Forever Family (Forever #5)

by Deanna Roy

  He seemed relieved I was taking that well. And I would. Women were going to be throwing themselves at him constantly. I had to get used to that. I couldn’t let it get to me. The moment I started to doubt him would be the day my fairy tale would end.

  “So, you think she’s down for a bit?” Chance asked. The rumble in his voice went straight to my belly.

  “Go for the swing. Improves our odds.”

  He walked over to it and slowly, carefully, lowered Phoenix from his shoulder to the seat. I picked up a blanket thrown over the arm of the sofa and tucked it around her. Fate was on our side. She didn’t wake.

  Chance didn’t wait for me to turn around, but put his hands on my hips and pulled me back against him.

  “Somebody’s fired up and ready,” I said.

  His fingers found the belt of my robe and untied it. “It’s so much easier to get you naked these days,” he said. “If I’m lucky, you’ll never get fully dressed again.”

  “You’ll keep me barefoot and pregnant?” I asked.

  “I’m going to do my part.” Her turned me around and tugged on the elastic band holding my hair, releasing it down my back. His fingers tangled into it as he drew me up to him.

  I sighed into his lips as they lowered to mine. He smelled like wood smoke and aftershave. There must have been fire pits outside at the party.

  “You taste so good,” he said against my mouth. “Drinking coffee at midnight again.”

  “I wanted to stay up for you,” I said. I hadn’t been up for going. Prepping myself had seemed exhausting, and asking my mom to watch the baby until all hours wasn’t fair on a weeknight.

  “So glad you did.” His hands slid inside the open robe. I had on simple cotton pajamas. Thankfully my boobs were cooperating these days and I wasn’t milky all the time.

  His fingers flirted with the bottom of my shirt, then slid upward. My lack of bra meant he found what he was looking for right off. I relaxed against him, reveling in the feel of his strong hands on me. There was nothing like him.

  He broke the kiss and moved down, lifting my shirt higher so his mouth could find a nipple. I clutched at his head, savoring each sensation. He knew not to get too crazy and let my milk down. He got it just right.

  His fingers grasped the elastic waistband of my pajama bottoms and let them fall. I shivered a little at the chill and he pulled me tighter against him.

  Now his hands were everywhere, my hips, my back, clasping my behind. His breath was hot on my skin.

  I was dying. I pulled his head away. “Let’s go where I won’t wake the baby,” I said.

  He gave me a wicked grin and stood, sweeping me up with him. The belt of my robe trailed along the floor as he carried me down the hall to the bedroom and closed the door.

  I grabbed his neck and twisted in his arms until I was straddling him. I could feel him hard against me as we took the last few steps to the bed.

  He bent forward to lay me down, dragging the robe away.

  “Quickly, before she wakes up,” I said, but he shushed me with a kiss. He wasn’t going to be in a hurry.

  He pulled my shirt over my head, breaking our connection to let the fabric pass between us. Then he made his way down, slowly, making me crazy with how he took his time.

  He kissed a path down my collarbone, up the crest of one breast, then down to my belly button. He slid my panties down with a simple tug, then followed the newly exposed place until I arched up against his mouth.

  His tongue teased me, circling the nub, until his fingers joined in. I quit thinking about the baby, or time, or the risk of her waking, and got lost in his work. Everything disappeared other than that pulsing need that was spiraling up and taking me over.

  Chance knew me so well, reaching up to lightly tease a nipple, and I burst right over the edge, thrusting against him as I peaked, trying to contain my voice, hanging on to his shoulders for dear life.

  I had barely caught my breath, still seeing lightning shards in my vision, when he grasped my hips and turned me over. I could hear his buckle jingle, and clothes hit the floor behind me.

  Then his skin connected with mine, hot and rough. He slid inside me without any resistance. I dropped my head to the mattress, braced on my elbows, waiting for his first stroke.

  When it came, I crashed back into him, taking him in hard. Chance groaned and sped up, holding tight to my hips.

  For long moments he worked me, keeping a strong rhythm, then reached around for me again.

  My hair was everywhere, flowing across the bed. When he touched me, I lurched back again. I was so hot, so full of need.

  His fingers worked me, and I tightened around him. He felt me go and unleashed inside me, pulsing as I muffled this second round of cries in the blankets.

  When he was spent, we stayed there a moment, breathing hard, trying to find our bearings. Chance’s arms came around me, lifting me against him, my back to his chest. I stayed there, loving the strong arms around me, until my thighs quaked, and he lay both of us down across the bed.

  We stayed there a while in the quiet when I heard, in the distance, my phone chime with Corabelle’s ringtone. It was late to be hearing from her.

  “I don’t think I can get that,” I told Chance.

  He chuckled. “That’s one of your girlfriends, right?”

  “Corabelle. She’s in Houston with Tina.”

  “Seems like you’d want that call.” He shifted away from me and headed toward the living room.

  He came back, my phone pressed to his ear. “She’s right here,” he said, passing the phone to me.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked. The cold hit right about then, and I shivered. Chance covered me with my robe and kissed the back of my head. I mouthed a silent “Thank you.”

  “Today was tough,” she said. “We moved the baby from the grave to the crematorium. I didn’t go back when they opened the casket, but Tina said he was fine. She held him.”

  “Whoa.” I tried to picture this, but couldn’t do it. “Is she all right?”

  “Yeah. The ashes will be ready tomorrow to pick up.”

  “Is she coming back?”

  Corabelle sighed. “I don’t think so. She’s got an artist studio she’s renting and seems pretty set on staying a while.”

  “What about Darion?”

  “She won’t talk about him. Or Albert. She just diverts the conversation to other things.”

  I tugged the robe around me. Chance headed to the bathroom. “Can’t you do anything?”

  “I think I’ve done all I can. It’s not up to us. But she is okay. She’s got a friend or two here.”

  “So, we’ve lost her?”

  The phone was silent for a moment.

  Then finally Corabelle said, “I think we have.”

  Chapter 23: Tina

  I had forgotten how Houston exploded with azaleas in the spring.

  The dead-looking bushes surrounding the greenhouses at the artist studio had burst with color practically overnight. There must be some weather condition, or timing of the sun, that made them all know when to show up at once.

  That morning when I saw them, I stopped futzing around with the cemetery image and started painting flowers. I hadn’t been able to do solid work for a week, and the blooms were like a fresh start.

  Sarah, the woman who owned the studio, popped into the greenhouse to check on a section of glass that had been replaced the day before. The artist who had been sharing the space with me had gone on a rampage after a bad review of his gallery opening and thrown his metal stool right through one of the panes.

  He’d been kicked out.

  “Good as new,” she said, patting the glass. “And good riddance.” She stood and straightened her straw hat. She looked like a strawberry, in pink cropped pants and a patterned shirt. Well, a skinny strawberry. Her veined ankles stood out above her black Crocs. She had to be seventy.

  I laughed. “He was a cliché, wasn’t he? The brooding, unpredictable artiste.”


  “A menace, that’s what he was. And a mess.” She rubbed her foot on an oil-paint stain that hadn’t come off the concrete floor when she cleared out his stuff.

  “But now you’re out the rent.” I stuck my watercolor brush in a glass of water.

  “I’ll get by,” she said. “How’s the work coming?”

  “Been inspired by the flowers,” I said. “I’ve never really done landscapes.”

  She peered over my shoulder and nodded. “Awful cheerful for you. Must be the baby.”

  My hand flew to my belly. I wasn’t even close to showing. It had only been three weeks since Stella figured it out. “How?”

  “We old women know a thing or two,” she said. “Besides, you threw up in the sunflower bed two days ago.”

  I had. Stella and I had gone for pasta, which had seemed safe enough until I got out of her car.

  “I thought it was just a patch of weeds,” I said ruefully.

  “A common mistake,” Sarah said. “The stalks and leaves aren’t much without the blooms. Sort of like the azaleas.” She walked over to the glass wall and looked out on the riot of color outside. “So dead looking other than these few glorious weeks. But worth it.” She turned back to my easel. “Especially when someone with talent makes them immortal.”

  I fiddled with the brushes, hoping she wouldn’t go back to the topic of the baby. Other than picking up a bottle of prenatal vitamins, I hadn’t thought much about the pregnancy. I had no doubt the condition was temporary. Twenty weeks, early labor, and another set of ashes.

  Pessimism was my muse.

  Except maybe today. The pinks and purples called to me. Colorful. Happy. Something lovely blossoming from nothing but sticks.

  Sarah perched on the other stool. “I couldn’t help but notice that the checks you write have a California address. Is that home?”

  My cheeks burned. “I’m living with my parents right now here in Houston.” I didn’t care what she thought of that, if I was unable to make it on my own.

  I guessed my tone told her I didn’t want to discuss it, because she stood up and straightened her hat. “I’m sure they are happy to have you around again. I haven’t seen my daughter in three years. Busy life she has.”

  My heart squeezed. Sarah was just lonely. “You should call her. Don’t wait for her to call you. She probably remembers, but never at a time when she can do it.”

  “Wise words,” Sarah said. “You keep on with those azaleas. That will be a lovely painting to hang somewhere that needs a bit of cheer.” She hesitated. “And about the baby — bearing a child is the ultimate expression of hope. You may think you are filled with despair, but your flowers give you away.”

  She headed out of the greenhouse. I stared at the canvas. It was so unlike anything I’d ever done, even when doing paintings in college. I had always managed to twist the assignment into something dark. Floral arrangement? Black roses. Portrayal of the divinity? Crucifixion. Still life of food? Rotten fish.

  But not today.

  I picked up the brush. Sarah had forced me to think about the baby. Stella had kept her word and told no one. Corabelle hadn’t guessed. But if two women had figured it out, no doubt my mother would soon.

  Damn.

  I mingled more magenta into the shadow side of the flowers, but my head was elsewhere. I stuck the brush back in the water. On an impulse, I picked up my phone. I sent Darion one text message a day, something easy, about the paintings or my mother or a complaint about traffic or weather.

  But today, I said, “Might be time for us to talk.”

  I waited a minute or two, worried that he might have given up on me. I was difficult and moody and sad. I’d left him.

  As the minutes stretched on, I tried to reassure myself. He was on rounds. He couldn’t check his phone. He’d text me back.

  But anxiety prickled. I’d blown it. He was done. I’d gone too far, leaving like this and not wanting to talk to him.

  Then a message beeped. I scrambled to pull it up, my heart in my throat.

  Just bought a plane ticket. Arrive in four hours.

  I almost dropped the phone. So, he wanted to talk in person. For the first time in the six weeks I had been gone, I felt a soaring sensation inside. Darion was coming.

  Chapter 24: Corabelle

  Tina’s text was simple.

  Thanks for coming to Houston. Darion headed here. Be home soon.

  I stood in the middle of the pharmacy near my apartment, my shoulders shaking from holding in my tears. She would return. She was better.

  One of my biggest fears was that she and I would never recover from our losses. That the hole would be too big to ever fill. We’d never move on.

  But Tina was doing it.

  I could do it.

  I plucked a bottle of shampoo off the shelf and dropped it into my basket. Gavin was already much better from his vasectomy reversal, and our follow-up appointment was in three weeks. Then we’d know where we stood.

  I wouldn’t be afraid.

  Two girls passed, giggling, with a box of condoms. Good for them, I thought, then paused by the sign that said “Family Planning.”

  I took a few steps closer to the pregnancy tests. I didn’t see the one I had taken all those years ago, when I found out I was having Finn. They must have changed the design. I couldn’t remember the brand.

  Below them were ovulation predictors. You could buy individual sticks, or splurge and pick up a little computer that told you the best time to try to get pregnant.

  It was a crazy price, really, plus you had to buy little test strips to put in it.

  But I put it in my basket.

  And in a few weeks, I might get to try this gadget out.

  I refused to feel any guilt about the money as I checked out and drove home. You couldn’t put a dollar figure on hope.

  When I pulled into the parking lot of the complex, Gavin was just getting off his motorcycle.

  He seemed extra animated as he removed his helmet and came over to take the bag from me.

  “What’s going on?” I said, already smiling from the extra energy coming off him.

  “I’ll have to show you,” he said. “You got your laptop?”

  “It’s in my backpack,” I said. “You have a paper due?” Gavin was still in one night class.

  “No. It’s something amazing,” he said.

  I followed him up to the door, wondering what was going on.

  He set the bag on the coffee table and lifted the backpack from my shoulders. “Come here,” he said, sitting on the sofa. He pulled the laptop out.

  “You going to tell me?” I asked.

  “Only if I need tech help.” His grin was huge, like he couldn’t contain his excitement.

  He pulled out his phone to consult something, then opened a video chat window on the laptop.

  “You going to Skype?” I asked.

  “Yup,” he said.

  “Who with?” I couldn’t imagine he would be this excited about anybody, certainly not his parents.

  But when I saw the number he was putting in, I knew. International call.

  “Manuelito,” I said.

  He waited a second, hands clasped, impatient, and then the call went through. Rosa came on the screen.

  “Hello again,” she said. “Hello, Corabelle.”

  I looked over at Gavin. “You found her?”

  “The investigator got something into the compound. She called at the garage. I couldn’t talk then.”

  Rosa moved aside, and Manuelito filled the screen, so close we could see only his eyes and nose.

  “Papa Gavin!” he said. “Corbell!”

  Tears sprang for the second time that day. “Hey, baby,” I said.

  “We got your number again!” Manuelito said. “Finally!”

  Gavin said, “They took Rosa’s phone with all her contact numbers when she arrived. Really tight security there.”

  I wanted to ask him what it was all about, but Manuelito
backed up and we could see more of him.

  “You cut your hair,” Gavin said. The boy’s thick black mop was burred close to his head.

  Manuelito ran his hand over it. “It’s fuzzy!” he said. “And look!” He turned and pointed to a lightning bolt shaved on the side.

  “Wow!” Gavin said.

  “Mama Rosa let me do it. Now I’m like Bolt!”

  “Just like in the movie,” I said.

  “I’ve missed you,” Gavin said.

  “Me too!” Manuelito said. “It’s been forever!”

  I clasped Gavin’s hand. “Papa Gavin went to Mexico looking for you.”

  Rosa’s face entered the frame. “I know, Gavinito,” she said. “I am sorry. I did not know where we were going until we got here, and then they took everything. I should have memorized your numbers.”

  “When can I see him?” Gavin asked.

  She pulled Manuelito onto her lap. “I will try, Gavin. We are safe here. That is all I can say.”

  “What is going on?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Family trouble. I can say no more. But if I can come, I will come. You can call us whenever you like now. We are not prisoners. Just safe.”

  I squeezed Gavin’s hand.

  “Can I come there?” he asked.

  “No, please, no,” she said. “It will not always be like this. But for now, it must be. I will try to come to you by summer. Please understand, Gavin.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “I am so sorry,” she said. “We have to go now. We will talk again, anytime you like, okay?”

  Gavin nodded. There was nothing else he could do. “Bye, buddy,” he said to Manuelito. “You be good for Mama Rosa, okay?”

  Manuelito waved. “Bye-bye! Love you!” His little-boy enthusiasm was not dampened by the tension between the adults.

  “Love you too, Little Bud,” Gavin said.

  Rosa reached forward and ended the call.

  I leaned against Gavin. We both stared at the empty video box. “What do you think is going on?” I asked.