by Mary Smith
“I’ve had a bad night.”
“Well, you’re in luck, puppy, because I have a brand-new bottle of wine and a great set of shoulders to lean on.”
I captured her lips. The kiss was meant to be soft, but soon, we’re both tearing off each other’s clothes, and I laid her down on the carpeted floor. I pushed myself as deep as I could into her. Harlow wrapped her long legs around my hips.
Neither of us lasted long, and soon I collapsed on top of her. “I’d say sorry, but I’d be lying.”
Harlow giggled. “I wanted it, too.”
“Me too.” I gave her a tiny kiss.
“Why don’t we clean up and then we can talk about what’s bothering you?”
With another swipe of my lips with hers, I pulled out, and we both made our way to the bathroom. We cleaned up together and went back into the living room. Harlow picked up the bottle of wine and glasses.
“Okay.” She sat next to me on the couch. She poured us both a glass and handed me mine. “I’m all ears.”
I gulped the wine down, took a deep breath, and told her everything that happened. This time, I didn’t cry like a bitch. I did tell her how I felt like trash and even the story about hockey camp.
Why?
I had no clue.
It was something about Harlow. I could be open with her, expose myself, and not feel judged. Judged was maybe the wrong term. But my name was Keaton Jaco, and I had to uphold my image of a headstrong, tough defense player. I couldn’t just sit around and talk about my feelings all day like some Dr. Phil program.
Then again, here I was spilling my guts out to Harlow. Again. She listened to me. Never interrupted me, never made fun of me, or acted like I was some whiny, sissy. She held my hand and poured more wine for us both.
“Grams really wants us to reconcile and bond. I get the point, but I still have my doubts. Being burned as many times as I have, who wouldn’t have doubts?”
“Puppy,” Harlow squeezed my hand. “I know I don’t completely understand your feelings, but I know it’s extremely rough on you. There’s no way you can get over it in an instant. It’s twenty-five years of hurt, but your grandmother is right, Felicia is your mother. Forgiving her would rebuild your relationship. You can still have a mother.”
“It’s hard.”
“You don’t have to try to explain it to me. I understand.”
I looked deep into her blue eyes. All the care and love was bright within. “What is it about you?”
She tilted her head and put on a sexy smirk. “What do you mean?”
“You’re so perfect for me. You actually make me feel whole. It’s like you are the drug that keeps me calm.”
Harlow blushed. She was beyond sexy when she did. “You know, I can say the same for you. I don’t know what it is about you. I think about you all the time. I want to be with you just as much. It’s a good strange on how we’ve connected. I thought you were a young, cocky, and quite talented. But you’re more than that. So much more. And in that, I can see a forgiving son.”
I tried my best not to smile. “I see what you did there, honey-bunny.”
“Just pointing out the obvious.” She gave me an all-knowing smile.
“You’re sexy as fuck.”
“Aw, such a poet.” Harlow sat her drink down and crawled into my lap. “I’m here for you, no matter what. Girlfriend, friend, buddy, pal, editor. We’re bonded for life.” She winked. “A long life.”
I chuckled. “I can handle it.” I kissed her and suddenly it hit me.
I was in love.
True love.
Chapter Seventeen
Harlow
I was a realist. I understood relationships didn’t always last forever; well, the majority of them didn’t. I was completely aware I was forty and Keaton was twenty-five. Although age never affected me. Keaton didn’t act twenty-five; then again, I didn’t act forty. I wanted him for him. Keaton’s smart, brave, funny, great in bed, and most of all, loving. You couldn’t find all those qualities in one guy. Sure, maybe the fictional ones I’ve read about, but this was real life.
I smiled, rolling onto my side to gaze at Keaton. He stayed the night, and now I was watching him sleeping on his side of the bed.
His side?
Wow, how quickly my realist thoughts changed. Could a different part of me be alive and well? And could that part be the non-realist side? Could it be I was becoming an idealist or a daydreamer? Hell, I was a wishful thinker suddenly.
Flashes of moving in together, picking out curtains, planning out weekly menus, all jumped through my mind.
Shit, I groaned as I left the bed and went into the shower. I had a lot of things to do today and I couldn’t waste it sitting around doodling mine and Keaton’s name on a notebook all day.
When I finished, I went into the kitchen to find Keaton, shirtless and jeans hanging low, drinking coffee leaning against the counter. He was so sexy standing there; it was like the beginning of a porno or a model shoot.
“Good morning, honey-bunny.”
“Morning, puppy.” I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, reaching for my coffee cup.
“What are your big plans for today?”
“Work, since I was distracted last night.” I fixed my coffee and sat down at the table. He joined me.
“I would say I’m sorry, but I’m not.”
“I’m not either.” Last night was amazing, and he knew it as much as I did. I saw it in his eyes. “Nonetheless, I have to work, and I have a meeting later this afternoon.”
“Meeting?”
“Yes, Mr. Nosy, I have a meeting. I do work you know and with my work comes meetings.”
“A new author?”
“Not exactly.”
Keaton seemed to be puzzled.
“It’s a publishing house. Not a huge one, but has a list of good selling authors.”
“Wait, you would give up your business?”
“Absolutely not,” I exclaimed. “If I took their job offer, which I’m not even sure what that entails yet, but I always have one condition and that’s not to give up my authors. If they have a problem with it then there’s no deal.”
“Do you get these offers a lot?”
I shrugged. “From time-to-time, but not too often.”
“Well, if you keep adding more work to your load you’ll be busier than me.”
I giggled. “Are you scared? I could give you a run for your money.”
Keaton stood up and kissed my cheek. “I have that race locked tight.”
“I believe it too.”
Keaton had to be at practice and Dacey showed up shortly after he left. We went to work, and soon, I buried myself in my current author’s manuscript.
Dacey and I worked well together, and I was glad I’d hired her. I wished she talked more, but I’ve learned she’s terribly shy.
“Dacey, when do you and Vance plan on tying the knot? Or are you already married?” I couldn’t be completely sure how the arranged marriage stuff worked.
“We’ll be getting married soon.” Her answer was short and sweet. “Um…may I ask how Keaton reacted to the trip?”
“I haven’t told him yet.”
Dacey stopped typing and turned to me. “How come?”
“I’m not exactly sure.” I softly laughed at myself.
“I can guarantee you’re not scared, right?”
“Nope. Just want to find the right time.”
“Really?” Dacey seemed shocked. “It would seem like you’d just spit it out.”
This time I did laugh loudly. “Usually, I am that way but…this is different.”
“How so?”
“Because I’ve fallen in love.” Why did I tell her? Must be because I blurt stuff out.
“Wow.” If Dacey was shocked before, she was damn near dumbfounded now.
“Do you think I’m incapable of being in love? Aren’t you in love with Vance?”
“I think you’re capable of love. I just thought
you didn’t do it.”
I shook my head. “I don’t do marriage or kids.”
“Why?” She moved her rolling office chair closer to me.
“I’m not that girl. The whole Betty-Homemaker stereotype. I would much rather just live with someone. What about you? Are you that way?”
She shrugged. “I’ve known I would be married young. As for kids, Vance and I haven’t discussed it.”
“I figured it would be topic number one.” Marriage and kids go hand-in-hand in any topic of conversation.
“Um…we don’t…do that. So, it’s not a topic.” Dacey’s face was redder than a fire engine.
My mouth dropped. Did I just hear what I thought I heard? “You two don’t have sex? At all? Have you ever?”
Dacey shook her head.
“But you live with him?”
“Separate bedrooms and bathrooms. My sister and brother-in-law live with us to ensure my virtue.”
“Oh my God.” I didn’t know what else to day. “So…like…wow…” I had to sit back in my chair because I hadn’t expected her to tell me all of that, especially that she was a virgin.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you any of this.” She almost busted into tears at the very moment.
“Oh, Dacey.” I reached for her hand. “You’re fine. I assumed you and Vance were…together. It’s none of my business, but I’m a great listener, and I can give advice when needed or not needed,” I half joked with her.
“Thank you, Harlow. I don’t have a lot of people to talk to,” she whispered as if someone would hear her.
“I’m here, Dacey. Whatever you need.”
She nodded. “You need to get ready for your meeting.”
“Right.” I patted her hand and grabbed my notes and the questions I’d jotted down when I was reading through the emails and the sample contract they’d sent me. Our meeting was going to be more in-depth with everything I had waiting for them.
My Skype rang in at exactly three in the afternoon and a very nice woman, older than me, appeared on my screen. I put on my perfect smile and business thinking cap and started the meeting.
The woman, Ms. Green, was the owner of the mid-size publishing house. She was looking for a new editor-in-chief since hers was heading toward a new adventure. She offered a monthly salary, though small, and a percentage of sales from the author’s I edited. Not only that, I’d be allowed to keep my other clients on the side. Ms. Green had other editor on staff if the schedule became a bit hectic at times.
It was good money, and I wasn’t the type of girl to turn down good money.
I knew his practice was over, and he was working out with the guys. My brain had one function: get to Keaton. I had to tell him. Actually, he was the only one I wanted to tell.
Normally, the guys worked out at the gym at the arena, but Remington had a house gym and they went there. I’d been to Remington’s place once with Meadow when she had to pick up Kyson.
I knew it was the right house because Keaton’s and Kyson’s trucks were in the driveway. I knocked loudly on the door because I didn’t know where the workout room was in the house.
“Harlow?”
My mouth dropped in dismay when Maxima opened the door. “What are you doing here? Did you move in?”
She shook her head. “My washing machine exploded and I have to have a new floor installed along with a new machine. Remington was nice enough to let me do laundry here. Wait, why are you here?”
“I need to talk to Keaton. Right now.”
“You okay?”
“Fan-fucking-tasic,” I giggled.
Maxima smiled. “I think they’re down in the kitchen.” She pointed down the hall.
“Thank you.” I practically skipped toward the voices. “Hello boys,” I announced, crossing the threshold into the kitchen. In front of me where three, very fit, very hot, twenty-something men.
“Honey-Bunny, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Keaton grinned as my eyes scanned his body.
“I would like to take you home or at least out to dinner.” I winked, flirting with him.
“Rem, Ky, I’m out.” He grabbed his shirt from the back of one of the chairs and slipped it on and grabbed a duffle bag near the back door. He reached for my hand, and I easily laced my fingers with his.
We strolled out to our vehicles, and he told me had to go home and shower. I’d follow him, and I couldn’t remember ever being this giddy about telling someone, anyone, about anything before. I was dying to tell him more.
We held each other’s hands walking into his apartment. Comfortable was the best way to describe my emotions with him.
“You’re scaring me a bit. What’s going on?” Keaton dropped everything he was holding by the door.
“I told you I had meeting today.”
“Yes.” He seemed apprehensive.
“I just landed a huge opportunity, and I’m so damn excited.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and planted a smack on his lips.
“Wait…what? What are you talking about?”
I told him everything about my new editing job, the money, and the connections I would make. Keaton held onto me tightly and beamed with pride as I, pretty much, talked his ear off.
“Honey-Bunny, I’m so proud of you. This sounds like an amazing opportunity for you, and you’ll kill it. Just like you do everything.”
I kissed him again. “You were the first person I wanted to tell.”
“I’m honored.”
“But you stink; you need a shower.” I stepped away from him, but squealed when he gathered me up in his arms.
“Let’s see if I can get dirtier.”
I began to giggle as he tickled me with his stubble and kisses. It didn’t take long before we were stripped out of our clothes and in the shower before we made it to his bed.
I could hear a phone ringing in the distance, and when I opened my eyes Keaton was reaching for the bright light of his phone.
“It’s one in the morning, what do you want?” Keaton growled. He was quiet for a second and then bolted upright in bed. “What? What the fuck happened?”
I sat up. I heard the panic in his voice and was suddenly concerned.
“I’m on the way.” He ended the call and leapt out of bed.
“Keaton what—”
“It’s Grams. I’ve got to go.” He cut me off and before I could ask or say anything else, Keaton was gone.
Chapter Eighteen
Keaton
Sitting in my truck seemed like the most logical thing for me to do. I did call Coach Long and told him I wouldn’t be at practice or the game. I hadn’t cried, yelled, or even really spoken since I left the hospital. I didn’t even care what happened to Felicia. She’d tried to reach for me after the doctor told us Grams died, but I wouldn’t let her touch me.
A heart attack.
The words swirled around my head like an F5 tornado. Grams was my whole world, but now I had nothing.
A light tap on my window caused me to turn my head. Harlow gave me a small smile.
Harlow.
I opened the door and stepped out. “Who called you?” Because I knew it wasn’t me.
“Meadow. Kyson called her.” Her eyes welled up. “Keaton, I’m so sorry. What do you need from me?” She touched my hand, but I moved away from her.
“I don’t need anything, but I have things to do.”
“Let me help you,” she said softly.
“I’ve got it. I’ll call you later.” I rushed away from her as fast as I could.
I didn’t want to be around anyone right now, and I headed into my apartment. I had to take a shower and head over to the funeral home.
“Damn,” I growled. Everything still spun around in my head. I stripped out of my clothes and turned the shower on full blast with only hot water.
I let the scalding hot water spray over me, and I tried to wash away the sadness and pain. It wasn’t working though. The woman who raised me, loved me, scolded me had left me. I
still needed her. I only had twenty-five years with her, and it hadn’t been enough time.
When the water began to cool, I decided I should get out and face the world. But I didn’t want to. If I stayed here in the shower, maybe it wouldn’t be true.
“I’m just being a coward,” I told myself out loud. I cut the water off and began my day.
“Nothing.” The man seemed shocked.
“She had a motto: if you can’t see me when I’m alive there’s no point when I’m dead.” I told him. Grams said it enough times that I knew what she wanted.
“And you’re in charge, correct?”
“Yes.” I handed over the power of attorney and the will to him. He quickly looked over everything. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I even had to give him those items.
“All right then.” He handed the stuff back to me.
“No visitation, no service; just a cremation.” I tried to sound professional, but my voice cracked.
“You want the ashes back to you, right?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Okay.” The man began to go over costs, which didn’t matter to me, and I wrote him a check. I had to get out of the funeral parlor. The walls seemed to be closing in on me.
Once I reached my truck, I had to shut my eyes tight to stop the burn of the tears. I would not cry. Grams didn’t want tears.
I opened my eyes, started the truck, and headed toward her house. I needed to inventory the house and see what to do with her stuff. She’d told me before, and in her will, to donate as much as I wanted to help those less fortunate.
When I pulled up to the house, I had to prepare myself to go inside. I knew it would be hard going in, knowing Grams wouldn’t be in there cooking or watching one of her game shows.
I unlocked the door and walked into silence. Erie would be the best way to describe the feeling I had when I shut the door. I slowly made my way to her bedroom. The bed was messed up, and I knew she would hate it. Her slippers were at the corner of her bed. Her robe gently lay on her bed chest at the end. I leaned against the doorframe, and my eyes landed on her nightstand. She had two pictures in frames that she loved: one of her wedding day and the other of my kindergarten graduation. I’d demanded to spike my hair that day, and I think I used a half a bottle of gel to get it to stay. But Grams beamed with pride no matter how ridiculous I looked that day.
