Every Rose (12 page)

What can I say to that? I know exactly the situation he would face with his dad, and I know all about the struggle to make ends meet on your own. My mom’s living proof of that battle. I bite my lip and try desperately to think up an alternative. I know nothing about his options, though. I have no wisdom to offer him. I do the only thing I know to do: I grab him and give him a hug. I don’t know how long we stand there. I hear him sniff a few times and feel him run his cheek over my shoulder.

After we say our goodbyes, I walk home and know that nothing will ever be the same. I run my hands through my hair and feel his tears there. I hate this! I freaking hate this! What can I do though? We’re both powerless to stop this. This is what being poor means—powerless, weak, defenseless. Two deadbeat, drunk, violent fathers result in our two crappy, meaningless lives.

“Whatcha doing over there? Whatever it is, I don’t like it. It makes you unhappy.” I look over to see that serene look on his face still. Is it possible that, despite all the crap we’ve been through, we might actually make something of ourselves? Might actually be happy?

“Good mornin’, Michael,” I say on a smile.

“Mornin’, Lorraina.”

I sigh. So simple, so lovely. “I was journaling. Something I haven’t been able to do in a long time.”
It’s because of you, I think. I’m able to journal again and confront my feelings because of you. It’s always been you.
“Anyway, I was writing about some unpleasant memories, but it’s therapeutic to get them out, ya know?”

“I get it.” Of course he does; he’s the most intuitive person I’ve ever known.

“I’m sure you channel your pain and unpleasantness into your music, right?”

“Among other things,” he agrees.

I glance at my watch. “Oh! It’s almost eight. I should get home. My mom will be worried.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, “you’ve totally screwed up my routine.”

“Oh, gee. Sorry about that,” I sneer. Curiosity trumps my irritation. “You have a routine?” I ask disbelievingly.

“Rote breeds predictability. Predictability breeds favorable conditions for my sobriety.”

That’s a non-answer if I’d ever heard one. “Aah…I’d like to see what you do to keep yourself occupied,” I hint.

“And so you shall,” he stretches. As he does, I see his tobacco-colored abs pulled taut. I see a bit of ink of another tattoo. How do I make him realize that he’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen? I can’t wait for that. I quickly busy myself with putting my journal away. He stands to help me up. “But not today,” he continues, “like you said your mom will be worried.”

We pack up, and Michael drives us back to his Jeep. He insists on following me to my road, at least, even though it’s way out of his way. He worries that I may fall asleep at the wheel. If I’m wondering about him driving behind me and analyzing me and our night together, I’m sure that will keep me awake; so I agree.

I pull off to the side of the main road before we approach my road. He whips his Jeep around my car and pulls over as well.

I’m so exhausted, but I don’t want to say goodbye.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder, I think. Can’t have him get too used to you yet. If there’s no challenge, he may get bored with you, I chide myself.

Michael hops out of his still running Jeep, and I can hear “Desperado” pouring out of his speakers. He makes his way back to my car, and I get out and lean on my door. He puts his hands in his pockets, pushing them down into fists and looks at me shyly. We just spent the night together and he’s shy! Typical Michael and his contradictory nature.

“When can I see you again?” I ask. I’m done being coy and shy and nonchalant. I know what I want and I’m going to get it. I look away a little, afraid he may see all that in my eyes.

“When do you want to see me again?”
Oh, who’s playing coy now, Mr. Bang?

“Well, I’ll be home for spring break,” I tease and glance at him.

The look on his face says he’s done with coy. Good! Got his attention! “This afternoon?”

“I can’t wait,” I declare. “So, what is this?” I gesture between the two of us. “Is it safe to say that we are dating or that we are boyfriend/girlfriend?” I bite my lip. I couldn’t resist asking; but now that I have, I fear his response.

He shakes his head and grins at me. “Always so quick to label and categorize.  I guess that’s what will make you an excellent attorney. Assess. Label. Categorize. Add up the W’s. How about we just go with the flow. See where it leads us. Label later?” He raises his brows offering my type-A dominate personality a direct challenge.

Caution to the wind, very atypical for me, I reply, “OK. I’m up for it.” Challenge accepted. “You?” Challenge returned.

“You bet,” he rasps softly.

He leans into my door and places his hands on top of mine. I’m suddenly very nervous and very grateful for the door between us. My hands get clammy and my heart races. My blood races and pounds in my ears. I’m feeling very much awake now. One hand moves up to brush my hair from my forehead and moves down feather light until his knuckles brush across my cheekbone and lips. He pulls his thumb slowly across my lips. It’s excruciating. It’s exquisite.

Both of his hands come forward to frame my face gently, and he pulls me in for a kiss. A too quick kiss. It’s over before I realize it’s even begun. He gives me a half smile and turns and walks away.

“Michael!” My voice barely sounds human. More animal in nature. It’s raw with ache.

He turns and takes two long strides back to me. This time when he grasps my head it’s anything but gentle. He pulls my lip in and nudges my lips open with his. All rational thought escapes me. I mirror his grasp and enjoy the fullness I feel with him in my mouth. I give as good as I get. This kiss is nothing like our two before. I savor it.

When he turns to walk away, I release a long pent up breath. If he would’ve looked back, he would’ve seen that I was the one on my knees now.

Chapter Seventeen

Forbidden Fruit

“So what made you decide to go to law school?” he probes. We had met at a local grill to have a late lunch. We’d been here for a couple of hours now. The wait staff was starting to give us dirty looks, but neither of us made a move to leave.

“A lot of things. Mainly, I think, to make sure that women and children don’t get screwed over at the hands of an inept, male-dominated system.”

“That’s very specific. I don’t think I’m too far off base to presume that this is in direct relation to what happened with your father.”

“Nope. You would be extremely safe in deducing that.”

“You know, of all the reasons for you to choose law school I think that is the most noble. You will be able to help so many people. I just know it.”

“Thank you for that. I want to work for the D.A. and specialize in family law for a while and see where that leads me.”

“Those will be some lucky to women and children to have you on their side. Your passion is already shinning though. You can’t ever let it become just a job, though, ya know?”

“Exactly,” I agreed. I’d never told anyone why I wanted to be an attorney. It felt good to have someone know the truth. Most everyone assumed that it was for the prestige or the money, and I’d never corrected that assumption less I’d have to explain myself. The beauty of it was that Michael already knew most everything there was to know about me. He completely understood, without my having to go into all of the gory details as to why I would feel so connected to my chosen line of work.

“Well, how about we head out? Wanna head to my favorite spot until my gig?”

“That sounds great.”

………………………………………………………

I spread my blanket on the ground beneath the oak as he takes his guitar out of his Jeep. I watch him from the corner of my eye. I love the way he moves. So fluid, so sure of himself. His transformation from a cocky boy to a self-assured man has been majestic. I feel tears in my eyes and my throat aches. I love him so much. I want to tell him right now, but I fear running him off. Would he doubt my sincerity since I’d held back on him for so long?
Take it slow, I caution myself.

“So, I’m off tomorrow,” he breaks my reverie.

“Really? That’s great. Me too,” I joke. I turn towards the water to dry my eyes. I’m shocked by the breathtaking beauty of the setting sun moving over the Gulf. He makes everything more beautiful just by being present.

I feel his hands on my shoulders. I shift my head to brush my cheek across his knuckles. When I’ve exposed most of my neck, I feel his calloused fingertips brush my hair from it. Everything in me clenches in anticipation. I feel his warm breath before I feel his lips place a long, lingering kiss there. I hear a groan. When I realize it came from me, my eyes fly open. I’m so transparent. I need to get a handle on that. As soon as the thought enters, it dissipates as his kisses turn hungry and demanding. My knees weaken, and I lean back against him for support and realize that I’m not the only one affected.

I lick my lips, which are suddenly very dry, “Michael?”

“Aah…Lorraina. I’ve dreamt of this. Lying in this very spot. I’ve dreamt of nothing but you and having you and making you mine.” He pauses and clears his throat a little. “Umm…We should do something else for a moment.”

I laugh, and it sounds foreign to my ears. He has no idea what he his words have done to me. They’ve warmed me to my very core. Not too long ago, I thought I was destined to never feel this for anyone. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so blessed. I fear questioning it.

He takes my hand and pulls me down beside him. He places a gentle kiss on my knuckles, quickly releasing my hand to pick up his guitar.

I make myself comfortable on my pillow, staring up at him and waiting for my private show.

He strums another favorite of mine. I watch his fingertips move across the strings. So intricate. His nails are perfectly shaped so as not to interfere with his playing, but his fingertips are calloused from years of playing. I love that someone so gentle has these telling, rough parts. His voice sounds shaky at first as if warming up. I wonder—did I do this to him? He was so polished last night.

I close my eyes and enjoy his playing. Suddenly, he launches into a song I vaguely recognize. I open my eyes to question him. When the lyric permeates my brain, I gasp. He continues his song and, in his unique way, tells me all that he can’t put into his own words. He wonders what I’ve been up to while he has been waiting for me to come and make him mine and who I’ve been loving.

On the last note, I pull myself up to my knees and take his guitar from him to lay it beside us. I pull his face to mine and lay my forehead against his.

He transforms the other Michael’s words into his own, “My plan has always been to find my way back to you. I never gave up on you, ya know? I guess the old adage is true…‘If you love someone, set her free. If she returns, it was meant to be.’ I just knew that I had to be better for you, though.”

“Michael, no one could ever be better than you. You were never bad to me, by the way. I just knew I wasn’t ready for what all you were offering me. However, I’ve come to some realizations myself lately. I’ve realized that I
have
to be with you and only you. I’ve been wondering how you would feel about that, though.”

“Amazing is the word that springs to mind. But you need to know some things about me first.”

I lean back a little, taking his hands in mine. “You can tell me anything, ya know?” I prompt.

“Well, I was worried about being too overzealous. I don’t want to scare you off again. But you seem…different. More open.”

I smile up at him. “I am. I’ve realized how much time and effort I’ve wasted, and I don’t want to waste another moment.”

“Me either. Me either,” he reiterates and shakes his head with what seems like disbelief. I can’t believe it either. “Lorraina, when I said that I’ve made myself better for you, I meant it. I’ve completely changed my life, and I need you to be a part of it. More now than ever before…I think it will require you to make some changes as well, though.”

OK. Anything, I think. “Like what?” I wonder aloud.

“I’d rather show than tell if that’s OK with you.”

“You’re kinda worrying me. You’re not in a cult or something are you?” I joke.

He laughs, “No, nothing like that. It would just be easier to show you.”

“OK. I’m in.” I trust him implicitly.

“There is one thing we can and should discuss. It’ll probably be awkward but…I’m celibate.”

Whoa, this catches me by surprise. He practically oozes sex! I squeeze my thighs together on that thought. Not helpful at all. “Really? That’s…interesting.”

“Yeah. I figured out a couple of years back that it really wasn’t fair to others, or myself for that
matter, to have relationships or ‘arrangements’ with other girls since I was…spoken for.” He grins sheepishly at me. “Then it morphed into more than just abstaining. It became a way of life, and it helped me with a multitude of things.”

“Hmm…Now, who’s being noble?”

“I guess what I really need you to know, especially since the uh,” he clears his throat, “kiss we shared earlier, is that I don’t plan on having sex again until I marry.”