by Layla Hagen
On Thursday, I go in for my annual checkup, and since I am feeling lousy, they take some blood. Then I have to deal with the lightheadedness caused by the blood loss on top of my weird state. When Eric comes home later that night, I try to shove his imminent departure to the back of my mind and enjoy our time as much as possible.
“How was your day?” he asks me, coming over to me and kissing my forehead. I’m sitting cross-legged on his couch with sketches spread around.
Pouting, I point to the bruise on my arm. “I had a blood test today. The nurse couldn’t find my vein at first, so she stuck me a few times.”
“You’re afraid of needles?”
“Yeah.”
“I love how I learn something new about you every day.” He caresses my cheek with the back of his hand, and I lean in like a kitten who can’t get enough of her master’s touch. “I’ll bring you a top with long sleeves so you don’t see it.”
“Great idea,” I say, touched. I’m wearing a silk, sleeveless sundress.
Eric returns a few minutes later, handing me a long-sleeved summer sweater. After I put it on, I notice he’s holding the shirt he gave me months ago in his other hand.
“You’re a little thief,” he informs me, sitting next to me and pulling me in his lap. “I forgot about this. Were you ever going to return it?”
“Well, you did find it in my suitcase.”
“So, you’re a reformed thief?”
Licking my lips, I say, “I slept in it a few times at home.” Heat creeps up my face, and I’m sure the redness in my cheeks is visible.
Eric is silent for a few beats, before saying, “C’mere.” He opens his arms, beckoning me to lean in to his hug. I stay put, not meeting his gaze for some reason. I play with the sleeve of the shirt, keeping my eyes fixed on the button.
“Pippa, is everything okay? You’ve gone quiet.”
“Everything’s fine.”
“Do you want to keep this?” His voice has an edge to it that threatens to undo me. Am I imagining it, or is there pain in it?
“I’d love to, but I was wondering. Can I swap this shirt with the one you wore today?”
“Why?”
“Because this one doesn’t smell like you.”
“You want to sleep in my smelly shirt?”
I keep twisting the sleeve in my fingers as I say, “I want to have something that smells like you, so I can remember you.”
“Pippa, look at me,” he says gently.
“I love you,” I whisper. In the stunned silence that follows, my heart shrinks to the size of a pea. “I’m sorry. I know we—”
“Shhh,” Eric interrupts me. He puts his thumb under my chin, lifting it and looking at me. His eyes are full of warmth and tenderness. “Never apologize to me. Least of all because you love me.” He pulls me closer to him, and this time, I lean in to his touch all the way. “I can’t say it. I could never get on that plane if I did.”
I nod, smiling against his lips. “I think it’s best if you don’t. Otherwise, I’ll start crying.”
He leans his forehead against mine, and we both draw in deep breaths.
Eric pushes my hair to one side, then nuzzles the exposed part of my neck.
“I want you,” he whispers. His hot breath on my wet skin prompts goose bumps to form on my arms.
“Yes.” We desire each other with an intensity that scares me. I grip the hem of his shirt with both hands, pulling him to me, needing to feel even closer to him, but nothing feels close enough. A familiar sexual stirring springs to life inside me. His hands travel from my shoulders to my waist, and he cups one of my breasts over the fabric of the sweater.
He groans against my lips. “You’re not wearing a bra.”
“You complainin’?”
“No. I thought about you all day, wanting to make love to you.”
“There’s nothing restricting you now,” I tease.
Eric slides my dress up to my waist and strokes his finger over my thong. I shudder. With this one single touch, he sets every nerve ending in my body on fire. My nipples throb, rubbing against the dress with every small move I make. They are so sensitive that even the sheer silk is too rough for them. Yet somehow, I think Eric’s tongue—or even his teeth—would not feel rough at all. He pushes his hips against me, letting me know he’s hard and ready for me.
I undo the buttons of his shirt, taking it off him, then proceed to rid him of his pants and boxers, freeing his glorious erection. I swipe my tongue over the tip exactly once before pulling away.
Eric sucks in a sharp breath. “You’re a bad girl.”
“Very bad,” I agree with him. He removes my sweater in one swift move, then hooks his thumbs in the top of my dress, pulling it down. The dress gathers at my waist, leaving my breasts exposed. Eric glances down at them, rubbing one nipple between his fingers, while slicking the fingers of his other hand over my sex. A bolt of heat sears through me.
“I don’t want to let you go, Pippa. For once, I wish I could be selfish and choose my own happiness. I would choose to stay here with you.”
I swallow a sob, fighting the sudden burning sensation behind my eyelids. How can a few words cause me so much happiness and ache at the same time? I will not cry. I will not cry. Watching the pain in his eyes, I realize I have to be strong for both of us right now.
“Let’s not think about that.” I kiss the corner of his lips. Unable to help myself, I add, “You’re the most selfless person I know, and I love you for it.”
Without a word, Eric hoists me in his arms, and I wrap my legs around him. He takes us to the bedroom, where it’s pitch dark, but I don‘t worry. I’d let this man take me blindly anywhere; that’s how much I trust him. And I never thought I’d trust a man again.
He lays me on the bed, climbing on top of me. “I love you so much it fucking hurts,” he whispers in the darkness. His words accelerate my heartbeat and stop my breath.
“That makes two of us,” I whisper back. Next, his mouth is on mine, and we say no more. Instead, we pour all of our unspoken words into kisses and caresses. Gentle at first, then passionate.
Eric enters me in one swift move, and he stills inside me.
“Oh, fuck. This feels too good.” He all but grunts out the words. Interlacing his fingers with mine, he rests his head in the crook of my neck. For long moments, we stay like that, listening to each other’s breaths, feeling the other’s heartbeat, connecting on a level I never thought possible. When he finally starts moving, he does so with long, deep thrusts, his mouth on mine the entire time. He murmurs my name between kisses, caressing my face, my neck. I run my fingers on the expanse of his back, wanting to remember every inch of his skin, and the way his muscles tense when he makes love to me.
Pushing him gently away from me, I bring my hands to his chest, continuing my journey of memorizing his body.
His precise, devastating thrusts spur a hunger deep inside me, which spreads all the way to my fingertips, until it becomes all-consuming. My hips buck off the bed, desperate for more. Eric intensifies the rhythm, his thrusts growing ferocious as he exhales fiery breaths.
My pulse ratchets up as a small quiver builds in my center, then spreads through my entire body. Abandoning all pretense of gentleness, Eric grabs my ass with his hands, digging his nails into my skin. I revel in the pleasure the pinching sensation brings. He buries his face in my neck, his chest pressing against my breasts as he drives inside me like a man possessed. I push my hips, joining him in his rhythm, needing my climax, yet at the same time not wanting this to end. Desperation shadows our desire, but we quench it with kisses, groans, and a frantic search for our release. Eric widens inside me and groans out my name at the same time my orgasm ripples through me, and it’s bittersweet.
Taking deep, ragged breaths, we lie tangled in each other’s arms for a long time, neither of us wanting to let go.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Eric
My last week in San Francisco starts with
a boom. I have a meeting with my team first thing in the morning, going through the agenda for the week. Marcus, one of the initial employees, will be the head of the team after I leave. I will be monitoring the growth here from Boston, but I will be less involved. I’ll miss this. It was a tough two and a half months, but I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. There is something to be said about growing a company yourself over inheriting a fully formed organization. When my father stepped back from his job as CEO and I took over, Callahan’s Finest was already working like a well-oiled machine. Here I had to roll up my sleeves and do the dirty work myself. I loved every minute of it. Marcus still has a lot of work ahead of him, and I envy the bastard.
“Great job, everyone,” I say as the meeting ends.
“We’ll miss you, boss,” my secretary says. I raise an eyebrow, preparing a sardonic remark, but then I realize she means it. Okay, so Pippa’s advice to stop being an ass had more merit than I anticipated. I’m barely back in my office when my phone starts ringing. Looking down at the phone, I see it’s Mom.
“Hi, Mom.”
“How are you, Eric?”
“Busy. Trying to wrap everything up.”
“So, your return to Boston is going according to schedule?”
“Yes.” I flip through a report on my desk, making mental notes of everything I have to do the moment I finish talking to Mom.
“I raised you better than this.”
“What?”
“I do speak to my granddaughter, you know. She tells me what’s going on in her life. Your life.”
“I see.”
“Do you? Because right now, I’m thinking my son is blind.”
“Mom, if there is something you want to tell me, cut to the chase.” I push the report away, ready for her attack.
“You’re in love with Pippa Bennett.”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“And you’re still not going to do everything you can to stay in San Francisco?”
“It’s not that simple.” I huff out a breath, drumming my fingers on my desk.
“Why not? What’s keeping you in Boston?”
“It’s a long list.”
“Humor me.”
“Julie’s school—you know how much she struggled fitting in. You. The company.”
“That was an exceptionally short list. Let’s go over that line by line, shall we? First, the company. Can you say with absolute certainty that the company would be worse off if you hired a CEO in Boston and you moved to San Francisco, developing the business there?”
Though Mother isn’t an official board member, she’s up to date with the state of things in the company, always has been.
“No,” I admit. “If anything, it would strengthen the company’s overall position. I’d be more aggressive with our growth than Marcus or anyone else here. And I’m bored in Boston.”
“Yes, that was apparent from the moment you announced you wanted to go to San Francisco yourself. So we ticked that off. Now, let’s take me.”
It doesn’t escape me that she hasn’t touched the subject of Julie yet, who was the first on the list.
“We talk on the phone and have monthly dinners. I also throw bridge parties, from which you and Julie bail every time.”
Oh, hell. Pippa was right. Mom was pretending to buy our excuses.
“Can we agree that we can talk over the phone even if you’re away, and we can meet for monthly dinners?” Mom presses. “I can fly to San Francisco, or you can fly here.”
“Mom. You’re seve—” I stop before I spell out the word. Bringing up Mom’s age won’t be doing me any favors, but a woman her age shouldn’t travel back and forth so often.
“Glad you stopped. Now, let’s get to Julie. Have you actually talked to your daughter about moving to San Francisco?”
“I don’t want her to feel like she comes in second. Ever,” I say firmly.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No, I haven’t talked to her.”
Silence hangs in the air for a few seconds, and I imagine this is how prisoners sentenced to death by guillotine felt in the seconds before the blade fell. Mom’s next words slice through me.
“It is as I thought. You’re using all these arguments as excuses.”
“Mother….”
“Do you love Pippa? Do you see yourself spending your life with her?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop looking for excuses and start finding solutions.”
I smile, despite everything. This is my punchline whenever I feel someone’s slacking, which Mother knows well. Also, she might be on to something. It’s not something I want to admit, but maybe I was looking for excuses.
“Thank you, Mother. I—” The phone starts vibrating, alerting me that there’s another incoming call: Julie. “Julie’s calling me. I’ll catch up with you later.”
I switch off this call, taking Julie’s.
“Hi, pumpkin,” I greet her.
“Hi, Eric,” Mrs. Bennett says.
My insides clench instinctively. “Did something happen to Julie?”
“She cut her arm the other day,” Mrs. Bennett says quickly.
“Is she all right?”
“She didn’t tell me about it, so it got infected. I found out today, and I’m about to take her to the hospital. I—”
“I’ll come to your house and get her,” I say, barely keeping my voice even. “I want to speak to my daughter.”
“Hi, Dad,” Julie says. “It hurts.”
“You’ll be okay, sweetheart.” My gut clenches, and I hurt for her. “Do you want me to stay on the phone with you until I arrive?”
“Yes, Dad.”
I spend the next twenty minutes with her on the phone, soothing her, trying to take her mind off the pain while speeding through the city.
Mrs. Bennett waits with my daughter and her suitcase in front of her house. I pull over and hurry to them, my eyes on Julie’s arm. Fuck! It’s red and swollen, far too swollen for a simple infection. Julie sobs and wraps her healthy arm around my neck as I hug her.
“You will be all right,” Mrs. Bennett says, patting her head. To me, she says, “These things happen to kids all the time, Eric.”
“Yeah,” I say through gritted teeth, lifting Julie in my arms. My anger is directed more at myself at this point, but I don’t want to discuss this with her or I might end up being disrespectful. “We’re going now.”
Mrs. Bennett pats my shoulder but doesn’t reply. I secure my daughter in the car, then climb in the driver’s seat and gun the engine. All the way to the hospital, I speak about everything under the sun, trying to distract Julie. If I’m honest, I’m trying to distract myself too. Her arm doesn’t look good at all.
At the hospital, it takes forever until a doctor finally sees her. I’m pacing in the corridor for fifteen agonizing minutes until the doctor comes out.
“Your daughter needs surgery,” he informs me.
“What?”
“We need to open up the area to clean it, and also to determine what kind of bacteria caused the infection so we can treat it. She’ll need to stay here a few days. Don’t worry. It’s not serious, and she’ll be fine, but we need to keep her under observation and change her bandages once a day.”
I clench my fists at my sides. “Of course.”
“We’ll take her to the fifth floor for the surgery. It will be short, fifteen minutes tops.” He gives me some more details, and then the waiting begins.
I go up to the fifth floor and pace up and down the corridor, unable to stay put. This is my worst nightmare come true. Damn it, I shouldn’t have let her stay with Mrs. Bennett. I’ve let my desire to have more alone time with Pippa get in the way, and that’s unforgivable.
Being in the hospital brings back my worst memories of another wait, many years ago. I tell myself the two things are completely unrelated, but I can’t shake the memory. It strangles me. The smell of medicine and disinfectants only serves to i
ntensify the memory, as does the austere white paint. I swear, hospitals look the same everywhere.
I remember being in a waiting room not unlike this one in Boston, waiting for the doctors to inform me about the fate of the two people I loved dearest. When one of the doctors finally came out, he told me that Julie would make it. Sarah would not. She was pronounced dead almost as soon as they brought her in. Just like that, my world turned upside down.
This is different. This is very different.
I’m lost in my spiral of negativity when my phone rings, Pippa’s name appearing on the screen.
“Mom told me everything. I’m in the hospital. Which floor are you on?” she asks.
“Fifth.”
Clicking off, I pace around the waiting room when a nurse walks up to me. “Your daughter is now in a room. You can see her.”
As the nurse leads me out the corridor, I see Pippa jogging to us. She takes my hand when she reaches us, squeezing it lightly.
“How is Julie?” she asks.
“We’re going to see her now.”
The nurse comes to a stop in front of an open door, motioning us to enter the room. There are two beds, and my daughter is in the one nearest to the door.
“Dad, Pippa. I’m so sorry,” she murmurs the second she sees us. The doctor is at the side of her bed, standing stiffly, his arms crossed.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, love,” I tell her. Pippa sits at the edge of the bed, hugging my daughter.
“It still hurts,” Julie whispers to her.
I turn to the doctor. “Why is she hurting?”
“She’s been in a surgery with a local anesthetic, which is starting to wear off. She’ll be fine.”
“Give her something for the pain.”
“Painkillers are not candy,” he says in a deadpan voice. “She will receive them at certain intervals.”
