Thank God, because I was close, too. With a hand between us, and my eyes straining to stay open, he removed his cock, pushing again into my core with a punishing thrust, and a single finger into my ass.
“Fuck, Rylie.” He gripped my hip with his other hand, and I held my breath as it built, so huge, so explosive, that when it did hit me, a cry of tormented pleasure escaped my mouth.
“God,” I cried out, my body shaking, my sex pulsing, and my tears the culmination of every emotion I’d encountered in the last day, week, and year of my life.
“Are you drunk?” he asked, trying to catch his breath.
“Not really,” I told him honestly.
And then he smiled.
But I was having a hard time focusing on him, suddenly shy.
“What’s wrong? Did you…was that too much? Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I said with a small smile. I had to admit, doing it was one thing, but talking about it, even if it was Quentin, that was another.
“You’re embarrassed?” He wasn’t teasing me with the question. He actually seemed concerned.
“No.” I shook my head in denial. But finally, when his face began to fall even further in disappointment, I conceded. “A little.”
“There is nothing I won’t do for you, Rylie. You’re my last, my only. Just tell me what you want.” He pulled on his jeans, but sat back down with me.“Rylie,” he began and I hated to think where he was going to take the conversation. I was happy, I had a great little buzz going and not from the gin. It was from the amazing sexual connection I’d shared with the man I loved.
And I didn’t want to lose that. But, considering the many revelations we’d shared recently, I wanted to make sure there were no more secrets between us. No more boundaries.
“What is it, Quentin?”
“You don’t talk about him much. I don’t want you to think you… What I’m saying is, you can.”
I pulled on my tank and threw the tee to the floor. The throw from the back of my couch was now arranged over my legs as I tucked myself under his arm with my cheek to his chest.
“I don’t need to talk about him.”
“With me or with anybody?”
Excellent question. But only one answer.
“It’s bigger,” I whispered.
“Sorry?”
He reached around with his head, trying to get me to look at him. But this was one time when I wasn’t going to do that.
“I can’t lie to you, and I won’t lie to myself. But it’s bigger with you. And I was happy. I was very much in love, Quentin. But I don’t know why. Maybe because of our history. But I didn’t know…I didn’t think I would ever love that big again. And I hoped, maybe if we did see each other, in a perfect world, we’d maybe have a chance…if the planets aligned and God didn’t hate me, that is.”
“God doesn’t hate you, Rylie.”
He sounded so sure about that.
“Oh, give it a few years. I’m sure he’ll find a way to make me suffer again.” I’d meant this to be funny, really. Just an aside, no real thought behind it when the words came out of my mouth.
But Quentin took my chin in his fingertips and tilted his head to catch my eyes.
“No faith,” he said. “But I have faith enough for both of us.”
I’d sobered enough to know how serious he was. “And I told you before, I’m realistic. There are no guarantees, Quentin.”
“My prayers were answered.”
“I do love you, and I do hope we have a thousand years ahead of us, but I’m—”
“Here,” he finished. “A prayer I waited twenty years to be answered.”
And to that…
Well, there’s nothing I could say to that.
NINETEEN
“I’m serious!” Nick laughed loud enough to draw looks from the other diners. “Look at her…young, vibrant. I look like her father,” he joked.
He looked nothing like Dad.
“You’re freaking me out.” I smiled, letting all the handsome men in my life know I was only joking. “Besides, Dad’s only, what, seventy-five? Seventy-six?”
“Oh, ha ha,” he said sarcastically.
The conversation shifted, and Dad leaned toward my ear. “I can’t stop staring at your stomach. You’re starting to show.”
I looked down to see the little bump beneath my blue, backless gown. Despite feeling so exposed in my garment, I put my hand over my belly. “It’s amazing, Dad.”
And all eyes were on me as I held my stomach. I looked up and watched as my parents got up and left the table. It was just the three of us, Billy talking to the waiter and Nick looking at me.
“He’ll be gone before she’s born.”
“Wha…what was that?”
Nick nodded toward Billy.
“Tell him you love him. You never know what’s gonna happen when you walk out the door, Rylie.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He looked out the windows of the Charter House. “Best steak and seafood in town,” he said.
I turned to argue with him, to make sure he understood just how fucked up what he’d just said to me was.
But he was gone, the booth empty, and there, across from me, stood Billy. I only then noticed he was dressed in jeans, too casual for the fancy restaurant.
“Ready to go?” he asked. “The bike’s out front.”
“I…I’m not going on a motorcycle, Billy. Are you crazy?”
“Let’s go.” He was already walking away.
“I’m not ready. I haven’t eaten yet!” What I was, was confused, and getting more irritated by the second.
I looked where he’d been standing only a millisecond before, and he’d vanished.
“Ma’am?” a woman said behind me. “Ma’am, can you tell me your name?”
God, I hated when someone called me ma’am.
“There’s glass in my mouth,” I told her. “Why’s there glass in my mouth?”
And then I screamed.
“Why is there glass in my mouth?”
“Rylie! Rylie!” I heard him yelling my name…not Nick. It wasn’t Nick.
And then I reached down and touched my stomach.
Gone.
She was gone.
Nick…
“Rylie, come back to me.”
And I was right where I’d fallen asleep only a few hours before. Lying in bed with Quentin, having a horrific nightmare I hadn’t had in ages. The last time was about six months after the funeral.
“Oh God,” I cried. “Oh God, oh God, Quentin.”
“Rylie…” He wrapped himself around me so tight, arms and legs surrounding me. “Fuck, I hate this for you.”
But he didn’t understand. “Why now? Why is this happening now? I mean, this hasn’t happened in, literally, years.”
He comforted me, held me, listened, but he offered no advice.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I said.
He shook his head. “I bet you don’t.”
“I don’t regret this, not at all. This isn’t some kind of residual grief thing. This isn’t post traumatic whatever. This is…”
“Do you remember what was happening? In the dream?”
I briefly allowed my brain to grab flashes of the nightmare. “Nick. He warned me. Then he was gone. They were all gone. And I was sitting at dinner, the night we had the accident, and I had glass in my mouth. It’s all I ever remember of the accident, but I didn’t remember that before.”
“It sounds like your brain thinks it’s time to deal, Ry.”
I decided to live in denial. Forever.
“I don’t want to deal with this again. I’m happy!” I was a little pissed off my sleep was interrupted, not by some random dream, but a horrific retelling of one of the worst nights of my life.
“Rylie…” he said, attempting to reason with me.
I quietly began what I hoped would be the end of this particular conversation. “In what probably lasted al
l but three seconds, a lot happened. His pants were ripped off. A fault with the seatbelt housing that led to a recall. The force of the accident ripped it out. But my focus, the only thing I really took in, was his leg. There was bright red blood all over his thigh, and that was all I could see. I couldn’t work out why I was looking at his leg. And the accident didn’t kill him. Or maybe it did,” I said, “but it took years to kill him. I lost our baby though, and—”
“I don’t know why people say that,” he interrupted, somewhat perturbed.
“Say what?”
He brushed my hair from my face so he could hold it in his hands. “You can’t lose something that was taken from you. A life was snuffed out because some drunk asshole got behind the wheel. He killed your child, Rylie. For me, when you say that, it’s like the blame is put directly on you. Something you could not have prevented or controlled.”
Yeah, I hadn’t thought of it that way.
“Well, I’m all right with it now. Or, as all right as I’ll ever be.” I slowly took his hands from my face and positioned myself back under the covers, turning away from him. “We should get some sleep. If I don’t have at least nine hours, I’m sure to have a hangover tomorrow,” I joked.
He curled up at my back, and I closed my eyes at the wonderful warmth and closeness of his body against my own.
“Rylie, when the time is right, I would like to have a child with you.”
No sleep was to be had for me apparently, so I replied in faux exhaustion, “Okay. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, dear.”
“Will we?” he asked.
I turned in his arms. His eyes were wide open. Only the filtered streetlight from the bedroom window cast shadows, but the planes of his face were set. Concern and worry still there, maybe for me, or perhaps for us. But he had to know I’d been honest and open about my feelings.
“Remember,” I said. “Remember when we first saw each other and I told you we’d fight and get over it and have great sex and fall in love and make babies?” I was pretty sure that’s how it went anyway. “I haven’t changed my mind about that. Any of it.”
I smiled at him as I laid a gentle kiss on his lips. I guess my man, raw and real and strong, was also vulnerable. For anyone on the outside, they wouldn’t see it like that. They’d see a six-foot-tall male, fit, confident. But I knew him in a way no one else had or would.
“You’re scared, aren’t you? That something else is gonna go wrong?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t call it fear. I’d call it waiting for the other shoe to drop and hoping we aren’t under it when it does.”
I’m glad it wasn’t just me.
“Well,” I said, closing my eyes, “we’ll need sleep to avoid it with quick reflexes.”
“I love you, Rylie May.”
I snuggled back against him as his hand found a home on the hollow of my belly. “Love you, too, Quentin Miller.”
****
I did my best to shake off the nightmare, but it stayed with me throughout the next day. That icky feeling that accompanied anxiety, it just burrowed into my subconscious and festered.
But I’d been summoned by my dad to meet first with the magazine and second with my uncle.
“You okay?” Quentin asked as we parked.
“I’m fine.” My reply wasn’t very convincing.
“Rylie…”
“I’m fine,” I snapped, then relaxed as I gathered my purse. “Sorry, really, I’m fine.”
He let it go, reluctantly, which was a good thing, since it meant I was spared from having to talk about it right then and there. But that was us, we talked, and that conversation was going to happen at some point in the near future.
“When are they supposed to be here?” he asked.
“They” was a woman named Shannon, due to arrive sometime in the afternoon. It was funny really, I’d worked so hard on those buses, been so involved in the process, until Mom and Dad arrived, and then I was almost pushed out. The project had been the perfect distraction, and, to occupy my time, I found other ways to help, but, for the most part, it seemed my job was to answer emails, process bookings, and gussy-up the cottages prior to a guest arriving.
But the buses were my baby, and it would be my job to sell them. I wanted to get there before the magazine did, though I knew Mom and Aunt Ardie had put the finishing touches on.
Dad greeted me and Quentin, and when Uncle Lee joined them, I excused myself and made my way across the field.
I walked in through the doors of each bus, each at the ready with fresh flowers and a basket of local goodies on the kitchenette countertop. Aside from the abundance of wineries nearby, Guerneville boasted a champagne cellar that was more than happy to donate a gift basket. I opened the small fridge of The Californian to find the bottles were perfect, wrapped in white with red kisses and a flourish of ribbon. The counterpart champagne flutes were placed next to the goodie basket, with a handwritten card which read, “Welcome to the Californian. The Cottages at Guerneville.” Fresh towels were laid on the bed next to the toiletries I’d acquired, again from a local company we’d taken on to stock the cottages, as well. And, eventually, I’d carry their products in my little shop.
“Rylie.”
I stumbled and threw my hand across my chest. “Holy crap, you scared the life outta me, Billy!”
“Someone just pulled in. I’m assuming it’s the magazine chick. Dad and Uncle Lee are on top of it, so we have some time.”
“Time?” I queried, only then getting my composure back.
He stepped closer, almost too close. “Remember when I asked if you were happy?”
“Yeah, and I—”
“And I asked, if it didn’t work out with Quentin, you’d still be okay, right?”
Whatever he was trying to tell me, I wasn’t a big fan of the cryptic set up. My shoulders slumped, and the air in my lungs slowly left me in defeat. “Spit it out, Billy. Whatever big secret you’re about to impart on me, tell me now.”
Fate was still an asshole.
“No.” He reached out and gently put his hand behind my neck. “No,” he choked. “This isn’t about Quentin. He loves you, Ry.”
“What is it then?” I asked.
“I can’t stay here. I don’t think it’ll work out for me.”
I stepped out of his hold. What was meant to be sweet and comforting felt like he was trapping me where I stood. Not with his words; it wasn’t that. But the intention of his actions.
“Why?” I demanded. “I want to know why.”
The shaky breath Billy took in and released made me look at him. With tears streaming down his face, I saw my big brother was in pain.
“Billy…”
“I’m not going to get my happy ending here, Rylie.”
I searched his eyes, hoping he’d tell me what was going on. But I knew, without asking, he wouldn’t. “You’re not telling me something.”
I wiped at my own tears, thinking I had to pull it together and quick. “You did this on purpose. You waited until you knew I wouldn’t have time to talk to you and stop you from leaving.”
But instead of answering my question or giving me a denial, he looked out the windows. “They’re coming across now.”
“When?”
“I’ll help bring up Mom and Dad’s things. And then, I don’t know. I had a job offer in Portland a while back. Could be promising. More money…” He trailed off, and I walked away from him. But in the confines of the bus, there wasn’t much escape.
“You told me to reach out for help, to take the hands offering to help me.”
“This is something I have to face on my own.”
“I didn’t want help,” I interrupted. “I wanted to die, Billy. I wanted the pain to end. And the day I called you was the day I knew I couldn’t do it alone.”
We all knew, right after the funeral, I would have happily joined Nick in the hereafter.
Before we could say anything else, Dad and Uncle Lee were laughing with Bay Bride’s
travel writer. She was cute as a button, what Dad would later call a pocket-sized beauty.
I stepped out of the bus with a smile on my face and knew Billy had done the same.
“I thought you’d left already,” Dad said to him.
“Tonight. We’ll fly down,” Billy replied.
“Billy…” Uncle Lee tried to shake his hand, but Billy casually made his way beyond our huddle of people. To my eyes, and I’m sure to Uncle Lee’s, it looked like a snub.
Walking backwards, full of confidence and swagger, Billy called out to me. “I have to get moving. I’ll call you, Ry.”
Not wanting to let on there was any kind of family drama, I held my hand out to the barely five-foot-tall, buxom blond. “You must be Shannon. I’m Rylie.”
“This looks fabulous!” Her enthusiasm could barely be contained in her petite body, which was a great tell for future business. “Do you mind if I explore on my own?”
“Have at it.” I laughed. “The other two are open. In fact, would you like me to bring you a coffee?” I offered. “I might take a stroll to the bakery in town and bring back something sugary, although, pretty soon, we’ll have our own café right over there.” I pointed.
“Oh, that would be wonderful!” She beamed. “I have a friend with a Tiny Home and I would so love to have something like this. I’ve been trying to convince my fiancé, but, so far, it’s a no-go. I bet I can convince him by staying here. Maybe then he could see the potential.”
After her enthusiasm cooled a little, I took her coffee order with the promise of muffins, added the main drag of town was only a ten-minute, scenic walk and left her to it. Dad and Uncle Lee were standing about halfway between the main house, the cottages, and buses, the central location of the almost-built Garden Café.
“It looks really good, Uncle Lee.” And it did. Stones, which had previously been used as a property border, had been incorporated into the design. Thick wood beams gave it that same rustic feel they had going in the cottages. But the big fireplace was the main focal point and show piece. Everything else was built around it.
“We can put a doorway here,” he said to me. We’d barely spoken since the big reveal at dinner, and he was looking everywhere but me. “But you draw up one of your designs; we’ll make it however you want.”
Watching the Sky Cry Page 18
