Whisper Me and Roar: A Second Chance Romance

by Bri Stone

  “It’s everywhere. Why didn’t you warn me?” she comes my way and I make a show of shielding my nose. She frowns and I stifle a chuckle.

  “I tried to, but you were talking.”

  “Yeah, trying to talk to you.”

  “After two weeks?”

  “I had some—the hospital kept calling me. Some intern killed one of my mice and then I had to deal with the next phase of my research going through, it’s hard when I’m not there.”

  “You could have gone back.” I sigh and shake my head at her.

  How does a woman covered in pig shit and recycled slop look so damned beautiful?

  “Pete, I would love to have this conversation but I’m covered in—” she slaps her mouth closed and swallows a gagging noise, maybe something else because she coughs from her gut.

  I laugh once and nod, beckoning her to follow me. I revived the shower well by the second barn, it’s two stalls hooked up to real plumbing.

  “Uncle Pete, what’s going on?” Sanders jogs up, ratty old shirt and jeans on, ready for the work in the cow fields again today. We keep animals alive and healthy, our partner company does the distribution and such.

  “Melinda tripped on the loose plank by the pig pen. Fell inside.” She stands next to me, picking at herself.

  Sanders laughs his snorty chortle that hasn’t changed since he was a little kid. He’s mostly the same, beside the boyish charm and good looks that drive his mother crazy ever since he was fifteen.

  “Oh man, rookie move.”

  “Go grab some of my clothes will you.” I ask him, and nod Melinda toward the shower.

  Sanders jogs off and I turn to her.

  “Works just like a regular shower.” I murmur.

  “Okay—”

  There is a wall just behind it, built up with brick and repurposed wood. I direct her behind there to undress and wait behind the closed door.

  “I don’t think this will come out.” Melinda calls over the water.

  “It’s just so you don’t track it in the house.”

  Sanders comes running back with my shirt and shorts, faster than I expected.

  “I’m taking the tractor out. Call if you need anything.” He tells me, then laughs to himself, probably at Melinda. I have a few laughs myself.

  I have to give her some credit, first for coming out here and then staying and falling in a bed of pig shit trying to talk to me.

  She wouldn’t have to, if she would just buckle down and tell me what’s going on. I would be more than ready to take her back, if I wasn’t afraid to trust her, and if she would just tell me what happened. Why she left, why she couldn’t tell me.

  The water shuts off, cutting my thoughts.

  “Melinda,” I hold the clothes over the end, her fingers brush my wrist when she grabs it.

  I wait, and then she walks out. My eyes roam over her, stopping time. Her hair is dripping with water this time, my shirt drying the wet spots on her skin and shorts that are too big.

  “The soap helped.” She walks towards me. The wind goes upstream and I smell the handmade pine soap mixed with the oils that were in her hair, at least not all of her fell in, she managed to catch herself legs in, hands down.

  “Yeah. Um, we’ve got shoes in the barn.” I remember Phoebe’s stuff being in there from when she would ride the horses and change her boots out.

  I lead her inside, and I think we both feel the memory passing over us like a cloud. Except it’s not like thunder and lightning or rain, it’s sunshine and low-pressure winds. The haystack covered in brown tarp sits in the same corner, where I carried her away the first time I told her I loved her and showed her just how much.

  Melinda walks forward slowly, on the edges of her bare feet. Her toes are painted white, casting off her brown skin. She hugs her arm around herself, my shirt hanging off her shoulder from the size, my shorts doing the same. Her skin is so soft, lustrous, just like before but better. Like she has ripened, strengthened in age and beauty. I’m transfixed by her, as much now as before. Despite everything, my heart beats for her.

  And I don’t care about anything else right now. My brain is a sieve to rational and right or wrong. When I turn and shut the barn door, locking it tight. Air conditioning be damned, I’ve been sweating out of my shirt for hours already. The cold comes from the chill in my bones, the slow of my heart when I look in her eyes—wide, bright. Only seeing me, and I only see her.

  My soul bleeds with the severity of it all. For fifteen years I imagined a world where I could see her again, hold her again. A world where she never left me and I forgive the hurt she caused, kiss her and fall in love with her all over again. I don’t need to imagine that world anymore.

  “Pete?” Melinda says softly, her whisper soothing my ears.

  I shake my head, moistening my lips as I carry myself over to her.

  Three strides and she’s in my arms. Three seconds and my lips are on hers.

  A few more, and I’ve lost every battle so I can win the war.

  MELINDA

  * * *

  His kiss is so blinding it’s all I can see, so deafening, it’s all I can hear.

  It’s nothing like the kiss from the hospital, the feeling nothing like I have ever experienced between us.

  I am in his arms again. I don’t fear commitment, I didn’t leave because I didn’t love him, I didn’t do anything for any of the right reasons.

  “Christ Lord—” Pete cinches my waist between his hands and kisses me further. My lips sear to his, pulsing in the wake of his want for me.

  After everything, he still kisses me like this. As if I am the only one in this goddamned world that matters, that means something, that has a beating heart and living soul. His lips tighten around mine, between mine, his tongue delivering his taste into my mouth and keeping it there, as I do the same to him.

  My hands, trembling, drive up his incredibly muscular arms, his heat searing my palms. I continue, wrapping arms around his neck and practically climbing up his body to reach him more. My naval rubs the ridge of his jeans and girth of his cock beneath them, hard, pressing against me.

  My body dissolves against his, begging to be taken and held and he is—holding me, taking me.

  With his lips and his touch and his warmth—again and again, just like before. Like no time has passed, as if I woke up this morning and came to see him on the farm, Pete, my Pete, the only man for me.

  The only good part of me.

  I lick my lips hard as my forehead presses against his nose. He inhales sharply, across my skin until he parts from me. I want to keep kissing him, but I’d also like to breathe and remain alive.

  My small hands cup his face, I feel his jaw tick as he swallows. His deep brown eyes stare into mine, unwavering, unhalting.

  “You’re so gorgeous, Melinda.” He breathes deeply, exhales, “You’ve been the sun in my sky for fifteen years, and I still love you for it. And if you mean it, if you mean to stay, tell me now. But if you do, you better be ready to tell me everything.” His hands grasp my face tighter. “Everything, Melinda.” His brows harden together and his lips barely part in a smile, but I know it is there.

  “Because I’ll need it, when I tell my family why I’m letting you back in my life, why you get a second chance. I’m going to need it.”

  I gasp, air stolen from me like I have just exhausted my body. I suppose I have, across state lines, to this farm, withstood his sisters and their stares of liquid hatred, debated with myself for weeks about what to say and what to do, what kind of risk to take. And now I am here, at no less than a finish line. With a hundred miles to go and the stamina I need to make it.

  “And… if I can’t tell you?” I tilt my head up to him.

  “Can’t or won’t?” his smile creeps wider.

  My lips press together, curling at the side in a slight smile. A story I never told, never revisited, never believed was mine… a story that he wants. Reason, truth, the answer, an explanation—whatever he wan
ts to call it, he wants it.

  For so long it has been the one thing I could not give him.

  Now it is the one thing that will put us together again.

  “You’ve got until dinner at my house.” He separates from me, the atmosphere splits in comparison. “Do you still love me?” he asks.

  My expression remains, his softens as he looks me over, falling to my eyes again.

  “Pete don’t ask me stupid questions.” My voice is even.

  “You haven’t changed.” He chuckles once. I shake my head.

  He carries over to the barn door, opening it back up.

  The sun beams through and I squint at the sudden brightness before my eyes focus on Sanders standing on the other side, grinning. I cross my arms over my chest as my knees lock, feeling like I’ve just been caught.

  Pete turns back to me, grabbing two large tools from the wall hooks.

  “Dinner. Say you’ll be there.” He blocks the view, I take a deep breath and pray to the God I once worshipped, that I’ve lost, that I hope is still in my favor.

  For the strength to do this, for the reasons why to outweigh the fear of—

  “I’ll be there.”

  “This is good news, Dr. Charles. Very good news, life’s work, worthy of at least a consideration.”

  “I know, sir.” I sigh, collapsing on the edge of my bed. It’s dinner. My dress is simple, packed by mistake. White buttons down the front the off-white color and heavy fabric. I don’t remember when I got it or why.

  I’m ready to walk downstairs, meet Pete and sell my soul to the only one worthy of owning it.

  So, it’s inexplicable, why I turn Dr. Mite down. The current Chief of Surgery, stepping down, and appointing me to take his place. A doctor who doesn’t want to be Surgeon General of the United States, will want the post of Chief of Surgery at any hospital they work for, any Chief position that is open anywhere in the county, they will flock to it.

  Despite that, it was very easy to say no.

  “I don’t think you do. Who knows who they might bring in next? They might not let you run the hospital the way you already do.”

  I force a fake laugh and hold the phone tighter. “I’m Dr. Melinda Charles, a label on orthopedic surgery and the advances it has taken today. Proven with a Presidential Seal of approval that isn’t going anywhere. I don’t need to be the Chief of Surgery to be the chief.” I sigh, my lips twitching, forcing something down.

  Mite chuckles, “That I know. Now, when I leave that office, don’t forget I asked you first. And I replaced every doctor that stood up and said you killed that bomber.”

  I laugh, for real, covering my mouth at how inappropriate it might be.

  “All of them?”

  “Yes, when your beach vacation is over, you will see a new chief of general, new cardio surgeon, neurosurgeon—it was my deepest regret to see that happen.”

  “I understand, sir. And I’m not at the beach.”

  “When will you be back? I may be able to stretch the wait; the board and I have a golf cabin just for us.”

  “I’m not sure. Don’t hold your breath.”

  “I don’t understand, you were all work and no play. But I guess it will make you better for it in the long run. I’ll let you go, but I’m not accepting your no for an answer just yet.”

  “Fair enough.”

  We go back and forth until the call ends.

  I wonder why it was easy, so easy to turn that down.

  To leave behind the next step. But I don’t feel like I am going backward. I am only going one direction, one that I don’t plan to leave again.

  I stand, stretching out, ready for what feels like battle.

  This room has been sanctuary since I arrived. The large queen bed, four posters and old fashioned, centers the room with matching nightstands. The television on the dresser doesn’t work, it isn’t plugged in. I have yet to discover any other part of his house, but it reminds me of the other one. I think I only called it our house once.

  But this… it could be the next step forward. A hard one, heavy cinderblock feet weighing me down.

  Will he truly understand when I tell him?

  Will it be enough?

  The unknown is too extreme, too valid—but it always is.

  After fixing myself in the mirror, cinching my curls and pep talking myself, I make my way downstairs. My cold feet hit the hardwood floor on the long hall that leads me to the double staircase, and across the foyer to the wide living room; all brown couches and large flat screen, and finally through the Butler’s pantry and single door that blocks off the kitchen.

  I heard the noises on the way, kitchen type noises, so I know he is already in there but when I see him, it’s a visual confirmation.

  Pete was always the type—romantic, sweet, the man women dream about and swear don’t exist. He has set the dining table, chilled white wine, prepared something that makes my stomach growl. He smiles at me from behind the counter.

  “I almost didn’t think you were going to come.”

  “I was right upstairs.”

  “I wasn’t going to get you.” He smirks, taking off his oven mitts. Coming over to me, his hands slink around my waist and pull me close. His lips are a whisper on mine, a kiss to reach my toes and warm my body.

  “Well, I came.” I sigh, he pulls back to look at me.

  His eyes are warm, pooling.

  “I made your favorite.” He leaves me, turning off the oven doubled up on the wall opposite the fridge. All the appliances match the dark wood cabinetry, the only silver is the deep sink.

  “My favorite?”

  I watch him take a tray out of the oven, set it next to the dish already on the table. I smile immediately, wondering how he got macaroni and cheese, and salad that’s mostly croutons to be fancy.

  “Thanks.” I clasp my hands in front of me, wringing my fingers out. It isn’t nerves, but a reminder from the past, of how I used to feel.

  “No problem. What held you up?” he asks casually, as he grabs plates from his cabinet.

  I sigh and sit at one of the set places at the table. I cross my legs and pour a much-needed glass of the wine.

  “My chief of surgery called. And he offered me his job.” I swallow hard.

  Pete doesn’t say anything, I watch his face as he sets two plates and walks over. Setting it down, I inhale cheese and ceaser dressing. He stares down at me, an unreadable expression.

  “You took it?”

  I frown, “That’s your first assumption.”

  “Well, did you?”

  I hold his gaze. No one wants to win.

  “No. I didn’t.”

  He sits, so tall his knee brushes mine. “Why?”

  I drink half my glass of wine to help.

  “It’s not what I want anymore.”

  “Did you quit?”

  “No, I’m still a surgeon. I still have my job. But… I’m here now and I don’t want to live that way. I’m not going to.”

  “And after we talk? Because we are, going to talk. Well, you might be the only one talking but still.”

  “You mean what will I do next if you don’t take me back?”

  His brow arches swift, lips pursing as they curl at the sides. A soft exhale leaves me as I struggle to find the will not to lie anymore, to cover up, to dodge—

  “There’s nothing beyond me not being with you. I haven’t truly been myself since I left you. What I’ve done since then was in spite of the life I was allowed to have without you. And I don’t want that anymore. So, whatever I do next will still involve surgery, my career, the people I took an oath to help. But I’ll be damned if it doesn’t include you, this time.”

  I huff, dramatically turning and finishing my wine, pouring another glass. Stabbing my fork down and such, I start eating, barely tasting what he made, feeling his eyes on me. Eventually, following a long moment of formidable silence and guessing, he begins eating as well and we continue in silence.

  My plat
e is clean, as is his. There isn’t much else left to say.

  “You’ll be damned?” he asks, I turn to see him smirking, the smirk he would give that made me want to kiss it right off his face. He still has that effect.

  “Yes.”

  He smiles wide this time, nodding once. Clearing his throat, he shifts on the table and leans forward on his forearms, strong and imposing, one the size of both mine. I have always been mini to his presence, to his effect. He prompts me with his intense eyes, nearly glowering, but softly at me. I know what I need to do, and I collapse in the moment as I draw from the past.

  “Where is daddy?”

  “At work.”

  “Still?”

  “Yes, Mel. He is still there. Don’t worry, he’ll be home soon.” Mommy uses her soft hands to pat down my face, it turns my frown away and I smile up at her. She is very pretty, Gramma says that is all she’s good for but I don’t know what she means.

  “Okay…” I nod once so she will smile too.

  “Now help me with dinner, I’m making daddy’s favorite.” She smiles to herself again, I think it makes her happy. I wonder what she does at home all day. I go to school, daddy goes to work, she stays here. I think it’s a real job, because she is always tired.

  “Well I like chicken too.” But daddy likes it with the cheese sauce and noodles.

  “I know,” she giggles, “set the table. I’m almost ready.”

  It’s night, but I still have my uniform on from doing homework. I hate it. But I want to be smart like daddy and so I have to do it. If I want to be a surgeon like him, I have to work hard for a long, long time. He says I have to anyway, and I believe him.

  “No more glass cups.” I try to reach up the counter but I’m short for my age. At least that’s what mommy and daddy tell me. They’re short too, so she just leaves it alone, and I get the others.

  Since I finished, I stand by the stove and try to learn what she does, but I get bored. Her blue dress sways as she stirs the pot. Then she smiles down at me.

  “Is it almost done?”

  “Yes, but we wait for daddy, remember?”

  I try not to roll my eyes since it’s rude. She finishes and takes my hand to lead me over to the chair by the window, I can see the backyard pool and neighbor’s dog fence.