by DM Davis
“I can’t wait to meet her.” His hand, resting on my hip, flexes as he kisses my neck. “She sounds wonderful.”
“She is.”
Please, don’t love her more than me.
“Can I ask you about your religious beliefs? You obviously believe in God since you pray before your meals. What denomination are you?”
She noticeably stiffens, but her words don’t suggest any discomfort. “I am a believer. I’m just Christian, non-denominational. I grew up in a Bible Church. So, not Catholic, Baptist, Methodist, or any other category you can think of. What about you?”
“I believe. I grew up Catholic, but I’m not practicing.” I haven’t been to church since leaving England. “I like the idea of defining myself as just Christian. Do you go to church regularly?”
The stiffening is back, accompanied by her fingers clutching the couch cushion until they turn white.
I place my hand over hers, pulling her fingers loose. “It’s alright, we don’t have to talk about this now.” I’ve obviously touched a nerve.
“It’s okay. It’s a fair question.” She swallows, trying to suppress her emotions. “I used to go regularly with Holly and her family. But…”
I wrap her in my arms and whisper, “It’s alright,” in her ear and press my lips to her neck.
Her nod is the only acknowledgment. “After the attack, I couldn’t bring myself to face them, the stares, the questions, the sadness of what had happened to Holly. They were devastated, understandably. I only served as a reminder of their loss and their questions of why her and not me.” She rolls over, her eyes locking on mine. “It was too much.”
I wipe away a lone tear, cradling her cheek, keeping her locked to me, to the present.
She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “I’m too shy to try a new church alone. So, I…don’t go. It’s not a good excuse, but it’s the truth.” She offers me a small smile with a shrug.
“Has her family reached out to you since the attack?”
“No.”
That one word pisses me off. I know they lost their daughter, but her best friend survived and could have used their support. It could’ve been healing for both sides.
“Not at all? Nothing?”
“I heard they came to see me when I was in the hospital, still unconscious. By the time I woke up—three days later—they had already pronounced Holly brain dead and had removed her from life support. They asked that I not attend the funeral.” She lays her head on my chest. Her words are muffled as she continues, “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to her properly. Though, I really was in no shape to go anywhere, much less a funeral where I would have scared everyone with how bad I looked and only served as a visual reminder of what happened—and attracted media attention, as well as public gawkers.”
A sob escapes, and I fear I will crush her as I tighten my embrace.
“It was for the best, but it still hurts.”
She lost more than Holly that day. My anger grows towards her attackers and Holly’s family.
After a few staggered breaths, she continues, “The day I got out of the hospital, I visited her grave. Charlie took me. It’s not the same, but it was something.”
“Charlie?” My hackles rise. Who the hell is Charlie?
She swipes at her tears. “He’s the lead detective on my case.”
My hackles smooth out. “I’m glad he was able to give you some closure.”
Her silent shrug tells me she doesn’t see it as closure at all but a reminder that she wasn’t welcome because she had the gall to survive what Holly couldn’t.
They deemed her unworthy. Now I’m pissed off all over again. “It’s not your fault.”
She contemplates for a second before replying, “Fault or not, it is what it is. Can we talk about something else?”
I should have known she wouldn’t want to dwell on the attack or the impact Holly’s family’s actions have had on her. We don’t have to tackle it all today. I’m thankful she at least let me in, shared the details that obviously still plague her. “Of course, Dove.” Anything you wish is my desire to give. I kiss her softly before sinking into the couch, holding her head to my racing heart.
We simply breathe until we both feel calmer—until the attack has sunken into the background where I wish it would stay, but I know it can’t until fully dealt with.
I’m in the kitchen getting drinks when I hear music. I glance into the living room and do a double-take when I spot Theo on the couch with his guitar, forearms bare and corded with muscles. His deft fingers strum the guitar with the ease of a seasoned musician. His head is bowed as he hums in contemplative thought.
Lord, this man put S-E-X in the word SEXY. He’s hot without a guitar, but add a guitar, and he’s defcon delicious.
As I sit, he starts a new song. It’s familiar, but I can’t identify it until the first words come out of his mouth. “Make You Feel My Love.”
I doubt I’ll make it through this without crying. His eyes stay locked on mine as he sings of all the ways—of all the things he’d do—to make me feel his love.
My heart aches, and the tears start to flow. But I don’t take my eyes off him.
When he gets to the line about never seen anything like him before, I couldn’t agree more. I definitely have not seen anything like him. His heart is so big and open to me. It’s an amazing feeling that I never thought I’d find, not in my real life—in my fantasy life, yes—but he’s here, in front of me, and I’m overwhelmed.
I can feel his love.
He finishes the song, lays down his guitar, and scoops me into his lap so that I’m sitting astride his legs. He pulls me close, and I wrap my arms around him, laying my head on his shoulder. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you feel my love.”
I break down in his arms. I’ve come undone. It’s not the first time, and it most definitely won’t be the last, but it feels significant. Like there is more going on than it appears to be on the surface. Something clicks inside me, like a joint falling into place, a puzzle piece locking with its adjoining mates. It takes the breath out of me, and I suck in air as I tremble in his embrace.
“You’re my world, Dove.” His voice cracks, and his hold on me tightens as if I can stay off his emotions when mine are pouring out of me.
I nearly laugh at that thought of being his dam to hold back the flood of his emotions.
Not likely.
Not a chance in hell.
“And you’re mine.” It’s not a confession, it’s the truth.
When I wake on a scream in the middle of the night, tight in Theo’s embrace, it’s no surprise. We’d been digging in places better left buried.
“I’ve got you.” His warm tone and heated breath caress my skin.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, pressing into him as if his body could absorb the memories in my nightmare—some false and others all too true.
“No apologies.” His lips graze my skin.
“Make me forget.” My shaky hands skirt along his hard planes—solid and strong—seeking redemption. Asylum. I was foolish to think finding love would heal my past. It only seems to have aggravated it.
My world is breaking apart, and I’m left standing on two broken pieces that are slowly drifting apart. I’ll have to choose or jump ship all together. And though I’m a good swimmer, I’d rather choose the piece where Theo resides. It shouldn’t even be a choice—a hardship—and yet, it feels like the hardest choice of all.
My future or my past.
Jump or swim.
Drown or prevail.
“Dove.” His raspy voice pins me to the present as he settles over me between my legs, his hands sliding into mine, bracing himself. Our lips meet, his legs widen mine, and his body rolls into me like a slow wave that promises to be a tsunami. Turbulent, devastating, and cleansing.
Maybe, just maybe, if I hold him tight enough, he’ll be my life preserver and I won’t have to choose.
SATURDAY COMES QUICKL
Y—TOO QUICKLY. I wake up earlier than I care to, considering the late-night disturbance of yet another unwanted nightmare. Though, who would want a nightmare? Perhaps, unwanted is not the correct term, but the dazed, hungover sluggishness keeps my brain from finding a better word to describe how much I dislike having nightmares. Again…who likes them? Ugh, enough. Get out of bed already!
I did sleep amazingly well post-nightmare in Theo’s arms. He gives me such peace, but sadly, it’s not the shield I’d like it to be against my mind’s nightmarish escapades. Wasn’t I getting out of bed? Enough of the damn musings.
I glance over my shoulder after slipping out of bed. He’s sound asleep. His broody brow is calm and scowl-free, his lips full and begging for a kiss. His hair, in bed-head disarray of the sexist kind, calls to me to smooth its curls or sink into them as his lips work their magic on my breasts.
Yeah, I need a shower…a cold one.
No sex stuff this morning. We’ve things to do and people to see. Namely, my mother. I’ll shower, get ready, then wake him up.
I let the shower warm up as I collect my towel, throwing it over the shower rod and brushing my own tangled mane of curls into submission. The scent of Theo wafts off me, and my heart skips a beat as I consider not washing him off, but my hair is now a frizzy mess. There’s no coming back from that. I have to wash it and start over with fresh curls. I make a mental note to cover myself in his scent as soon as humanly possible.
It’s only eight when I step out of the shower. I’ve got plenty of time. We don’t meet my mom until eleven-thirty. I wonder if Theo needs to stop by his place for clean clothes. I should have considered that last night and done a load of laundry. I’ll have to ask when he wakes up.
I dry my hair, put on makeup, and dress. I opt for jeans and boots rather than a skirt, due to the cold and remnants of ice that cling to every surface not being driven on. Taking one last look in the mirror, I’m happy with my reflection, and spray on my namesake perfume, the same perfume I’ve worn since I was sixteen. The same perfume my mother named me after. Image that, being named after a perfume. How many people can say that?
I turn off the light and quietly step into the bedroom, leaving Theo asleep as I close the bedroom door behind me. I grab some water and head to my laptop in the guest room to check my email and pay some bills.
But first, I call my mom to confirm we’re still on for lunch.
I can tell she’s been awake for hours by how chipper her voice is when she answers. “Hello.”
“’Mornin’, Mom.”
“Good morning. How are you?”
“I’m good. Are we still on for lunch?”
“Yes, yes, I can’t wait. I’m looking forward to meeting this man who stole my baby’s heart.” My mom is not one to beat around the bush.
“Be nice. And no embarrassing stories, please.” It’s of no use, but I at least try to quell her desire to see me blush. Though she’ll never admit it, she enjoys watching me squirm in embarrassment. She thinks eventually I’ll grow out of my shyness—my fear of being the center of attention. To her, her stories are simply a bootcamp, forcing me to face my fear. For me, it’s something I endure because I love her and know she means well. Plus, she loves garnering attention—she can’t fathom why I wouldn’t want the same.
“I’m always nice, but I can’t make any promises about stories. You know when I feel moved, I have to share.”
Lord, don’t I know it. This coming from the woman who called all her friends the moment she found out I got my period for the first time, saying my baby is a woman now.
I cringe and want to climb under the table to hide from that memory alone.
“Oh, before I forget. I made chicken soup and chili over the last few days. Can I bring you some to eat or freeze?”
“I’d love that. Are you sure you don’t want to freeze it for yourself, honey?”
“I’m sure I have plenty to give to you and Theo, and still have leftovers. I have spaghetti also but assume you don’t want any of that.” Mom has never been a big spaghetti fan—not a fan of tomatoes altogether.
“No, but I will take the soup and chili.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in a bit. Love you.”
“Love you too. Bye, honey.”
“Bye, Mom.”
I finish paying bills, forgoing email as it can be a bottomless pit dragging me into tangents I don’t have time for. After packing up food for my mom in a small cooler, I decide I should probably wake up Theo. Give him the option to run home for clothes before lunch.
I turn on some music and quietly open the bedroom door to find my professor still sleeping so peacefully, I hate to wake him up.
I softly sit on the edge of the bed, reaching out to stroke the side of his beautiful face. He’s handsome, but beautiful too—not feminine beauty, but how a work of art is beautiful, or the breathtaking beauty of a flower, or a mountain, or the ocean’s rolling waves crashing on the beach. He is beautiful, and I can’t believe this beautiful creature is asleep in my bed, much less in love with me.
He doesn’t move, so I brush his lips with my thumb. “Theo, it’s time to wake up.”
He moves on a groan and opens his eyes. “Hullo.” He blinks likes he’s trying to bring me into focus. “What time is it?” He sits up. “Why are you dressed?”
“It’s ten. We need to leave in an hour unless you want to run by your place for clothes.”
Stretching on a yawn, he keeps one eye on me as the other closes. “It’d be great to stop off at my place beforehand.” He scratches his head, surveying the room before his gaze settles on me once again. The tips of his fingers touch my hair. “You look beautiful, Dove.”
“Thanks.”
“How long have you been up?” His fingers move lower, tracing the edge of my blouse, stopping at the minuscule amount of visible cleavage.
I try to ignore his touch. “Um, a while, I guess. I showered, dressed, talked to my mom, paid bills, and packed food for my mom.”
“You’ve been productive, and all I’ve done is sleep.”
“You needed it. You missed out on your beauty sleep as someone woke you up last night.”
He studies me, his hand clasping mine. “You alright?” I know he’s asking about my state of mind after my nightmare last night.
I nod, laying my other hand on top of his. “I’m good.”
“Glad to hear it. I don’t know about needing beauty sleep, as you got less than me, and I’m looking at beauty personified.” He kisses the corner of my mouth.
Ignoring my blush, he moves to get up. “Give me fifteen minutes.” He stops, his feet dangling over the side of the bed, the sheet covering his lap. “It appears we have a dilemma.” His eyebrow rises, and his eyes gleam with mischief.
“We do?”
“We do.” He brushes the hair off my shoulder, his thumb caressing the soft spot below my ear. “I am, as God intended, naked under these covers. You’ll get an eyeful if you so desire, or you can close your eyes.”
He waits for my reaction; I try not to smile. I’ve seen him…mostly…in minimum light, not in the full brightness of day. Not entirely naked and not from a distance—the distance it will take him to walk from my bed to the bathroom. Naked.
“Are you thinking? Or have you decided to gaze upon me with your brazen self?”
Brazen? Hardly. My smile breaks free, spreading across my face. I attempt to rein it in and fail miserably. “Do you, Professor, have a preference? It’s your body, after all—you control whether I see it or not.”
A thoughtful smile dons his lips as his eyes shine with love, all joking aside. “Quite the contrary, Dove. As is my heart, my body is all yours.”
My heart leaps, and my breath catches on a desperately needed breath of air. What this man does to me with a turn of phrase. “You are, as ever, the silver-tongued devil. I should look away, but I seem to be lacking the fortitude at the moment.”
I kiss his cheek, lingering, not wanting to move away.
My smile, gone. Lightness of mood, gone. I’m in awe of him and his ability to lay it all out there and tell me he’s mine, fully, in all ways. The magnitude of his words touches my heart, and tears well up.
He tips my chin so our eyes meet. I’m as naked to him emotionally as he is to me physically. I cannot hide from him—as much as I try—he sees right through me.
“Dove,” he whispers, his voice is raspy, full of emotions, wrapping around mine like a glove.
On the next breath, I’m in his arms, his lips pressing to mine, tender yet determined to put into action what he’s feeling inside.
Tears run down my cheeks, and he swipes them away with tender kisses. “My girl, overflowing with emotions. I love you so.” His hands palm my face; his thumbs dry my tears. “I want to stay here like this—with you—but I have to shower so I can meet your mother and tell her how much I love you.” He leans in. “Close your eyes.”
I do as his lips meet mine, capturing my bottom lip, tugging gently, before sweeping in for a more thorough taste. He pulls away as I sink into him. “I’m going to get up now. Keep your eyes closed.” His lips linger on mine for a final kiss. Then he slowly pulls away and slips into the bathroom.
I don’t open my eyes until I hear the click of the bathroom door.
I sit motionless, raw, and turned on, staring at the closed door hoping he’ll come back—naked or not—and finish what he started.
The words that come out of that man’s mouth couldn’t cause more churning inside me if he tried. They elate and sadden me at the same time.
Maybe it’s all the sadness—all the hurt—oozing out as he fills me up with his love.
Maybe one day, I’ll be so full of his love, my heart near bursting, that I’ll no longer cry when he says nice things to me.
Maybe one day, loving affirmations won’t seem like a foreign language.
I can only hope.
I slide off the bed and make my way to the guest bath to fix my makeup. I turn up the music on my way in an effort to lighten my mood.
