Heart Stronger

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “Hmmm.” He had a point.

  Claire

  Aiken opened his door and said he’d be right back, told me to make myself comfortable. My mind was a whirling top of thoughts. The night thundered through my brain. I’d never had someone lay themselves on the line for me. Aiken had. He’d taken something so painful and made it beautiful. He’d inserted himself into my memories of Abby without steamrolling over them.

  I’d never, ever had that from anyone.

  I felt warm all over from his actions, not his words, or lack thereof.

  Five minutes later, Aiken walked in with Smitty. My thoughts still whirring, I was sitting upright on the couch watching the news, unable to relax.

  “That doesn’t look comfortable to me.”

  I wanted to make sure this whole night wasn’t a dream.

  Smitty stood on his hind legs and kissed my face, and I suddenly realized it wasn’t.

  Tonight was mine.

  “That’s my job, buddy.” Aiken pulled Smitty off me. “Come on, I’m going to have a cigar. We need to unwind. You want a glass of wine? Scotch? A cigarette?”

  “Wine sounds good…”

  “You got it. Lay back, will ya? You’re making me tense.”

  I watched his ass, firm in tight black trainer pants, and tried to settle back into the couch. Smitty helped himself to getting comfortable and leaped up next to me. I found myself mindlessly petting his back, and I was pretty certain it was more for me than him.

  Back with drinks in hand, Aiken grabbed the flannel blanket off the back of the couch and tossed it over his shoulder. “Let’s roll,” he said. He flicked the door open, placed the drinks on the side table, and pulled me into his lap in the lounger. “Lean back.” I did as I was told. Grabbing the drinks, he handed one off and said, “Cheers.”

  After a long gulp of his scotch, he lit his cigar and took a puff, blowing his smoke to the side.

  “Look at us,” I said. “Two secret smokers and runners. What are the chances?” I hid behind teasing, the moment too precious and real for me to handle.

  Tobacco mixed with nutmeg floated in the air, and I breathed it in. “The smoke doesn’t bother me. Smells like you. All male.” Still trying to be light.

  I sipped my wine, allowing it to take the chill out of my veins.

  “Do you want me to be female?” His mouth tickled my hair as he spoke, and I twisted in his arms.

  “No, I don’t,” I laughed. “I don’t want you to be anything other than you. I never imagined this…for me. Any of this. Shit, I couldn’t help not diving into the heavy. I was trying to be fun.”

  “Give me your wine.” He grabbed it and put it on the table, stubbed the cigar on the deck, and brought his mouth down to meet my own. As soon as our lips met, I couldn’t help the groan from deep in my throat. Aiken answered with a growl, sifting his hands in my hair, turning me all the way on top of him, the blanket twisted tight around us, my soft meeting his hard. “I want all your heavy, Richards.”

  We stayed, kissing under the stars, until my nose was too chilled. “Come on.” Aiken squeezed my behind, and I stood.

  Inside, he shut the door with his boot before kicking them both off and flicking the lock.

  “Strip,” he demanded, shrugging off his black hoodie and cape, tearing off his black long-sleeved shirt.

  “Here?”

  “Uh-huh, here.”

  He stood before me, still-tanned skin, six-pack on display, watching me with intent.

  Unzipping my jacket, I let it fall off, leaving me in a white shirt and black leggings.

  “Hurry,” Aiken commanded, shoving his dark jeans down his thighs, kicking off his socks. He wore only a pair of black boxer briefs, his light trail of hair leading the way from his navel until it disappeared in his underwear. “I see you looking…want to see it all? Get naked, Richards.”

  I tugged my shirt over my head, my hat long ago abandoned in the car, my hair falling all around my face—hopefully hiding my girl-like blush.

  “More.”

  I slid my hand between my butt and my leggings and pulled them down, stepping out of my boots, pulling my pants over my ankles.

  “Leave the thong, but get rid of the bra.”

  My chest heaved as I unhooked my nude-colored, plain-Jane bra made to wear under thin shirts. It fell to the floor, leaving me exposed.

  “Come here.”

  One foot in front of the other, my feet carried me toward Aiken. He stood at the edge of the area rug and said, “Stop,” when I got to the fringe.

  He covered the remaining distance, taking my lips in a brutal kiss while he pushed us both down to our knees. When we made it to the floor, Aiken’s hand smoothed over my bare ass. “Mmmm, I like this. Having you here.” He didn’t say anything more as his mouth attached to my right breast, sucking the nipple hard. It pebbled against the cooler air when he released it and went to work on the other. I was ashamed to say I rubbed my core against his thigh, searching for some relief, but it only ratcheted my need higher.

  My hands held on to his back, drifting lower, into his boxers, kneading his mighty fine ass. I’d turned into a sex-crazed coed with one bite of my nipple.

  “Need you,” I whispered.

  “What do you need?” He made his way up to my ear, nibbling and talking at the same time. Teasing me, taunting me.

  “You.”

  “You need me to do what?”

  He shoved my thong down, his fingers playing me like a finely tuned guitar.

  “Need. You. Now. Inside. Me.”

  “Here?”

  “Right here on the carpet,” I boldly said. “I want my back to burn too.”

  Who am I?

  “Oh, it’s gonna burn, Richards.”

  I was flat on my back and he was hovering over me before I even realized he’d ditched the boxers. “You ready for me?”

  I nodded.

  “Say it, Claire.”

  “Hurry, please.”

  And that was all that was spoken other than moans and growls. He entered me hard, rough, before taking a few gentle pulls, then returning to rough. When we were close, he flipped us, letting me take control, his back burning, my knees welcoming the pain. Like that, I took us home—together—where we both found bliss in each other, on our own terms, in Aiken’s house.

  Our own memories—like he’d promised.

  Claire

  “I know most of you are going home for Thanksgiving, but when we get back, there’ll only be two weeks until finals. So, I suggest you review the materials while away, noting where you have questions or confusion. We will do two separate review sessions the week back. My final will not be easy. It will be a combination of multiple choice and essay questions, and I never grade the final on a curve,” I told my students the Monday before Thanksgiving. There were already a few empty seats from students heading home early, and by the frantic rustling and bustling at the end of class, the remainder couldn’t wait to get the hell out of Dodge.

  I was shoving all my papers back in my tote and wondering what type of pie I should bake to take to Mary’s when I heard, “Professor Richards.”

  I may have let out a little groan.

  “Yes, Abbie?”

  “Since I live close-by, I was thinking I could come in and work on some data for your project over the break. The dad project.”

  “Yes, I knew what project you meant. Don’t you want to enjoy some time with your dad over the holiday? Do you have plans?”

  She stood before me, a big bulky sweater dwarfing her small frame, chocolate-legging-covered legs, big blue eyes, her blonde hair twisted in some fancy braid, and I smiled. She wasn’t so bad—annoying, yes—but her heart was in somewhat of the right place.

  “We’ve never really celebrated Thanksgiving…much. This year, my dad’s going to see his brother in Milwaukee, and I told him I’d rather be with Allison and her dad. Turns out, her dad picked up an extra shift at the hospital, and she’s going to go home with her
new boyfriend.”

  “That’s too bad. Well, I don’t want you to work too hard over the break. Plus, the building is closed on Thursday. Maybe Friday, I could meet you here and we could tabulate some data?”

  “Oh, great! I’ll be here. Don’t you think it’s fascinating? How resilient all the responses are from those raised by single dads?”

  “I haven’t been able to draw any real conclusions yet, but I’m looking forward to it.”

  Abbie spending Thanksgiving alone tugged at my heart, even though it shouldn’t have. My mind raced with how much loss she’s already suffered…she didn’t deserve to be alone. Yet, here she was, resilient like she’d commented, and proud.

  “What are you doing for Thanksgiving? Spending it with your new guy?” Now she stood, eyes sparkling, hand cocked on her hip, and all my empathy went out the door. What a little shit. “You know, the hottie I met in your office?”

  “Abbie, I’m your teacher, not your friend.”

  “I didn’t mean anything bad. I was being nice. He seems so cool. Allison’s dad even knew his mom.”

  “So I heard.”

  “Allison’s dad is fun and smart. He’s a doctor and connected with Allie, sort of. Mine, not so much. He’s always been a bit detached since my mom left…”

  Abbie, Abbie, Abbie. This was what she did. She lured me in with her sob stories.

  “I don’t mean to unload. It’s just Allison’s dad is cooler than mine, and isn’t it crazy how he knew your guy’s mom? Long time ago, of course.”

  “It’s all a bit crazy. But the universe acts in funny ways, I guess.”

  “So, are you doing Thanksgiving with him?”

  The sob story was obviously over.

  “Yes, if you must know. At Dr. McCullough’s house.”

  “Oh, fun!” She clapped her hands together. “You can tell me all about it on Friday, but I’ll see you before then for class on Wednesday.” She turned and started walking out.

  She stood tall in her five-foot-something frame, her messenger bag full and banging into her back with every step. “Abbie,” I called.

  “Yeah?”

  “Why don’t you come? I’m sure Dr. McCullough would be thrilled to have someone entertain her kiddos, and you shouldn’t be alone.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I’ll let Mary know and I’ll give you her address after class on Wednesday.”

  “Thank you. This means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

  Oh God, what did I just get myself involved in?

  Tuesday, I ran with Aiken and then made the two of us dinner—cacio e pepe pasta, an old dish I used to make long before David. Apparently, it was wildly popular these days, which I’d learned in New York, so I pulled it out of my hat again. I didn’t get it. It was an easy dish of pasta with black pepper and Pecorino Romano cheese, but who was I to know?

  Aiken promptly grabbed the bowls from the cabinet, his shirt lifting, exposing his abs and smooth golden skin, my breath coming in pants. I swallowed my desire down with a big gulp of white wine, right before Aiken covered the pot, laid the bowls on top, and whistled for Smitty. With the wine tucked under his arm, he lifted the pot/bowls and marched over to his house, my dog in tow (and me).

  Inside his adorable little yellow clapboard house, he set us up in front of a roaring fire.

  With the pot on the coffee table, Aiken finally realized, “Shit, I forgot silverware and a serving thing. One sec.”

  After a bite, I admitted, “This is new. A bit domineering how you got me here, but I do like eating this way.” I was sitting crisscross applesauce, and I smiled to myself that the Abby memory didn’t make me cry. We were on a blanket on the floor, backs against the couch, fire going in front of us, and twirling pasta with our forks.

  “Richards, I told you…I wasn’t going to wait much longer before moving forward. Which makes me wonder, why did you keep that asshole’s name?”

  He set his bowl down and took a long sip of wine, keeping eye contact with me.

  “Well, it was Abby’s and mine.”

  “I figured you’d say that. You never wanted to go back to your maiden name? What is it?”

  “Bruni.”

  “Claire Bruni. Like it. Where’d you learn to make this dish? From your mom?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, she used to say it was a cheap gourmet meal. She’d make it for Christmas Eve and used to tell me to make it for my family one day. She’d also make it during the week, and we felt like royalty eating it. I was surprised to see it on every menu in New York.”

  “It’s good. We should have it for Christmas Eve with my dad. Plan to make it.”

  “What?” I set my bowl next to his, afraid that whatever came next out of his mouth would force me to spill.

  “My pops. I’m going to spend Christmas on the farm, and since the semester is over, I know you can’t assign any crazy papers, so I want you to come with me. Meet my pops, see the place, meet the animals.”

  “Won’t he think it’s a bit odd? Me, you?”

  “I’m not answering that. My dad’s spent most of his life pining for a woman who probably never loved him a quarter as much as he loved her. He’s not going to think it’s weird that you and I are falling for each other.”

  “You’re not going to make me milk cows or anything?”

  “Never, but I am going to have you make this dish.”

  “Okay, I’ll go. But if it’s weird, I’m taking the first plane or bus home. Fair warning, that’s all.”

  “It’s not going to be weird, Bruni.”

  I’m going home with this guy for Christmas.

  That was the thing about Aiken. He kept unwrapping another layer of me, like a kid on Christmas morning. Except, like one of those huge trick boxes with another box and then another box inside, I was afraid that was all he would find—more layers, more boxes, more nothing.

  Claire

  Wednesday, I taught an even smaller group of stragglers who hadn’t left campus early to spend time with family. My thoughts drifted to Abby while I ate lunch at my desk. Would she have been helping me cook if she were here? Would she have wanted to see David or stayed with Aiken and me?

  Aiken and me? Would we even be a thing if Abby were here?

  God, I needed to get a hold of myself and my rampant thoughts. Tucking my hair into a messy bun, I tried to stay focused on wrapping up loose grades, answering emails. I even pondered getting involved with the preschool again.

  It was a good day, right? Aiken and I were going to celebrate together.

  Guilt settled like an elephant on my chest. Was I allowed to think that way? Could I even consider a day to be good without Abby?

  The only conclusion was I needed to go back to therapy myself. I knew these were not realistic thoughts. Abby was gone. I could build a life without her. She’d want me to be happy.

  I added a note in my date book to call my therapist after the holiday. It was a big step, but I couldn’t help but be proud of myself. It was a good day, soured only by the fact that I still had to run to the grocery store for pie fixings.

  “Shit,” I mumbled to myself as I walked to my car. I’d bought a sedan after I lost Abby, not able to handle all the memories we’d made in the SUV. I knew the place was going to be a mob scene. I decided to stop for a coffee off-campus and go to the grocery store farthest out from town, hoping it would be the least crowded.

  With my vanilla latte in the cupholder, I pulled into the parking lot next to the cart return. The parking lot wasn’t that bad, so I held out hope.

  Wrapping myself tight in my scarf as I exited the car, I looked up at the darkening sky. A storm was coming in. I told myself to get some extra groceries for the weekend at home, in case Aiken and I stayed in.

  I hoped we stayed in—

  Thinking about all the naughty times we’d had, I somehow conjured him up in my mind. I could’ve sworn I saw him walking out of the chain restaurant next to the grocery store. Squinting, I took a better l
ook.

  It was him.

  With Abbie.

  Walking, smiling, laughing. Abbie looked like she was swiping an old tear off her cheek. They stopped, Aiken put his hand on her shoulder, steadied her, leaned close, and said something for her ears only.

  I wanted to be closer, hear what he was saying, promising to her—and not me.

  I wanted to run away.

  I did neither.

  Instead, I pulled my sweater coat tighter and walked with purpose toward the store. When I was in range to be noticed, I looked their way and saw Aiken mumble an obscenity and rush toward me. Abbie took off after a quick wave, her brush off leaving me with a pit in my stomach.

  “Claire…”

  “Hey, Aiken.” I put on a cold façade. It was my best attempt at acting ambivalent.

  “Damn you. Every time you do that, I tell you to stop. Don’t act cold. Don’t even fucking try. Don’t ignore me.”

  He held my arm like he’d just held Abbie’s shoulder.

  “Oh, so I shouldn’t be upset? I literally left my office set to make a real go of this.”

  “This means nothing, and you know it. It’s Allison’s dad again. He remembered some details. Abbie came to tell me because she felt uncomfortable after our last meeting.”

  “You looked pretty cozy for details about your mom, and that’s BS. I’m sorry she felt uncomfortable, but I thought we were together. Look, I’m not going to be some jealous young chick. I’m a grown woman, like you always say.”

  In worn jeans, a navy puffy coat, and those sexy-as-hell shitkickers, Aiken pleaded with his eyes. “Claire, come on. I love you. I only want you, and you know that. I want to make more than a go of this, and the fact that you’re not some ditzy young chick is the reason I fell for you. Don’t be like this.” His lips grazed my cheek, him breathing me in, and I felt myself acquiescing.

  “You know I need to find out what happened to my mom, and these girls are among my only ties. I may have found you, but I can’t let that distract me from why I came here. To find my mom.”

  “It’s so odd that my student is so involved in the process. Something doesn’t feel right.” I almost shook my head, trying to clear the confusion.