by C. S. Janey
Her gaze jumped to Bradley, so I joined in, only to discover him smiling. “You walked into that, Monnie.”
I didn’t think it possible, but her mouth tightened further in displeasure. “I don’t have a right to be worried? You’re the one who comes home out of nowhere with a wife much younger than yourself, after losing your first one quite tragically—“
Bradley slammed his hand down on the table, which would’ve made me jump along with them if I hadn’t seen it coming. “Don’t you dare bring that up. It has nothing to do with Lucy or our marriage.”
“Knock it off, both of you.” His father speaks for the first time, but his eyes are on Monica. “You’re being very rude, and I won’t tolerate it, not now and not ever. He’s home for the first time in years and you’re going to start shit?”
“But—“
“No. You might be in your forties, but I’m still your father and this is my house. If you can’t be polite, you need to leave.”
“He’s the rude one,” she spat out, standing up. “He didn’t even invite us to his wedding! We’re supposed to simply welcome him and his wife like twelve years hasn’t passed—“
“Monnie.” Bradley rose from his chair as his sister choked up, going to her side and placing his hands on her shoulders until she looked up at him. “I’m sorry. That’s not Lucy’s fault. Even though she didn’t say it, I know she thought me not inviting my family to the wedding was pretty shitty too.”
She glared at him for a moment before looking over at me, as if wanting to make sure it was true, and I nodded at her. I couldn’t really say anything without explaining our relationship — after all, what normal man waits until he’s already married and sitting outside his parent’s house before he tells his wife he has a sister? None. Well, I thought, but then again, I never really dated much so I couldn’t be sure.
My family and I had found it strange nobody from his side had been invited to the wedding, but I’d been used to his ways then. I didn’t even question it, other than to ask if he had any family that would be showing up. He’d told me no, and that had been that.
I could see why Bradley said bringing my daughter wouldn’t be a good plan.
There was too much anger here, too much hurt, and I was glad Annalina hadn’t had to witness this. Even with a child around, I highly doubt his sister would’ve been able to control herself.
Monica looked back at him as he continued, “I stayed away because I couldn’t handle coming here, not because I didn’t love you. I didn’t deal with anything, everything here reminds me of them, and I—“ His gaze finds mine and holds it. “I never thought I’d meet anyone, let alone get remarried. Lucy changed that.” He tore his gaze away from mine after stealing my breath with that simple statement to tell her, “She brought me home. You should be thanking her, not ripping her apart because you’re mad at me.”
I saw the moment the fight went out of Monica, her shoulders dropping as she stepped toward her brother and he wrapped his arms around her. I had to look down as tears rose to the surface at his next words, when one of his walls came crashing down in the dining room of his childhood home.
“All these years, Monnie, and I can still see her face. And my son…my precious Lucas…to come home and find neither of them breathing. I left her alone when she needed me, and I failed her. It was all my fault.”
It was hard to stand there and see his mother and father walk over and envelope both of their children in their arms. Even harder was seeing tears streaming down Bradley’s face; my strong, in control husband who had carried around his pain for way too long, whose shoulders shook as the hug switched from his sister to his father.
And when Bradley locked his gaze on me as he held out his hand, I didn’t even try to hold back my own tears as I stepped forward and placed my hand in his.
There were no words necessary.
Only the knowledge that this was the moment the hard work began for both of us.
Especially if we wanted our marriage to thrive.
Chapter Twenty
His mother and I were sitting in the living room the next day when Bradley returned from the cemetery.
When he first came in, he walked past us and I thought about following him, but figured perhaps he needed some space.
After all, the visit was his first since their initial burial.
I had tons of questions after the previous evening, especially about Lucas, yet his mother refused to answer any. I think she feared upsetting Bradley, and I understood.
I knew he would share eventually. Last night had clearly been the first time he’d spoken his son’s name out loud.
One step at a time.
One day at a time.
Who knew Bradley’s advice to me would come in handy?
It was clear that’s how I would have to do things.
And when he came into the room twenty minutes later, his eyes were sad as he clasped my hand in his. “I want you to come with me.”
So, into the car we went.
He held my hand all the way until our arrival at his house.
No, their house.
His family’s house.
He let go long enough to get out of the car, then grabbed my hand once more as if it were a lifeline. And as we reached the front door, he paused, hesitating with a deep breath that evoked a shudder in him I swear I could feel.
Stepping close so our sides touched, hands tightly clasped between our bodies, I whispered, “You don’t have to go in.”
“I wish that were true.”
He didn’t say anything else as we stood there, and I looked up at the house.
A beautiful house which held Bradley captive, a prisoner of his own heart, with nothing more than its mere existence.
It was amazing, the size of the hold an inanimate object could have upon you when it connected you to something you lost, something you could never touch again.
“Did he look like you or more like his mother?”
I felt his flinch rather than witnessing it, his hand squeezing mine tighter, but he answered me in a low, tortured voice. “Me. Head full of black hair, with my nose and chin and mouth, but with his mother’s eyes.”
“And Rebecca? What did she look like?”
He didn’t answer me. Instead he started walking once more, leaving me with no choice except to hold on tight to his hand and follow.
When we first entered the house, all I smelled was pine sol, making it clear the house had recently been cleaned.
He didn’t give me long to look around though as he led me up the steps.
I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell he was tense.
And mere moments passed by before he released my hand and took the steps two at a time, veering off to the right when he reached the top. It didn’t take long to locate him and I stopped abruptly so I didn’t run into him as I looked around his body.
He stood in the doorway of the nursery, hands out to his sides as he gripped the frame.
A mural covered the walls — one depicting suns, trees, animals, and more— of the room, the floor covered in a dark green grass colored carpet, and filled with decor that fit right in with the theme.
“I know he wasn’t there, but I talked to him first at the cemetery today.” He didn’t move as the words spilled out; I stood behind him listening. “At first, all I could say was his name, over and over. Lucas. Remembering how I held him mere hours before he died, standing in the kitchen arguing with Rebecca. ‘Hold him,’ she demanded. ‘You don’t hold him enough. You work so much you barely hold him, he will think you don’t love him.’ I hated her for saying that. I worked that much because I had to, not because I didn’t want to spend time with them. That’s all I’ve thought about for years. I held him in my arms as she yelled at me, telling me every single fucking way I failed her. Lucas started wailing and she yanked him out of my arms. ‘You can’t even soothe him. He needs more than a part-time father. I work too dammit, but I don’t get any sleep.’ Not
hing I did made her happy.”
He paused and took a breath, hands still gripping the frame. “I should’ve seen it. I’m tortured every fucking day knowing I should’ve seen the signs, figured out she was suffering — I trained to be a doctor, for fuck’s sake! I learned the signs of postpartum depression from the inside out. Every single time we fought she made no fucking sense, but I was so angry at her, feeling as if I never did enough; so I figured leaving right then would be best, give us both some space and time to calm down. My son cried louder as I walked away. ‘Da-da.’ I turned around and Lucas…his lip wobbled. ‘Da-da,’ he said, holding his arms out to me, and when I took a step toward him, Rebecca glared at me. ‘Just go. We both need a nap. Leave us alone for a while.’ I told her I would be at Roger’s, trying to figure out some way to help. She stared at me for a moment, and nodded. I told her I loved her, and she simply said, ‘Yeah, I know’ and walked away. I never imagined she was considering suicide.”
“Oh…Bradley…you didn’t…even knowing the signs, you couldn’t have known—“
He waved a hand, interrupting me as he took a step into the room. “I know. Rationally, I know. And Lucas…he was eighteen months. But that sort of thing fucks with me. I wonder if she waited until he was asleep, or if he…he suffered—“
Without warning, he hauled off and punched the wall just inside the door. I jumped back and he hit it again. “I hate her for doing that to our son. She could kill herself, but our baby? Why our baby? He was fucking innocent.”
I watched as he tore apart the room, tears streaming down his face, and I wasn’t afraid. I couldn’t imagine the pain he kept locked up, so I stayed back a safe distance as he let out his grief and anger, because at least he finally expressed it. Tears slid down my face in silence as he continued verbalizing his pain as well, even if it were rather incoherent.
Only when he sat down in the middle of the floor among all the rubble did I approach, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as I slid onto his lap.
“I loved her.” He kept his head bowed, resting it against my chest, his hands resting on my waist. “I would’ve done anything for her, for our son. They were my world.”
My heart twisted. “She was sick, Bradley. I can’t even imagine your pain, but you’ve got to at least stop blaming yourself. You did what you thought was right.”
“I know.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, but still didn’t look up at me. “Today at the cemetery, I yelled at her, telling her I loved her and hated her, and wished she would’ve said something. Anything. We would’ve worked it out, gotten her help.”
I didn’t know what to say, but when he slid one hand up from my waist and into my hair, lifting his mouth to meet mine, I realized he didn’t want me to say anything. He just wanted comfort. With a nip at my lower lip to get my attention, I gave him entrance and the solace he was seeking.
In one fluid motion, we were off the floor and before I could pull my lips away to see where he carried me to, he tossed me down on a bed. Standing above me he pulled off his shirt, then climbed up on the bed and covered my body with his.
“I didn’t want to come here because that’s all I see. That day, over and over, it fucking replays in my head. I want to rip this place apart, gut it like I was gutted.” His jaw tightened as he stared down at me with pain in his eyes. “I don’t remember the good, just the bad, and if I’m going to walk away from this house, then I’m going to make one final good memory to take with me.”
Every bit of me wanted to ease his pain in that moment, in any way I could.
As he hovered above me, waiting for me to say okay, I realized he feared I would deny him.
By all rights, I could and I knew he wouldn’t blame me.
But he had never lied to me. He hid a lot, and I always knew there was more to him than he told me, but I accepted him as he was.
I loved every inch of him — and that’s truly why I had accepted his proposal and tried not to question him or the way he did things. I had always been enough for him when he needed me to be, and I took what he gave me when he could give it to me.
Lifting a hand to his face, I placed it against his cheek. When he didn’t flinch, I put my other hand on the opposite one and smiled at him. “I love you. For better or worse, I made a promise. From here, there is nowhere to go but up, and I’ll help you make new memories whenever and wherever you want. Well,” I amended at the sudden twinkle in his eye, “as long as it’s not illegal.”
“You know,” he began while slipping his hand under my shirt, “it’s only illegal if you get caught.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
I pulled his face down to mine as he started to protest, fusing our lips together, but he dragged his mouth away after a minute to murmur, “I’m still the boss, Lucy.”
“Of course you are,” I replied, trying to keep the smile off my face as I wiggled beneath him. “I’d never assume otherwise. Now get naked.”
“You’re rather demanding for someone who isn’t the boss.” He smiled, my arms dropping from around his neck as he kneeled above me, unbuttoning the fly on his jeans. “Seems you’ve forgotten your position in this relationship.”
“Pretty sure I’m beneath you right now.” I grinned up at him, before letting my gaze travel down to his hands and what they were doing. “Exactly where I belong, I believe.”
Removing his hands from his pants, he reaches under my skirt and pulls my underwear down my legs, lifting briefly to allow me to kick them off. Once that’s done, he places himself between my legs and uses one hand to wrap one of them around his waist, then the other hand to free himself while leaving his jeans on, albeit lowered so as to not get in the way.
“I’m not in the mood to be gentle. Or get undressed.” He covered my body with his and lowered his mouth to mine, using his tongue to caress my lips, enticing them to open up. “I need this. I need you, right fucking now.”
I gasped in reaction to his declaration and the sudden thrust of himself inside me. Lucky for both of us I’m always turned on when he’s around; the smell of his cologne alone gets me going after all this time. Warm, sexy, and masculine, it fit him perfectly and made resisting him impossible, and my body always receptive to his desire.
He took advantage of my surprise, his tongue sweeping inside my mouth as he used one hand to keep his body from crushing me, and the other to grip my hip and angle my body perfectly to continue receiving him.
There were no words as our mouths mingled, he thrust hard and fast, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding on to him with everything I had. He dragged his lips away, kissing down my neck, but I couldn’t even speak. His pace left me unable to do anything but gasp and moan, feeling everything.
Because in those moments, we were closer than we’d ever been, and I willingly took his pain as my own.
My heart ached in my chest even as my pleasure soared higher, the love I felt for Bradley overwhelming in its intensity.
I felt his need, and his hurt, and yes, even his love.
His love for his son, and his first wife…and me.
Even if he didn’t say it, I knew his love for me was there.
And for now it was enough.
Unable to stop the emotions from escaping, tears burst forth as I came, tightening my arms around his neck, clinging to him with my body as I involuntarily cried out. He stiffened, joining me with a groan before releasing my hip and bringing his arm up to wrap around me, laying his weight on me for only a moment until he rolled on his side.
“Beautiful, so goddamned beautiful,” he whispered, stroking my hair as he continued kissing my neck, my body snug against his. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
I couldn’t even reply.
His words said it all.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bradley and I stood at the door to the house about an hour later, preparing to leave, when he said, “Be right back.”
He had already called a realtor to see about sell
ing the house, “As is,” and they hadn’t thought there would be any problem finding purchasers. The house was in a prime area of town and in a great school district. He told them to price it at how much it was worth, but even if they had to lower it a bit to sell it to do so, because he didn’t need the money and could afford to take a loss.
We had still been laying in bed when he’d made that phone call and I couldn’t help but feel pride as he spoke on the phone. He’d kept his hand clasped in mine the whole time, seemingly using my strength to do what he knew he needed to do.
After a few moments, Bradley walked back toward where I stood near the door, clutching what looked like a picture frame to his chest.
“All right,” he said, glancing around one more time before locking our gazes. “I just needed to get this. I’m ready to go now.”
I didn’t even blink, but he held it out and as I took it, I noticed it was indeed a picture frame.
I knew what it was before I even turned it over, yet I still sucked in a breath when I laid eyes on his family portrait.
Rebecca — with her blonde hair and blue eyes — cradled infant Lucas in her arms while perched on a chair as Bradley crouched beside them. He had one arm around her waist, while his free hand touched his son’s body, as if he couldn’t bear not to have that connection. The smile on both of their faces were filled with joy.
Tears pricked my eyes as I looked up at Bradley. “It’s lovely. Are you sure you don’t want to take anything else?”
“Yes.” He opened the door and indicated with his hand that I should step through, which I did. “My mother removed all the other photos from the house already. I guess she missed this one.”
Nothing else was said as he locked up the house and we headed back to his parent’s house.
He held my hand the whole way.
~*~
The next day Bradley decided to take me with him to the cemetery on our way to the airport.
