by AJ Matthews
“You ready?”
Time for our evening walk. I can move more than twenty feet at a time now, and the activity is good for my circulation after spending my days like a big lump in the bed.
Plus, there’s something enchanting about a crisp fall evening snuggled in a hoodie holding hands with your boyfriend while colorful leaves shower you.
And speaking of showers, I get to take one tonight!
I’m over those pre-moistened towelettes and sitting in a shallow bath with the drains taped on isn’t comfortable. Dr. Jacoby’s office told me to keep the drain sites covered in plastic and to attach the drains to a lanyard, so my hands are free.
I zip the sweatshirt, slip on my shoes, and head out the door.
It’s darker tonight since Shay got back late.
He stopped at his place and picked up clothes while Bennie helped me make room in my closet for him.
I even cleared out a drawer in the dresser.
I cling to his sweater-clad arm and glance at him. The chunky gray wool along with his day-old stubble make him look more like a model than on the night we met. He looks like he could step straight out of the pages of a fall/winter clothing catalog.
I, on the other hand, with my hair popping out of the French braid Bennie did for me a couple days ago, appear less like a hot model and more like a hot mess.
Bless this man for not saying a word about it.
“Fred thinks I’m moving out. He’s busy penning the perfect Craigslist ad, a cross between Sheldon on the Big Bang Theory and Schmidt from The New Girl.”
I shrug. “It’s a couple days’ worth of clothes and stuff. No big deal.”
Totally a big deal, but I won’t tell Fred.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” He squeezes my hand.
“The usual—staying overnight at Daddy’s and waking up with the kids.”
“Do you think they could do without you this year?”
“Hmmmm. What would I be doing instead?”
“Christmas in Key West is a sight to behold. I’d love to share it with you. Liam will be home too. He’s got leave, and he wants to meet you. He won’t believe his awkward, less attractive brother nabbed a hottie like you.” Shay slings his arm across my shoulder, careful not to exert too much pressure since I complained the skin across my collarbone is tight and tingly.
“You e-mailed a picture of us, right?”
“He’s convinced I Photoshopped you in.”
“Wait, you’re the less attractive brother? Can I see a picture of Liam? Did I pick up the wrong brother at Paddy’s last summer?” I wrap my arm around his waist, enjoying the warmth radiating from him.
He stops walking. “What? I’m speechless. I thought our connection went beyond physical.”
“Now, yes. One hot summer night, though, all I wanted was a hot piece of tail. You fit the bill even though it took a few days for you to give it up. If Liam’s better-looking than you though . . .” I tease.
We turn around to head back home.
“Ha. Liam thinks he’s the better-looking twin. Let me know if you’ve changed your mind when you meet him next month.”
I laugh. “Are you sure you want to put me in that situation? Things might not work out for you.”
“Your loyalty inspires confidence, McBride.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm since he knows I’m kidding. I’d never do any better than the one I have. “Besides, you’re not his type. He likes slender blond girls. Agreeable ones. Not feisty or temperamental. A remnant from his days as captain of our high school football team. He was the stereotypical jock who dated cheerleaders.”
“Hmmm, I guess I shouldn’t hook him up with Bennie.”
He shakes his head. “Things heading south between her and Enrique again?”
“North one day, south for a few. Worse than a roller coaster.”
“Sorry. Besides, she’s way too disagreeable, I mean opinionated, for Liam’s liking.” He cracks a smile, and those dimples make him look so young, even through the stubble.
“Ha. She has an opinion or two. That’s what makes things with Enrique weird. She doesn’t take shit from anyone but him. I guess love makes you do silly things.”
“Like this?”
Shay holds my face between his hands and kisses me deeply in the middle of a residential street, in plain view of anyone peering from their windows.
“Please tell me, as soon as you get those drains out, you’ll ask Dr. J. how much longer before you can have sex? Because you are rocking that hoodie, and I can’t wait anymore. I’m about to explode.” His sweet, impish smile melts my insides.
Yeah. Silly. Exactly like that.
I never want those silly, beautiful things to stop.
Shay
Who thinks getting medical devices removed from your body could amount to one of the most exciting days ever?
My girlfriend is such a weirdo.
I guess I’d be the same though.
She had those things in for over two weeks. She’s been a trooper. The fluid output needed to be below thirty ccs in a twenty-four hour period, but it kept fluctuating. Then clumps came out, and we had to wait a couple more days for those to dissipate.
Despite her frustration, though, she’s kept a positive attitude, trying to be as self-sufficient as possible, but not afraid to ask for help. Finally.
She’s on the table in her cloth exam gown waiting for Dr. Jacoby, and she keeps giggling. So not like her. She’s either giddy from the diazepam or the possibility of getting the drains out.
Probably both.
Dr. J comes in and goes over the log with me. Everything is in order, so those bad boys are coming out.
She slides her exam gown over her shoulder, sucks in a breath and waits. Dr. J pulls the first tube out, a slight squishing sound echoing through the small exam room.
“Ahhhhhhhcchh.” She shudders, and I don’t blame her. I’m used to the weird noises from emptying the bulbs for the past couple weeks, but the sound bothers her, and she doesn’t have her ear buds in today. Bandage on, one side done.
Other side, same reaction. Done.
“That’s it?”
“For the tubes, yes. You need to come back in two weeks to get the expanders filled, and again every week to ten days. In a few months, we’ll do the exchange surgery.”
She cries. Dr. J’s probably seen patients cry dozens, even hundreds, of times.
But Thea’s not my patient, and I hate to see her cry for any reason. I pull her gown around her and hold her tight. Over her head, I mouth “Thank you” to Dr. J. He nods and leaves the room to give us privacy.
She holds on to me, and a fierce protectiveness settles in my chest. “You did it, babe. You saw the cancer coming, and you went all ninja on it.”
“I’ll never get breast cancer,” she mumbles into my chest.
I shake my head. We both know there is a minuscule chance it could happen, but less than one percent is better than average. Phenomenal compared to the eighty percent chance she had prior to the mastectomy.
She pulls away, sits up straight, and her smile widens.
“I’m never getting breast cancer.” She sings the words.
“Not a chance.” I grin like a fool.
“I’m never getting breast cancer!” she shouts.
The joy in her voice makes me shout right along with her. “You’re never getting breast cancer!”
The staff outside the door must think we’re crazy, but delirious is more like it.
“You know what this means?” I ask in all seriousness.
She sobers. “No. What?”
“You’re stuck with me.”
She frowns. “Seriously? I was thinking once I get my new implants I’d go trolling for hot guys in Florida. You know, upgrade. Is Liam still single?”
She shines her silly, lopsided grin on me.
My heart skips a beat. “I’m not letting him anywhere near you. And admit it, you can’t do better than me. I am a drainage-bulb-emptying roc
k star. My brother won’t do that for you.”
“I don’t think anyone would. Thank you for getting in my way, for not taking no for an answer, and for being a general pain in my ass the last couple months.”
I lean over and press my forehead to hers. “You’re welcome. And you’ve been a pain in the ass too. You know what that makes us?
“What?”
“Perfect. For each other.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Thea
The fuchsia bag crinkles when I reach inside, and the silky red nightie and robe slither through my fingers as I pull them out. I hope the nightie fits. Leesh picked out lingerie at her second job and dropped it off this afternoon.
I slide the gown over my head and swipe a towel across the foggy mirror to analyze my reflection.
Not good.
The sensuous fabric flatters my nipped-in waist and flared hips.
My gaze travels to the top, and my heart sinks to my toes.
My barely A-cups are lost in the folds of the voluminous bodice.
I miss my boobs.
I thought I’d cried out this wretched feeling-sorry-for-myself-ness.
Nope. Still there.
A sob shakes my shoulders.
Stupid tears flow again, and I bang my fist on the wall, bottles from my make-up shelf clattering on the floor. I collapse to the cool vinyl, unable to look at myself.
“Thea? What’s wrong?” Shay rattles the door handle. If I don’t open it, he’ll pop the lock and come in.
I pull myself up, throw on the matching robe, and turn the knob.
“Oh.” He wasn’t expecting the sexy lingerie. Sexy being a relative term. “You’ve never been more beautiful.”
I whack him on the chest. “Don’t patronize me!”
His voice is low. “I mean it.”
“I’m hideous!” I push past him and run to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Another futile effort because I didn’t lock the door.
He follows. I turn my back to him.
“Thea, look at me.”
I turn around, but don’t look at him. His toes curl into the worn tan carpet at the end of the bed. Heat creeps into my face.
“I can’t.” My throat is so dry my voice cracks.
“You can’t what?”
“Look at you. Have sex. Anything!”
“That’s okay. We’ll only do what you’re ready to do.” His fingertips graze my jaw, turning my face to his.
I do want him. It’s been six weeks, and he’s been nothing but good, even when I screamed and cried and threw tantrums. The physical pain was sometimes overwhelming, and despite the weeks and weeks of therapy sessions, the emotional trauma is worse than I expected. The strange body reflected in the mirror haunts me, and I itch to find the body I belong in. Because it’s not this flat-chested one.
I crave his touch, however, and think it might make me feel normal somehow.
I don’t want to reward him for taking care of me—I just want him. My body says yes. My brain shuts off.
“Shay, I’m sorry.” I attempt to turn my head away, but his hands hold my face in place.
“Do not apologize. I get it, but I won’t deny I miss this.” He kisses my forehead gently, and I suck in air. The fresh scent of his shaving cream lingers. I squeeze my eyes tight and wait for more.
“Or this.” His lips whisper across my eyelids.
“Mmmmmm.” My toes flex into the carpet.
“Do you want me to stop?” His warm breath tickles my ear.
I shake my head.
“May I kiss you?”
I nod.
He dips his head, his lips and mine separated by a breath.
My heart hammers against my ribs. “Please. Yes. Kiss me.”
His lips whisper against mine. He keeps his mouth closed until I slip my tongue between his lips, inviting him to do the same. One of his hands slides to the back of my head, pulling me closer.
He tastes of sweet tea with a hint of tart lemon. I clutch at his tee shirt, balling the worn fabric in my hands.
He tastes like more, and I need more.
He pulls away. I whimper.
“Do you want to . . .” His hands smooth the sleeves of the red robe, his palms hot through the cool, thin silk. “. . . lie together?”
“Please,” I croak out.
He kisses the tip of my nose, and we move to the bed. He pushes the comforter aside and steps back for me to pass.
I climb in, and fully clothed, he slides in beside me.
“Sweetheart, can I take my shirt off? I want to feel you against my skin.”
My stomach flutters. The only bared skin on me is on my legs. I hope he doesn’t want me to remove the lingerie. I want to see him, though, drink in his beauty. “Yes.”
Shay tugs the tee shirt over his head, revealing the hard planes of his chest and abs.
My fingers itch and twist in the sheets.
He crawls in next to me, reaching his arm underneath my shoulders. I tuck my head into his shoulder, and I shudder at the twinge of discomfort radiating from my armpit to collar bone.
“Hey. You okay? Do you need me to move?”
The pain fades quickly. “No. This is perfect.”
And it is. I reach out and run one hand across his chest, the light dusting of dark hair crisp under my fingers.
I draw in a ragged breath. Another.
“Can I touch you?” His voice catches and he sucks in a breath as I trace my fingers across his hard stomach.
“Yes.” I hesitate. First robe, then nightgown? Can I do this?
I want the heat of his hands on my bare skin, so I sit to shrug off the robe. He smoothes the silky fabric off my shoulders, his tender touch making me shiver.
I twist to see him and bite back a groan as I try to get comfortable.
The only thing separating me from him is this flimsy nightgown. Heat is shimmering off his body and need the warmth in my hands. My fingers skim to the button on his pants.
More.
His hand circles my wrist. “Don’t.”
“But I want—”
“Do you want to, or do you want to for me?”
I bite my lip. “Both.”
His fingers loosen. “If you want to.”
His eyes burn with need and the cords in his neck strain against his skin. Sweat beads his upper lip.
I fumble with the button on his jeans, and he brushes my hands aside to finish the task. He stands and sheds his pants.
I gulp. I hadn’t seen him like this since before . . . I can do this—I want this.
He sits back on the bed and leans against the headboard.
A small pool of moisture stains the gray knit of his boxers. I crawl on his lap, straddle him, his cock heavy and hard and straining against my wet panties.
I try to read his eyes, but his heavy-lidded gaze disguises any hint of emotion.
Is he staring at my chest? Or the relative lack thereof, compared to two months ago?
My heart stops. He’s disgusted. He’s seen them, the smaller breasts and the scars; he saw them the entire time he’d been caring for me. But instead of being a patient, I’m his girlfriend. I finally want to have sex, and he’s repulsed. I drag a leg up to move away.
His large hand cups my knee. “Wait.”
He wasn’t staring at my chest. Wasn’t disgusted.
He was trying to hide the tears shining in his eyes.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
I shake my head, scrunching my eyebrows together. “For what?”
“For living. I can’t imagine losing you to cancer, but I won’t have to.”
Tears burn my eyes. “Shay?”
“Yes?”
“Please kiss me.”
He obliges, this time with no restraint. His fingers curl into my hair as my tongue darts out and rubs against his. The spark kindled by his soft kisses and feathery touches erupts into a five-alarm fire in my belly.
I’m hungry, thirsty, a
nd need more. I kiss him harder than ever before. He is famished too. No more controlled, delicate kisses. He grinds his mouth into mine, the pressure bruising, brutal.
It’s wet and sloppy, our teeth knocking together. He yelps when I bite his lip too hard, and our noses bump when we pull back and dive into the kiss again. Minutes go by, and more.
Time stops. We may have kissed for hours.
His hands leave my hair, and goose bumps pop along my arms in the wake of his touch. The fabric of my nightgown flutters against my thighs and his long fingers hover over the strap resting against my collarbone.
“Thea, may I see you?”
I stiffen my spine and gulp for air.
No. No. No.
I thought I was ready. Not yet.
I bury my face in his neck, my tears even hotter than his skin. “I don’t want you to see me!”
My words are lost in my sobs.
“Shhhhh.” He strokes my hair. “It’s okay. We do nothing you’re not comfortable with.”
He misunderstands.
I pull back and sniff, wiping my nose with my arm.
“Shay. I want to . . . make love with you, but with this,” I flick the red silk bodice, “on.”
His eyes widen. “Are you—”
“Sure? God yes. I need you, Shay Kelly, like I’ve never needed anyone before. Please.”
He moves me to his side and yanks off his boxers, grabbing a condom from the nightstand before returning. He sits on the bed and waits, searching my face for reassurance one more time.
I take the condom from his hand and tear it open. He arches his pelvis as I roll the latex on.
I lie down, but he eases me back up and plants me on his thighs, his rough hair a delicious tickle on my bottom.
“Like this. You’re in control. Go as far as you want. Take as much as you want. Or nothing at all. Don’t worry about me.”
My heart skips a beat. I want this. No more being afraid. I hike up the skirt of my nightie an inch, two inches. His hands glide across my thighs, making promises of the pleasure he wants to give me.
I’m so wet, and I ease onto him, wrapping my arms around his neck as he fills me, stretching me as he moves slightly. His hazel eyes, shining gold with passion, never break contact with mine. His gaze scans my face as though searching for a sign of reticence.
