The Reason for Me

by Prescott Lane

  She shrugs, that distant look coming back again. “People always think of fires as destructive. That they destroy everything in their path, but in parts of these mountains that were destroyed by fire, these wildflowers have started to grow.” She flips the page and shows me a picture of pink, blue, purple, and yellow flowers covering the mountainside. “They call the flowers ‘fire followers.’ They only grow where there has been fire. They won’t blossom without it.”

  “I’ve never heard of that,” I say.

  She looks up at me with her big blue eyes. “Something beautiful coming out of something charred and black . . .” She pauses for a second. “That’s something I’d like to see one day.”

  Beauty from death, rising from the ashes. That’s what’s she talking about. We’ve both faced death. Now we have to choose life.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  HOLT

  Residency is a job, not school. There’s no summer vacation. If you’re lucky, you get like four days off a month, and maybe three weeks off a year when it’s convenient for the doctors, not for you.

  It doesn’t matter if it’s Christmas, summer, or your mother is terminally ill—a resident works. So that’s what I did, and Celeste did the same thing. She worked way too many hours for a woman carrying a baby. Maybe I’m old fashioned, but I didn’t like seeing her on her feet for the twelve-hour shifts, and she was working overtime every chance she got.

  Even the floor charge nurse, a balls-to-the-wall type herself, was getting worried. And when Nurse Wicks was upset, we were all upset. The nurses really run the show. The doctors breeze in and out, but it’s the nurses that hold everything and everybody together. All us doctors know that. So when they call, we come running. That goes double for residents.

  I remember blowing past the nurses’ station, snatching my usual piece of candy from Nurse Wicks’ stash when she barked my name, and cocked her head towards Celeste, who was sitting at the nurses’ station typing and eating a candy bar, her eyes swollen and red again. I’d been polite to her, but avoided too much contact since the stairwell kiss, and I felt guilty as fuck about it. She asked about my mom almost every week, and I hadn’t asked about her at all. Of course, I heard Brent’s side numerous times.

  She had to be close to the twenty-week cutoff date for an abortion in North Carolina, so the clock was ticking. I leaned over the desk and flashed her a smile. “That better not be your lunch.”

  She didn’t even glance up. “Go away, Holt. I’m busy.”

  “No, you’re not,” Nurse Wicks chimed in, giving me an encouraging grin. “You’re going to let Dr. Miller take you down to the cafeteria for lunch.”

  There was no arguing with Nurse Wicks. Celeste stood up, the smallest hint of a bump showing through her pink scrubs. I couldn’t tell you how many pregnant women I’ve seen, but there was a weird twisting in my gut looking at her. She grabbed a sweater off the back of her chair and started towards the stairwell. I pointed towards the elevators. “You should . . .”

  “You like to take the stairs,” she said, opening up the door and starting down.

  I stopped her right on the step where she kissed me. Don’t ask me how I remember which step it was. She looked down at her feet. “I’ll be twenty weeks on Monday. Brent is so angry.”

  The man was studying pediatrics. I knew this wasn’t planned, but I didn’t understand his reaction at all. I thought he loved her. “He’s scared. It’s just coming out as . . .”

  “Don’t,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. He set the appointment for tomorrow.” She pulled me into a hug, and I wrapped my arms around her tightly as she sniffled. “He says we can have other babies when we’re ready.”

  “Is that why you aren’t taking care of yourself?” I asked. “Working like a dog and eating candy bars for lunch?”

  “The baby likes nougat,” she said, shrugging.

  “And the working?”

  “I thought I might keep the baby. I was trying to save up.”

  “What about your parents?” I asked.

  She didn’t tell them until a few days earlier. Their relationship was rocky to begin with. They never supported her decision to become a nurse instead of a doctor, and now she was pregnant and unmarried. “They agree with Brent,” she said. “I think they’ve always hoped I’d go back and become a doctor.”

  “Celeste, who do you have supporting you? Because I know it’s not Brent.”

  She just shook her head. “I’m scared.”

  “There’s this quote my mom used to say all the time. It’s from a writer, Elizabeth Stone. ‘Making the decision to have a child—it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.’” Celeste looked up at me, her eyes wet with tears. “Having a baby is a scary thing.”

  I took her hand, leading her back upstairs and into an empty room, telling her to wait and that I’d be right back. Then I searched up and down the hallways looking for the machine, finally asking Nurse Wicks where I could find one, then walked back, finding Celeste gazing out the window—lost. “Want to see your baby?” I asked.

  She nodded her head, her smile warming up the entire state. I didn’t bother asking if I should call Brent. She needed this moment to herself. “I haven’t had an ultrasound,” she said, laying down and lifting up her shirt. My eyes must have lingered too long on the smooth skin of her belly. “I know I look like I’ve got gas bloat.”

  She looked stunning, but I wouldn’t tell her that. Instead, I placed the gel on her belly and began moving around the probe to get a good picture. The swoosh of the baby’s heartbeat came in strong and clear. Her hands flew to her mouth, happy tears filled her eyes. “That’s your baby,” I said.

  “Show me everything,” she said.

  Smiling, I took my time showing her everything from the fluttering heart to the hands, feet, and spine. We measured the baby’s length and tried to count all the fingers and toes but couldn’t. And she smiled that signature Celeste smile the entire time.

  “Can you tell the sex?” she asked as I took a few pictures for her.

  “Do you want to know?”

  “Are you kidding me? Yes!”

  “What about Brent?” I asked.

  “I’ll tell him when I tell him to cancel that appointment tomorrow,” she said, reaching up and wrapping her arms around my neck, the gel from her belly getting all over my scrubs. She pulled back, laughing. “Sorry.”

  Wiping it off and handing her the pictures, I said, “You are the mommy of a perfectly healthy baby girl.”

  She gripped my hand, staring down at the pictures I gave her. “A girl.” Then she looked up into my eyes. “Thank you, Holt.”

  I nodded, releasing her hand. “You can lean on me. I’m your friend, too. Don’t forget that.”

  “Sometimes I wish I would’ve met you first,” she whispered with her voice full of guilt.

  “Sometimes I wish that, too,” I said back quietly.

  “Celeste!” Brent called out, walking into the room. “Holt?”

  I started to clean up and fiddled with the ultrasound machine. “I was just giving Celeste a little peek at your . . .”

  “I was worried,” Brent said. “Nurse Wicks said you didn’t look well.”

  “I’m perfect,” she said, hopping down off the table with a brightness about her I’d missed. “We are having a little baby . . .”

  “I thought we decided that it’s best . . .”

  “You decided. More like forced, threatened, bullied, and manipulated me.”

  Brent glanced at me. “Holt, would you mind giving us a minute? I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Holt’s taking me to lunch,” Celeste said, strutting past him. “Nurse Wicks’ orders.”

  “Dammit, Celeste,” he said. “We agreed.”

  She turned around and stared right into his eyes. “I’m keeping this baby.” Then she turned on her heel and walked right out the door.

  “Fuck!” Brent yelled, running
a hand through his hair.

  I stood there frozen between two of my best friends. Brent waved his hand at me. “Please go talk some sense into her.”

  I left the room and caught up with her in the stairwell. “Celeste?”

  “Lunch. Feeding the baby. That’s it. I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “Fine, but it’s not okay for you to use me against him,” I said.

  “No, but it’s okay for him to ask you to come talk to me?” I opened my mouth to say something. “Don’t even bother denying it.”

  “Look, it doesn’t matter what he asked me to do because I’m happy for you. You’ll be an amazing mother.”

  She flashed me a beautiful smile. “Thank you. How’s your mom doing?”

  And just like that, our friendship was back on track. The track where we avoided the kiss, our feelings, and most of all, the guilt.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ANNALYSE

  The next couple of days go the same way. We quickly settled back into our routine of spending every night together. And within a few days, I’m almost back to my old self. Unfortunately, Holt’s kept his hands to himself—though that’s all out the window this morning. He woke up before the alarm even went off, and he’s been a total horn dog since, kissing my neck and grinding against me. “It’s been way too fucking long,” he groans.

  “Holt, not this morning.”

  He lifts his head. “You said you were feeling better.”

  “I am, but you waited too long. I started my period.”

  “I don’t care,” he says, leaning back into my neck.

  “I care,” I say, and he rolls to his back, mumbling a few curse words I know I’m not meant to hear. Leaning over, I kiss him gently. “Good news is, my periods don’t usually last long. Three, maybe four days. Five tops!”

  He smiles at me. But not just any smile—it’s wickedly dirty. He rolls over and pins my arms to the bed. “We can be creative.”

  “You mean, I can suck your dick!” His eyes get huge. He forgets how much I hate small talk. Just say what the hell you mean, don’t pussyfoot around it. I sit up, forcing him off me. “Why do all guys think that a girl’s period equals blowjobs for a week?”

  “More like hoping,” he chuckles.

  My eyes fall away. It seems stupid to be shy with Holt, the man keeps me naked most of the time, but some things are just embarrassing. I haven’t done that to a guy in so long. Will I even remember what to do?

  “Hey,” he says, tilting my chin up. “Where’d you go?”

  “I’m alright. It’s just that I’m . . .” He rolls to his side, stroking my face. “Nervous. I haven’t done that in a really long time.”

  “It’s alright,” he says, but the disappointment is all over his face, and I hear it in his voice. “But it’s not like we haven’t been having sex every chance we get, so . . .”

  “Sex is different,” I say. “I mean, it takes skill to suck a dick the right way.” He falls back, laughing so hard the bed is shaking. I giggle and playfully slap him. “I’m serious. A girl can just lay there for sex, and the guy will still get off, but a blowjob requires hand-mouth coordination.” He just keeps laughing. “Holt! I’m giving my fellatio confession here.”

  “Fellatio confession?” he asks, laughing even harder.

  “Yes, I’m not one of those girls who thinks that there’s no such thing as a bad blowjob. I know some women think as long as they are on their knees, their man should be happy, but if I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it right.”

  He pulls me close, shaking his head at me. “Babe, it’s been half a decade since a woman sucked my cock. As long as you don’t bite it off, we’re good.” Now I’m the one that’s laughing. “There are other ways to be creative besides blowjobs,” he says, grinding into me, and damn if it doesn’t feel amazing. “Let me show you.” He slides his fingers between my legs but above my panties, circling me. “I’m glad you don’t do this to yourself. You’ll always need me.” My legs widen, my breath fast and heavy, but he slows down, his lips moving across my collarbone, so slowly, so deliberately.

  Moaning softly, I lift my shirt off, my hot skin begging for his touch. His eyes roam down my body like he’s committing my curves to memory. The whole time his fingers gently circle me, igniting a deep sweet burn between my legs.

  His eyes lock on mine as his tongue gently glides over my nipple. My back arches slightly, anxious for him to go faster, harder, suck deeper, longer. “Faster, Holt.”

  But his fingers stop. Before I can protest, he closes his hand into a fist, his knuckles moving across me hard and fast. “Oh, my God! Oh, my . . .” My orgasm rips through me, leaving my body trembling.

  Holt’s not done. He hikes my leg on his hip, rolling us to our sides, grinding into me, not letting my orgasm end. His hand slides under my panties to my booty, his finger pressing into me. Burying my head into his neck, I scream out, trembling.

  He tucks my hair behind my ear and teases me, “Always quick and dirty with you.”

  I know I’m bright red, but I lean up and kiss him softly. “I miss our sweet fucks, too.”

  “Me, too. Those are my favorite,” he says, flashing me the most glorious smile.

  Slipping my hand under his waistband, I start to slide down his body. “You’ll have to settle for a sweet suck instead.”

  “Christ,” he moans as my hand finds the smooth skin of his penis. He looks down at me. “I know I should be a nice guy and tell you that you don’t have to, but I’ve thought about your lips too many damn times.”

  I know if I stopped now, he wouldn’t pressure me or make me feel bad. Besides, I want to see him lose control. I want to be his undoing. Our eyes lock as I slide off his boxer briefs. It’s not often I see him like this. He’s right: usually I’m in hurry, but not today. Today I’m going to take my time and enjoy every inch of him. Running my fingers up the inside of his thighs, every muscle in his body tightens. I start at his neck, but it’s not long until he pulls me to his mouth. And as soon as his tongue finds mine, I’m complete putty. The man could convince me to do anything when he kisses me. His kiss is an incredible combination of strong and soft at the same time.

  “Annalyse,” he moans softly, and it sounds like a prayer—a whispered wish you make in the dark when no one is listening. The way he says my name is with such passion. And for a man who wears a polite mask all the time, it’s the most beautiful sound. Kissing a path down his body, I forget all about my nerves. It’s just me and him and nothing else. No dead husbands, no dresser drawer ghosts, no fake masks, no insecurities. It’s just me and him and the most beautiful flames.

  *

  I’m happy to report that giving head is a skill one never forgets. Or maybe Holt’s just easy to please. Either way, he’s totally relaxed, twirling my hair as my head rests on his chest—his heartbeat strong and steady in my ear.

  “So I owe you a date,” he says. “I was thinking this weekend.”

  I hate that he used the word “owe.” I want him to want to take me on a date, not do it out of some stupid obligation. Maybe I’m just making too much out of it. “You’re not on call?” I ask.

  “No, I’m on call on Thanksgiving, so I’m free. But what I have planned for our date would mean spending one night away.”

  A night away! He’s forgiven for the “owe” comment. “Really?”

  “Is Friday night good?” he asks.

  My head is shaking a little too excitedly as I ask, “Where are you taking me?”

  “It’s a surprise,” he says.

  Maybe it’s me, but he looks so happy, like he’s excited about it, too. I find myself really hoping my period is done by then. A romantic night away! It’s more than I ever expected. It’s hope and happy all wrapped into one.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ANNALYSE

  I haven’t had this feeling in forever. The feeling that you just can’t wait to share something with someone. And I’m not about to share it ov
er the phone. I’m practically jumping up and down when Holt’s SUV pulls into his driveway. Thank God, because I couldn’t have waited another second to tell him. He immediately spots me and doesn’t pull into his garage. He seems as excited to see me as I am to see him, and I have big news today.

  He doesn’t ask me what’s wrong. I’m sure he could see my smile from halfway down the road. “So you know how I’ve been doing the blog and freelance, but really didn’t have a long-term plan and . . .” I continue my little excited diatribe. I really should learn to make a long story short. “They want to turn my blog into a book!”

  He picks me up, kissing me hard. “Why wouldn’t they? You’re amazing!”

  I kind of love that he said that. I continue telling him how I got a call from an agent who heard about my blog and has been following me for some time, and she really likes what she sees and thinks she could sell it to a publisher. I need to fly up to discuss a few things with her. Of course, it’s not a done deal, and a thousand things could go wrong, but who cares! I’m going to revel in this news and the icing on the cake is, I’ve got someone to share it with.

  He smacks my ass, kissing me again. “I’m taking you out to celebrate.”

  We go to my favorite hole in the wall Chinese restaurant. Actually, it’s attached to a gas station. I know, gas station Chinese does not sound good. No one can accuse me of being a food snob, that’s for sure. We order enough food to feed an army.

  Sitting in the booth completely stuffed, Holt passes me a fortune cookie. Ripping open the plastic, I crack it open and pull out the little sheet of white paper. I don’t actually like fortune cookies, so I hold it up for Holt to eat. The man will eat anything.

  “What’s it say?” he asks.

  “You are the driver of your life,” I say, frowning a little. “Read yours.”

  He pulls the little paper out without cracking it. Then he flips it open, laughing. “Apparently I’ve got no fortune. It’s blank.”

  Taking it from him, I say, “Or it means you’re writing your own.”