by Amy Daws
I look back and see Brody’s face fall slightly when he looks down at his next sheet. He hesitantly grabs it and shoves it against the window, looking away.
MOVE IN WITH ME.
My eyes turn wide and instantly burn with the presence of new tears. As the request permeates in my brain, I shake my head in disbelief and glance back at Parni again. She covers her smiling mouth with her hand, unsuccessfully attempting to conceal her happiness.
I look back at Brody’s beautiful boyish smile. His eyes turn wide and he flips the same sheet over.
TOO SOON?
He’s cringing and his lips purse together, sneering in disgust. I shake my head furiously, feeling frustrated that I missed my big chance to say yes to the last sign. He quickly shoves another sheet of paper up to the window.
TERRIBLE IDEA. FORGET IT.
I feel my emotions plummet to my feet. No! This isn’t how this moment is going to end. I step up closer to the window and urgently point down at his stack of papers indicating I want him to bring the last one up.
He looks at me seriously and rustles into his pile and holds up the guess what sheet to me again—I scowl at him furiously in frustration. He then grabs the spring break sheet and I slam my fist against the window. Suddenly, he’s smiling cockily, and presses the most beautiful sign in the world up against the glass.
MOVE IN WITH ME.
“Yes,” I say, in a normal voice. He holds his hand up to his ear and I repeat louder. “Yes!” He again gives me a look, like he can’t hear me, and I cup my hands to my mouth and yell as loud as I can. “I SAID YES, I’LL MOVE IN WITH YOU!”
He chuckles and digs deep into his huge stack of papers. Jeez, what do all those sheets say?
NO NEED TO SHOUT.
I’m not even feigning anger at this point. I just beam at him, tears flowing freely down my cheeks. He grabs one more sheet.
I LOVE US.
“I love us, too,” I mouth back to him. He crooks his finger, beckoning me out to him. I turn and run down the hall. “Cover me, Parn!”
“Got it, Fin,” she croaks as I blast past her.
I hurry down the hall, out the side door, and around the side of the building to where Brody is standing. He grins at me when I don’t slow down my approach. I run full bore into his wide-open arms. He strokes his hand down the back of my long hair, and his vibrating chest is the best feeling in the world.
“So, was that a yes? It was kind of hard to tell.”
I pull back and grab his smirking face in my hands, and unceremoniously kiss that look right off his damn face. My punishing kiss turns to insane passion the minute his arms tighten around my waist. Brody’s lips have never tasted better, and I’ve never felt so completely consumed by anything in my entire existence.
Wanting to say the words, I break our incredible kiss. “Yes, Brody. I’ll move in with you. And I love us. I love us, like, you have no idea.”
“I’m glad, because I really didn’t make signs for every scenario.” He laughs and I kiss him deeply again. “I love us, Fin,” he murmurs against my mouth. “I waited a whole damn year to ask you out. I’m not waiting anymore. I love us, and I want us to be each other’s everything. Will you be my everything?” His eyes are serious and sincere.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the tattered everything napkin and hold it up to him. “Yes,” I say, simply, and kiss him fiercely, feeling elated for what’s to come in our life. I’m so ready to start a forever with this man. I’m so ready to give him a life that is uniquely and perfectly us.
***
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
3 Years Later
“We’re really doing this?” Brody asks, walking in the door on a Monday night after work.
I laugh gaily at him. “No hi, honey, how was your day?”
“Hi babe, how was your day?” He rushes over to me and pulls my hips into his, walking us backwards into the dining room table. My butt perches on the edge as he begins to unbutton my white blouse.
“Mine was good,” I say, with a smirk. “Val was a tyrant as usual, but I still love her like crazy.”
“Good. My day was awesome,” he says, slowly shoving my now open blouse off of my shoulders. He gently kisses my shoulder and pulls the straps down, exposing more of my breast. “I was driving around to all these building sites in a big daze ‘cause I got this awesome text from my woman that said we can start trying what I’ve been begging her to try for two years.”
I roll my eyes. He’s right, though. Brody has been begging me for two years to have a baby with him and I kept pushing him off, telling him we were still young and had time. I want a baby with him—so, so bad. I just wasn’t prepared to share Brody just then. But the truth was, we both had great jobs. Our house was in a great neighborhood on the outskirts of KC. We had life by the balls. Nothing was stopping us anymore.
Oh, except that pesky little thing about us not being married. I internally groan every time I think about it. Both Brody’s and my parents have been hounding us forever about getting married. Neither Brody, nor I, are too concerned about it. We already feel married in every sense that matters. We just don’t have the legal document to prove it.
Deep down, I was scared that if we got married, we would lose the passion. And damn, do Brody and I have passion, in spades. Him coming home right now and jumping my bones before even asking how my day was is not something I am prepared to give up.
I look at Brody seriously in his eyes. “I want to have your baby, Brody. I want to give you the us baby we’ve been talking about and dreaming about since we graduated. I love us and I want to continue that love.”
Brody’s face turns serene, like he could implode from the emotions inside of him. He pulls my face to his and kisses me deeply—oh, so deep. My hips instinctively push into his groin as the hotness of his kiss awakens my already very active libido.
“Babe. Would it be the worst thing in the world to make a baby on the dining room table? ‘Cause I don’t think I can wait another second.”
“Make-up sex on top of cars and in showers—baby sex on a table sounds like our style.”
He smiles proudly, and crushes his lips to mine in a hungry, frantic kiss. It takes my body mere seconds to catch up to his excitement. I quickly help him wiggle me out of my pencil skirt and underwear. He unclasps my bra and pushes me back onto the table. He steps back and begins slowly undressing himself. His eyes are hooded and screaming sex.
“God, I hope our baby has your eyes. Those eyes are the most gorgeous things I’ve ever seen.”
I bite my lip, watching his striptease. Needing some type of pleasure, I begin playing with my breast. “Your eyes are sexier,” I say, in a raspy voice.
“Babe. What have I told you about doing that?”
“Huh?” I say, looking up from his exquisite erection.
“You can’t touch yourself in front of me like that, unless you want me to come like a damn teenager.” He half-smiles and I mimic the expression. He fashions himself between my legs, and says, “You ready?” I nod, silently. He pauses, bends slightly, and sucks my nipple deeply into his mouth.
I cry out at the pleasure, and he releases. His head comes up, his breath warm on my face. I stare at his lips, in awe. Before, it was only a dream to kiss a man like Brody. Now, it’s my reality. It’s my daily reality and I claim his lips as mine just as he enters me, in one fail swoop. He stills, waiting for my wet center to adjust around his girth.
“I love us, Finley. I can’t wait to have a family with you. I can’t wait for our future together,” he says, while slowly and rhythmically thrusting in and out of me. I groan at the pleasure of his movements.
“I love us more, Brody. I love us more.”
He continues whispering sweet nothings in my ear as he rides me to a state of delirious happiness at the potential of creating new life between us.
THE EPILOGUE
Another Year Later
I knew instantly that I was about to receive the
kiss of death when the nurse escorted me into the doctor’s personal office and not a sterile exam room. Blood pounded in my ears as I attempted to comprehend the news the doctor just delivered.
“I’m sorry, Finley. I’ve run all the tests I can. This is just one of those tricky diagnoses that we can’t treat.”
“Can you tell me that percentage again?” I croak, feeling my eyes well with tears.
He looks at me sadly, and his eyes glance downward as he says, “Less than one percent. And even then I would not recommend it. In fact, I’d like to recommend a procedure to ensure there are no surprises. The last thing we want to do is complicate matters with your condition even further.”
I nod, and a sob breaks free from my mouth. Grief and humiliation blanket me, as the only sound in the way-too-quiet doctor’s office is my rapid, uneven breath. This is my worst nightmare coming true. My worst possible nightmare.
He looks uneasily at me and reaches into his top desk drawer and offers a pamphlet. I glance down at the thick bold letters and the smiling happy faces on it. I stare at it in his hands for a beat before accepting his offering. The paper feels cold, stiff, and ugly.
“You should go over all of this with your…well, boyfriend. He can help you cope. You need support to go through this journey. There are support groups that can help you come to terms with it, too.”
My boyfriend. It sounded like a swear word coming from this doctor’s mouth. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever cared that Brody and I aren’t married. I know nothing about the pamphlet he just handed me, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that a married couple is going to be able to handle it better than a non-married, non-traditional couple. I’m basically still considered single in this doctor’s eyes. How pathetic.
One Percent. The number keeps reverberating in my head as my mind reels with the finality of everything. I can’t believe this is happening to me. I’m relieved I did all this testing by myself.
Five years with someone, you’d think there would be no secrets, no mystery, no stone unturned. That was part of the reason Brody and I never wanted to get married. We looked at our relationship, and ourselves, as the lucky ones. We still had the passion. We still had the heat, the fire—the spark. We were still that special us that we fell in love with in college. We hadn’t morphed into a complacent, boring couple.
This exact moment is why I did this testing alone. Picturing Brody here next to me, holding my hand, and being the perfect, wonderful, supportive boyfriend would have killed me. I would have to watch his normally lustful gaze turn into one of pity—sadness.
About three months ago, I felt like something was wrong. Something in my body just felt off—different—broken. I called the specialist that I found on Google and the receptionist said it was going to be a three-month wait to talk to a doctor. I almost hung up immediately, feeling silly for even considering this appointment. But then she said there’d been a cancellation for that day. I took it as a sign and immediately accepted.
The doctor was warm and friendly and ordered a slew of tests. It felt very matter of fact and par for the course. When I left the clinic that day, I felt hopeful. Sure, I’d been poked, prodded, and spoken to about things I had never even heard of, but I felt like whatever was wrong with me was something that could be fixed with a simple medication, or a specific plan of action. That’s usually how doctor’s offices seem to work. All that mattered was that I was taking an important step in figuring out what the issue was, so I could fix it. I’d wait and tell Brody once the doctor called with my test results. When the doctor called with a course of treatment, I’d tell him everything. That’s what I kept telling myself.
Then the doctor asked me to come in so he could do a minor procedure to rule something out. The way he explained it seemed pretty minimal. But laying on this exam table in a sterile operating room, while a nurse wiped the tears dropping down my temples, felt anything but minor. The longer I waited to tell Brody what I was doing, the harder it got, and the more I began pulling away from him.
After two months of testing and blood draws, I knew before I even came into the clinic today, the issue was much worse than I ever expected. This isn’t the life I signed up for with Brody. I’m certain it isn’t the life Brody signed up for with me.
The nurse comes in to confirm everything the doctor shared with me, and I can’t take any more. The room was too small. The nurse was too ugly. Her smell was too rancid. I have to get out. I have to leave this place. This office. This clinic. This city.
As I hastily exit the office, my stomach twists into a million tiny knots, envisioning a sad forever with Brody. He is everything a man ought to be. He deserves everything he wants in life. Will he stand by me through it? Do I want him to? Does he deserve to give up on his dreams because he decided in college that I was pretty? Beautiful was the word he used back then. I am anything but that now. I am damaged. I am broken.
I can’t stand the thought of watching him fall out of love with me. Out of love with us. This magical us that we created in our own little bubble. It’s more than I can bear. I know in this instant what I have to do.
I have to break us.
I have to leave us.
And I know just where I will go…
THE END
Read on for a look at, A Broken Us,
the continuation of Brody and Finley’s story.
If you’ve already read, A Broken Us, be on the look out for, London Bound: Leslie’s Story, coming Summer 2015.
If you enjoyed this book,
please consider taking the time to post a review.
Reviews are extremely helpful to authors
and there is no better way to thank them for their hard work.
THE ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
What a trip this book journey I’ve been on is. I’ve learned so much and had such overwhelming support from people that I have to take a moment to say thanks.
First, to my sister, Abby. Creative partner? Creative cheerleader? What do I call you? What’s the official title? You’re awesome. Thank you for reading every single one of my chapters as I sent them to you chunk by chunk, without fail. You always came through for me and I owe you some Zimas.
To my husband, Kevin. I know this book world is a stressful one for our family. And I know you’re carrying the burden of a lot of things at home when I’m in the thick of it. But I love it, babe. Thank you for continuing to soldier through the extra work so I can keep chasing this dream.
To the rest of my family. Thanks for allowing me to write some sexy books without disowning me.
My editor, Heather Banta…this one hurt a lot less! I think I’m improving! Thanks for making a Kill Word list for me and for speaking my language in your comments. #fuckyouverymuch Mwah!
Beta readers! This book was a tricky one for me and I couldn’t have developed it into more without all your incredibly insightful feedbacks! Mama Bear, Twinsie, Belinda, Venture. Thank you ladies for donating your very valuable time to help a newbie figure things out. It’s just crazy how much you gals give and give and give.
And I love me some proofers. My final sets of eyes. Faith, Abby, Mercedes, Patricia, and Angela: Thank you all for taking the time to read and re-read my manu to catch any last minute errors. It looks awesome!
Bloggers! I love you guys. The majority of you do this for nothing but the sheer love of reading. Your value is something to be cherished.
To the Book Industry and fellow authors. Thank you all for being so generous with your time, your ideas, and your resources. We’re all a part of this crazy, awesome pay-it-forward thing and I fully intend to do my part the minute someone stops looking at me like I don’t know anything.
To my six angels in the sky. Thank you for being the hope and encouragement and light I need to follow my dreams. One day I’ll read your story to you…but not this one. You need to be way older. Keep inspiring your sister, Lorelei. She’s our miracle and we know you guys had something to do with her being here w
ith us.
And of course, love to my Lolo! My sassy miracle that keeps me on my toes. Keep calling zebras—horses, and lions—tigers, baby. It makes you you and reminds me just how much you were worth the wait.
FOR MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
www.amydawsauthor.com
www.facebook.com/amydawsauthor
www.twitter.com/amydawsauthor
Coming this summer!
Another London Lover Series novel, Leslie’s Story:
London Bound
Also check out a Memoir by Amy Daws:
Chasing Hope
A mother’s story of loss, heartbreak,
and the miracle of hope.
And now, a LOOK AT, A BROKEN us:
CHAPTER ONE
Brody aggressively paces the hallway of our tiny split-foyer house. I cringe as he rakes his hands through his curly brown hair and lets out a frustrated sigh. Anger and tension are radiating off his body like blurry lines surrounding a campfire.
I turn away from him because I can’t stand seeing him like this. So hurt. So broken. A sadness creeps over me as I look around our home we built together. I painfully take in my last moments here. I can’t believe this is the last time I’ll be sitting on this very couch. Four years ago, we picked it up off the side of a curb. Sure, we may have been one step away from being labeled dumpster divers, but we knew it was nothing a $40 carpet shampooer couldn’t fix. We were senseless like that together, and it was great.
Every flat surface in our house is littered with picture frames. Brody didn’t mind my obsession. I'm infatuated with finding the wackiest frames I can. I frequently receive them as gifts from friends, family, and even coworkers. I love putting unconventional pictures in frames. There’s a photo of Brody sleeping on the couch, and one of me with my three nieces, eating mashed potatoes. My favorite is a mustard-colored pleather frame with tiny black seahorses glued around the edges. Inside the frame is a picture of Brody and me on a four-wheeler. I’m facing backward, straddling him while his arms grip the handles. He’s biting my neck as I laugh. We were so happy. So innocent. So perfect.
