A Long Time Coming

by Heather Van Fleet

  She threw her head back against the wall, and moaned, arching her back as his hands gripped the undersides of her thighs. His perfect lips trailed kisses along her jaw, finding her neck, only to nibble down on the spot sitting just below her ear.

  “God, D…that’s—”

  “Incredible…”

  Gasping, she shut her eyes, seeing all the colors of the damn rainbow light up behind her lids. She wasn’t sure who was holding who up more as he shoved his hips hard against hers. But she did know that the tempo he assumed was bordering on wild and animalistic—definitely not like the last two times. Her nails dug into the skin of his shoulders. One of his domineering hands reached for her breast and squeezed, sending flames throughout her skin. He scorched her with his touch, like she was a burning candle that could only be lit by him. His hands, his fingers, they were the matches and she was the tiny wick that held all the power.

  In and out he pushed, pulling back only briefly to hold her gaze with his own. His face was dark, but yet it wasn’t. More like the sun was becoming a part of him, just finding its home in the early morning hours over his cheeks. It made no sense to see such darkness and lightness combine, but it was so incredibly beautiful that she couldn’t find the strength to look away. God, David broke her, but healed her at the same time. The boy with the brown, sad eyes, sent her flying, and then simply grounded her.

  “Abigail…I love you…don’t leave me…please…don’t ever, ever leave me baby.”

  Her heart was full, tears filled her eyes. And with one final drive of his hips, she felt herself come undone. Her voice was lost on a cry, her responsive words tied up in her throat. But he had to have known—fully, completely—that with those soft–spoken, pleading words of his, he’d taken her to a place that no boy, no man, had ever done before.

  * * *

  The warmth of his arms held tight against her naked body as they lay silently on the bed. She couldn’t stop shaking—her hands or her legs. But whether it was from their lovemaking, or his revelation, she wasn’t exactly sure.

  Mrs. A was dying. Her pseudo mom, her best friend’s lifeline, her lover’s biggest supporter, had cancer. Where was the fucking justice in that? This wasn’t fair! Why God? Why did he have to take the one person that held this family together? Her included in that…

  “David?”

  Warm breath covered her neck, followed by a bit of wetness from his tears once again. They’d shared their fair amount together after he’d told her the news. They weren’t scary though, they were acceptable.

  Voice scratchy he responded, “Yeah?”

  “I need to tell you something…” a lot of somethings, actually.

  He kissed her chin, pulling her back around to face him. His dark eyes were large, dulled slightly too from the crying. “Anything Abigail…you can tell me anything.” His soft voice cracked, as if he was fighting emotion even now. He brushed her hair from her eyes, gifting her with a sad smile. His touch was gentle, loving—absolute.

  “I’m…” She shook her head. Dammit, what was she doing? This wasn’t the time to tell him. He wouldn’t accept it. He had too much going on as it was. She’d be selfish to tell him now and screw with his emotions even more. So instead, she settled for confession number two. “You said something to me earlier…” she waited, biting her lip, praying he’d remember.

  “I say a lot of things,” he smiled sadly, following her hair down to the tips that fell over her shoulder with his hand.

  Okay, here went nothing… She swallowed, “You said you loved me,” she sucked in a breath, afraid to let it go. Had he just been vulnerable, unsure, scared even of what was happening in his life when he said it? Or, was he simply too caught up in their lovemaking to even remember what he was saying? Ugh, she was a mess of insecurity, and she hated the holy hell out of it.

  He wrapped a lose arm around her naked waist, and in turn, the blanket fell away from her chest. He didn’t make a move to cover it up, and neither did she. But instead he brought her body flush with his again. The warmth he instilled in her—the comfort—it was all the reassurance she needed.

  “Abigail, if there is one thing I am sure of in my life right now—in this moment—then it’s that one single phrase, okay? I love you. And I’ll shout it from the rooftops, write it in my book, I’ll do whatever it takes to make you believe me. I’ve screwed up in the past—I’ve always screwed up with you, with us. But this time, Abs, I promise you…I will always love you, till I the day that I die, till the world ends, and even beyond that.”

  Yeah…she believed him. Totally fucking believed him.

  Grinning, she tucked her head under his chin and kissed his chest. What could she say? How could she respond to words that she knew she could in no way top? Easy…she responded, all out, Abigail Zane style.

  “Good, because, David Paul?” she kissed his neck, shutting her eyes as she inhaled the scent of his aftershave, “I would have totally kicked your ass if you didn’t.”

  He tightened his hold on her, kissing her head, laughing. She sighed, loving the sound. Wondering when the last time she’d really heard it was. “No worries, I’m not afraid of a girl.”

  “You should be.”

  Chuckling harder he nuzzled his nose into her hair, “Abigail, Abigail… I’ve loved you since the day I met you. And over the years, it’s only grown more. You are my reason for being. Don’t ever doubt me. Because when I say something, declare something, I mean it.” She shuddered, loving his words, loving him, “And I’m declaring something right now. Are you ready to hear it?”

  “Depends…do I need a lawyer present? Because I can totally call my mom’s—”

  Forcing her over onto her back, he pressed her arms over her head, lowering his lips against hers, not kissing her though—just grazing. Her eyes widened a gasp of sheer pleasure fell from her mouth. And then he spoke, and all words were lost as he whispered his declaration into her ear.

  “You were the first girl I ever loved, and someday I intend to make you the last.”

  Oh. Sweet. Jesus. There really were no words…

  Minutes later, he had her against his chest again, his breathing slowed on her neck as the quietness took over between them. He was escaping into a dream, finally letting the stress take a back seat to the one thing he needed most. Carefully, she rolled over, facing him, kissing his cheek. He was exhausted, but now, of course, she was completely wired. She shouldn’t have been. She was pregnant. But too, she’d just learned the scariest truth, and it drained her of emotions, and plagued her with insomnia instead.

  Her favorite mother was dying. Her boyfriend, if that’s what they actually were now, was hurting something fierce. And a thousand miles away, her oblivious best friend was in a world where life continued on. Shit…this was going to absolutely kill Harley.

  Minutes passed, and she still couldn’t get comfortable. Her lower abdomen ached with the need to pee, but getting up and leaving his arms was going to suck. She loved his body so close to hers, and the prospect of sleeping all night tucked next to him, was beyond tempting. But if she lay there any longer, her constant shifting and wiggling would inevitably wake him up.

  Slowly, she slipped from the bed, finding the floor seconds later. She wrapped a robe tightly around her body, before she covered her cold feet with a pair of fuzzy socks. Letting the door click shut behind her, she headed down the hall until she reached the steps. She was hungry. Every night at this time, her little Anderson Alien would demand to be fed, and she smiled at the thought, reaching into the fridge for the milk.

  The clock above the stove said one, but her body was in no way ready to believe the late hour. Pulling the box of cereal from the cupboard, Abigail heard the unmistakable sound of her mom talking to someone—most likely it was Bob–the–fuck–buddy–builder. Curiosity took over her need to eat, and she stood from her chair and inched her way towards the wall separating the kitchen and the family room.

  “She blames it on me, you know. When
are you going to tell her the truth? I’ve covered for you long enough.”

  Heavy sighs echoed opposite her mom and she tensed at the sound, “I…I just can’t. She’s not ready. She needs more time.”

  “But I’m tired of being the martyr here, Jonathon…” Jonathon? As in her father, Jonathon? What was he doing here? What were they talking about?

  “I’m not ready yet either.”

  “Well, you should be, you selfish asshole. Besides, she’s going to figure it out eventually anyway. Don’t you think it’d be better coming from you, rather than hearing it from another source?”

  What was going on? She gripped the edge of the wall, tightening it within her hold as she chewed on her lip. Maybe she should just go in there, demand to know what they were talking about. But too, she knew sneaking would always be more conventional, in turn it would get her more answers in the long run.

  “What am I supposed to say, anyway? Hey Abigail, by the way, I’m not your dad? I’m your dad’s gay brother? I’m your uncle? Yeah, I’m not heartless, and I love her like she is my own daughter!”

  “But it’s time we both got on with our lives, Jonathon. I’m in love with someone else, and I know you are too. Am I correct?”

  What. The. Fuck? Her stomach churned. She was so going to puke. But she was also seriously going to cry. Ugly cry. Was she in some sort of alternative universe here, one that insisted on torturing people at every waking moment of their lives? She crept backwards, her heart stalling out into her throat as she sank against kitchen wall. She slid to the floor, curling her knees up under her chin. Shaking her head, she took it all in again, rotting away in her own little corner of self–denial. She cried silently as their voices echoed louder. They were fighting this time, but she couldn’t make sense of their words. In fact, she couldn’t hear anything beyond the pounding of her head and the repetitive words she’d just heard seconds before.

  I’m not your dad. I’m your dad’s gay brother.

  Covering her mouth, she leapt to her feet, knocking over a shelf at the same time. Dishes scattered over her feet, shattering against the tile. The wire rack fell against the wall, echoing throughout the kitchen. She didn’t care if they heard her. She couldn’t care… Her stomach was in control now and she’d hurl on the floor if she wasn’t careful.

  She darted towards the bathroom by the front door, just barely making it to her knees. The dark room spun in dangerous circles as she heaved her dinner into the toilet.

  “Oh God…” her mom’s echoing cries sounded from the door, and she fell to the ground next to her.

  Water rushed from the sink and seconds later a wet cloth was placed over her neck. “What’s wrong with her? Did she catch something on the plane you think?”

  “How the hell am I supposed to know, Jonathon?”

  Her mother cooed in her ear, like she was a baby or something. All she wanted to do was push her away, but at the same time she couldn’t find the energy to do anything but lay her head against the cool lid. Was it the baby…or her nerves…or a combination of both making her so sick?

  “Let me take her to bed. I’ll carry her.”

  Stiffening, she edged away as her dad—or whoever the fuck this guy was—reached for her. “No.” They couldn’t know about David in her room. Granted she was a big girl, and could care less what they thought anyways. What she didn’t want was to worry David any more. She just needed a few minutes of recoup time. Then she’d find her way back to his arms again.

  “Honey, let your dad help you.”

  Not sure if it was the word dad that did her in or her mother in general, but either way, she was done, with everything.

  “I’m fucking pregnant. I’m not dead.”

  There. That’d teach ’em to screw with her.

  A groan and a gasp sounded together in the space of the bathroom, and she lifted her blurred gaze to see their full reactions. Grinning wickedly, she spoke, “So…what do you think about that one, Daddy dearest? Hmm?” Her brows rose, her vicious glare re–focused on her mother’s watery face. Fuck ’em both. They might as well know it all.

  “Or are you too worried that your own precarious issues will get overshadowed by your daughter’s stupidity? Because I can guarantee you both that my kid will always know the truth about his or her parents.” She shook her head, standing, only to push past them both before heading towards the kitchen. She ignored the broken glass, stepping around it to grab a glass of water. Their footsteps followed her, but their words were missing.

  “Huh, you know…I kind of always knew something wasn’t right with you two. And I’m almost delighted to know you were both too preoccupied with your need to stay happy, rather than telling me the truth. I love being held in the dark you know.” She shrugged, dropping her glass into the sink, turning to face them.

  Leaning back into the countertops, she almost smiled again as their pale expressions studied her with their obvious guilt.

  “Honey, you don’t understand…”

  “I mean, if this is how you’re supposed to be a mom then maybe I need to study up a bit more.” She tapped her finger against her chin, appearing thoughtful. “I do know one thing though…” Inching forward, she stood face to face with her faux father. The man she always thought she looked like, the man who was blood related to her, yes, but was also a liar—and apparently her uncle too. She didn’t lie though. She’d never be like him in that sense. She’d be better. Damn better.

  “I’m sort of glad my baby won’t call you grandpa now because real grandfathers and real fathers give a shit about their kids. And you obviously don’t.”

  Leaving them there in annoyingly, broken stupors, she ran from the room, only to sprint up the steps. Two at a time, she took them, gasping along the way until she made it to the hallway. She slowed her footsteps, trying to rein in her nerves and heart as she neared her room.

  She knew what she had to do now. She had to wake up David. She had to tell him the truth. And she had to do it now. She couldn’t be a liar already like her mother and father. And he needed to know, even though the timing was shitty. Yes. This was the right thing to do. She knew it now, without a shadow of doubt. Secrets like this could not be kept.

  Then tomorrow, in the light of the day when their emotions weren’t as high, and their angst was buried a bit deeper into the surface of their bodies, they could figure life out—together—the two of them.

  Hands shaking, she held it over the handle, twisting it…only to find it already open. She froze…she’d locked the door when she left…and now…it was open? Heart thundering in her chest she turned around. Christ. No. She saw the shadow on the floor, already knowing exactly who it was. David. And clad in his jeans and nothing more he sat, hovered near the bathroom door. His head was tucked between his elbows, his forehead laid against his knees. The sitting version of the fetal position…

  No…no, no, no.

  Hands stuck to her side, she crept forward, her steps tentative, heart in mega fast–forward, stomach churning once again. “D–David?” She bit her lip, he didn’t move a muscle. “David I…”

  “Who is the father, Abigail?” She shut her eyes, frozen for a minute at his question. He’d heard her. Dammit!

  Playing stupid, she spoke, “How did—”

  “Ever since the accident, any and all loud noises wake me up. I can’t sleep soundly anymore, I can’t sleep much at all. I heard something break, so I went downstairs…heard you in the bathroom, throwing up. Heard you in the kitchen…yelling.” His voice was so even. So scary even…

  Biting the inside of her cheek until she drew blood, she found the motivation, the strength too, to finally stand before him. He didn’t look up. He had to look up. “Look at me, David.”

  His head was down, shaking, “I…I can’t. I’m sorry Abigail. I just…can’t do it.”

  “Yes, you can.” She crouched down in front of him, pressing a hand against his arm. He was shaking, as was she.

  “I love you…I do
n’t want to lose you…but if you are pregnant with someone else’s baby, then I—”

  “I’m eight weeks along, give or take a few days I’d say.”

  “What does that matter to me? Do you think I really want to know this? Why would you tell me that?” He bit back at her, sharing the emotions she had known he’d show first: Anger, followed by hatred. She let him keep going, let him get it all out.

  Soft feet padded up the stairs, but she didn’t bother looking to see who it was. Let her fucking mom find him there; let her see this.

  “And besides,” he lifted his head, anger poured from his voice, even harsher than before, “I didn’t fight for you enough. I gave up on you, on us. I let you go, dammit. I let the one thing I always wanted just slip through my hands.” This was good. He was getting it out there, finally.

  A gasp intermingled with David’s harsh voice, but she didn’t acknowledge her mother’s presence as she stood at the top of the stairs. There was no need. She no longer counted. David had her undivided attention anyways. He always did.

  “I won’t ever love anyone like I love you Abigail, but I can’t do it…”

  Swallowing, she fell to her knees, pressing her forehead against his. “Then don’t,” she cupped his cheeks, “there’s no need, because fourteen years ago, I decided that the only boy I ever wanted, was you.”

  Growling, he gripped her shoulders with his nails, “I told you…I can’t be a father to someone else’s child! I can’t be a father to any child, dammit!”

  “Abigail…”

  “Leave Mother. You don’t have a say in anything right now.”

  “Honey, please…”

  Shaking her head, she backed away from David to stare up at the face of the body that now stood directly next to them, invading their conversation like she actually had a say anymore. David sat stone–still, whether it was from embarrassment at their precarious position with her mother around, or the conversation in general, she didn’t know.