Easy Reunion

by Jerald, Tracey

A lot of shit happens in life. We both know that it isn’t always the perfect memories that get you through marriage, but the strength of your partner who holds you up in the times when you can’t handle any more. For him to know I found that in Kelsey… “I’ll leave it in the top drawer of my desk. Grab it when you’re ready. Now”—the bittersweet tone of his voice changes to amused—“I think I’ll try to convince your mother not to call the cleaning crew out at 4:00 p.m. on a Thursday for an emergency touch-up.”

  “Remind her that Kelsey’s practically been living with me,” I suggest.

  “Practically? What’s been taking you so long?” he teases as he descends the steps into the kitchen. There’s a peaceful silence before I hear him call out, “Roberta, will you please put down the phone? The house looks fine.”

  I race back to my room and strip my bed, tossing weeks’ worth of dirty laundry in the center of the sheets and tying them up like an enormous bindle that would hang off a runaway’s stick. If they could manage to lift it, I think with a touch of humor. Thank God my father spoiled what I suspect was supposed to be a surprise. I might have spent the first hour trying to clean up rather than holding Kelsey in my arms, which is precisely what I intend on doing,

  Racing for the bath and turning on the shower, I debate shaving when I get a hard look at my face. I don’t remember the last time I did this. Sure, I’ve had to use a mirror to shave, but when have I really looked at myself?

  Not since the day after I was hurt.

  I thought I had an amazing life when what I had were the pieces of one clinging to me by tightly held bandages. Now that the wounds are all exposed, and everyone I care about knows what happened in my past, there are scars only we can see. But my world isn’t going to fall apart.

  “The worst thing that’s happening to you is the best thing that will ever happen to someone else. All you can do is move past it. After all, if life were meant to be easy, I’d have already won the game.”

  Kelsey’s prophetic words flood my head. The pain of what happened to either of us isn’t going to disappear, but it makes us who we are, standing on top of the podium holding the most important trophy in our arms—each other.

  And with that thought, I reach for my shaving kit. I want to greet the woman I love with everything that she deserves.

  Me.

  And it’s been too long since I gave her that.

  Chapter 43

  Kelsey

  “I love him,” I mutter as I step off the plane onto the jetway where my plane landed at Savannah-Hilton Head International airport late that same day. “I swore I’d never come back to this city, yet here I am.”

  Wheeling my carry-on bag quickly through the airport, I make my way to baggage claim. With a sense of déjà vu, I scan the crowd for the driver holding the device with my name on it.

  I approach him, and we’re soon on our way toward Skidaway Island.

  Where I can see for myself the damage this city truly caused not just to my life but to that of the man I love.

  * * *

  Pulling up to the gatehouse, I pull out my identification and hand it over. “Kelsey Kennedy here to see the Perrault family, please.”

  “One moment.” I’m grateful now for Lisa calling her father when seconds later, my ID is handed back. “Follow the street straight until you reach your first left. The Perrault residence is straight back, Ms. Kennedy.”

  “Thank you.” Something is driving me to get to Ry quickly. Rolling up the blacked-out window, I relay the instructions to my driver.

  Within minutes, the car’s pulling up to a four-story brick home that manages to give the impression of warmth despite the enormous size. I wait for the driver to come around and open my door before sliding out. Holding one hand to my forehead, I tip my neck back as far as it will go as I take in the house that nurtured Ry to become the man he is all while holding his secrets with such a grip, he’s never healed.

  I’m so absorbed in my study, I don’t hear the footsteps on the flagstone next to me. It isn’t until I hear a deep voice say, “I was hoping we’d have a chance to meet before Ry came rushing out here,” that I whirl around and get shocked to the core.

  If I want to know what Ry will look like in thirty years, all I need to do is stay where I am at this moment. His father is an older, more distinguished copy of him, even down to the blue of his eyes. “Considering Ry’s told me a great deal about you, Kelsey, I always hoped to meet the girl who inspired my son fifteen years ago,” he continues, oblivious to my shock. “Instead, I get to meet the woman he loves.”

  “I’m not so certain I should be here. I ran out of the house without thinking.” My voice comes out in a tight rasp.

  “What on earth makes you believe that?” Pierre Perrault tips his head to the side in a way that reminds me so much of Ry, my heart aches.

  I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, I hear, “Maybe you should let me take it from here, Dad.” I turn, and there he is. The fall breeze is ruffling his overlong hair. His lips are curved softly, but it’s his eyes that make me want to burst into tears. His blue eyes are missing the clouds that have overshadowed them since he told me exactly what happened. Ry’s father slips away to give us privacy.

  “Surprise,” I whisper weakly.

  He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “There was no choice.”

  “What do you mean?” Confusion starts to edge in.

  Here’s where I risk it all. Everything. Taking a deep breath, I rush my words. “You left because you needed to face your pain alone. I came because I thought you needed me, but what if you don’t? What if I misunderstood everything you said? What if…”

  Cutting me off, he growls, “Get over here.”

  “I’m afraid to move,” I admit.

  “You’re afraid of nothing—nobody. You’re unconquerable.”

  I shake my head because I know that’s not the truth. Ry’s face softens.

  “Well, that’s true when you’re with me because I feel the same way when I’m with you.”

  A hiccuping sob escapes my throat as I start to move forward. He meets me partway. “How long are you here for?” he whispers against my hair.

  “As long as you want me.” I burrow against his neck. I can smell the soft scent of his aftershave next to the still-damp strands of his hair.

  His arms squeeze. “Then you’re not going anywhere.” His voice holds a note of satisfaction.

  I nod blindly. “I’m pretty certain the driver was cursing my name when he hefted my bag. I don’t know how much I threw in there,” I admit.

  Ry pulls back, staring at me for a moment or two before he bursts out laughing. He begins to swing me around in circles in the front of his family’s yard amid the enormous oak trees whose leaves are just starting to change color.

  Clutching Ry as tightly as I can, I give thanks for time, strength, perseverance, and miracles. I figure you need all of those to get not only through life, to find love, but to withstand a high school reunion.

  All of which we both seem to have done brilliantly.

  Lowering me back to my feet, Ry keeps an arm around me. “Come on. Let’s go inside. I think Mom’s going to burst something if she doesn’t get a chance to meet you.”

  “Wait!” I exclaim just before Ry starts to pull me toward the house. “There’s something I need to do first.” I let go of his hand and step back. “I figured out the name of the next book,” I declare.

  His face softens. “Already? Have you been writing 24/7 since I’ve been gone?”

  “Pretty much,” I admit. Unable to break away from the intensity of his gaze after being so long without that powerful connection, I blurt out, “It’s called Courage. After all, I think it’s time for Pilar to see there’s more than her own pain swirling around her…”

  I no sooner get the words out of my mouth before I’m being swept up in Ry’s arms and he’s pressing my back against one of the trees. The hold he has on my
neck is firm, ensuring his lips can possess mine as his head descends. Over and over for long minutes, our teeth, our tongues, our souls clash in that kiss. His hands holding my head tighten in my hair, sending sizzling sensations to places that have long been denied his touch.

  I whimper when I’m finally let up for air, the world spinning around me where the only thing to make sense to hang on to is Ry. So I do.

  “I missed you, sweetheart. I missed your brilliant mind, your generous heart, and your beautiful face.”

  And with those words, weeks of wondering and worry disappear. I aim a cocky grin up at him. “Then don’t you think we should go to meet your mother? If I were her, I’d be rating the show you just put on.”

  The red color riding Ry’s cheekbones disappears as he begins to shake his head desperately. “No. She wouldn’t. I’m a grown man, for Christ’s sake.” His voice is rising.

  I lay my finger on his lips and murmur, “If my son brought home a woman, you can damn well believe I’d be doing the same thing.”

  Lowering his head, his next words start my heart beating in triple time. “And imagine when it’s our daughter? Forget about it.” Without any indication that he’s just shaken my world to its very foundation, he steps back and holds out his hand. “Come on, love. Let’s introduce you to my mom.”

  Twining my fingers in his, I walk alongside him, thinking silently for a few moments before I ask the question, “Where should I tell Nana and Pop-pop to come for Thanksgiving?”

  Just as the front door opens to reveal Ry’s mother, who has a beaming smile of welcome on her face, Ry tips my face up to his. “Tell them to come to New Orleans. If they don’t feel up to it, we’ll all”—he nods at his mother to indicate his family as well—“fly to Jacksonville to celebrate a day meant for family.”

  “A day to give thanks for all of our blessings,” I add on. I squeeze his hand. “I do that every day.”

  “Me too, sweetheart.” Helping me up the stone steps, he presents me to his mother. “Mom, I’d like to introduce you to…”

  Ry doesn’t get to say my name before I’m engulfed in a mother’s hug. It’s different than Nana’s and Angel’s mothers, but no less warm and welcoming. “You hug just like him,” I blurt out.

  A warm laugh washes over me, “I hope so, Kelsey. I’ve been doing it almost thirty-four years,” Roberta Perrault says warmly. “Welcome to our home.”

  And as I’m ushered inside with Ry, I realize that’s exactly what it is. Home.

  * * *

  “So, Mom, if Kelsey’s grandparents are up to it, Thanksgiving at my house this year?” Ry tosses out casually over dinner.

  “Sure, honey. Will it be just the five of us, or is Cade going to show now that he’s finally admitted he’s in love with Lisa?” Roberta asks calmly, the news about her children clearly not surprising her.

  I choke on the bite of olive I’ve just swallowed. Two sets of male hands come out to whack me on the back. “I’m okay,” I wheeze out.

  Roberta looks on in concern. “Are you sure?”

  I flap my hand. “Fine. It’s just I thought she would have told you they moved in together.”

  There’s a silence around the table before Pierre bursts out into laughter. “Well, that explains the twenty-seven voicemails she left,” he muses.

  “It’s how we got my desk in the loft,” I explain before clamping my hand over my mouth as all the attention focuses on me.

  “So, you moved in with him?” Roberta’s face holds dreams of weddings and grandchildren. My eyes dart to Ry, whose expression clearly states, You’re on your own.

  Fine. I can more than handle this.

  “He kinda asked.” I shrug as Roberta gapes at me.

  “Kinda? Did I raise you in a barn?” She turns to glare at her son.

  “I asked,” Ry says defensively. “The morning I left.” Then his brow lowers to a V. “At least I’m pretty sure I did.”

  I quote, “‘But I need to know you’re here, in my life, my home, my heart, when I get back.’ It sounded like he wanted me to move in, so I took a gamble. I guess I got it right.” I shrug.

  There’s a pregnant pause around the table before all of us begin to laugh. “I’ve learned an incredible lesson being in love with a writer, Dad,” Ry addresses his father.

  “What’s that, son?”

  “Never argue over words. She’s always going to win.” Winking at me, he picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. “You’re right. I bungled it, but you knew what was in my heart. Does this mean I still get to pick on Cade?”

  Even though I’m melting over his own words, I have to look out for Lisa. “No,” I say primly.

  To which everyone laughs again. I’m overjoyed at my reception. We spend the rest of the night talking about Ry and Lisa as kids while I’m tucked against Ry’s side. Soon, the clock strikes midnight, and Pierre holds out a hand for his sleepy wife. “Good night Ry, Kelsey. We’ll see you both in the morning.”

  They disappear down a hallway and into a door. I tilt my head in question. “Is the master suite on the first floor?”

  Ry stands and tugs me to my feet. “Elevator to the upper levels. Their suite is on the third floor. They had it put in a few years ago.”

  An elevator in a house. Even as the wonder of it sets in, and before I can ask to ride in it tomorrow, Ry’s tugging me up the stairs to the second level. “My suite is up here.” Wandering hand in hand down the carpeted hallway, we don’t make a sound until we reach a dark-paneled door. Swinging it inward, I spy my suitcases when Ry says, “Your things were brought up earlier.”

  Whirling around, I ask, “Is it right that we…”

  The slamming of the door behind him as he pulls the shirt off over his head is answer enough. “I guess so,” I murmur as I hold up my hands only to find his warm flesh beneath it.

  “What are you feeling?” Ry asks as he smooths his hands over my back.

  “The happiest I’ve been in so long, I feel like I’m going to burst. All I can feel is you, and I’m so much in love with you, my heart forgot for just a moment what that kind of breathlessness was like,” I admit.

  He moves his hands from my back to cup my face. “Good.” Lowering his head, he sips from my lips briefly before he pulls back. “I want to make love to you, but…”

  I tip my head. “But?”

  “But more than that, I want to talk where I can hold you against my heart.” Tugging me across the room, he drops into a chair where he pulls me into his lap and begins to tell me everything he’s already said over the phone. Only now, I can feel his pain. I can wipe away the tears. I can soothe his hurt. This is more intimate than the physical connection of our bodies because the trust that’s built by something like this is what will carry us through life as passion fades.

  Eventually though, our needs change. His fingers are speared through my hair, holding my head against his heart. In the distance, I can hear the grandfather clock ring out two chimes, but we’re too wired to sleep. It’s then he drags my face up and his lips land on mine with a hunger born of our need for each other after being so long apart.

  The rest of our clothes are shed quickly in between kisses and nips of each other’s skin. Hard, heated kisses intermingle with slow-burning ones as we relearn each other’s bodies with fingers that have a direct connection to our soul.

  When Ry slides into me, it’s equal parts hunger and branding. There’s a thickness to the air when Ry pants out, “I love you, Kelsey. Forever,” as he begins working his cock inside of me.

  I toss my head back as I grip his shoulders. “I love you, Rierson.” After he’s fully seated, I move my hands to clasp his face. My hips involuntarily rock, ripping a groan out of him. “Always, Ry. I’ve loved you and will love you always.” Then I begin to move.

  Soon, we’re both lost to the sensations of his cock throbbing inside of me as it releases. It’s an indescribable pleasure and pain and chaos that echoes our relationship.

  And lon
g after we’ve cleaned up and I’m snuggled against Ry, a trickle of knowledge dances up my spine. After I write Courage, there’s only one name for the title of Pilar’s last book.

  Reunion.

  Epilogue

  Kelsey- Five Years Later

  “There are times when I reflect on my life and am in awe over the transformation of what was, what is, and what will be. Martha Beck said, ‘Any transition serious enough to alter your definition of self will require not just small adjustments in your way of living and thinking, but a full-on metamorphosis.’” Turning my head away from the teleprompter, my gaze roams the graduating class, who are eagerly listening to my words.

  It’s been twenty years since I stood on this very stage. The last time I was here, I was broken. Instead, it was a gateway to my journey to the woman I am today. That has very little to do with my physical appearance and everything to do with the strength I’ve built inside of me.

  “I was in the car the night my parents died. But long before the accident that took their lives, life was already seeping out of me. I remember it was my father who shamed my mother for her weight, blaming her for having me, and ultimately my life was the deterioration of their marriage. It was then that I started feeling a sense of guilt over body issues. Because I remember the emotional pain of those words.” You can hear the wind whispering through the microphone in front of me, the silence is so loud.

  “In that split second before the car crashed, I was left with a final life lesson from my father—that not all people loved one another. But even at the age of thirteen, I realized, shouldn’t we respect each other? Particularly our children? The next thing I recall, I was awake, hurt, and crying. My grandparents were trying to assure me my injuries would heal, but how does one go about healing the wounds of a child’s heart?

  “There’s nothing I can do about the absolute resentment I felt toward my father for his utter selfishness other than identify coping mechanisms. There’s nothing I can do about my emotions for my mother than feel devastating pity. I detest the fact that as a mature adult, I will never have the ability to confront them for the emotional burden they left me to carry. Like it or not, my father was my first bully. And he got away with it.