as they swung back and forth. She looked back when she got to the top of the landing, winked at me, then yelped when I spanked her and dug my fingers in deep.
“You’re gonna get it,” I said. My cock ached with desire.
She sucked in air sharply through her teeth. “You promise?”
My instincts took over. I s
natched her up, pulled her into my arms, and carried her into my room. The second she hit the bed, I straddled her and ripped her shirt off. She was vulnerable and sensitive, and she stared up at me with anticipation. I dug my teeth into her neck, behind her ear, and over her chest. I could feel shivers running down her stomach, so I met them with my lips while I reached around and unstrapped her bra.
I threw it to the floor, then pressed her nipples between my lips, first one, then the other. She was a slave to my whims. I could make her do anything I wanted, and there was nothing she could do about it.
I could make her shudder and cry out. I could make her tremble. All I had to do was reach down and circle my fingers around her opening while I began unbuttoning her tight, white shorts. I slipped them down her legs, threw them aside, then tore off her panties.
She clenched her legs together. She was already grasping at air, trying to pull me in. The light caught a drop of moisture flowing down her lips. I flicked her clit, and she jolted.
“You like that?” I pressed her sensitive bud between my fingers, gripped it tightly, and took in her expression. This wasn’t just about getting my rocks off. It was about getting into her head. I needed to see her lose control. She had to want it. It wouldn’t feel right if she was just going through the motions.
I slid down her body, placed my head firmly between her legs, and swept my tongue over her opening. She moaned at the feeling. I rested my tongue at the top of her clit, flitting it back and forth over the tip. She watched me with her lower lip quivering and her eyes ready to roll into the back of her head.
I drove my finger into her, and she sighed. “You like that?” I asked, twisting my finger inside her.
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you gonna take this cock?” I stood up and unbuttoned my pants.
“Uh-huh.”
