Made To Love

by S. M. West

  The church is crowded, overflowing with people. Many have come from far and wide, including a chef or two from France and a few from British Columbia and California. Bas is—was world-renowned in culinary circles. There’s no doubt he made his mark, and in the short time I knew him, he certainly made his mark on me.

  The ceremony is beautiful and sad. Sam manages to say a few words before losing it, and Alec does too. Afterward, as we begin to depart the church for the cemetery, all three of us are quiet. None of us have spoken to the others since we arrived at the church. Sam and Alec are surrounded by well-meaning people who wish to convey their condolences but it’s overwhelming.

  Finally, the priest ushers people along, reminding everyone that we must get to the cemetery. Outside, at the grave, the wind howls and the skies darken further. The service is quick and like many, I drop a single red rose upon the casket. Rivers of tears run down my face.

  Standing silently beside Sam, our fingers interlaced, I scan the crowd of people still milling around the gravesite, all of them jockeying to speak to Sam, Alec, or both. After what feels like hours, the crowd thins and the three of us are left with only a smattering of people.

  Marie-Claire, Bas’s childhood friend, calls Sam over. Glancing my way, he gestures for us to go, but he’s torn at leaving a stoic and dazed Alec by himself. I squeeze his hand in reassurance. “It’s okay, go. Alec and I will be fine.”

  At hearing his name, Alec nods in agreement, mutely giving Sam the go ahead to leave. As Sam’s tall form, with his head hung low, ambles across the grass, Alec breaks our silence by clearing his throat.

  “You don’t see it, do you?”

  “Pardon?” I turn to face him.

  “That boy has given you his heart.”

  Speechless, I examine the depths of his eyes. While his expression exudes warmth, his voice is cold, almost disappointed. I’m not sure what to say; I’m not prepared for this conversation or that truth, or even my own feelings. Like him, I’m overcome with sadness, too raw and crushed to handle any more.

  “You may not know it—shit, you likely didn’t even ask for it, but it’s yours.” Alec stares at Sam where he is speaking with Marie-Claire. His arms encase her frail, petite form as he comforts the older, sobbing woman. “You better honor Bastien’s request of you. You better take good care of Sam’s heart. Of him. He is the one and only thing Bas loved most in this world. He would have given everything up for him. He made me promise, although he knew he needn’t ask, to look after and protect Samson. Olivia.” He turns to look solemnly at me, his eyes are fatigued, black circles ringing them. He’s aged, understandably so, in these past few days. “You have the power to destroy him. Bas will rise from the dead and haunt me if I let you hurt Sam.”

  “Alec…” I falter, feeling the need to say something, to defend myself and comfort him, yet not knowing what to say. I have no intention of hurting Sam.

  How do I feel? I love Sam, but is it love, love? I like him a lot. I enjoy my time with him. In fact, I anxiously look forward to it and miss him terribly when we’re apart—but is that love? Am I ready to be in love? I’m not prepared for this deep conversation.

  Bas’s words are coming back to haunt me. I pushed them aside when they were spoken, not ready to deal with it, and now it’s unnerving to hear something similar again, to see the belief Alec has in the power he feels I have over Sam. I’m not sure I want that kind of influence.

  “Olivia,” Sam interrupts my thoughts. Alec stands silent and reserved, his gaze transfixed on me, measuring my every move—at least that’s how it feels. “Let’s go.”

  As he takes my hand, fat, cold drops of rain hit my face. Sam opens an umbrella and hands one to Alec then his arm circles my waist as he steers me toward the car. Glancing back to where Alec remains motionless, he says, “Alec, you coming?”

  The rain pelts down on us, each hard splat against our umbrellas unsettling me further. Alec looks like a man moored to the gloomy, dark backdrop. “No, I’m going to stay a bit. I’ll get a ride back. You go ahead.” His voice is heavy, pained.

  Sam drives to the house in silence. Leaving him to his thoughts, I contemplate my brief but troubling encounter with Alec. Of all things the man must be plagued with since the death of his husband, why say this to me? I’m still confused and wish we had been able to finish what he started.

  Alec returns several hours later, wet and chilled to the bone but more like himself, insisting on making us a simple, comforting meal of grilled cheese and tomato soup. Conversation is sparse and the evening is subdued and quiet. We all turn in early.

  Sam and I are silent as we undress for bed, slipping under the covers. Wordlessly, he reaches for me in the dark. The pale moonlight slices through the thin curtains, illuminating enough of his face for me to see the deep lines of anguish in his forehead and around his mouth. His lips crush mine in an unforgiving, frenetic kiss, expressing his deep and unyielding need for me. For us.

  Unlike the tumultuous storm of emotions within both of us, we make slow, sensual, silent love. For the first time ever, my moans and whimpers are soft undertones for his ears only. No effort or interference is needed to keep me quiet, and my faint murmurs are no less indicative of my pleasure than my usual loud sounds and sighs. Somehow, I know this is what he needs, and unexpectedly, I’m capable of silence during passionate sex.

  Sam gives me his sorrow, his suffering with his body, and I in turn give him solace and love. Our union is no less intense or passionate than it has been previously. We move as one, our breaths hot and heavy, our kisses deep, long, and powerful. Our joining is deeply devastating in its significance and exhilarating all at the same time, reminding us that we’re alive.

  Once we are both spent, we cling to each other, our damp, heavy chests moving in tandem as we come down from our climax. My mouth travels his face, his neck, his upper chest, tasting and revering, adoring him. He holds me tight, wrapping his arms around me and draping one leg over mine. We both lie still, listening to the rain fall. Sam eventually finds sleep and I listen to his even, deep breaths as I’m eventually lulled into slumber.

  The bed dips and rises with Sam’s departure from the bed. It’s just after six o’clock in the morning. I lie still, listening as he pulls on his pants and closes the door behind him. After a few footfalls, I hear the muffled voices of Sam and Alec through the paper-thin walls. Giving the two of them this much-needed time to talk, I burrow farther into the soft down covers and close my eyes.

  Not long after, the strong, alluring aroma of coffee permeates the bedroom, followed by the familiar kitchen clatter of breakfast coming together. It’s time for me to go home. I’ve been here nearly a week and I need to leave today. I’m taking the train to the airport in a few short hours. I don’t want to leave Sam, I want to be here for him, but I also know that Alec and Sam need some time together. They have things to discuss and decisions to make.

  Breakfast is solemn. There isn’t much talking, but the tension has lifted, perhaps from knowing Bas is at rest. After a delicious and hearty breakfast, Sam loads the car with my bags and I linger in the foyer, waiting for Alec, hoping to get a moment alone.

  “Olivia.” Alec’s deep rumble comes from behind me.

  “Alec.” I sigh with relief at his usual tone and warm expression. I open my arms and he envelopes me in a big, long hug, his rich, masculine cologne a welcoming scent.

  “I wanted to talk to you before I left.”

  “Olivia.” He pushes back half a step, and we’re only inches apart as he peers down at me. “Me first. I’m sorry about yesterday. I realize I came on strong, and I was reacting out of fear—my fear of fucking this up, of being alone and not being enough for Sam. I’m sorry.” His voice wavers and his fingers lightly squeeze my shoulders.

  Blinking back tears, I force a small, reassuring smile. Seeing him this vulnerable, appreciating his honesty, and understanding where he’s coming from, I want nothing more than to cry. Loving someone is a precio
us gift, and one that’s often taken for granted. In Alec’s eyes, he understands the magnitude of the gift he had and its loss.

  I wish I could ease his grief, and I’m also grateful that Alec and Sam have each other. Their unconditional love for each other will carry them through. They will need each other more than ever now in their shared loss, and it’s their unending love of one man, Bastien, that will bond them even stronger than they are today and pull them through this dark and miserable time.

  “No apologies needed. I understand and I want to tell you that I have no intention of hurting Sam. I love him. I’ll take care of him,” I assure him.

  “My sweet girl, I know you believe that from the bottom of your heart. It’s clear as day in your eyes, in the way you look at him and talk to him, but how does that work?” My eyebrow quirks in confusion. “You live in Toronto and he’s in Montreal. How do you build a life together when he has no intention of ever leaving this place? Are you prepared to uproot your life for him?”

  Sam

  “Sam?” Olivia calls from the front door. The muffled voices of Drew and Paige filter throughout my loft.

  Splashing cold water on my tired face, I peer into the bathroom mirror. On a long, shaky breath, I steel myself, digging deep for my reserves. They’re here. I can do this…I think.

  It’s been five weeks, over a month since his death. Olivia’s been here every weekend. She’s come to me, every time. I haven’t asked; she just knows. Truth be told, I haven’t been in the frame of mind to even think about what I need, what I want. I’m just going through the motions.

  While the thought of them all being here is comforting, I’m not sure if I’m up for the company. It’s been low-key and quiet when she has been here, just us, and I wonder if I can keep two teenagers entertained.

  “Hey,” I respond, my voice tight.

  The three of them turn, each with their own warm, caring smile aimed at me. Paige and Drew coming to see me is a big deal; it means something that both of them gave up a weekend with their friends for me. Olivia slips into my embrace, gathering me—a man almost twice her size—in her strong, inviting arms.

  She perches up on her tiptoes and her lips delicately brush mine. “Hey,” she whispers, her smile small and knowing, her gaze soft.

  “Sam.” Paige’s voice cracks as she launches herself at us; it’s rather dramatic, but no less sweet.

  Her slender arms wrap around her mother and me. Breathing in her girly scent, it brings a small but true smile to my face. I’ve missed her too, this feisty, sweet girl who has bit by bit become my friend. I lean down and my lips lightly kiss the top of her head.

  “Hey Paige, I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I’m so sorry about your father. Mom’s told us about him and I wish we’d met…” Her voice trails off when she thinks she’s said something wrong.

  “Hey.” My voice is soft, understanding as I cup her cheek. She steers her gaze back to me. “He would have loved meeting you, and you.” I look over at Drew, who is standing awkwardly to the side. He smiles weakly. “And thanks for coming. I’m glad you’re here.”

  As I say the words, I realize it’s true. I am glad they’re here, and also grateful that we’re staying with Alec for the weekend. This is exactly what we both need—young people to snap us out of our blues.

  Like a hurricane, the four of us descend on Alec with chaos and upheaval, but in a good way. At first, Alec is clearly bewildered and flustered, not knowing if he’s coming or going, but as the day goes on he begins to unwind, settling into his old self, the man I knew before the loss of Bas.

  With a deep, hearty chuckle, Alec snags Paige around the waist and ruffles her hair. She shrieks, her fingers frantically combing through her dishevelled locks in a poor attempt at fixing the mess.

  “Young lady, I think you cheated,” Alec accuses.

  “I didn’t! You’re just a sore loser,” she retorts, raking all the poker chips to her side of the table.

  “Sorry, Alec, but Paige is a card shark. She comes by it honestly—my father was good at poker and taught her everything she knows,” Olivia explains.

  Drew hands me a beer before sitting back down at the kitchen table. “Although, she has been known to cheat.” He sends a knowing glance at his sister.

  Paige’s cheeks redden as she abruptly stands, hands on her hips. “Drew, shut it. That was one time. One time. And I said sorry and promised never to do it again, and I haven’t,” she protests vehemently.

  Olivia and Drew laugh, obviously knowing exactly what she’s talking about. “Well, now you have to tell us,” I insist. “You can’t leave us hanging. What gives, Paige?”

  Huffing, she crosses her arms. “Sam, it was one time, I swear. I was playing with Popzie and I was losing. So, I just, um…”

  “She was counting cards,” Drew cuts in.

  “Was not! I don’t even know what that is,” Paige fumes.

  Alec’s laughing so hard, his eyes water. “Come here,” he calls to Paige.

  Tugging her wrist, he pulls her into a hug, his arms banding around her middle. She willingly embraces him, resting her cheek on the top of his head as he softens in her hold. The sight of the two of them tugs at my heart. I wish he were here. I wish he could meet them. Why didn’t I have Paige and Drew meet him? Damn, I hate regrets. I hate wishing for something that’s futile, something that’s never going to happen.

  “You’ve got to teach me,” Alec jests. Paige giggles.

  Our weekend is amazing; I can hardly believe it. We have fun and truly enjoy ourselves, so much so that the time flies by. The kids surprise us by cooking dinner one night, and it is actually pretty good. Alec has a good time, a really good time, laughing for the first time in a while and smiling—boy did he smile.

  They’ll leave bright and early in the morning; Drew has a long day of driving ahead of him as he heads straight back to school once he drops off his mom and sister.

  It’s four in the morning and they’re all asleep. I’m up, can’t sleep.

  As I drizzle olive oil in the hot pan, it sizzles and pops as I twirl on my heel to scoop the mirepoix into my hand and drop it into the skillet. Instantly, the alluring aroma of the simple but delicious base—the secret ingredient in many dishes—hits my nose. Stirring the onion, celery, and carrot by habit, I’m lost in the haze of the calming task, one I’ve completed too many times to count.

  Her sweeping, soft, almost invisible touch along my bare back ignites a soothing and exciting sensation within me, pulling me back.

  “That smells so good.” Olivia’s sultry voice warms me. “What are you making at this hour?”

  She doesn’t ask if I can’t sleep; she knows. She’s found me before, up in the middle of the night doing one thing or another. She doesn’t need to ask— her being her is enough.

  Placing the wooden spoon on the rest, I turn off the burner and bring her to me. My arms encircle her slender waist as I crush her chest to mine, my feverish skin tingling with want. Heat flares in her eyes and her hair is wild, cheeks tinged.

  “I was making soup, but now I’ve lost interest and would rather make something else.”

  “Oh? What are you in the mood for?” she asks in a seductive tone.

  “You. I want to make love to you.” I nibble along the column of her neck. Delectable. “Although, I think I’d rather devour you. You don’t need any seasoning. You taste perfect the way you are.” As I suck and lick behind her ear, my fingers burrow into the tender flesh of her backside.

  I move her body fully against mine and my delicate hold grows greedy. Our lips mash against each other and a landslide of emotion crashes over me, threatening to consume, drown, strangle me. I never want to stop, never want to let her go. She’s made for me. I’m made to love her.

  She quivers in my arms as her breathy moan slides down my throat, reverberating through my chest. Dragging her up my body, her torturous curves set fire to all my nerve endings along the way. I’m a whirlwind of frenzy an
d her legs wrap snugly around my waist as I carry her to the kitchen chair.

  Straddling my lap, her slender hands cling to my shoulders, pulling me closer as she kisses me, hard and hungry. Going for the hem of her shirt, she prepares to lift it over her head, but I stop her.

  My trembling hands still hers. Her eyes widen, cloud with uncertainty. Without thought, only instinct, I’m driven to confess.

  Say it.

  Words that have been on my lips many times before, but that I’ve held back, waited to voice, knowing she may not be ready to hear them. Now is the time to tell her.

  Say it.

  My entire body trembles, teeming with emotion. No doubts. I need to tell her.

  Say it.

  “Olivia.” My voice is low, gravelly with affection. “I love you.”

  My fingers caress her cheek, my breath suspended as I wait. Hesitancy veils her gaze and her breath hitches as her fingers dig into my flesh.

  “Sam.” Her voice wavers, gulping on my name. “I…um…I…”

  Grabbing me, her fingers thread through my hair at the nape of my neck as she harshly brings me to her mouth, covering mine. Her tongue invades the space, hard and demanding as she kisses me. I cup her ass and she rocks into me. My cock painfully throbs and as much as I’m caught up in my desire for her, it’s not lost on me that she’s not said a word in response to my raw declaration.

  Working her tongue against mine, her hard nipples rub and tease my chest through the thin fabric. Her body tremors as I run my hand under her shirt, the pads of my fingers dancing across her abdomen, up to her breasts.

  Palming their heaviness, then I lightly pinch her peaks, rolling them between my finger and thumb. Her head tips back, her breathing ragged as she bites her lip to stifle her whimpers of satisfaction. I love watching her lose all inhibition.

  Amidst my soft, delicate kisses to her jaw and lips, she peeks at me through the fan of her dark lashes. Lifting her, I carry her to the bedroom where I show her how much I love her, how important she is to me.