Midlife Crisis_another romance for the over 40

by L. B. Dunbar

  When the kids leave for school, the kitchen grows quiet, and I close my eyes with the peace.

  “You’re alive,” Hank teases as he stands at the bottom steps, holding a plate with two halves of toast and a small glass of something resembling a smoothie.

  “I think I’ll live.” My voice cracks, hoarse from crying and throwing up. Brushing my teeth has done wonders for my spirits. “But I’m tired. I need to shower and get to work.” I don’t move, though.

  “I called in for you. I think I might have some pull with the boss.” He winks as he steps up the two stairs and sits next to me.

  “I don’t want to seem irresponsible. Last night proved I clearly can be.”

  “Lady, we all need to let our hair down at some point. Typically, it’s not into a toilet, but—”

  “Ugh. Gross. Did that happen?”

  “Nope. I had it.” The comment turns my head to him. He took care of me. My hair. My face. Even my robe. It was all him, there for me.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Anytime.” He leans forward for his quick kiss. “You brushed your teeth.”

  “I had to. Besides, how could you kiss me otherwise?”

  “I’d kiss you any way I could, little lady.” He makes me laugh, but it hurts my head, and I wince.

  “Toast?” He holds out the plate.

  “I think I’ll pass for now.” Setting the plate and the glass on the stair, he turns to me, scooping under my knees and around my back.

  “Okay then. Back to bed for now.”

  I giggle as he struggles at first, tossing me gently to situate me so he can carry me up the staircase. Setting me on my bed, he heads for my bathroom as I fall over to my side. Returning, he holds my hairbrush in his hand. He crawls behind me, prompting me to sit up, then slips his legs on either side of mine. He removes my crazily wound hair and begins to brush it. The methodic movement soothes, and I close my eyes as he strokes over the long tresses. Is there any greater pleasure than having your hair brushed by someone else? We remain quiet for several minutes. Eventually, he separates my hair into three sections and braids it.

  “Sweet cheese, Hank. Why aren’t you married?” My eyes remain closed, languishing in the pleasure of him working with my hair. He chuckles softly.

  “Guess it wasn’t for me,” he says, and I remember what he told me. He asked several times, but she always said no.

  “She must have been crazy,” I whisper.

  “Why?” His fingers still. Curiosity fills his voice.

  “I can’t imagine why she would say no to you, Hank.”

  “I wasn’t good.” He exhales, rubbing his hands down my shoulders.

  “You’re perfect,” I quietly murmur. A brief kiss lands on my neck before he scoops the single braid to the side.

  “You need to lie down again.” He’s gentle in his direction, swinging his leg around me, and I tip to my side. He climbs up behind me, stifling a yawn, and I roll to face him.

  “Why’d you quit drinking? Was it because of her?”

  He closes his eyes and rubs down his face, stroking at his stubbled chin. The beard has grown a bit thicker since yesterday.

  “I almost killed a kid. I almost took from some family their boy when I hadn’t ever had one. The emptiness I knew they’d feel just snapped me out of it, so I went to rehab. Did the twelve steps, but sometimes, the meetings made me want to drink again. The sob stories. The heartbreak. I had to just make a clean break for myself, and that’s how I lost touch with the band. I couldn’t be around the lifestyle anymore.” He rolled his head to look at me. “But the band was already done. Kit was dead, and we were over.”

  I stare at liquid silver filled with pain. I sit up and remove my robe. His gray eyes narrow at me.

  “Middy, whatcha doing?”

  “I want to curl into you.” My voice is low, hesitant as I reach for his t-shirt, wondering where his flannel went, and tug it off him. The shirt hardly left much to the imagination, but in broad daylight, his naked chest is a masterpiece. Symbols and swirls, colors and calligraphy cover a good portion of his upper body and down each arm. I push at him to lie back and return to my side. He shifts, so I tuck into his chest, his arms wrapping over me.

  + + +

  “Feels nice.” I’m dreaming, and I purr as Hank suckles me. My tank top presses upward. My hips rock as he draws me deeper, lapping over the nipple before enveloping the achy globe into his warm mouth. “Like that.”

  My hand finds his head, scratching lightly at his short hair as I separate my knees. My other hand cups my neglected breast before skimming down my stomach, heading for the promise land. I’m almost there, wondering if an orgasm is a possibility in my dream, when I feel fingers engulf my wrist, and my eyes flutter open. My hand stills on Hank’s head. His head which is literally in my hand.

  I don’t need to glance down to know where his face rests. And the noise coming from his mouth warns me he isn’t stopping. He nips my nipple before heading for the other breast.

  “Hank.” My voice squeaks. He still grips my wrist at my waist.

  “You’re all sprawled out, sexy and pliant, moaning in some dream. How could I resist you?” He looks up at me, his tongue dragging around my nipple before he blows on the warm wetness, pinching me more erect with the cool stream of his breath. My sex clenches, and my fingers twitch. He looks down at my hand and then back up at me. “Where were you going, little lady?” he teases, his voice low, smoky, gravelly.

  “Let me see,” he commands, rolling back to his side, propping up on one elbow. His lazy finger traces around my breast, begging to be massaged again. When I don’t move my hand, he tugs at my wrist, dragging it to the waistband of my underwear. “Let me see, wild thing.” The smooth tenor of his voice guides me like he did the night in the tub. I close my eyes and lower my fingers, finding the nub, hot, pulsing and ready.

  “Fuck, that’s hot, baby,” he moans beside me before slipping his finger next to mine.

  “I like it better when you do it,” I admit, and his mouth returns to my breast, sucking as his finger dives into me. I’m one ball of sensory overload, and within minutes, I’m writhing under his eager fingers and holding his head to keep his mouth latched onto me.

  “Hank,” I warn. I can’t speak. I arch off the bed, my knees coming together to hold his hand between my thighs. He pulls back to watch as I ride the wave, moaning and mewing with a long, languid release. My arms fall to the sides as I look up at him. He slides up and scoots off the bed, quickly removing his jeans and boxers. He tugs my ankles apart and crawls over me. Holding himself, he drags the head through wet folds, ripe and anxious for him.

  “I shouldn’t have come inside you last week without protection. I’m clean, totally clean, but it was a bit irresponsible of me. You’re still young enough to get pregnant.”

  Sweet cheese, I don’t want to think about such things.

  “But I liked watching me connecting with you, little lady. It’s quite the turn-on.” I take the risk to watch what he’s doing to me, spreading and seeping along my slit. It’s a bit intoxicating, and the scandal of doing it in broad daylight causes me to clench. I want him inside me.

  He pulls back and reaches for the back pocket of his jeans. I watch as he rolls on the condom, stretching over his solid length. In the sunlight, I see for the first time how truly large he is. My mouth almost waters with the excitement that that is going to fill me. He’s gentle as he presses inward, watching as he disappears within me. As he balances on two hands over me, he groans once he’s as far as he can go. He slips a hand under my backside and pivots, rolling onto his back and forcing me to straddle him.

  Staring up at my breasts, he begins to fondle them, massaging and squeezing, forcing them together.

  “You have the best tits.” The compliment seems brazen in the sunshine, yet a bit of exhibitionist in me doesn’t care. I’m so lost in the movement of rocking over him, the angle somehow deeper with me above him. I gain a stea
dy rhythm, my breath catching as our pace quickens. My fingers slip down my belly, touching the pleasure point to add to the friction. I feel something building, like a volcano forming inside me, rumbling, cresting, boiling.

  “Hank,” I scream as I clutch at his hips with my knees and hammer over him, milking him into me while I come a second time. I don’t know how he does this to me. I’ve never come twice in my life, but with him, I just want to keep going, and it drags on and on and on. I’m just barely slowing down when Hank sits up, wraps an arm around my waist, and spins us again.

  He’s over me, sliding his hands up my stomach and over my breasts before jumping to my hands and raising them above my head. Entwining our fingers, he holds me pinned to the bed, thrusting into me so deep, so hard, my breasts jiggle and the bed quakes.

  “Goddamn, I…” His voice fades, but in my head, I complete the phrase. I love you. How difficult would the words be to say? How much meaning would they hold? A tear drips from my eye. What can I say, I guess I’m a crier.

  “You okay, baby?” His voice strains to speak as he pummels into me.

  “More,” I whisper without the breath to explain my meaning. He doesn’t pause at my response, but stills, pulsing inside me with the tapping rhythm I like. Drained, he collapses next to me, still buried within. He kisses my shoulder, lingering, and I cup his head.

  “What did more mean?” The question startles me, and I roll my head to look at him.

  “More kisses, more than okay, more of everything.” He returns his mouth to my shoulder and smiles against my skin.

  22

  More

  [Hank]

  I’m insatiable for her, touching her in the shower until she gives in and gives me another orgasm. After a quick late afternoon meal of scrambled eggs and fresh toast, I know it’s time to leave.

  “Don’t want your boys thinking I spent the whole day ravishing their mother.” Her face pinches at the comment, and she looks away. Something fills her eyes, but she blinks too quickly for me to catch it.

  Midge has a nice house, and it reminds me of all I had and lost. I don’t want to leave, actually, but I don’t want her boys to think I’ve been hanging out all day. Last night, Ronin thought we should take her to the hospital while Elston understood her blight. One too many margaritas in her small body backfired. Liam, on the other hand, slept through the ruckus, but I worried he couldn’t miss the loud sobs of his mom. While the boys remained protective, they were willing to let me deal with her. None of them questioned my staying the night.

  Turning back to me, she asks, “Did I say anything or do anything I shouldn’t have last night? Besides throwing up and ruining your shirt.”

  My lips twist. How can I tell her all the things she said? Sobbing into my t-shirt, she cried about never having passion like she sees in Gage and Ivy, never being loved like Tommy must love Edie, or how I loved Kit. It broke my heart, but it wasn’t the time to explain how I’m questioning my relationship with my ex-lover more and more.

  “What do you think you said?”

  “If I was mean, I take it back.” My cheeks fall from the teasing grin. Mean to me? She’s adorable, and everything she says sews my heart back together.

  “Don’t take it back. Don’t take any of it back.” I reach for her shoulders. She’s perched on a stool at the kitchen island, and I’m standing, ready to exit.

  “What did I say?”

  “Just don’t take it back.” My voice lowers, pleading with her. If she reneges her words, I’ll break.

  “Hank,” she whines.

  “I don’t want to tell.” I know enough to realize drunk Midge might have admitted too much. Isn’t there some saying about alcohol setting you free? Wait, maybe that’s the truth will set you free.

  “How bad was it?” she asks, lowering her head and tucking her fingers into my waistband.

  “You said if I asked, you’d marry me.”

  “Sweet cheese,” she moans, her forehead hitting my chest. “I’m—”

  I cover her mouth with my hand, stopping any words which might ruin it for me. Instead, I lift her chin and force her to look up. Her eyes remain closed, so I kiss her quickly. A light brush.

  “Why do you kiss me like that? So sweet but so fast?” I stiffen, and she doesn’t miss the tension. I hadn’t realized I do it. It’s a habit. Something I’ve done with someone else. Kit didn’t allow me to kiss her in public, so I snuck in quick ones to get her attention. Sometimes, I did it to piss her off, knowing she didn’t want anyone to see us.

  “I—”

  “Never mind.” She cuts me off with a wave. “Don’t answer that.”

  I’d like to think I’ve gotten away with not explaining, but my stomach turns. She pats my chest like she’s placating me, and I don’t like it after what we’ve done this afternoon.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

  “I like the sound of that, Middy.” I do. I like seeing her every day in the garage although I know she’s smarter than our place and has more creativity than being our office manager. Still, it’s nice to see her daily.

  I lean forward for the quick kiss and hesitate. Instead, I lay one on her cheek, but it doesn’t feel right. A word whispers through my head. More. Does she mean she wants me to kiss her in front of her boys? Out in public? All the time? I’d gladly oblige, but right now, I need to go.

  “I’ve got a car to keep working on.” I wink.

  She chuckles as she shakes her head. “I can’t believe I’ve pulled this off. It won’t be a reality until Friday, when I present to Pendelton.”

  I still don’t understand why she wants to work for the man so much. In my opinion, she’s got nothing to prove to him. He seems like such an ass, but what do I know.

  “Friday. I’ll bring champagne.” Her eyes widen, and I chuckle. “For you, not for me. Don’t worry.” I don’t want her to have any concern I’ll break the promise to myself and drink.

  “Tomorrow first,” she says, and I smile at the thought.

  As I’m driving home, I feel lighter, almost pleased with myself. It’s a strange feeling until it clicks that for the first time in years, I didn’t visit the cemetery on Sunday. I didn’t perform my ritual. I grow uneasy for a few seconds, wondering if I should head to Kit’s grave, but then I realize skipping the habit might be half the reason I feel so much better.

  When I arrive at Restored Dreams, Brut scowls at me.

  “What the fuck happened?”

  “She had a little too much ladies’ night.” I motion with my thumb and pinky, tipping my hand toward my lips.

  “You got her drunk?” He eyes me suspiciously.

  “No.” I snort. “She went out with Edie, Tommy’s new wife, and Ivy.”

  “Kit’s daughter?”

  I nod, and Brut lets out a low whistle. “You just can’t get away from them.”

  I think about it for a moment. “You know, because of them I found Midge. If Tommy hadn’t contacted the garage, inviting me to the party, I would have missed out on…” I almost say the woman of my dreams. Is she? In many ways, yes, Midge is a dream come true.

  “I’d say yes if you asked me.” Drunken tears followed when she tried to backpedal, explaining she wasn’t pressuring me and she knew I wasn’t ready for something so serious. Then she argued with herself that she wasn’t ready either, claiming she was a hot mess with three boys and no job. God, can she ramble herself into a tizzy. I stroked her back and tugged back her hair, letting her get all her emotions out.

  “Missed out on what?” Brut interrupts my thoughts, muttering an additional comment. “Please don’t say sex.”

  “No, it’s not just sex. Midge is…different.”

  “That’s like saying she has a good personality.”

  “She does. She’s…special to me.”

  Brut inserts a finger in his mouth, fake gagging. What are we, five? “That sounds awful. Midge is different and special, but Jesus, she could be so much more if you let her.”r />
  More. “I am letting her.”

  “Yeah, and what are you being for her?” I tap my palms on the counter. What am I being to her? Kissing her like I kissed Kit isn’t going to endear her to me. If Midge means more to me, I shouldn’t be sneaking in kisses but kissing the fuck out of her. I stare at my brother a moment.

  “I don’t know.” A puff of air escapes him as he shakes his head.

  “You’re a fucking idiot,” Brut mutters, picking up his tablet and typing something on the screen. “After your day off, we need help on Carlson’s Corvette, and Pendelton’s Bentley is ready for paint.” Discussion over, I’m dismissed. The shift reminds me of Kit, and I hate the restored feeling. Images of Midge’s pretty brown eyes looking up at me make me think, maybe, just maybe, she’d never dismiss me.

  + + +

  On Tuesday, I get the call I’ve been waiting for.

  “Doc can see you at two.” Tommy’s gruff voice shouldn’t sting, but it does. Drake Henderson was the band’s physician. The one we went to when we needed a quick hangover solution or a remedy for bad drugs. He took care of an STD for Denton Chance, our guitarist, and referred Kit to an oncologist when he suspected her cancer. He also took care of her pregnancies—that is, he delivered both her babies. After her second birth, she had her tubes tied to prevent any other mishaps. It hadn’t been a condom thing the second time around. It had been unwrapped, too quick, too fast, without a thought to what could happen. Kit never wanted that to happen again.

  My heart races with a million thoughts. What will this test mean? Will the truth really set me free? If it goes one way, I’ll have lies confirmed. If it goes another direction, I’ll have some honesty, but what will I do with it?