by MK Schiller
“You keep saying stuff like that, yet you’re still sitting here with me.”
He sighed, running his hands through his dark hair. “Jessie, you don’t want this. I know you don’t.”
“Just go already and stop wasting time. She’s the most beautiful girl in this place.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “She’s not the most beautiful, but she’ll do,” he said, getting up from his chair.
He took slow, deliberate steps towards her, turning back to look at me once. The line between selfish and selfless is sometimes blurred. This was my idiotic way of hanging onto him, but letting him have what he wanted too.
She smiled brightly at him, tilting her head up when he approached. Her girlfriends all gave him the same coquettish smiles. I may have initiated this stupid idea, but I wasn’t going to watch it. I stood up, walking with fast steps towards the door.
Kevin caught up to me on the sidewalk. “Emmie, is something wrong?”
“I don’t feel well. I’m going to catch a cab home.”
“Let me hail one for you,” he offered. I didn’t argue.
“You’re boyfriend’s kind of an asshole,” he said.
“He’s very nice, Kevin. He was just surprised by your kiss.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Why the hell is he trying to pick up another girl?”
I laughed—the sound was bitter and died in my throat. “It’s a long story.”
The cab pulled up and Kevin opened the door for me. “I always have time for your long stories. Remember that.”
“Thank you.”
Before I sat down though, a pair of large hands wrapped around my waist, gently pulling me back.
“I’m taking her home,” Damien said.
“Does she want to go home with you?” Kevin asked, raising his voice.
“I don’t know, Kevin, but that’s what’s going to happen.”
“I do. Thank you.” I nodded at Kevin before taking Damien’s hand.
I would need to call Kevin in the morning and explain it. I hadn’t seen the man in over a decade and he must think I’d gone mad. Perhaps I had.
Damien walked me back across the street in silence. He gave the valet driver our ticket and we waited.
“I can take a cab home.”
His expression was stern. “I am taking you home. I will not argue with you about that.”
“Did you strike out?”
“I didn’t feel like batting in the first place. I asked her if she had the time and where I could purchase a watch like hers. I told her I thought my girlfriend might like one.”
“Damien—”
He held up his hand. “Don’t talk to me right now. I’m royally pissed at you. I want to know what the fuck is going on. But right now I need a few minutes to myself. Why don’t you use that time to decide if you’re willing to share the truth with me or if you want to keep playing mind fuck games.”
I’d never seen Damien this angry. He didn’t speak the whole car ride to my house, or even look at me. He tightened his hands around the wheel so hard that I could see his knuckles turning white. His eyes looked straight ahead and he was silent. The tension was so thick, I felt it choking me.
We pulled up to the house. The realtor was there with the buyers. We’d both forgotten about it. He pulled over across the street. He slammed his fist against the wheel
I took a deep a breath. “Are you going to talk to me?”
He turned to me, but it wasn’t anger I saw anymore. It was misery and sorrow. “Do you know how much that hurt me? I fucking asked you to move in with me this morning. Don’t you know how I feel about you, Jessie? I love you.”
There it was. This should have been a joyous moment, hearing him say those words, but it just deepened the pain.
“You don’t feel the same way?”
I swallowed. “I love you too, Damien. I didn’t mean for that to happen tonight. It was stupidity on my part. I don’t want to see anyone else, because there is no one else for me.”
He took my hand, giving me a genuine smile for the first time that night. “What is it then?”
“Damien, where do you see us in a few years?”
“You want to have that conversation now?”
“I think we should. Just be honest with me, and then I will tell you what I see. I want to know if it matches.”
He sat back in his seat, but he didn’t let go of my hand. He was quiet for a while. “I don’t know. I was thinking about all the normal things. A rock on your finger that’s so heavy you can’t lift it without getting a cramp.” He kissed my wrist then, turning to me. “A nice house in the suburbs. Not like a mansion. It would be simple, but dignified. Probably brick since it’s so sturdy. Maybe a Georgian with classic lines and a large fenced yard where you could have a vegetable garden and—”
“I get it. It’s a nice house. Keep going.”
He grinned. “Yeah, I get hung up on that.”
“What else?”
“A child running around all over the place, driving us crazy and a couple of dogs. Maybe German Shepherds? I’ve always wanted a Shepherd, since I was a kid.” He gaped at me then, wiping the tears that started streaming down my face in thick rivulets. “Okay, so you’re not a fan of the German Shepherd. We’ll get something else.” His joke caused me to choke out a hysterical crying giggle. “What is it, baby? Just talk to me.”
“Do you remember how I told you we were safe with the birth control?”
“Jesus, Jessie, are you trying to tell me you’re pregnant?”
I shook my head. “No, just the opposite. I had my tubes tied when I had Billie. I can’t have children.”
He swallowed hard. The moment of thick silence felt like an eternity. “You would have been so young.”
“I had to fight with my doctor until he eventually agreed.”
He was quiet for a while, staring at the dark, empty street. When he turned to me, he smiled reassuringly. “There are other ways to have children. We could use a surrogate or adopt. Either way, they would be ours and we would love them. That’s all I want.”
“Damien, you don’t understand. I made that decision because I was as sure about it then as I am now. I love my children, but I don’t want any more. I’m done with that part of my life.”
He looked at me with such dejection then that my broken heart tore open again. “I see. I suppose I knew that already. I didn’t want to think about it. The truth is, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to have a child either, so it wasn’t important to me. I’d be lying if I said I still felt that way.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head and turned to me with such a sad smile, I felt my heart tear. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t tell me sorry.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Tell me I can change your mind. That it’s different with me. That you love me enough and—”
“I won’t, but I also won’t hold you back from what you want either.”
The sounds of the realtor and buyers walking out distracted us then. We watched them get into their cars and drive off. Damien pulled into my driveway. “They were in there a long time. They’ll probably make you an offer,” he said.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
A slow, sad smile crept across his face. “It would have been better if you’d told me you were pregnant.” He turned to look at me, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “Much better.”
I took it as my cue to get out of his car and go into the house. He didn’t stop me. I wasn’t sure if we had broken up, but I couldn’t hear the words. Not tonight. I wanted a tiny piece of hope to hold onto.
I crashed into my couch, sobbing uncontrollably for what seemed like forever. Eventually, I pulled myself up, knowing there were only three things that would ease the pain a bit. I changed into my comfortable flannel pink jammies—the ones with the hole in the thigh, but they were so comfortable, I couldn’t bear to throw them out. I blared P
ink Floyd and drank cheap wine. The soothing, downhearted sounds of Wish You Were Here filled my clutter-free, anonymous living room.
A half hour into the album, Kate called.
“You and Damien broke up?”
“How did you know?”
“I can hear Roger Waters. What other explanation can there be?”
“I guess we did.”
“I’m coming over.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, missy. Save me some wine.”
The doorbell rang just then. “Is that you, Kate?”
“Hell no, you think I’m that fast?”
I checked the peephole. “It’s Damien,” I whispered.
“Well, let him the hell inside. Why are you still talking to me?”
I opened the door. He looked so beautiful standing in the light of my front porch, I almost wondered if he was a mirage.
“I just drove around and ended up back here. I don’t think we’re done talking.”
“Come in,” I said, opening the door wider for him.
He slumped onto the couch. I got him a glass of wine and sat next to him. He put his arm around me, and my head fell on his chest. It was a perfect fit.
“You broke out the Pink Floyd, huh? And I thought I was sad.” He read me so well.
“Were you listening to anything?”
“Hey Mama by Mat Kearney.”
“Really? That’s a happy song.” It seemed surprising, though when I thought of the lyrics, I guess it made sense.
“Yeah, it reminds me of you.”
“Why are you here?”
“I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to end us. I don’t know what the right solution is here. Maybe we can figure it out…together.”
“You deserve to be happy, Damien. You’d be a great dad and I’d never take that away from you.”
“You make me happy. I’m not looking to have a family tomorrow or anything. It’s down the road. I just know that being with you feels right to me, like nothing else has.”
I was thoughtful for a moment. “We can’t be together like this. You’d grow to resent me. I would hate that.”
“Then give me another solution.”
Sometimes where there were no good solutions, the stupid ones made sense. A temporary fix that wasn’t going to work, like putting a bandage over a broken bone. “We can keep going, but if you find someone that you might want a future with, you tell me. And I’ll get out of your way.”
“Don’t talk like that. It sounds almost as ridiculous as seeing other people.”
“Just agree to it. It’ll make me feel better about this.”
“It’s a very selfless thing to do.”
I buried my face in his chest and he kissed my head. He didn’t understand. It was completely selfish. I wanted him for as long as I could have him, but I wasn’t so heartless that I’d keep him from his dreams.
Chapter Twenty-Four
We moved forward, but I think we both wished we could go back. Things had changed between us. Our laughter was hollow. Our conversations more shallow. I’d always been insecure when other women looked at him. It was worse now. I’d encouraged him to look back. He didn’t, but it was just a matter of time before he found that special someone who could fit into his dreams as well as his bed. When we were intimate though, we were stronger than ever. Perhaps because that was the only time we could express how we felt about each other without trying to skirt around dangerous topics.
He came over on Friday night, bringing a large box. “I brought you a present.”
“I thought we agreed.”
“It wasn’t expensive. It’s not romantic. It’s utilitarian and you need it.” He set it down on the table. “You’re listening to Mat Kearney?” he asked, gesturing to the stereo.
“Yeah, I really like him.” The truth was, I’d been listening to everything he sang since that night.
He looked around the sparse living room. “It looks so different.”
The large dining table with its cracks and marks was gone, replaced by a small round thing that could barely hold a dessert plate. The bookshelves were all gone too, making the space look large. I’d never been a knick-knack person, but I sorely missed the photos and books that I’d always had around me.
“More room to run,” I said. I lifted the plain, unmarked brown box from the table, almost dropping it, not prepared for its mass. He’d carried it in one hand like it weighed no more than a doll, creating an illusion it was light. It was far from it. “It’s heavy.”
He took it from me, walking into the kitchen. “It’s supposed to be.”
“Okay, I give up. What is it?”
“A garbage disposal.”
I gave him a puzzled look. “Well, you’re right, it’s not romantic.”
He laughed, cupping my chin. “I noticed yours doesn’t sound right. Buyers look at that kind of thing.”
He opened the side drawer where the tool set he’d purchased was stored. I took a beer out of the fridge for him. We were in sync with each other’s movements, at ease and uncomfortable at the same time.
“You want to do it now?”
A sly smile slid across his handsome face. “By ‘do it’ are you talking about the disposal or sex?” he asked, spinning the screwdriver in his hand.
“Either one.”
“You pick.”
“The latter,” I said, unbuttoning my shirt. “Is that okay?”
He tilted his head. “As much fun as replacing a garbage disposal sounds, I would really like to bang you.”
“Bang me?”
“Your words, baby.”
I placed my hands on his belt, unbuckling it, cursing my fingers for not going faster. He finished unbuttoning my blouse, ripping the last two fasteners. His fingertips brushed against my waist before his touch became more furtive. He made my body sing, like every cell was dancing at once. And not a waltz, not a jig either. More like a slow, sexy salsa.
“Do you remember our first time?” he whispered.
I squirmed out of his embrace. “Yeah, I beat you in a race.”
“Ah…actually I won.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I beat you fair and square. We both know that.”
Then as if on cue, the music changed. We both laughed as Hungry like the Wolf by Duran Duran filtered into the room. He licked his lower lip, causing the humour to become charged with a new energy. “Did you plan this?”
I shook my head. “Must be fate.”
An electric spark of energy bounced between us as we stared at each other. His eyes challenged me without the benefit of words. I nodded and turned, running out of the kitchen. He followed in close pursuit. My shirt was flapping so I shrugged it off. For once, I was grateful there were few objects in the living room. In fact, the open rooms allowed me to run in a full circle. His fingers caught on my bra. I realised a second later he’d managed to unhook it in mid-run.
“How’d you do that?” I asked breathlessly.
“I’m very familiar with it,” he said.
It was on the second go-round that his arms captured me.
“So naughty. You know I’ll always catch you,” he said, turning me. His lips met mine. His tongue brushed against mine. I fell back to the ground with him on top of me. He planted slow kisses down my neck, licking and biting into my flesh. He slipped off my bra and threw it up in the air. Far. Really far. I looked up to see it land on the ceiling fan blade.
“Did you mean to do that?”
“If I say yes, do I get bonus points?” His tongue flicked my nipples.
I held his head there, arching my back towards his mouth.
He unbuttoned his jeans. I curled a toe on each side of his waist in one belt loop, dragging them down with his boxers. He pushed them off then pulled off my jeans and panties in one sweeping movement. His hand caressed my legs, followed by his soft lips. He kissed my inner thighs, pushing his fingers inside me.
“You’re wet already.”
“Come here. Let me show you how wet I am. I want to extrapolate.”
He did, pushing my legs far apart. Damien bit my lower lip, slowly sucking it between his. Then he entered me, his muscular frame propelling inside me. He flipped us around so I was on top. He had told me once he preferred this position because he loved to watch the way my breasts moved. I leant back as I slid into the ecstasy of him, using his shoulders for leverage. The second time, he grasped my hips, holding them at an angle as he pushed into me.
“Your body was made for mine,” he said between harsh breaths.
“I know.” It was. We fit despite the marks and scars of life that separated us, or maybe because of them.
I fell forward, holding my gaze steady. We stared at each other with the crazy intensity that manifested itself in physical form when words failed us. Damien smiled at me through his grunts and growls. I tried to match it, but all I could do was moan and scream. I brought my hands to his as he held my hips. He curled his fingers around mine, pushing into me at the same time. I let go then, not being able to hang onto my release any longer. Damien followed with a garbled grunt, calling out my name. The special name only he called me.
I collapsed into his arms. He cradled me against his hard but comfortable body. I ran my fingers through his hair. We were tangled up in each other. Damien ran his finger down my cheek. He kissed my forehead while his fingers sought out the scar on the back of my head and he rubbed gently against the area. Making love to Damien was an emotional rollercoaster. It was the pure energy and intense anticipation in his kisses and touch when we started followed by many steep peaks and valleys of euphoria. Then the slow, soft tender moments of our embrace.
“I love you,” he said.
I stiffened immediately. We hadn’t said it since that night.
His body tensed. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? We love each other, but it’s not enough, is it?”
“Damien—”
He pulled away. “We should get going on the disposal. I have an early meeting tomorrow and need to get out of here.”
He threw my clothes to me.
Twenty minutes later, I was dressed and flashing a light for him while he was under the sink, changing out the disposal. His muscles were visible under the thin fabric of his shirt. I found myself staring at the rise and fall of his abs. This man was special. He took care of the people in his life, not just with words but with his actions. It was evident in what he was doing for me now. He had been hurt and it was apparent that he hadn’t fully recovered from that. He deserved every happiness.
