“Is this what you want?”
“No, Avery, I don’t want to fight.”
“Do you want to hear me tell you how much I hurt? How much I despise myself for being such a failure?” she’s crying angry, bitter tears as she steps out of her shorts and tosses them away from her. “Off,” she demands, pointing a finger at me.
“Avery, we don’t have to fight—that’s not what I want.”
“Stop being nice to me! Just stop! Fight—fight with me!”
I'm struck dumb by her outburst. I frown at her as I try and make sense of why she would want me to stop being nice to her. Before I can wrap my head around it, she's yanking my shirt off. When I grab her wrists to stop her, she pulls herself free. “Avery, what's going on? Why shouldn't I be nice to you? I—”
“It's my fault!” she cries, smacking her hand against her bare chest. “I lost the baby.”
Her words are like a right hook smashed against my jaw. “Is that what you think?” All at once, everything makes sense. Her actions, her words—or lack there of—it all boils down to this. Has she been blaming herself this whole time? And I the fool who thought she just needed a little room to breathe? To grieve? “Shorty, the doctor—”
“I don't need to rehear what the doctors have said. I don't need to hear what my mother and everyone else has been saying. It's my body. It was my baby. It was my fault!”
“It was my baby, too,” I insist, trying one more time to reach for her.
“It's not the same,” she tells me, shaking her head as she takes a step back. “You don't understand, you can't understand.”
I flinch at her reply. “What are you trying to say?” I question. “Is what I feel suddenly not relevant? What I know to be true holds no value because, what, because it wasn't my body?”
“No—yes—that’s what I'm saying. I just—my body, my fault. You should be hurt, you should feel betrayed; I failed you and—”
“Stop! Stop it! This is not your fault.” She closes her eyes and covers her ears and suddenly my fear is in overdrive. This is so much worse than I imagined and I don't know how to stop it. What I thought was an unshakable grief—an undeniable sadness spurred by the loss of not just new life, but also the future we were hoping for—it’s proven to be catastrophically worse. She’s been consumed by blame. The lies that have been eating away at her have completely distorted reality. Now, she’s lost in her own world, in a place where it makes sense for me to be angry with her. The truth is, anger is the opposite of how I feel.
“Look at me!” I huff, finally joining her in this fight as I discard my shirt. It’s time I step the fuck up. No more walking on eggshells. I will not allow her to wallow in this place. “This is not your fault. Do you hear me? This is not your fault.”
“You don't know that!” she shouts, dropping her hands as she curls her fingers into fists.
“Yes, I do,” I declare, kicking my shorts from around my ankle. “This has nothing to do with you. Nothing. You did everything right. Even if you didn't, this was not your decision, it was His. Don't kid yourself into thinking that you're somehow bigger than God.”
“You don't think that thought has crossed my mind?” She’s sobbing now and I can hardly understand what she’s saying. “You don't think I haven't justified His punishment?” she asks, pulling her sports bra over her head.
For a second, I can't hear a thing. All I see is my wife. I haven't seen her in weeks. The little baby fat she had is gone, and then some. The sight of her crushes me; my beautiful bride is withering away. Yet, even still, there’s a part of me that cannot deny that the woman before me is mine. My entire body feels as if it’s on fire, my desire for her impossible to ignore.
“Are you kidding me?” she shrieks, reaching up to bury her fingers in her hair. I don’t have to look down to see what she sees, but I do anyway, cursing the neglected bastard for its timing. “Is that what this is about? Have you held out as long as you can? Do you need me to look at you so that I might want you?”
Instantly, I’m enraged. “How dare you!” I cry, my lust forgotten as my fear collides with my sudden anger, forming a knot in my throat that I can’t swallow. “This is not about sex and you know it! This is about you and me and every promise we’ve ever made to each other. This is about you believing the lie that this is somehow your fault. Hear me when I say that, Avery—it’s a lie! Tell yourself whatever you want, it won’t make that lie anymore true. And I sure as hell will never blame you—not ever! You wanted that baby as much as I did. Blaming yourself won’t make our loss any easier. And it is our loss. Ours! We’re supposed to be in this together, Avery. Forever and always—we promised.”
“You don’t understand—”
“No, you don’t understand!” I bark, ignoring the sting of my salty tears gathering behind my eyes. “I get it. Your body. Your pain. I won’t ever know the trauma you went through physically. I can’t ever know—but do you have any idea how terrifying this has been for me? I haven’t stopped being scared or worried since the moment you woke me up in the middle of the night, covered in blood. Don’t tell me that I don’t understand! You’re the one who doesn’t understand. I can’t get you to tell me anything. You won’t look at me. I haven’t been able to touch you, my own wife, in weeks. You won’t even let me hold your hand. I’m trying to be here for you, for us, and you won’t let me.
“So don’t you dare make this about sex! We both lost a baby, Avery, but I’m losing my wife and it’s fucking unbearable!”
She clasps both hands across her mouth, in a failed attempt to mute her cry, and drops to the floor. My first instinct is to get down there with her and wrap her in my arms, but I don’t. I won’t. Just the thought that she could reject me one more time has me snatching up my shorts. I put them on and then head for the bedroom where I find my tennis shoes. I need to get out of here, I need to release this pent up frustration and clear my head before I do or say something I’ll regret. I speak not a word as I pass through the living room and slam the front door behind me.
I’m losing my wife and it’s fucking unbearable!
His words play in a loop in my head. Over and over for the next hour, I hear his words and I see his face and the shards of my already broken heart shatter. I didn’t see that coming. He’s been so gentle for so long and now…it’s as if my sight has been restored and I see the world through his eyes as well as my own. For the first time since that awful morning, I imagine what it would be like for him not just to lose our baby, but for him—my husband who I know loves me dearly—to see me as I slowly transform into this woman that I can hardly stand to look at.
I’ve been telling myself that I don’t deserve his kindness or his affection or his sympathy. I’ve assigned all blame onto myself and forced him to accept it, but not once have I been honest with him or told him that I feel this way. As a result, I haven’t given him the opportunity to voice what he wants, or to tell me that he misses me or that he needs me. I’ve been so incredibly selfish in my grief, refusing to see his loss from any other perspective than mine. I’ve stubbornly neglected to see that this entire situation is multidimensional. Regardless of whether or not there is truth in my blame, I haven’t given him the chance to choose me anyway.
I decided that pushing him away was the best idea. I decided that it was the only way. I decided that he could handle his grief without me. I’ve made the choice for him. Today, I finally see how much I’ve been hurting him. Me—now—and not because I lost the baby, but because I’ve selfishly refused to let him in.
It takes me a little while to calm down and stop crying. When I do, it’s his shirt that I pick up off of the floor and pull over my head. I then curl up on the couch, tucking my knees against my chest as I wait for him to return. When he walks through the door, he’s as silent as he was before he left. I watch him as he makes his way to the bathroom, closing himself inside, and I listen as he starts the shower.
I know what I must do. My heart, my mind, my body,
my soul are finally on one accord. I know that it’s my turn to go to him. As I stand up and make my way to the bathroom, I remove his t-shirt and my panties. I’m shaking by the time I’ve reached the door, praying that he hasn’t locked me out—literally or emotionally. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. I sigh in relief when the handle twists open in my trembling hand. I remind myself that everything is better when we’re together and then I step inside.
I run for an hour straight. Just when I think I have myself under control, when I think I’ve managed to reign in my temper after my fight with Avery, I walk into our apartment and it feels as if I never left. I see her sitting curled up on the couch and I can’t even bring myself to stop to see if she’s okay. Instead, I head straight for the shower, hoping my second attempt at attaining a level head will be more successful.
I stand directly beneath the shower head, my hands pressed against the wall in front of me as I let the water beat down on the back of my neck. I try and relax, but the second my mind starts to wander, all I see is Avery. I hear her in my ear, blaming herself for something that happened naturally. I can’t even begin to describe how horrible I feel for not confronting her sooner. I should have known better. I should have known that she would need protection from her own mind. I shouldn’t have assumed that I understood her grief—I didn’t. Not even close. Now, her heart is tangled in a web of lies.
I think back to the way her body looked when she stood before me, wearing nothing but a pair of panties. I can tell that she hasn’t been running. Even worse, I can tell that she hasn’t been eating as much as she should. I know we need to focus on getting her healthy again, physically, mentally, and spiritually. No matter how bad things may seem right now, I tell myself that I will help her get through this. I hope, more than anything, that her healing journey will help fix what is broken between the two of us as well.
I miss my girl—I miss her so much.
For the umpteenth time this morning, I feel myself growing hard just thinking about touching her. There’s a voice in the back of my head, coaxing me to do what I have to do. I can’t even remember the last time I got myself off. Just thinking about it both angers and disgusts me. I made a promise to stay faithful to my wife; we agreed, the only hands allowed to make me come are hers. I smack my palm against the tiled wall, frustrated in more ways than one.
I don’t hear it when she opens the door. I don’t hear it when she sneaks around the shower curtain. I don’t hear her at all, which is why my head jerks up when I realize she’s behind me.
My body goes stalk still at the feel of her small, trembling hands sliding around my waist. I gasp when I feel her lips press against my spine. She kisses me once, then once more, and then I feel it as her body begins to shake to the beat of her cry.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles against my back. “I’m so sorry.”
I turn around, her hands never leaving my skin as I do. When I am facing her, she feels her way up my chest before she curls her fingers around my neck, beckoning me closer. I surrender to her pull and wrap her in my arms. She holds on tight and I notice that it’s not just her hands that are trembling, but her whole body. I pull her even closer, not sure if I’ll ever be able to let go.
“I’m sorry, too. I love you. I love you so much, Ave.”
“I love you.” She kisses the side of my neck and then just below my jaw. “I love you,” she repeats, her lips grazing my skin. “I love you.”
I angle my head so that my lips are in reaching distance of hers. I want to taste her so badly, but I know this is her moment. She’s in control here and I’m more than happy to be on the receiving end of everything she’s willing to give. She traces her nose along mine and I can hardly breathe. The groan that catapults from my throat the second her lips find mine can’t be silenced. Her kiss is barely recognizable as such, and yet it seems to send a shockwave through my entire body. When she kisses me again, this time with a little more force, I can no longer hold back.
I slip my fingers behind her neck, burying them in her hair as I tilt her head for easier access to what I want. I trace my tongue along her lips, begging for entrance into her sweet, hot mouth. The second my tongue sweeps over hers, she whimpers. The small sound goes straight to my dick and I kiss her deeper still. She melts against me and I trail one of my hands down her back and around her waist, pulling her even closer. When she doesn’t fight me, my last bit of restraint vanishes. I hold her tight around her middle, lifting her from her feet. She wraps her legs around me as I press her back against the wall. I’m so turned on, I feel like I might burst.
“God, Avery—you feel so good,” I mutter, dragging my lips to her neck.
She tangles her fingers in my hair and grips two fistfuls before she whispers in my ear—“Fuck me, Grayson.”
I pull away abruptly, my eyes locked with hers in an instant.
“It’s okay.” Her face lights up with a blush—sweet Lord, I missed that blush—but her eyes hold an unwavering determination. “I know you need to.”
“Ave,” I barely manage, still stunned by her demand.
“Do it, Sonny. I want you to. Just fuck me.”
Hearing it a second time fuels my need for her even more. It’s the dirtiest thing she’s ever said to me—and she sure as hell doesn’t have to say it again. “Are you ready for me, gorgeous?” I ask, my fingers seeking out her core. I brush against her clit before I insert one finger, and then two.
“Grayson,” she sighs.
As she props her forehead against mine, I pull my fingers out of her and—in one, hard thrust—I fill her with my dick until I’m balls deep. She’s so warm, soft, and tight, tighter than I remember. My eyes roll back of their own accord and I know I’m not going to last long. I pause only for a moment, stretching her open. My starved cock drives me and I pump in and out of her pussy wildly and without restraint. She gasps, whimpers, and moans and my ecstasy steals the breath from my lungs as my balls begin to tighten.
“Are you close,” I breathe, not slowing down for anything.
“Don’t—don’t worry about me.”
I maneuver my hand between us, my thumb finding her sensitive nub as I gently nibble at the side of her jaw. “Shorty,” I begin to say as her legs tighten around me. “You’re all I worry about.”
She cries out when she comes, every part of her body clinging to mine. My dick erupts like a fucking geyser, her wet pussy milking me dry. My whole body tenses as pleasure floods my veins. I feel so out of control, I don’t stop myself from clamping my mouth around her neck, sucking at her skin, my teeth sinking into her flesh as we both come hard together.
I kiss and lick her neck, soothing her tender spot as we work to catch our breath, our bodies coming down from the high we just experienced. I freeze when she begins to cry. I start to pull away from her but she stops me, holding me even tighter. I must admit, while I hate to hear her cry, my heart swells knowing that she doesn’t want me to let her go. She need not worry, because I don’t intend to anytime soon.
“Shorty?”
She mumbles incoherently and I pull her away from the wall, rubbing her back in an attempt to sooth her.
“Sweetheart, I’m right here. What do you need?”
“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”
Over and over she apologizes. I can’t say for sure what she’s apologizing for, but something tells me she needs to let it all out. As she cries, I accept the reality that one quick fuck isn’t going to fix us—no matter how good it was. Nevertheless, I’m grateful for this moment—for the opportunity to hold her as she sheds even more tears. I know we have a long, hard road ahead of us; but I also know that the wall that stood between us before has been demolished. Together, under the spray of a shower that has grown lukewarm, we’re joined as one—and that is how we’ll stay. Two hearts. One soul. Forever and always.
For every sorry that comes out of my mouth, he has an I love you. I’m not sure how long I cry, but he doesn’t
let me go until I start to shiver from the chill of the cooling water. He turns it up until the knob can’t twist any hotter, the temperature rising until it is tolerable again. He then proceeds to take my hair out of my messy bun before he washes me from head to toe. Even as the water grows cold once more, our time in the shower exhausting its efforts, the heat of his hands and the warmth of his love chases away my chill. He kisses my mouth softly before he encourages me to get out and dry off. He washes quickly before he jumps out to join me. He doesn’t complain, but I can see the way his ridged, tense muscles speak of his discomfort.
I start to apologize, but I’m distracted when he wraps his towel just below his cut waist and then reaches for mine. I open my mouth to speak just as he turns me around and begins drying my hair.
“Sonny—”
“Shhh,” he hushes me, bringing his lips to my bare shoulder. “Let me take care of you, Shorty.” He kisses me again. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
If someone had asked me a minute ago if I had any tears left, I could have sworn I didn’t. Now, as he towel dries my thick, wet mane, I shed a few more silent ones.
My God, I’m the most fortunate woman in the world—in spite of everything, in this moment, I cannot deny that truth. My husband is above and beyond anything I could ever ask or hope or even imagine. I love him so much it hurts—my body, my soul too small to contain all that I feel for him.
When he’s done drying me off, he scoops me into his arms and carries me out of our tiny bathroom and into our bedroom. He gestures with his head for me to pull back the sheets on our new bed and I obey. He lays me down and covers me before he hurries to the other side to climb in next to me. I’m in his arms seconds later, staring into his brilliant green irises.
Time seems to stand still as I watch him devour me with his eyes. For a while, he doesn’t say a word—he just looks at me. My stomach tingles, a mix of love, adoration, and hope making me feel lighter than I have in weeks. When I blush under his extended gaze, he smirks at me before bringing his hand up to brush his fingers against my cheek. He leans forward and kisses me softly, then pulls back and takes a deep breath. I know, even before he speaks, that the moment is about to shift.
The O'Conners: A Made for Love Novella Page 11
