by lesley,allyn
He scratches his head as if searching for the right words. “They’ve stopped the bleeding.”
Our family crowds around him, watching him struggle with his emotions, wringing his hands.
“Spit it out, son,” Chuck says.
“Emma had to have emergency surgery.” He looks around, maybe to gather strength from us.
Ma goes to her son, holding his hands. This scene brings me back to the time when EC had surgery to repair his ACL in his junior year of college. JC knew that the surgery was necessary but that it effectively ended our brother’s quest to play in the Major Leagues. Ma and JC’s positon right now mirrors how they stood in front of each other, silently communicating... she reassuring, him unsure. Eventually she was able to guide him inside the room to see that EC was fine though drugged out of his mind.
“Ma,” JC bleats out, his one word is both pain-drenched and weary.
We trip over each other, rushing to find out about the baby, who isn’t due for another month.
Tears spring up in JC’s eyes and drip onto his reddened cheeks. “She’s, ah, she’s fine.” A fleeting smile eases the frown I wonder will be permanent until he hears what’s going on with his wife. “She’s underweight, and is in the neo-intensive care unit.”
At this news, Chelsea sags against me in relief while the rest of our family loudly express their congratulations that do little to comfort the new father.
“How’s our daughter?” Mikey asks, his voice cutting everyone’s excitement short.
“What about Em?” Chelsea’s voice is small. I mop away her tears with my fingers.
JC swallows, clutching the paper-thin, blue hair cover that was on his head. “Sh-she’s in a coma.”
I hold onto my girl with everything in me, not willing to ever let her fall as she goes limp in my arms.
Chapter Fourteen
“You’re so fucking cute for someone so tiny.”
There’s no gurgling sounds. Not even a toothless smile. Beeping machines and buzzing sounds are the response I get inside the hospital’s NICU. The tiny person stuck inside the incubator is quiet. She’s really just a wrinkled, pink little thing wrapped up in a striped hospital blanket. For some reason, she’s rocking an alien-like pair of glasses under a blast of bright light.
“What the...?” I mutter.
“She has neonatal jaundice,” Chelsea offers up, coming up beside me all quiet like.
I was so engrossed in the baby that I didn’t hear her join me.
“Hey,” is all I can muster for the woman who’s my breath of fresh air and fucked up obsession. When I glance sideways, she’s wearing a long, red and white skirt that hides legs that I know are creamy, and a simple white tee clings to the best pair of natural breasts I’ve ever seen. My gaze jumps away from her form to various items in the sterile environment, hoping she misses the want I know is evident in my hazel eyes.
“She’ll probably go home soon.”
The rest of what she doesn’t want to say is: without Em. The way I see it, three days with only nurses and family members visiting this kid is still a poor substitution for the two people my godchild really wants. Her tiny body moves, putting a smile on mine and her aunt’s lips.
“Your sister will be home soon, being a mom to this little one in no time,” I tell her, even though Emma’s been riding an unconscious wave for the last three days.
The doctors are hopeful about her recovery. She celebrated her twenty-fourth birthday by giving birth, and then complications from her surgery forced the doctors to put her into a medically induced a coma. But, I just know one of these days she’ll wake up and come back to the people who need her most: JC and Juliet Christine Sterling.
“She’s an ass-kicker,” I mumble, referring to both Emma and the newest Sterling addition.
“Yeah, she is. Not like me.”
She’s crazy. “What are you talking about?” Chelsea has single-handedly knocked me on my ass since we met two years ago, and I’ve been waving the white flag of surrender since then. I tell her the abridged version of that though so she doesn’t know how deep she’s planted herself inside of me. When I get the nerve to look at her, she’s shocked.
“Um...”
I hold up my hand to stop whatever she may feel like she has to say. Then, I silently kick myself, knowing I revealed way too much but still not finding a reason to give a fuck. After the few days my family and I have had to endure, with not knowing if we’d hear a report of death, I figure to hell with it. She should know.
“Take me away from here, Dyllan.” When she gets to where I am, that floral scent of hers invades my personal space and reminds me how much I’ll miss it when she’s not around again. Small hands with short, manicured nails grasp my arms. “I just need to forget.”
“I can do that.”
You’ll forget, and I’ll memorize everything about today.
The hospital’s in my rearview mirror as my Impala eats up the George Washington highway, while the wind whips against our faces. Chelsea’s playful: hands in the air and laughing as the sun beams down on us. I’m glad I can do this for her. It’s been a shit three days for our families.
She sees the sign, announcing our destination. “You’re taking me to Jersey?” Her squeals are heard even over the loud, outdoor sounds coming from the passing cars and blaring commercial trucks. “Hell yeah!” She cranks up the radio, bopping to the music.
In no time, we’re seated inside an upscale restaurant in the Ironbound section of Newark and are placing our orders. Once the server leaves, there’s an awkward silence between us.
“How’ve—”
“Are you—”
We both laugh at the same, realizing our combined nervousness.
“This is silly,” I say, still can’t fathom that I’m sitting across from the same woman I believed wouldn’t come within twelve feet of me unless she had to.
“Yeah. We’ve seen each other naked,” Chelsea mutters around a piece of bread.
“And what a sight that was.” I wink. I was prepared for the blushed that bloomed over her slender cheeks but I wasn’t prepared for what that blush did to me: my dick tents my cargo shorts. Just like the other times when I’ve had Chelsea all to myself, we fall into the easiest of conversations. Our thoughts flow freely. She brings me up to speed about SUNY Albany, and shares her upcoming study abroad in her junior year that starts in a month. I tell her about running Sterling Auto Center and missing the feel of an engine under my hands now that it’s more paper-pushing these days for me. It’s two years of all the boring and the major shit that’s gone on in our lives that we talk about, leaving no stone unturned. Until I convince myself that I’m ready to hear the answer to my one burning question.
I try to make my tone as light as possible, removing all trace of jealousy. “So, no boyfriend?” My chest constricts and breathing’s a struggle.
She looks me right in the eyes. “No boyfriend.”
Good. That’s good.
“So, how about you?”
“How ‘bout me, what?” I murmur, still grappling with why I can breathe easier knowing she has no one. I’m about to ask her about the tattoo at her neck when she knocks the wind out of me again.
“Anyone in your life, Dyllan?” Again, direct eye contact. Her words aren’t wobbled up by any lapse in her speech.
Only you in my dreams. “No.” I release a deep breath that I didn’t know I was holding and meet this conversation head-on... one I had no clue we’d have.
She flicks her hand between us, eyes bright with something I can’t put my finger on. “So, we’re both two free adults?”
“Seems that way, Chels.” A chuckle comes from my gut, revealing my genuine happiness over her news. “And can I say, I’m really fucking happy about that.” Her grin tells me she is too.
The arrival of our food interrupts whatever her open lips were about to say, but not for long. Over the next hour, we’re like yin and yang, connecting on a level—over word
s no less—which brings me back to August 2011, before she left for college. Back to the night she was at my condo. Before the stupid morning where I woke up alone with stickies and didn’t get the chance to ask to see her again. Our laughter is in sync, and comfortability replaces our hesitancy. I pay the bill and leave a tip. Pulling out her chair, her smell hits all my senses, and I can’t help lowering my chin on her hair, and she lets me.
There’s no stiffness in her sleek shoulders under my fingers.
Her back molds to my front.
Her fingers cover mine at her waist.
My hands become bold, wrapping around her mid-section and curving her to more me.
“May I?” I tug gently on the long wisps of her captured in her ponytail. Her nod is instantaneous and so are my fingers that work her dark hair loose. “Shit, Chels,” I murmur as silky strands hits me, flirting with any exposed flesh at my face, neck...
“Dyllan,” she mumbles out as my fingers glide through her scalp. The mumble’s now a moan when I tip her head forward, still with my hand lost in her gorgeous hair.
I inhale deeply, really breathing for the first time since forever. My cheek moves her hair at her neck out of the way and I see her tattoo that reads: VIII * XIX * MMXI.
“I’ve missed you,” I reveal, placing a kiss right at her hairline. I have to breath in her hair again, and don’t worry that when I do, I’ll look like a freak.
“Me too, Dyllan.”
When she melts backward into my embrace, I don’t regret being transparent.
We’re on my couch, eating popcorn and watching a romantic comedy Chelsea told me I had to see. I’m so comforted by her presence that I give up trying to figure out who’s who and the reason the main character went to Rome in the first place. All I can do is study her unrestrained reactions to the different scenes. When she loves something, her emotions are right there on her pulled up cheekbones and in her bright eyes. When she hates something, her emotions are right there on her downturned mouth and rolling eyes. Then, I hear it.
“This song.”
I slip my hand out from under her neck, reaching for the remote and hitting another button, and then the same song we danced to at Emma and JC’s wedding starts playing.
I go close to her ear. “May I have this dance?”
“That tickles.”
Her giggles do something to my heart, not quite squeezing it, but the organ is definitely tightly wound. I soak up the sound like a dying man, tucking the audio away for the future, when she leaves me again. Which is inevitable. This is Chelsea and me we’re talking about.
“You know we’re totally recreating the reception, right?”
I spin us around, running my hands over her soft contours.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
I nod, having more than one I could share myself... if I wasn’t afraid of her. Like this one: I’d love to tell her that at the end of the song I have no plans to walk away from her as I did eight months ago.
But I don’t. I console myself by trailing my fingers down to her waist.
“This movie is one of my favorites because of this song.” Her head’s on my chest and her words are loud and clear. “I’ve renamed this as our song,” she reveals.
My heart stutters through its next few heartbeats even as one of her hands caress the back of my neck, pulling my head down. My forehead rests on hers lightly as I draw her closer because my world revolves around her. This time, I’m not leaving with anyone but you, I think, too afraid to say that out loud.
“And, Dyllan, I’m staying the night.”
“Chels,” I groan out, fingers sinking into the flesh at her waist at her declaration, and not caring I spoke my thoughts unintentionally. Our bodies continue moving with the haunting lyrics. She looks up at me. I imagine the stars I see now will be the ones I’ll always see. But, an “always” isn’t in the cards for us. The pads of her fingertips follow the path of my jawline, along my neck, and then she places her head over my heart.
“What are we doing?”
She picks her head up, running her hands over my chest, winding her way toward my ass, squeezing. “Well, you’re about to make me come, and I’ll try my best to do the same.” She stands on her tiptoes, brushing her lips over mine. The innocence in her kiss and her racy words are heady.
I grab the extra material from her long skirt up, palming her ass. She takes the cue to hop up, straddling my waist. Walking us back to the bedroom, neither of us says a word or makes a move to kiss again. She slithers out of my arms, stepping away from me toward my bed. Chelsea lifts her shirt over her head, and then she turns around. She’s mesmerizing, the way she’s unconsciously sexy. I unbutton my shirt, slipping off my sandals. With her back toward me, she undoes the belt around her waist then her skirt pools at her feet. What’s left in its wake has me walking to my chest of drawers for support of my suddenly weak legs and me biting my knuckles so I don’t come in my pants.
“Fuck me.”
She laughs, a musical kind of laughter. “That’s the intention, Dyllan Sterling.”
She’s a few shades darker than her normal complexion. Over dinner, I’d learned that for her summer break she’s volunteering at the daycare center Emma owns. Chelsea moves, and I’m riveted by the gentle slopes of her shoulder blades that have been gently licked by the sun.
When did shoulders become sexy?
She throws a shy glimpse at me over one of her shoulders and undoing her bra. The soft click trigger my feet. I’m right on top of her ass. Literally.
“Let me.” My hands take over. Slowly pushing the bra straps from her body. I cup her breasts, reminding myself to go slow. I still groan like a virgin at their weight and the way her nipples pebble as soon as I flick them. “Your skin is like satin,” I admit. She wiggles her lower half into me, easing away a bit to unlatch my belt and open my zipper. The cargo shorts fall effortlessly to the floor, leaving me naked and ready for her. She faces me, and her fingers trace the pattern of my latest ink that’s not complete and sits high on my upper left arm.
“When—”
I cut off her stream of unasked questions, or that’s what it looks like from her squinted gaze, by swooping in for a taste of her luscious lips. Since that first time our tongues met, kissing has become my favorite pastime, but I’ve not had the pleasure of indulging it in over two years. I release her mouth from my hold then trail the length of her ribcage with my hands, cupping her ass. She’s focused on the beginnings of the Celtic armor tattoo, and I’m focused on her face. “I got it right after you left.” Because I need protection from you.
She nods. Her lips turn down, and a frown mars her gorgeous mouth as if she knows my unstated reason. Tipping her chin upward, I regret opening my big mouth. “But, you’re here now, right?” In the silence that stretches between us, I admit to myself that I’ve longed for a healing I never realized, or acknowledged, that I need. Chelsea shares her small smile, and it’s got the potential to be the source I rely on. I can already feel its healing powers on my battered heart.
“I am here.” She pulls my head down, kissing me so soundly that my head spins.
Her tongue is warm and teasing. Her hands are dangerous and powerful. I’m not sure how she pushes me back on the bed, but she does, gaining the upper hand. Her confidence is so damn attractive. This isn’t the same woman who stumbled through telling me she was a virgin. A part of me mourns the loss of that young woman, but I can’t dwell on that. Matching her pace, I keep up with the swirls and twirls her magic tongue takes me on.
Her new skills leave me panting and harder than ever. Try as I might, the jealousy rolls in with each roll of her hips.
Did that numb nut teach her this?
Her hands ghost over my body, leaving heat and desire when she moves on.
I should’ve been the one showing—
“Hey, where are you?”
Maybe she felt me disappear in my head. My hands aren’t as stable on her gyrating hips, even thoug
h she’s still holding my cock captive. Chelsea’s face looms over me, her long, black hair curtaining us in and shutting out the world, but not my jealous thoughts.
I clear my throat, not wanting to seem hurt by her being with other men. “Nowhere.”
“Good.”
She looks like she’s about to say more, but I don’t want another word. All I want to do is erase the memories of the others who’ve had her, and leave my eternal stamp on her and between her gorgeous thighs. I grab the slip of material she calls a thong, pulling it to the side. “Fuck, I smell you, Chels.” She’s wet, sliding on my stiff cock.
“I want you so bad,” she says between the licks she gives my nipples. Then she skims her lips up my neck, sucking lightly. “I’ve never forgotten our night, Dyllan.” Her teeth tug on my earlobe, and all I can do is hold onto her ass. Her tongue darts in and out of my ear, wetting it just enough that I moan. “There’s been no one else.”
I turn into a wild man then, switching our positions and trapping both her hands above her head. I know my stare borders on crazed. Can I believe you? But I dare not ask. She shakes her head like she has to convince me she’s telling the truth. But, I’m still skeptical, because liars come in all forms. The tear that works its way down her cheek cinches her confession for me. My lips crash into hers, needing her to give me everything. She matches my fevered requests, demanding a few of her own, which, surprisingly, I give to her.
I have to let her know where I stand in case she doesn’t understand. I grip her chin. “I’m not wearing a fucking condom.” Because you’re mine. She nods. I pretend she tells me, I’m yours forever, but, of course, no words leave her beautiful lips. There’s no misunderstanding this time, and no reason for half-truths. I plan on feeling every inch of her, just as I did two years ago. “I’m clean,” I tell her. “I get tested every three months.”
