by Kim Karr
I still haven’t told her what happened with Vanessa and my father, or about our father in general. I just couldn’t do that to her. Yes, she’s strong, but she’s fragile, too. She’s a daddy’s little girl, and maybe I just want her to have that.
And then of course, I told her all about Makayla and how much I love her. She can’t wait to meet her. That is, if Makayla takes me back. Of course, Amelia had all kinds of names to call me for being so dense and not making up with Makayla sooner, so I could bring her to the wedding, of which I convinced Amelia attend.
But I, too, am a work in progress.
I pull back and give her now more than faded turquoise strand of hair a tug. “I have to go, Amelia.”
She hugs me one last time. “Don’t forget to call me.”
With my backpack on my shoulder, I rush through security and get on the plane. Late again. It almost feels like déjà vu, minus the first class and minus Makayla.
The plane is full, and I have to shove my backpack under the seat in front of me. As I take my aisle seat, image after image, memory after memory, of the summer I shared with Makayla comes rushing back.
A smile tugs at my lips just thinking about her, and then that weight slams in my chest. All I can do is hope that what she said, she meant—when you figure it out, why don’t you come find me.
I’m ready, baby. I only hope you are.
I close my eyes and the moving plane lulls me to sleep. When I wake, the flight attendant is serving drinks and snacks. I’m so glad the flight attendant who was working when I met Makayla isn’t on board. I had to promise to take her to dinner to avoid going to the slammer. And then I gave her my number with one digit incorrectly written.
It was a shit thing to do, but reflecting back, I did it in the name of love.
Okay, done with the sappy shit, I promise.
Deciding to go over some of the divisional financials for Simon Warren, I yank my backpack out and set it on my lap.
As soon as I open it, a black photo album with silver lining pops out.
Uncertain, I pull it out. The note taped to the top reads, “This one is for you. Take care of it. With love, Amelia.”
Letting my backpack drop to the ground, I set the album on my lap and stare at it for the longest time.
“Sir, what can I get you?” the flight attendant asks.
My head snaps in her direction. “Nothing, thank you.”
When my gaze shifts back down to the photo album, the inscription gets me right in the chest. It reads, “The Adventures of the ABCs.”
I have to curl my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. All I can do is stare. Sweat coats my brow, I can feel my breathing increase exponentially, and I sit here, letting time pass.
Finally, I feel strong enough to open it. Slowly, I pinch the cover and even more slowly, I open it.
Staring right at me is an 8×10 color photo of Brandon and me in our “I’m a Big Brother” T-shirts, both holding Amelia in a bundle of pink. We’re smiling so wide. I wasn’t even two yet, so I don’t remember it, but I feel I could if I tried hard enough.
My vision starts to blur and I feel like the space in the plane has clouded over. It’s as if I’m the only one here.
A strange mix of hope and fear spurs me to turn the page.
There are two photos on the page to the left. The first is of the three of us the first time we all rode the subway together. I’m not sure how old we were, but Amelia was in a stroller. Excitement fills our faces because we were going on a train ride. I don’t remember that day, but I remember those matching cowboy hats and holsters Brandon and I wore. And Amelia’s pink hat and spurs. We thought we were outlaws from the West. And we were on the getaway train.
A smile tugs at my lips. We kept that cowboy gear for a long time. Amelia would sneak into our room in her pink hat and point her finger at us. “Put ’em up, or I’ll shoot,” she tried to say, but never got the words quite right.
The second photo on the page is of the three of us in our Easter outfits and we have the biggest frowns on our faces. I remember this day. Brandon was seven, I was six, and Amelia was four. Our parents had taken us to the country club for an Easter egg hunt and forgot our baskets. We were so mad at them because we had to use a plastic grocery bag. Made egg collecting very difficult.
Page by page, I find myself flipping. Smiling at the happy memories and knowing these are times that can never be forgotten.
Soon, though, I have to stop. I feel like I might suffocate. Like I can’t breathe. Jumping to my feet, I tuck the album away and head for the lavatory.
Once inside, I splash water on my face and then look in the mirror. Moments later, I find myself clawing at my T-shirt to get it off. As soon as I do, I stare at the scripted B on my chest and trace every delicate line of it.
When my finger returns to where it started, I look into the mirror. “I love you, Brandon,” I whisper.
I love you.
I miss you.
Now and forever.
MAKAYLA
NEVER SAY NEVER.
That’s all I can say.
Season five of The Walking Dead has me so nervous that I’m biting my fingernails. Seriously, do they have to make it so full of angst? I have no idea how I’ve managed to watch this series all by myself.
A zombie jumps out of the shadows and I scream. My pulse is racing so fast that I have to cover my head with my blanket. Honestly, I might have just had a heart attack.
Knock. Knock.
“Ahhhhhhh!” I scream even louder.
Realizing it isn’t a zombie coming to get me, I release the breath from my lungs. Someone is at the kitchen door, and the sound against the glass only made my heart beat faster. Get it together, Makayla. You’re a big girl. There are no bogeymen in the dark, or zombies in this case.
Maybe I can pretend I didn’t hear the knock and whoever it is will go away and let me finish this episode. It’s either Maggie’s latest beating her here before she even gets home from work—he has a habit of doing that—or Brooklyn and the door is locked, so he can’t get in.
Knock. Knock.
Hesitantly, I pull my head out from under the blanket and avert my attention away from the television, but it’s too dark outside to see who it is.
Setting my huge glass of red wine down, I hit pause on the remote and slowly rise to my feet. I spent all day making pieces and filling orders, and I am spent.
Another rap.
“Coming,” I call.
Wearing nothing but a T-shirt and panties, I wrap a blanket around me and start for the door. I flick the light on and freeze on the spot. Momentarily taken aback, it takes a few seconds before I begin to move again.
The closer I get, the faster my pulse races. There’s a distinct shadow in the dark of a man that looks very familiar.
A very tall, very handsome man who shared my bed all summer.
My heart stops at the sight of Camden Waters standing there. My steps falter, my breathing picks up, my mind spins into a daze of nothingness.
He’s back.
In a suit that fits his body perfectly, he looks ever so powerful. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top and his tie hangs loose. It looks like he’s been doing something important.
With a million tiny butterfly wings poking at my belly, I open the door. I have to grip the knob for support and to keep my knees from buckling beneath me. I draw in a slow, silent breath of relief because there he stands, leaning against the door frame with his head down and something in his hand.
That grin he gives me lights me up from the inside. “Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” I say back.
Trembling.
Uncertain.
And yet so thrilled to see him.
With a smirk, he holds out his hand. In it is a measuring cup. “I was hoping I could borrow a cup of sugar.”
Trying not to smile in return, I reach for the cup. “I’m not sure I have any.”
“Please,” he begs.
>
Okay he begged. I can’t turn him down now. I tip my head to the side. “Since you asked so nicely, let me check.”
“I’d appreciate it,” he returns.
With that, I close the door. And yes, he is on the other side of it. Setting the cup down, I hold onto the blanket and pretend to rummage through the cabinets with my heart pounding and my pulse thundering the entire time.
He’s back. He’s here. Now what?
Seconds later, Cam knocks on the door again.
Holding back my smile, I walk over to it, and with the blanket clutched in one hand, I open it wide with the other. This time when our eyes meet, warmth floods my whole body as we grin at each other. “Sorry, I don’t have any.”
Slowly, his gaze ravishes my face, and every feeling he has for me blazes in his eyes. “Let me try this a different way. Can we talk?”
No.
No.
No.
Yet, instead of saying no, I nod and move aside. I just can’t deny him. Honestly, I don’t want to.
That long, lean body of his strides in like he never left and I almost wish he hadn’t. Then I remember that we both had things we had to work out, and my stomach flips uneasily at the thought of Cam coming just to tell me he’s moving back to New York.
A wariness consumes his expression and he leans against the counter. “Makayla, I am so sorry,” he starts, his voice gruff with emotion.
My entire body is shaking.
“I’ve never met anyone like you before. In fact, there’s no one like you. You are everything I could possibly want and I screwed it up. I never meant to hurt you, or ignore you; I was only trying to find myself. Can you forgive me?”
“Cam,” I whisper, overwhelmed that he’s back, and not wanting to remember that day when both of us acted rashly.
He pushes off the counter and takes one small step toward me. “Shhh . . . don’t answer that yet. Let me explain to you what I should have explained that day in my kitchen, okay?”
Gripping onto the blanket, I nod and swallow the tears threatening to spill.
A complex mix of confidence and insecurity stares at me. “You are the most important thing to me. I will always put you first, I can promise you that, but you were right—I needed to get my shit together. I had already figured that out. I just didn’t know where to start, but I figured it out, and that’s what I’ve been doing over the past month. I want to bring companies back to life. I bought Simon Warren and I’ve been working with Katherine on a plan to revitalize it.”
My hands fly to my mouth and I can no longer hold back my tears. He really has been finding himself and this is what he should be doing, something he loves, what he was meant to do.
“My whole life I wanted to run a business, and I let go of that dream after Brandon died. The pregnancy scare made me realize I needed to do something with my life. And watching you going after what you wanted, it made me see my dream was still alive too. I just had to find it buried under all of that anger.”
He’s found himself. He’s really found himself.
Cam takes a step closer, and in the small galley kitchen we now stand only a foot apart. “Makayla,” he says, “we’ve been seatmates, frenemies, book club partners, friends, teacher/student, and lovers, but I was hoping right now you could just be mine.”
Tears roll down my cheeks, but there is no hesitation in my movement as I take that one step keeping us apart and fling myself at him. The blanket falls to the ground and I just don’t care.
Catching me, he cups my ass and whispers in my ear, “I’m so sorry. Do you forgive me?”
“Yes, I will always forgive you. I love you,” I choke out against his warm chest. “And I’m sorry too—I shouldn’t have acted like that. Can you forgive me?”
In answer, Cam gently pulls away but keeps his palms right on the lacy fabric of my panties, leaning back just far enough so he can look into my face. I am without makeup, exhausted, and overwhelmed. A mess. But he stares at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His voice is intense as he tells me, “I love you, too, Makayla Alexander, so goddamn much.”
My arms tighten around him and I never want to let him go.
Just then the pause timer from the television releases and the sound of zombies travels into the kitchen.
Amusement curls the corners of Cam’s mouth. “Are you watching The Walking Dead?”
I bite my lip anxiously and gaze into his gleaming eyes. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
“I knew you would cave,” he laughs.
Cocky bastard.
Our eyes connect and it feels like minutes pass, but it’s only seconds. That electric pull is there, stronger than ever.
I feel like I’m wearing a raspberry beret.
No, I’m Madonna dancing in all my jewels.
Better yet, I feel happy, so happy that I want to clap along.
Cam smiles—not a full smile, but that half-grin. His lush lips are begging for me to kiss him and I don’t want to waste another minute as I throw my arms around his neck and crash my mouth to his. He puts one hand behind my neck and the other on the small of my back. We both open our mouths wide as our lips connect, and I feel the connection between our souls.
We kiss.
And kiss.
And kiss.
After he tosses me over his shoulder, keeping that one hand on my ass that is now inside my panties, he carries me all the way up the stairs and into my bedroom.
Very caveman of him.
Secretly, I love it.
Once inside, he sits on my bed with me in his lap and I curl my legs around him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers again.
I blow out a long breath. “No more sorrys, okay?”
He nods and his eyes light up. “I’ve missed you and your body so fucking much.”
“This body has missed you,” I purr. “I even broke down and bought a new vibrator.”
“I jerked off every day to your naked picture,” he confesses.
I’m glad now that I never deleted it from his phone.
I squirm in anticipation at the thought of his long, thick cock. “Oh, God,” I moan. “I want you.”
My T-shirt is short and his hands easily slide into my panties again and start to caress my ass.
I thought he was a boob man, but I’m starting to think he’s more of an ass man. I might have to reconsider the forbidden zone. Someday.
“No condom,” I tell him.
“You sure?”
“I’m fertile free right now, so let’s take advantage of it.”
His face twists. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
“Get over it,” I tell him and manhandle him. Unbuttoning his shirt, I rip it off him. With the fabric open, now I get to trace the perfectly sculpted lines that outline each lean muscle. Under my palm, I feel his heart pounding. I smooth my hands all over him and then push his arms from the sleeves so that he is shirtless.
Cam puts his mouth to my ear and with a low, husky voice tells me, “Stand up and take your clothes off. I need to feel you.”
His words rush through me like waves at high tide. I’ve never felt such an intimate connection to anyone. And because I secretly like when he takes control, I get up and get naked.
His hands are on my hips and pulling me back to his lap. With my hands on his shoulders, I look down at him.
He has the most intense bedroom eyes I’ve ever seen. I could melt under that gaze. It doesn’t last long, though, because soon his hands are cupping my breasts and his mouth is on mine. That wicked tongue of his finds its way to mine, and as it twists and turns, all I want to do is eat him up.
After a few minutes of an intense make-out session, he lifts me off the bed, turns us around, and sets me on my feet. Kneeling in front of me, he licks his lips. Our eyes stay connected every second. Even as he guides me to the edge of the bed, even as he places my legs over his shoulders, and even as he kisses the inside of my thighs.
&
nbsp; His eyes are still on me as he runs his fingertips up and down the backs of my thighs and places his hands behind me, pulling me closer to him. And then. Then. Oh, sweet oblivion, his face is in between my legs and his tongue is on me.
Getting right to it, he licks up my slick flesh.
Once.
Twice.
Oh, God, I’m seeing stars.
Then I have to close my eyes when his fingers open me and his tongue strokes deep inside me. There is nothing like it in the world. Category four hurricane taking place right here.
Already leaving this planet, as soon as he strokes his tongue to that area he wants me to give up to him so much, I start convulsing. My body is a trembling mess as I take off like a rocket. “Oh God, Cam,” I call out, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps sucking me even through my orgasm, pushing me farther. Gripping my hips tightly, he licks, kisses, and laps every inch of me. I don’t even feel like my body is my own when another wave blasts through me. “Yes, oh God, yes!” I scream and when I know I have nothing left, I gently push his shoulders back. He looks up at me and I drop to the ground to sit in front of him.
I kiss him and he smiles through our kiss. “I wasn’t finished. I wanted to hear you scream my name again.”
“Oh you will, I promise.” I unbutton his pants and run my hand inside his boxers, just needing to feel him. “Take these off,” I order him. “For what I have in mind, there are no pants required.”
Getting to his feet, he quickly removes his shoes, pants, and boxers and stands there looking so incredible, his taut muscles on full display. With the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, he takes my hand and tosses me to the bed. “It’s time to fuck,” he laughs.
Laughter bubbles out of me, but he isn’t wrong—it is time to fuck. And I want to feel every inch of him, so I roll us over and hover over him. He groans and pulls me down to him. With a tongue that should be declared illegal, he traces around the shell of my ear and then whispers all the dirty things he wants to do to me for the next three days.
“Three days, that’s all?” I ask.
