FAITHFUL: The Mountain Man’s Babies

by Love, Frankie

  A part of me hoped that maybe when I got here everything would click into place, that memories would rush back to me and I could be in the same place as Jonah, waiting, with arms outstretched. His heart is wide open, waiting for me.

  But I don’t have a magical aha moment. Instead, I have that familiar sense of longing. Wishing for memories I don’t have.

  I grab my suitcase and carry it up the two front steps, walking into Jonah’s place.

  “Faith,” he says. “God, I’m so happy to see you.” As if on cue, Ocean starts crying. “I think she’s ready for a bottle.”

  I nod, stepping into his house, and shutting the door. I set down my bag and take off my winter coat. “Sorry, where’s the coat closet?”

  He pulls open a door, revealing a small and tidy space.

  “Sorry,” I say hanging it. “I should have known that, shouldn’t I have?”

  “No,” he answers with a grin. “I’m telling you when we fell for one another it was hard and fast. You didn’t memorize my floor plan that day.”

  “No?”

  He shakes his head as I hang up my coat, next to his Carhartt coat, his heavy wool jacket. The closet smells like leather and sandalwood. It smells like a man. I blink slowly. Jonah’s presence is such a force to be reckoned with. Being here, alone with him, I wonder how I was ever brave enough, confident enough, to give him my heart so quickly.

  “You okay?” he asks, his hand on the small of my back. Ocean still fussing in his arm.

  “I’m alright,” I say, even though I feel pinpricks of pleasure on my skin. Jonah is so patient, so kind — so handsome and intimidating. It’s hard to imagine me taking off my clothes for him, our bodies joined as one… he seems so much older and wiser, so capable.

  “You hungry? Can I get you something to drink?” he asks, walking to the kitchen. He opens the fridge and grabs a bottle for Ocean.

  “No, I’m not hungry,” I say, even though it’s dinnertime.

  “While I feed her, you’re free to put your things in the bedroom.”

  “Actually,” I say, looking around his home. My shoulders relax as I take in his space. His home. “Can I try and nurse her?”

  He lifts his eyebrows. “You sure?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I want… I want her to know me, Jonah.”

  Relief washes over him. “That’s so good to hear, Faith.”

  I bite my lip. “And I want to know you, too.”

  He swallows, his eyes dropping to mine. I see a swell of emotion in them, want and hope and longing.

  He longs for me.

  What he thought we might become.

  What we promised we would be — married.

  “The nursery is right in here,” he says, walking across the room. I follow him into a bedroom that is an oasis, the colors and lighting soft and lush. “It’s beautiful,” I say, my fingers running over the wall.

  “Stella, Buck’s wife, she’s is a designer. She planned all this out.”

  I nod. “I met her, and she came to the hospital to visit once. I didn’t realize they had done so much here.” I look at the dresser, pulling open the drawer. It’s filled with pink baby clothes. I can’t help but blink back tears. The closet door is open, and rows of dresses are hung, baby gear and baskets with diapers all ready for use. “Wow,” I say, awestruck.

  “What is it?” he asks as I sit I the rocking chair, a mermaid pillow at my back.

  He offers me Ocean, and I unbutton my blouse, unhook my nursing bra. Jonah turns. “I’ll go,” he says.

  “Please, stay.”

  He swallows, his jaw tight, back straight. This is all so much for him. But he does as I ask, and sits on the floor, his back against the crib.

  I nudge Ocean to my nipple, assuming she won’t be interested. I’ve attempted this only a handful of times and it has always ended with me in a puddle of tears, overwhelmed with the responsibility. But she takes it without a fuss, latching on, looking up at me.

  The milk flows freely, and she suckles, kicking her feet until she begins to relax, and as she does, I relax too. Leaning back in the rocker, holding my baby. This time, I’m not crying.

  “I really appreciate what everyone did for you, for Ocean — for us. But…” I shake my head. “Seeing this room set up for her, everything complete — it just reminds me of how much I missed out on. What I lost. It isn’t fair.”

  I run the back of my hand over Ocean’s cheek, gratitude sweeping within me that for once I’m not crying as I hold her.

  “I’m sorry, Faith.” Jonah exhales. “I didn’t think of it like that. Everyone was just so excited to help, to get ready for Ocean. It was like... a concrete thing in the midst of so much uncertainty.”

  “That makes sense,” I admit. “How did they know she was a girl?” ask, looking around at the purple and pink accents. “You said her gender was a surprise.”

  “I wanted to name the baby Ocean regardless, and Stella and Cherish figured most of the room could be blue, green and white either way.” Jonah twists his lips. “I’m not a designer, I just wrote the checks.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you for all of this. My tears feel bratty. Selfish. You’re the one…” I squeeze my eyes shut. “You’re the one who has been through hell and back.”

  Jonah moves toward me, kneeling before the rocker. Ocean is sleeping now, milk drool on the side of her mouth, her eyes closed, gentle coos sending a wave of pleasure over me.

  “You can cry, Faith. But please know that it’s okay. It was an honor to sit by your side all those months, to read Ocean books while she was growing inside you, to tell you stories about growing up, to hold your hand and press my palm to your belly when Ocean would kick.”

  “You truly love me, don’t you?” I ask, knowing the truth. No man would do so much for someone he just met unless it was genuine love, deep, real. Forever.

  “I do,” he tells me. Tears run down his face. “Dammit, Faith, I miss you. And my heart breaks for you, you did miss out on so damn much. Things that you deserved to experience alongside me. You slept through all those firsts, and the firsts that we shared, you can’t even remember. It kills me when I think of it. But Faith, you didn’t die. You are here now. Every day, from this day forward is a memory you can hold on to.”

  I pull Ocean to my heart, kissing her head. Wishing I hadn’t spiraled so hard when she was born, but desperate to give myself grace for the rollercoaster I’ve been on.

  “I want to be strong, like my own mother always was,” I tell Jonah. “I want to be here for my daughter — I don’t want any regrets.”

  Jonah wraps his arms around Ocean and me, his beard bristling against my cheek, his strong arms holding me tight, our daughter nestled between us.

  “No regrets, Faith. From here on out, you can be the woman you want to be. Strong and courageous. Like a whale.”

  I inhale, breathing this man in. This man who loves me.

  I can be what my daughter needs. And maybe I can be what Jonah needs, too.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jonah

  JONAH

  With my arms wrapped around her, Ocean between us, my heart pounds with hope. I want Faith to be strong, healthy, herself — and I feel like her coming here was the right decision.

  Of course, selfishly I want her here. In my bed, in my arms, against me forever — but beyond the physical cravings, I have for her, on an emotional level my deepest desire is for her to embrace the life that has unfolded for her, even if she feels resentful over not having had a choice in the matter.

  I move back, tenderly taking Ocean from Faith’s arms and carrying her to the crib. With her eyes closed, I put her down without any stirring. I look back at Faith who is buttoning her blouse. The curve of her breast draws my eye, but I look up, into her eyes. Desiring more than she offers isn’t right — and if I am to ever win her heart, I believe it will be a slow process. Starting with trust.

  “You’re so good with her,” Faith says, standing from the ch
air.

  “She makes it easy. She sleeps like a champ, takes a bottle super well. We’re lucky.”

  She nods slowly looking me over as if seeing me for the first time. “Yeah,” she says softly. “We are.”

  For a moment I imagine this is when things change; the moment I can finally turn to Faith and pull her into my arms and kiss her.

  God knows I’ve imagined this moment plenty of times.

  Dreamt about it.

  I want to take Faith against me once more, want her body pressed against mine as I fill her, consume her. I close my eyes, steadying myself. I can’t let my mind run away like this.

  “You said you were a writer, right?” she asks out of nowhere.

  I nod. “Just like you.”

  She smirks, rolling her eyes. “Trying.”

  “Isn’t that what we’re all doing, Faith? Trying?”

  “Can I read something you wrote?” she asks, the question surprising me.

  “Uh, yeah, sure.”

  “Really?”

  I nod. “Sure, maybe tomorrow I can pull something up for you?”

  “Are you busy now or something?” she asks with a teasing smile.

  “No, I just...” I look back at the crib. Ocean is sleeping peacefully. “My computer is in my room if you want to come with me.”

  She walks with me into my bedroom and I look over the room, imagining it from her point of view.

  “Is this where… where we…”

  I grab my laptop and turn back to Faith. Her eyes are a darker green than I’ve ever seen them. “Yeah,” I tell her. I step closer. “We were outside on the trail, by the lake and then we came inside, and we made love. Right here.”

  She swallows, licking her lips. “And I was just… I was ready?”

  I nod, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You were more than ready,” I tell her, remembering her pink cunt, so slick, so needy. “You told me it was your first time, and you said—” I shake my head, not wanting to push things with her before it’s time.

  “What did I say?” she asks, her words breathless, airy. Like the first time we met.

  My jaw tightens as I remember the moment. “You said ‘you’ll be my first, Jonah Rye.’ And I told you, I…” I lock eyes with Faith, my hand on her cheek. “I told you that I would be your last.”

  She whimpers the tiniest moan. Her eyes closed, her breath bated. “And what did I say to that?”

  I smile, looking at the most beautiful woman in the whole fucking world. “You said, yes, Jonah, you will.”

  She shakes her head, pink rising on her cheeks, her eyes brighter now. Hopeful. “I was so bold with you.”

  I keep my hand on her perfect cheek, dreaming of the moment when she will be ready for me to make her mine all over again. “You can’t fake real, Faith.”

  Her eyes glitter, dance. “I suppose you can’t.”

  I step away, not trusting myself to stand so close without drawing my mouth to hers. Dragging her into my bed. Taking her, heart, mind, soul.

  Her eyes fall to my laptop. “Can you show me what you’ve written?”

  I nod, and together we sit down, on the edge of my bed. When I turn on my computer the home screen shows a photo of Faith holding Ocean, cradling her. It’s black and white and Faith looks so strong, resilient — slightly overwhelmed, but in that moment, you can see that she is humbled by the beauty in her arms. Ocean looks so tiny, so perfect — so much ours.

  “Oh,” Faith startles, looking up at me, tears in her eyes. “Jonah it’s so …”

  “Beautiful,” I say, filling the space. “Fucking beautiful.”

  She trembles as she watches me pull up a document.

  “Maybe this is too much, Faith. Maybe you’d like a rest?”

  She shakes her head. “Let me read.” She takes the computer from my lap, and together, we read my account of the day Ocean was born.

  November 1st

  The first time I held her in my arms I knew that I was forever changed. She was so tiny, so perfectly formed, the most unlikely gift I’d ever received. Her mother was down the hall, but I carried Faith’s love with me as my daughter was placed against my chest. Her heart beat against my heart; together they would beat for Faith.

  Until Faith came back, until she could see once more — that we were for her, not against her. That we were the beginning of a new story. Until she could see that we needed her in this chapter. Until she realized that, without her, it would never be complete.

  The three of us were a circle, and we needed her to be whole.

  Faith wipes a tear from her eye. “Jonah,” she whispers. “Even if I can’t remember… I know this is where I need to be. I want to complete the circle.”

  I close the computer, looking into her eyes, tears filling mine the same as hers. “Welcome home, Faith,” I tell her.

  I kiss her then, because her chin lifts, her eyes on mine, the desire between us growing, real. Deep.

  Her lips are soft, and the kiss is tender. Raw and ragged like the first time all over again.

  I love her. So damn much. Now and for always and when I kiss her, I know those words hang in the air. I know she knows and that is more than enough.

  Her mouth parts, our tongues collide. The heat growing, real, here.

  I kiss her like we have forever, there is no rush. We have time. Not in the way I thought before, where we moved fast, fast, faster still. Tighter. Needing to take hold as if there was no time to lose.

  Now I know better.

  Now I see time differently. Now I know the true meaning of precious moments. They are to be savored. Memorized.

  I cling to them because I understand now what it means to have no regrets. It isn’t rushing things — it is holding them tight.

  Never letting them go.

  It is long kisses, fingers laced, it is tears shed as mouths part. It is treasuring each and every touch as if it might be the last.

  It is love, that is what this is.

  I could keep kissing her like this as if there was no tomorrow, but from the other room, Ocean calls for us.

  We pull back, our eyes lock, the wave of emotion overwhelming us both.

  Salty tears. The tide comes and it goes.

  We stand, moving toward Ocean as she wakes.

  I have faith in us, I always have.

  I always will.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Faith

  After we feed, change, rock, cuddle and kiss our daughter, Jonah carries her back to the crib, where she sleeps. I can’t stop smiling, my heart is beating so fast. I want this to all work out so badly.

  In the kitchen, Jonah warms up some of the chicken pot pie that Cherish brought for us.

  “Smells good,” I say, sitting on the barstool at the kitchen island, trying to be present. Truth is, my mind and body are focused on one thing. The way it felt to have his lips against mine.

  Jonah’s blue eyes fall on mine. He wears an easy smile; nothing about him feels forced. “Cherish is a good cook, and it sounds like Harper has people delivering food every day for the next month.” Jonah grins, his eyes are bright. “I hate to cook, so it sounds like a good plan to me.”

  I smile, taking the plate of food. Jonah sits beside me, and I feel the electricity between us growing. The kiss in the bedroom changed me, the words he wrote melted me.

  I may not remember falling in love, but I understand now why I did so hard, so fast.

  Jonah is like none other.

  He is mine.

  “I like to cook, actually,” I tell him. “Growing up with so many siblings, I always helped around the kitchen. But I can imagine not having that on our plate for the next few weeks will be a blessing. I think we’re in for a rude awakening without any nurses here to help.”

  Jonah nods, taking a bite of food. He looks so handsome, even when he’s eating. I can’t help but wonder if there is anything, he doesn’t look good doing. “We’ve been lucky. But Ocean is only waking three times a night
now, she sleeps like a champ.”

  We eat mostly in silence. I can tell Jonah is wrestling with something, his eyes are dark and heavy. I’m guessing he hasn’t had a good night sleep in a long while.

  “You tired?” I ask when we finish.

  “Yeah, it’s been a long—” He stops, shakes his head.

  “A long nine months?”

  He nods. “Yeah.” He takes my hand, squeezing it. “I know you don’t remember me, Faith, but I want you to know that I will always be here to support you, however, you need. And I’m so glad you’re here. That you’re home. The kiss… well it was fucking perfect, but I don’t want you to think that is what I am after — you wanting to be here, with our daughter, that is what I have been hoping for.”

  I twist my lips; his warm hand feels so good against mine. I want to crawl in his bed with him trailing after me. I want to give myself to him the same way I did all those months ago. I want him to be mine, in the way I realize I am already his.

  But Ocean begins to cry from the nursery and Jonah and I both start at the same time.

  “Go,” he says. “I bet she’ll quiet right down in your arms.”

  “You sure?” I ask, not wanting to step on his toes or take over — after all, he has been her rock for the first six weeks of her life.

  “I’m sure. I’ll just go shower, actually. If that’s alright?”

  Jonah leaves for the bathroom and I go to the nursery, reaching for my daughter. I offer her my breast, and as she latches on again, I exhale, glad to be avoiding the breast pump for the moment.

  “Hey, little one,” I say, kissing her head, breathing her in. My daughter.

  My little miracle.

  After she eats, I change her diaper and put her in a fresh set of pajamas, swaddling her snugly. Then I set her into the crib once more. She is fast asleep, and I tiptoe from the room, keeping the door open so I can hear any noise.

  I hear the shower still running and I decide to clean up dinner while I wait for Jonah. It only takes a few minutes to wash the two plates and forks by hand. Finished, I turn off the overhead lights, switching on a few lamps instead. Then I walk around the living room, taking in his cabin.