More Than Ever: The Home Series, Book One

by Gretchen Tubbs

  “Of course. Just watch out for my arm,” I tell her as we tuck ourselves in for the night.

  “You have washed the sheets since you and Miller’s last romp, right?”

  “Shut up!”

  When my eyes pop open, I fly out of bed. “Fuck!” I hiss, scrambling out of the bed. I know I’ve overslept. I must have turned off my alarm instead of hitting snooze. I check the time on my phone. “Son of a bitch,” I mutter. By the time I get dressed and out of the house, my classes will be over. Guess I’m playing hooky today. Maggie is still dead to the world. Our chat must have worn her out last night. I’ve never seen her upset like that. My poor baby sister. I let her keep sleeping, she obviously needs it.

  I take care of my morning medicine routine and grab a quick shower. Heading into the kitchen, a plate of food and a single flower catch my eye. Now-cold grits and bacon are sitting on the plate. A perfect tulip is propped next to it with a note, scrawled in Miller’s messy writing.

  Have a good day, Goose. Here’s my version of an olive branch. I’m trying, baby.

  -M

  I warm my food, smiling at his thoughtfulness. Miller and I may have hit a road block, but we will get past it. We have too much invested in our friendship to let my new relationship ruin it. I obviously didn’t understand what the physical side of us was doing to him. I thought it was just sex. Can the two parts be separated? I guess for him, no.

  I’m enjoying my very late breakfast from my best friend when I hear my phone chirping with a text. When I get it off the counter, I’m expecting Miller, but see it’s Bennett. That puts a different type of smile on my face.

  Bennett: Did u do what I said?

  Lucy: ???

  Bennett: Dream about me

  Lucy: I can’t remember

  Bennett: Trust me- u would remember… Every. Single. Detail.

  I am not awake enough for this! So, rather than responding, I keep eating. I don’t think he likes being ignored. A few minutes later, the damn phone starts ringing.

  “Hell,” Shit. I clear my voice and try again. “Hello?” Could I be more obvious?

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  “No, I just woke up.”

  “Don’t you have school today?”

  “I did, but Maggie and I stayed up late talking and I guess I turned off my alarm. I missed my classes. Are you at work?”

  “I’m on call tonight, so I don’t have any patients scheduled. Thursdays are my day off.”

  I don’t say anything, so he keeps going.

  “I want to see you.”

  “You can see me tomorrow at my appointment,” I say, wanting to hear his reaction. He tells me not to fight this, and I’m not. I just like our banter.

  “I want you at my house tonight. Let me cook for you.”

  “All you think about are my dietary needs.” I hear his deep laugh coming through the phone. The sound travels straight to my stomach. I love that sound. I love being the cause of that sound.

  “Trust me, Luce, those needs aren’t the ones I’m always thinking about. They don’t even make the top of the list. You’re just not ready to hear the rest. I’ll pick you up at six,” he says, and then hangs up.

  I shake my head with a huge grin on my face. Cocky bastard. He never asks me anything. He always tells me. And he didn’t wait for my answer. How does he know I don’t have plans? I’ll show him. I’m not even gonna be here.

  I’m totally kidding. I’ll be ready and waiting.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I spend the rest of the day doing mundane tasks around the house to prevent a total freak-out. Going in public with Bennett Strickland is one thing, but being with him alone in his house is quite another. I don’t know if I have the will power to resist him. I’ve never felt a pull to another person like I do towards him. Even when Miller and I dated, I didn’t have these feelings. It scares the shit out of me. I don’t know if I can let myself get involved with someone, only to be ripped from his life due to my shitty medical circumstances. I mean, it wouldn’t bother me, I’d be dead. But, I have the feeling that Bennett has no one. I never could get anything out of him when I asked about his family.

  I scrub, Windex, dust, and vacuum every surface in the apartment. I even clean out the fridge and do everyone’s laundry. When I can’t find anything else to keep me busy, I get myself cleaned up and ready. What does one wear to a hot ex-Marine turned pediatric nurse practitioner’s house for dinner? I settle on a pair of short, pale pink eyelet lace shorts, a soft denim button down shirt, and some wedges. Casual and cute, but not my usual get-up. He’s probably expecting my standard attire- I want him to be surprised. Putting it on the bed, I take more time selecting what I’m wearing underneath my clothes.

  I have a slight obsession for lingerie. Silly, considering no one sees it but me. I may not splurge on my clothes or shoes, but I will spend crazy amounts of money on silk and lace. Right now, I am thankful that I have a nice collection. I pull my favorite matching set out of my dresser. It is flesh colored, the exact shade of my skin, and made of the softest, most delicate lace I’ve ever felt. It has never been worn. I’ve saved it, though I never knew what I was saving it for, up until this moment. Maggie got it for me last year for my birthday. I slide both pieces on, and they feel so luxurious against my skin. I may not have a beautiful body- it’s skinny and scarred, but this makes me feel so feminine. If things go further than they did by the river, I want him to have something nice to look at. Something to distract him from my scars.

  Just as I finish touching up my make-up and hair, I hear a knock at the door. I slip on my shoes and head to the front of the apartment. I open the door, and am stunned speechless by Bennett’s appearance. I realize that I’ve never seen him dressed this way. I quite like what I see. He’s in a pair of jeans that must be his favorite. They are faded in all the right places and molded to his thighs like they were made just for him. A plain gray t-shirt stretches across his chest and arms. I realize I’ve never seen his arms. He always has on long sleeves under his scrubs, and he wore a suit on our date. My eyes are drawn to the tattoos peeking out of the right sleeve of his shirt. He clears his throat.

  “You gonna stand there and stare, or invite me in?”

  Busted! Color floods my face. He laughs as I move aside. He walks in, and leans in for a kiss. I lift my face to his, but his mouth doesn’t come to mine. It goes to my ear.

  “You surprise me, sweet girl. I wasn’t expecting you to look like this. I like it,” he says.

  Then, I’m rewarded with my kiss. It’s slow, long, and delicious. He pulls away way too soon for my liking, and leads me out the door.

  “Hi,” I say, finally gaining the ability to speak.

  I get a deep, beautiful laugh in return.

  I ask Bennett about the tattoos in the car. As he drives, his sleeve pulls up when he steers and I see that it’s rows and rows of Roman numerals. They are not harsh and black, but sepia colored, almost blending in with his tan skin, like they were meant to be there. I hesitantly run my finger along a few lines, asking what they mean.

  “They are the house numbers to every place I’ve ever lived,” he says.

  “Wow. Were you an army brat?” I ask.

  “Nope,” he replies, not elaborating.

  “Did you move a lot because of your parents’ jobs?” I ask. I know I’m prying, but I’m curious. There are dozens of them lining his arm. Those are the only two explanations I can think of.

  “Let’s save the heavy stuff for later, Lucy,” he says.

  Okay.

  We drive through campus, making our way downtown and arrive at Bennett’s house. It’s a small little cottage, but I can see that it’s been recently renovated. The yard is very simply landscaped. The paint on the house looks fresh. He opens the front door, turns on the light, and I pull in a breath. It’s wonderful. It’s simple, masculine, and looks like someone put a lot of time and effort into making it that way. It’s done in all neutral colors- browns, t
ans, and creams. The furniture is all heavy, rustic looking leather pieces. Even though everything is all very masculine, it doesn’t look like a single man lives here. The decorations are few and far between, but carefully placed and thought out. I do notice that there are no personal pictures anywhere.

  This little cottage suits Bennett. He gives me a quick tour. It’s a small house, but he talks about it with an enormous amount of pride. When he starts talking about refinishing the wood floors himself, I look at him, shocked.

  “You did them yourself?”

  “I did it all myself. This place was a dump. I got it for a steal at a Sherriff’s auction when I got home from overseas.”

  “How did you have time for all of this and school?” I ask. I can’t believe he did this.

  “I didn’t exactly start school right away. I was in a really bad place when I got home. I saw a lot of shit over there that no one should see. I needed to get my head right. Most of my buddies got lost in booze and women. I got lost in this place.”

  I’m just staring at him, amazed at this man standing before me. The more time I spend with him, the more I can feel myself falling. I’m scared to death. I don’t necessarily want that happening.

  “You are full of surprises, Bennett,” I tell him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. This house. Ava. There’s just more to you than I thought.”

  “I’m more than just a pretty face, sweet girl,” he says with a wink. “Come on, let me feed you.”

  He leads me into the kitchen. I move to sit on a stool at the island, but he lifts me and sets me on the counter, right beside the stove.

  “I want you close. It’s your turn,” he says.

  “For what?”

  “Sharing. Tell me something.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything. Everything. Whatever you want to tell me.”

  I sit for a minute, thinking about what I want to tell him. There isn’t much to tell. He’s keeping his hands busy cooking. I love his hands and arms. I could sit here and watch him all day long.

  “I’m waiting, Lucy.”

  “There’s not much to tell. I’ve told you about my family already. You know about my kidney function. What else is there?”

  “I’m sure there’s plenty. What do you like to do?”

  I consider his question. I can’t tell him I like sitting on his counter, watching him cook. I can’t tell him I like kissing him. I can’t tell him I like watching him interact with Ava. Everything I once liked to do is forbidden. Gymnastics and running were my two passions, and those things are no longer options.

  “Well, I used to be a gymnast. I had to stop when I had one of my kidneys removed my junior year. I also had to stop running. So now, I just go to school and dialysis. Not much else to me.”

  He looks at me, a sad look passing over his eyes, and asks, “If you could do anything, what would it be?”

  Right now, in this moment, that’s easy. Sitting on the counter, watching him, I want one thing.

  “I want to feel normal, even if it’s just for a few days. I want to feel whole, healthy, and happy.” I take a sharp breath and keep going. “I don’t know, spend a weekend on the beach, lying in the sun, not worrying about my scars or my fistula on display. I don’t want to feel broken.” I wipe at a tear forming in the corner of my eye. “Sorry, you said nothing heavy yet. You don’t want to hear that.”

  He stops what he’s doing and comes to stand directly in front of my body. He puts pressure on my knees to open my legs and make room for his imposing body to fit. His face is close to mine as he wipes at another tear that is about to fall.

  “Don’t apologize to me for saying what you feel. Don’t hide that from me. I want to know what’s going on in that hard head of yours.”

  I nod, and am rewarded with another kiss. This one is even better than the last. They keep getting better and better. His mouth is hungry-he’s nipping and biting at my bottom lip. He’s being playful, and it’s driving me crazy. He pulls me closer and the kiss gets deeper. One of his hands is making a fist in the hair at the base of my neck, tilting my head to get better access. He pulls my waist further towards him with his other hand so I’m forced to wrap around his waist. I’m lifted from the counter, and he starts to walk backwards, headed into the living room when a timer goes off. We pull away from each other and both start laughing. He plops me down on the couch and gives me a light peck.

  “Don’t move.”

  Ummm, I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to. I’m pretty sure my legs don’t work. I keep that bit of information to myself.

  “Do you want to eat outside?” I hear him ask from the kitchen.

  “Sure. Do you need help?”

  “I got it.”

  I sit for a minute more, and then make my way to the patio outside. The back yard is just as impressive as the inside of the house. Two gas lanterns on either side of the door are illuminating the small deck that’s housing the outdoor furniture. He’s already got it set for supper. There are several candles on the table, waiting to be lit. Small speakers are wired out here, and I hear Damien Rice start to sing. This must have been covered during the talk with Maggie. I love his music.

  As I’m taking all of this in, he comes out the house, carrying a tray with food, a bottle of beer, and a glass of white wine.

  “I love it out here,” I tell him.

  “Good. Maybe it will keep you coming back.”

  We sit and he dishes up plates of shrimp pesto and grilled vegetables. The food is delicious. He’s a great cook. Is there anything he can’t do? We eat, drink, and talk about all kinds of things.

  When we are finished with our dinner, the conversation moves back to heavy. I really want him to open up to me.

  “Bennett,” I start out hesitantly, looking down at my lap, fiddling with my napkin. I can’t believe I’m opening myself up to this. I said I would never go here. “I really want to give us a shot. I want to hear about your life, about those tattoos. Will you tell me?”

  “I don’t share that with anyone, Lucy,” he says harshly.

  My face falls. I instantly regret asking him. He grabs my hands and squeezes them, silently asking for my attention.

  “Lucy, no one knows about my past. It’s not something I’m proud of. I don’t share anything about my life with people. I have never told anyone about it. It’s not something I do. So, if we do this,” he says, gesturing between our bodies, “we are not just ‘giving this a shot’. I need to know that you are ready to be all in. Ready for me. I want you to be mine. Only mine, because I don’t share.”

  “There’s no one to share me with, Bennett,” I tell him. Why would he even say that?

  “Bullshit, Lucy. I will not share you with Miller. I don’t know what is going on between the two of you. What I do know is that there’s more to it than what you’ve told me. He practically eye fucks you when you’re not looking. That’s another conversation we’ll be having. But not tonight. I don’t want him here with us tonight.”

  He gets up and pulls me with him. We move to the love seat on the opposite side of the wooden deck. We sit, but he’s leaning against the arm with my back to his chest, one of his arms wrapped around my front, hugging my body to his. This is going to be a hard conversation, one he doesn’t want to look at me for.

  “I’ve never said any of this out loud,” he murmurs.

  I’m having trouble breathing. I have no idea what is about to come out of his mouth. Can I do this? I want to. I want to hear what happened to Bennett. I want to be with him.

  “Lucy, are you sure you’re ready for me?” he asks against my temple. “Are you ready for us? Once we commit to this, there’s no going back.”

  I stay silent, but give him a tiny nod, so he keeps speaking.

  “Luce, say ‘Yes, Bennett, I want to be with you’.”

  “Yes, Bennett, I want to be with you.”

  He takes a few deep breaths, an
d then starts his story. “I was not raised like you. I don’t have anything even remotely close to what you do, sweet girl.” He kisses the top of my head, rests his cheek against the top of my head, and continues.

  “I have no idea who my parents are. From what I do know, my mother was a crack whore. I was found one night at the hospital, next to a dumpster. A nurse was just leaving and found me on her way out to her car. She took me in, and they admitted me immediately. I was in bad shape, detoxing, coming off of some serious shit. My mom must have been using the whole time she was pregnant. She had me on the fucking street and just tossed me away. At least she had the decency to leave me at a hospital.”

  He stops his story. I squeeze his arm that is wrapped around my chest, trying to convey everything that I can’t say.

  “That’s the first tattoo. The street number to the hospital where I lived in the NICU for my first few months of life. Ironically, it’s the same one I work at now. Anyway, once I was better, I became a ward of the state. And so began a long chain of foster homes. Some good, some not so good. I saw some fucked up things growing up. Some of which I experienced first-hand.”

  He takes a deep breath before continuing.

  “When I was 12, I had my first real shot at adoption. I was living with a doctor, his wife, and their young daughter. They loved me like I was their own. It was the first time I actually felt like I had a home. Right before we went to court to finalize the adoption, their daughter got sick. It was fast, and it was brutal. Leukemia will destroy a child in a heartbeat. When she died, they were devastated. They couldn’t function, and they couldn’t stand to be around me anymore. I reminded them too much of what they lost. They gave me back to the state. That was my last shot at a family. Nobody wants to adopt a teenage boy, Lucy. So, more foster homes. Each tattoo is a permanent mark to remind me where I came from. What I’ve lived through. The day I finished high school, I joined the Marines. You know the rest.”