Wings Over Poppies (Over #2)

by J. A. Derouen

  “Hey, I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to snap like that.” He takes in a deep breath, and his shoulders slump in defeat. “I just need you to treat me … like it’s just me. Your instincts are going to tell you to help me with these things, but what I need from you, more than anything, is for you to ignore that feeling. Please don’t offer to help me unless I ask for it. It may be hard for you to understand, but it’s what I need from you.”

  I lean down and place a quick kiss to his lips as I weave my fingers through his drenched hair. “No, I get it. It makes sense. It’s just like you said. I have this urge to help you, but I understand why I shouldn’t.”

  “Thank you.” West nods, lips pressed firmly together.

  I hesitate for a moment. “On that note, I’m just gonna—” I point to the shower door, and he nods again.

  I go about the business of drying off, and I hear the faint noises of his movements behind me, but I leave him to it. I know he’s worked hard for his independence, and I’d never want to take it away from him. I dry off, wrap the towel around me, and cinch the corner to hold it in place. I turn around to find West sitting on the bench beside the shower, raking the towel over his head.

  He grins huge and winks at me. “See, Alex, I’ve got this.”

  I shake my head and laugh. “Yes, you do.”

  I awaken to a huge intake of air, like a person who’s been under water breaking the surface, robbed of air for way too long. It jolts me awake, and I struggle to make sense of my surroundings. My eyes fly open in an instant, and that’s when I see him.

  Frantic eyes, like a frightened animal, ready to bolt. He looks as if he’s run ten miles, gasping for breath and chest heaving, and I imagine he’s done more than that in his head. He’s pushed himself to the far edge, as far away from me as he can get. I resist the urge to rush across the bed and embrace him.

  Get it together, Alex. Be his calm.

  I relax my features and smile softly. “I’m here, West. It’s going to be all right.” I extend my hand to him and wait. If this is going to work, he has to meet me halfway. He needs to come to me.

  Slowly, hesitantly, he reaches out to me. I clasp his hand in mine and scoot a few inches closer. I lay his palm firmly over my heart, and keep my eyes trained on his. I cover his chest with my hand. His body is slick with sweat, and I inwardly flinch at the hammering beat slamming against my palm. It’s a relentless pace, downright punishing.

  But it’s alive.

  “Breathe with me, West. Slowly, in and out. That’s it.”

  Minutes pass, but it feels more like hours as the tension in his muscles eases bit by bit. His rapid pulse slows to an unhurried rhythm. The sweat dries, leaving his skin cool to the touch. His chest rises and falls in synchrony with mine. His frightened eyes gradually soften.

  And then fill with unshed tears.

  His arm curls around my waist and my body crashes to his as he buries his face in my neck. “I love you so much, Alex. So fucking much.”

  I feel the air leave his body in a massive sigh. It’s cathartic. It’s an emptying of emotion—a release of pain and sorrow—so something new can take root in its place.

  “I love you. More than words can express.”

  He inches away from me to meet my eyes, and his are filled with determination. “If it’s ever too much … if the burden of me is ever too great—”

  Softly, I place my hands over his lips, silently begging him to stop.

  “Don’t you know? You are not my burden. Never.” I brush my lips lightly against his. “You? You are my gift.”

  I stir slowly and reach across the bed for him, but I find only cold, crumpled sheets. I open my eyes and focus on the empty spot next to me. I sit up in the darkness, fold out of the bed, and search for him. I walk the hallway, checking rooms as I go. My search ends in the living room when I spot West sitting ramrod straight in a wooden chair, staring blankly out the window.

  I pad across the room and kneel between his feet. I part his legs to inch closer, and only then does he become aware of my presence. His eyes soften as he reaches out to me, tucking my hair behind my ear.

  “Hey. I didn’t mean to wake you.” His voice is a whisper, even though there’s no one else here to disturb.

  I follow suit, keeping my voice low and intimate. “It’s okay. I missed you. I’ve gotten used to having you close.” I wrap my arms around his waist and lay my head gently on his lap.

  We spend several nights together each week, and I toss and turn when I’m alone. After so many years spent apart, I crave the proximity. Sleeping without him makes me restless.

  Something’s on his mind, but I stay silent, allowing him to work through it in his head. His fingers run through the length of my hair, and he glances down at me with a look that can only be described as despair.

  “I only had a month left, you know.”

  That gets my attention instantly. I try to lift my head to meet his eyes, but he resists, gently laying my head back in his lap. Some things are too difficult, too raw, to say face-to-face.

  “It was a routine supply run,” he scoffs and releases a humorless laugh. “I was in the passenger seat. Bobby Redman, the best man I’ve ever known, was driving. I always thought it would feel different. Like I’d wake up in the morning and feel … something … a sense of foreboding or intuition. But it was a Tuesday, like any other fucking Tuesday.”

  It takes all my strength to remain still. I want to hug him with all my might, squeeze out the bad memories, leaving only good. But his experiences make him my West; his scars make him unique and beautiful.

  “Red was going on and on, like he always does … did … about nothing at all. He was enlightening me about how small, real tits were far superior to huge, fake ones. The last words he ever spoke were, ‘Seriously dude, all you fucking need is a handful.’” West’s hand stills in my hair and grips my neck. “He deserves better last words than that. He deserves … fuck, he deserves…”

  After a few silent moments, he begins smoothing my hair again.

  “There’s a lot of guilt, Alex. There’s a lot of guilt that comes with surviving.”

  His admission slams into me, seizes my heart. I shoot up from his lap and grip the sides of his face tightly. Forehead to forehead, heart to heart, I say the words that I hope will help heal him.

  “Never. The only thing you should ever feel guilty about is not living. You walked away, far from unscathed, and I hope you live every day as a testament to the power of second chances. That’s how you honor him.”

  West inhales a sharp breath and releases slowly, and I feel his body begin to relax.

  “You would have loved him, ya know?” I hear the smile in his voice.

  I giggle softly. “I bet I would have. Hell, he’s a small tit man—that alone earns him big points in my book.”

  “He would have hit on you shamelessly. I would have had to kick his ass.”

  “I am irresistible, you know.” I shove his shoulder and cock my head.

  No longer playful, West pulls me into his lap to straddle him. He rests his palm on the flat of my chest and runs his other hand down the curve of my cheek.

  “Alex,” he breathes my name and blinks slowly. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life loving you. There isn’t a doubt in my mind, not even an ounce of indecision. This love … this life … this is my second chance.”

  “Never Stop” by SafetySuit

  “Unbroken Promise” by Erick Baker

  Two Months Later

  “DO YOU WANT butter or kettle corn?” I shout to Lucy from the kitchen, who’s sitting crossed legged on West’s living room sofa.

  “Hmmmmm, kettle corn. Alex, this movie looks really old. Are you sure we can’t watch something else?”

  I scoff at Lucy’s request and peek my head through the doorway. “Sixteen Candles is a classic, and it’s a must-watch for every teenage girl. Unless you want your polka dotted panties displayed for all the boys to see, you’ll
watch and learn, girl.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’ll see!”

  I hear her giggle trickling into the kitchen, and I can’t help but smile. This is Lucy’s second trip to Providence in the last few months, and I’m so happy to see her and West’s relationship making strides. West is a family man at heart. Every time he speaks to them on the phone or tells me about them, I can see how important it is to him to repair those bonds.

  I carry the popcorn bowl and sodas into the living room and place them on the coffee table. I plop down on the sofa next to Lucy, and she throws the other half of her blanket over my lap.

  “You know, Lucy, West never told me how he won you over. I know you were pretty angry with him about shutting you out.”

  She bursts out laughing and grabs her phone off the side table. I scoot closer to her as she flips through an array of blackmail photos. The first picture is a pair of manly hands with purple nail polish and glitter polka dots. She flips the photo and a hairy foot with lime green polish comes into view. I pull the phone closer and squint to see a sparkling rhinestone placed on the big toe.

  We’re both roaring by this point, and I fight to see the pictures through my tears. “You’ve got to be kidding me. He sat through this?”

  “After the way he acted? Damn skippy! I prettied him up for hours and rattled his ear off about every single stinking thing he missed while he was being a ginormous jerkface. Hold on, Alex, the best is yet to come.”

  She flips the picture, and I see a familiar eye fill the screen. However, this eye is shadowed, lined, and lashed to the nines. There are even tiny rhinestones on the end of the lashes.

  As we both dissolve into another fit of laughter, West arrives with his backpack slung over his shoulder.

  “What in the world is going on you two?” He looks back and forth between us, and then his eyes widen in realization. “Lucy, no! You were supposed to delete those pictures.”

  West dives onto the couch, toppling us as he rips the phone from Lucy’s grip. One by one, he deletes each picture while staying laid out across our laps. My cheeks ache from smiling, and when I chance a peek at Lucy, it’s obvious she feels the same way.

  It’s so good to have him back.

  He tosses the phone onto the table and sits up between us, stretching his arms across the back of the couch.

  “So what are my girls watching?”

  I meet Lucy’s glassy eyes and smile. “Whatever you want, babe. We’ll watch whatever you want.”

  “The sting in your nose after the first sip of Coke.” Cain nods proudly.

  “Folded potato chips.” West chimes in.

  “Sunflower seeds at a baseball game,” Timothy adds, looking expectantly at West.

  West tousles his hair and smiles. “Nice one, dude.”

  “A samocha latte. Full fat, with whip.” I cross my arms, beaming. Hands down, my comfort food choice is the best.

  Cain and Timothy look at each other and chuckle knowingly.

  “What?” I ask.

  Timothy snickers through his words. “You’re such a girl.”

  I grab a handful of tees out of my golf bag and toss them in their direction. They hold up their hands, laughing as the tees pelt their legs and chests.

  It’s good to see Timothy so relaxed and carefree. Last week, his mother told Caroline he’s getting positive progress reports from his teacher, and she’s noticed a marked improvement at home. When I ask West what he’s doing to make such a change in Timothy, he just shrugs his shoulders. “We just hang out. It’s no big deal.”

  Whether or not West knows it, it’s a very big deal. They do much more than just ‘hang out.’ I think Timothy has come to rely on West, and I truly believe it goes both ways. They’ve helped each other.

  “You two better watch your mouth. This ‘girl’ can outdrive you, Timothy. And, on a good day, I bet I can outdrive you too, West.”

  “Ah, but you’ll never outdrive me,” Cain says as he runs up behind me and pokes me in the butt with a stray tee.

  “Ouch!” I whip around and glare at Cain. I turn to West and widen my eyes. “Are you just going to let him assault me?”

  West approaches and wraps his arms around me, then swiftly smacks my butt cheek. “Yep, such a girl.” He laughs as he leans into me, then whispers softly in my ear. “But you’re my girl.”

  I tilt my head up and close my eyes. “Yes, I am.

  After a moment, West straightens and turns to Cain and Timothy. “I think we’re gonna head out. Alex and I have somewhere to be. Timothy, your mom said it’s okay for Cain to drive you home. That good with you?”

  “Where do we have to be?” I ask. I wasn’t aware of any plans.

  “That’s cool, West.” Timothy gives West a high five before running over to Cain. “See ya next week.”

  “Sure will, bud.”

  We both watch as Cain and Timothy load up and take off. West grabs my braid and tugs, forcing me to meet his eyes. “There’s something I want you to do with me. You’ll see when we get there.”

  I pout as West grabs my hand and drags me to the truck.

  “Wait right here. I need to grab something from the house, and then we’ll be on our way.”

  West leans in and pecks my lips, but doesn’t pull away. I open my eyes and find him staring at me thoughtfully. I grab the bill of his baseball hat and pull him closer, which earns me a huge grin. “Be right back, love.”

  He folds out of the car and walks to the garage. I rack my brain for what West may have planned, but I come up empty. Before I can give it much headspace, he approaches the truck with a large wrapped package. If I had to guess, it looks about the size of a … painting? What the hell would West be doing with a painting?

  After loading the package into the bed of the truck, he returns to the driver’s seat, smirk firmly in place. He puts the truck in gear and starts driving without explanation.

  We’re both quiet as we navigate through the familiar streets. West is driving a little below the speed limit, but I relax and let him take his time. That’s been my approach from the beginning, thanks to Caroline’s advice. As time passes, his speed gradually increases, and he scans his surroundings a little less. Do I ever want to reach over and push his foot to the gas pedal? Absolutely, but he would never know it. I can be patient, if that’s what he needs from me. I’ll always support him in whatever way I can.

  “Um, West?”

  “Hmmmm?”

  “That thing you put in the back of the truck?”

  “Yes, baby?”

  “It looks a lot like a painting.”

  “Does it?” He looks at me innocently.

  I burst into laughter. “So that’s how you’re gonna play it, huh?”

  One side of his mouth turns up, and he reaches over to squeeze my knee. He turns the truck into the parking lot of The Manor, a local banquet hall, and finds a parking spot. He throws the car in park and faces me.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “I need to drop that off.” West points to the back of the truck and smiles.

  I jump out of the truck and meet West as he grabs the package. “Hey, wait a minute. Isn’t the silent auction for the battered women’s shelter tonight?”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I donated a few pieces to auction off.”

  “Did you?”

  “West! Stop answering every one of my questions with a question. It’s annoying.”

  “Is it?” I hear the amusement in his voice, and I stamp my foot to show that I mean business. My display causes him to throw his head back in a roar of laughter. Once he catches his breath, he grabs my neck and pulls me close. He kisses me once, twice, three times, while the painting teeters between us. His lips never leave mine as he speaks. “Let’s go find Caroline. I have a donation.”

  “Okay.” His kisses have calmed the impatient beast inside me. Who cares what’s under that wrapping if this man is standing in front of me?

  We enter t
he banquet hall, and I instantly hear Caroline calling orders to the people bustling about, her voice as chipper as ever. It takes much more than a gallery showing to fluster the likes of Caroline. She’s an old pro.

  “Alex! West! I’m so glad you both made it. And is this the shelter’s present?” She reaches out, takes the package from West, and walks to the back of the hall. “Follow me. I have the perfect place.”

  The Manor consists of one large front meeting room with smaller rooms and alcoves placed strategically around the building. It’s the perfect venue for this type of event.

  Caroline stops at an alcove in the back of the building. The setting is intimate. The walls are textured, aged, and surprisingly bare.

  “I don’t want anything else to compete with this painting. Even hidden in the back, patrons will seek this one out, I just know it.” She smiles at West and raises her eyebrows. “Shall we?”

  West nods and begins slowly tearing away the brown wrapping. Like a kid on Christmas morning, I want to shove him aside and rip the paper away in a frenzy, but I resist. Just barely, though. As the paper is removed piece by piece, I see hints of a deep red paint that is very familiar.

  In a swift wave it hits me. I gasp and grab onto West’s arm, tears threatening. He continues unwrapping the painting until the three of us are staring in silence.

  My poppy.

  I named the piece Realizations, and I always wondered who bought it. It was gone when I returned from Cedar Ridge, but the buyer chose to remain anonymous. It’s a fairly common practice in the art world, so it didn’t raise any red flags.

  Caroline approaches and places her hands on my cheeks. As always, her gentle smile calms me. “I feel humbled to have the opportunity to showcase such a moving piece, Alex. I’m so proud of you.” She takes my hand, and then reaches for West. “I’m so very proud of both of you.”

  Without another word, she turns and leaves the alcove. After moments pass in stunned silence, I turn to West with question in my eyes.