Goodbye Secrets

by Jacquelyn Ayres

  “Never. I promise, no matter what. You are my heart. You are my soul. I love you with every fiber of my being. You ... you only.” I shake his head a little for emphasis before I attack his lips. He lifts me up and carries me over to the bed. He lays me down gently. I try to focus on the task at hand here, but I can’t help but wonder where the hell all of that just came from. Is it because we’re here? Is it stirring up memories and insecurities for him? Is it the “Ray incident” at the hospital two weeks ago? No. No, why would all of this come up now? Damn it! It’s because I won’t be with him the next few days! He still doesn’t trust me!

  “Oh, Becca, c’mon, love. Where is your head at, sweetheart? It’s surely not here with me in this bed.” He sighs with slight annoyance, but mostly disappointment.

  “Sorry, baby. Just thinking about how much I’m going to miss you. I don’t like being apart from you.” I choose the road less traveled by us today—the non-argumentative one.

  “Well, miss me later. Love me now.” His lips collect mine. My hand dives into his hair to deepen the kiss. He climbs on top of me and pulls his mouth away from mine to stare down into my eyes again. My fingers play with his lip as I nudge him with my knee.

  “Please, Grayson,” I whisper, and nudge him again. He shifts a little and slowly I feel myself expanding around him. “Oh ... Gray.” I close my eyes to fully absorb the sensation.

  “Look at me, sweetheart,” he beckons breathlessly. I open my eyes and he pulls out quickly, then fills me slowly again. He does this several times—enough to drive me mad.

  “Please, baby, please ...” I think I shall truly lose my mind if he keeps this up. He bites my lip again and quickens his pace. And deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom and the power and ... the glory ... forever ... and ... ever ... “Oh God, baby ... oh God and Baby Jesus!” All Sybeccas are in their robes having a revival. I think Cautionary Sybecca is there playing the tambourine.

  “Bec?” Grayson starts.

  I raise my finger.

  “Shh ...” I just need a moment to return to this planet. Whew. Okay. “Yes, sweetie?” I open my eyes, and once again I’m staring into his gorgeous ones.

  “Did you pray to Baby Jesus?” He chuckles.

  “I may have done that ...” I bite back my smile and push his sweaty bangs away. “Now, Mr. James, care to enlighten me on your pre-coital thoughts?” There was definitely something interesting going on there. I’m pretty confident he won’t share, though. Probably to avoid the wrath of Becca Campbell for the third or fourth time today. Wow! I was really on a roll! In my defense, he’s done a lot of things to piss me off! It’s not like he was oblivious either as to how I may react. Control freak!

  “I plead the fifth on most of it, Becca.” He sighs as if he’ll get the wrath just for that.

  “Um, are you even a U.S. citizen? Because if you aren’t, I don’t think you can plead the fifth, babe.” I poke at his chest with my finger.

  “Well, sweetheart, since this isn’t a real court of law, I don’t really have to worry about technicalities.” He sounds so melancholy. He squeezes me to him and kisses my forehead.

  “Ugh, Grayson! What is the matter with you?” I lift my head off of his chest to encourage an answer.

  “Sweetheart!” he says, with a bit of annoyance in his voice. “We’re in the middle of a huge shitstorm! I think I’m entitled to be a bit all over the place, am I not? I mean, I’m trying to keep everyone safe and happy, trying to salvage my career and all of my businesses. I’ve been handling your business and your ungrateful attitude about everything I do for you! Christ, Becca! Do you think for once, just once, sweetheart, you could thank me for my efforts before you fucking chew me out?” He finally takes a breath of air as he plants his hands on top of his head and closes his eyes to either regain his cool or ... prepare for my wrath. God, I have been a bitch!

  “Well, Mr. James, I have to say that you sound even more British than usual. Something must be done about that!” I opt for teasing instead of more attitude. I play with the stubble on his chin and trail kisses down his jawline. “What shall I do with you, Mr. James?”

  “How about you fucking marry me?!” Annoyance. Again.

  “Grayson.” I lift my face. “I am marrying you! What are you talking about?” Christ, my divorce was only finalized today! Is the ink even dry?

  “I want a date, Becca! I want you to pick a fucking date! I know you want Stacey there, love, but it could be days. It could be years! We’re having a baby! The rumors that will fly around about me only marrying you because of that will be bad enough!”

  “Wait, Gray! We’ve been engaged for a while and the world has known for almost as long. If people can’t do the math, they’re idiots!” Years?! How can he be so negative about Stacey’s recovery?

  “Becca, you say you’re mine. I know it sounds stupid, but I need it in writing. I have to have everything ... well, under control. I can only do so much ‘flying by the seat of my pants’ crap! If this didn’t happen to Stacey, we would’ve been married by Christmas!”

  I sit up and pull my knees to my chest. This is because we’re in New Hampshire, because Ray is ten minutes down the road. He wasn’t carrying on about a date before we came back. He feels threatened. Apparently, he thinks a piece of paper will resolve these feelings. I, however, don’t think five of these papers will change how he feels. Moving to another country might help, but that’s a bit drastic.

  Grayson sits up after a beat and leans over to retrieve his phone from his jeans.

  “C’mere, love, let’s have a look.” I’m guessing he’s pulling the calendar up.

  “Your birthday, is it at the beginning of January?” I try to shake my smile.

  “Yes—the third—why?” He flips to the New Year.

  “Because you’re a typical Capricorn—one duck out of the row and the whole pond will go missing!” I push back to sit next to him. I lean into him and look at the calendar as well. “You’re a very bossy man, Mr. James.” I sigh and feel his lips on my cheek.

  “Thank you,” he whispers near my ear, and I know it’s because I’m choosing a date and not because I called him bossy.

  “How about March?” I offer. “I’ll be in my second trimester ... ugh, I’ll be in my second trimester. Maybe we can have Billy Idol perform. He can sing ‘Shotgun Wedding’ instead of ‘White Wedding.’ Oh, but we might be taking the thunder away from the tabloids if we do that.” My sarcasm knows no limits or bounds.

  “How about Christmas?”

  Please tell me his sarcasm knows no limits or bounds!

  “Grayson, that’s two weeks from now.” I give him the “hell to the no” face.

  “Sweetheart, it’s perfect! I’m sure you’ve been wondering ... ‘Ugh, what do I give the man who has everything?’ Well, you can give me you! No hopeless search through the mall. Countless hours on the internet ... just searching ... wracking your brain ... ‘What am I going to get Grayson?!’” I’m in hysterics.

  “That has to be the worst imitation of a Jersey accent! Terrible, Grayson, terrible.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s better than your imitation of me! I’m being serious, though, sweetheart. That would be the best gift ever and everybody would be here!” He raises his brows, thinking he’s sunk my ship.

  “What about Susanna and Sam? My Aunt Tess and Uncle Bill? Yeah, you didn’t think about them, or your mates from university.” I imitate him.

  “Ugh! You’re impossible!” He groans.

  “Um, how about March?” I revisit. “I’ll be in my second trimester. I should be done with nausea and vomiting, if that happens to me. I won’t be tired and cranky.”

  “March, huh? What a great idea. Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” He smirks and pulls March up. “Do you want a Saturday?”

  “Yes. Fridays can be a pain in the ass for people, and any other day is simply annoying.” How’s that for not sugarcoating?

  “Blunt, sweetheart, and to the point�
�liberating, isn’t it?” He turns for a kiss.

  “Yeah, babe, doesn’t work with everything! Um ... how about the ninth?” I point.

  “I was thinking the same thing.” He taps on it and types Our Wedding Day. “There! Was that so hard?” He takes in a deep breath after he hits “save” and closes everything out.

  “Look at that, baby! The pond has miraculously reappeared!” I hold my hands out in front of me.

  “Shut up and kiss me, sweetheart.” He pulls my face to his to celebrate our joint efforts in mitigating the problem at hand: his insecurity. I mean, our wedding date.

  GRAYSON

  Ugh—can’t sleep! Becca, however, is in a sex-induced coma. She looks lovely. I love how long her hair is getting. She’s been itching to cut it, but so far my pleas for her to keep it long have prevailed. I kiss her lightly freckled shoulder. Mmm ... she smells so good. My fingers gently trace her spine. Look at that fantastic bum. I fight the urge to slap it. Oh, I’d definitely love another go! This is one of those nights where I can’t keep my bloody hands off of her! I know not seeing her for the next few days is probably the fuel behind my fire tonight. I need to finish her gift. If I work really hard on it, I may be able to get it done in two days!

  I need to call the wedding planner—Francois, apparently the best in the area—and see if he can come on Monday. Unless, hmm ... I didn’t ask Becca where she wants to get married. Maybe she would prefer the gardens on our ranch, or a destination wedding. I don’t care, as long as she’s there and all of our close family and friends can attend. I don’t want to invite everyone from “La-La Land,” as Becca likes to call it. Just something small and intimate. I hope Stacey pulls through before then. My luck, we’ll marry on the ninth of March and Stacey will wake up on the tenth! If she doesn’t pull through in time for our wedding, I fear it will linger over us like a dark cloud. It will be kept in that damn file women have for when they need fuel during an argument. Completely-out-of-left-field shit that has nothing to do with the conversation at hand. Women are impossible.

  This woman—this beautiful, sweet, lovely woman—is so bloody impossible. God, she makes me fucking crazy! She’s just lying there asleep, so peaceful, so beautiful ... with that bum I’m obsessed with. I want her there so badly. It’s the forbidden fruit, and I’m drawn to it more and more every day. It’s because I can’t have it. It’s her one no-fly zone, and it’s driving me mad.

  “Sorry, Becca,” I whisper, and pull the covers off of her. She’s on her belly with her left leg bent up. I move it over more so I can fit better and give her an incredibly rude awakening. I enter her—maybe a little too harshly.

  “Ugh, Grayson! Jesus, baby,” she complains, but moves her right leg and gets on her knees to allow me full access to her. She’s half asleep, but still willing to please me. God, that’s so hot! And yet, it’s because she’s just as bad as I am. We have an insatiable need for each other. It’s never enough. We’re addicted. I’ve never wanted someone this much or this often in my life. She is my drug of choice, and I am hers. “Better?” she asks as she scrunches her pillow under her.

  “Yes, sweetheart.” I grab her hair gently, like a makeshift ponytail, and wrap it around my right hand. My left hand finds her left hip and I grasp tightly. I move inside of her slowly at first—I don’t want to be completely rude. I quicken my pace and harshen the power behind my thrusts. Becca yelps lightly as I yank her head back by her hair. I squeeze her hip harder to help her keep my pace. All I can do is stare at her arse. Oh, how I want her there. I let her hair go when she comes and grasp her shoulder as I slow my pace to welcome my climax. My hands palm her arse cheeks and squeeze hard as I have my last quake. I pull out and slap her bum hard; she yelps. Mmm ... so hot. I rub her bottom to take the sting out.

  Becca doesn’t turn into me like she normally would. Instead, she pulls the covers over herself and continues to face the opposite direction. “Too rough, sweetheart?” I rub her back softly.

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  “Sorry, Becca. I got myself all worked up thinking about you—that lovely arse of yours. I’m quite obsessed with it, love.” I kiss her shoulder.

  “Grayson, I just want to go to sleep now, please.” Her voice is shaky.

  “Becca, I truly am sorry.”

  “Yes, Grayson, I know. Please, I want to go to sleep.” She moves away from me. I move closer to her, wrap my arm around her, and pull her to me. She doesn’t fight. Good girl. I close my eyes and sleep finally comes over me.

  “I’ll be there as soon as possible, sweetheart.” I give her one final kiss. She’s been a little “off,” and I wish I had controlled myself last night. I tried to make up for it this morning. I was very gentle and very into pleasing her.

  “Okay.” Half smile.

  “Please, Becca, don’t leave here mad at me. I love you, sweetheart. I’m sorry I got carried away.” Probably about the tenth time I’ve apologized today.

  “I’ll be okay. I’m not mad,” she lies. I think I can see her slipping this event into that damn file!

  “I won’t do it again.” I can lie, too.

  “Grayson, you are getting beyond aggressive. It’s making me feel very uncomfortable in more ways than one. I need you to think about that while we’re apart. Is it worth our relationship to be that rough and ... and ... cold?” She looks like she’s fighting back tears.

  “I didn’t think I was being cold. I felt very, very hot,” I try to joke. Nothing. “Becca, are you threatening our relationship?”

  “No, Grayson—you are,” she says calmly, and looks down.

  “Really?!” I try to stifle my sudden anger with my teeth. “Go to Boston, Becca! I’m not dealing with your shit right now! I had enough of it yesterday!” I walk away. Impossible woman!

  Just as I reach the stairs, my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number.

  “Grayson here.”

  “Mr. James, this is Maxine Caldwell. I’m pulling up right now.” She seems a bit nervous, probably because she’s fifteen minutes late. I’d be irritated, but I completely forgot she was coming.

  “Yes, Ms. Caldwell, I’ll meet you outside.” I hang up. Shit! I was hoping Becca would be gone by now. My fault; I forgot Maxine was coming, and I needed to have Becca one more time this morning. God, she felt so good. I grab my keys and head outside as Paul loads the last bag into the car.

  When Maxine pulls up, I wave to her. I can feel Becca’s eyes on me as I greet Maxine and get into her car. I steal a glance at Becca. She looks like she doesn’t know what to think. Maxine and I head down the long driveway.

  “So, it’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. James.” She flashes me a very toothy smile. Maxine looks to be in her early fifties, at the very least. Her hair is blonde, thick, and frizzy—poor woman. She needs a new stylist. Her navy-blue pantsuit and well-manicured nails look very professional, and she seems pleasant and motherly.

  “It’s nice to meet you too, Ms. Caldwell. So, how many do we have today?” I glance down at her manila folder.

  “Seven total, is that okay?” She seems unsure.

  “Sure, but can we look from the most favorable to least?” Shit, I have a lot to do today! I don’t want to be wasting my time on this. Seven is a lot to look at.

  “Oh, yes, of course. First place is right down the street here.” She makes a right and we travel about a mile down the road. She takes another right and we head up a long, winding driveway.

  So far, so good. We pull up to a huge plantation like home. Hmm, everything is well taken care of, well at least for winter. My cell pings. A text from Becca.

  December 16, 2012 10:00 a.m.

  Becca: Mr. James ... I’m sore gonna miss you :)

  I can’t help but laugh wholeheartedly at her comment.

  “Sorry, excuse me,” I say to Maxine, then text back.

  Me: Are you sore ... about that?

  Becca: Very SORE ... just the way you like me.

  Me: Good, sweetheart.

&
nbsp; Becca: You’ve stamped my ass pretty well this time too :|

  Me: I’d like to do more than put my stamp on it.

  Becca: You want to make that sore too, baby?

  Me: Oh, Ms. Campbell, what are you playing at?????

  Becca: Just a simple question. Why? Feel the need to wear purple pants?

  Me: If I were u, I would stop baiting me on this matter! I have to go. This isn’t the END of this conversation!

  Becca: Butt ...

  Me: Becca, stop! I love u. Give Stacey my love.

  Becca: Love you, BBB!

  Me: Ugh!

  Becca: Ohhh ... God, baby ... sorry, pothole.

  Me: You’re impossible!

  Becca: Possibly!

  Me: :)

  “Ready, Mr. James?” Maxine smiles as I finally put my phone away.

  “I’m so sorry. That was terribly rude of me. It was my fiancée,” I add, as if that may help.

  “It’s okay. Let’s go in, shall we?” She opens the door. This place already screams Becca. Suddenly, I feel guilty for doing this without her. Well, I’m just narrowing it down. We’ll revisit again to make our final decision together.

  After hours have passed, I determine only three out of the seven are possibilities. The best one being the first, of course!

  “So, we’ll keep the huge colonial down the street, the farmhouse, and the colonial with the ten acres of land and the stable.” She goes through the paperwork.

  “Yes, sounds good.” I’m itching to leave.

  “When will Becca come with us to look at them again?” She pulls out her calendar.

  “Well, I want to see some others before we show Becca.”

  “Well, Mr. James, there isn’t much more that fits your criteria in this area. We’d have to look further away, and you said your fiancée wants to stay in this town.” She sighs as if her hands are tied.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to Becca. Thanks, Maxine. I will call you and let you know when we’ll be available to look again. Right now, Becca’s down in Boston visiting her friend in the hospital. She’ll be gone for a few days.” I step out of her car.