Inside Out (25 page)

She moved in.

I know. I know. I know,
Tracey thought every time she considered it. But things were obviously better between Garrett and her. They went out frequently together as a family and Tracey no longer cringed at the thought. They were both convinced Nathalie was a genius from the way she had seemed to be reaching for words one day and talking full speed ahead the next. Rett no longer seemed to be holding on to the rocky situation surrounding Nathalie's birth.

And Nathalie was growing so fast. She was eight months old and already trying to walk. And she was gorgeous. And both her mother and her father loved her very much.

And they were living together. The three of them were a family. Only… not. Garrett had his room, Tracey had hers. Which Tracey tried to explain to her parents was not technically living in sin. Well, maybe it was. She ended up in Rett's bed once or twice a week. He ended up in hers the rest of the days.

It wasn't the sex. Or, well, it wasn't just the sex. Garrett had guessed that maybe that was what had eroded the barrier that had lived so long between them. In all honesty, Tracey was certain it was Nathalie. They were a family. There was no denying anything anymore. And when they stopped denying, they started living… and loving.

It was so odd. Something just beyond her reach still created a division between them, like a glass wall. She didn't know what it was or why she felt it, but it was there. Maybe she was asking too much. Maybe she was taking for granted that things were good, finally good… but…

* * *

One Saturday, Tracey sat down on the sofa, bringing with her the big plastic bear full of ribbons and barrettes. Then she reached for her little tyrant. Tracey was impressed that Nathalie had learned to say four words already: Mama, Dada, baba, and
no.
The baby sat in her lap, but when Tracey picked up her comb, she shook her head mutinously. “Nathalie, baby, you have to get your hair combed.”

“No.”

“Yes, little girl. Yes.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Nathalie peered up at Tracey and touched her face with her silky soft fingers. She let her long curling lashes fall over her father's eyes. She'd only been outside for ten minutes without sun block but Tracey worried over the fine tiny cinnamon freckles on her cheeks and nose. Tracey's heart softened.

“Oooh, child, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Yes, I am going to comb your hair and there is nothing you can do to stop me.” She steeled herself against the eyes that were tearing up, the soft pink lips that were trembling, and the redness staining her golden cheeks. She did not like getting her hair combed. She ran her fingers through Nathalie's wild, tight curls. Then she picked up the wide-toothed comb she had bought for this particular purpose. As soon as Tracey started running it through Nathalie's tangles, her little girl started to cry. Tracey would never get used to this ritual. That child was so tender-headed and so upset by the process that Tracey could barely do it to her. Tracey prayed she would fall asleep soon so they could continue without the tears, but that was more than she could ask. Obliviously rebellious, Nathalie sniffled loudly and let out a brand new wail as she saw her father walk through the door.

“What are you doing to her?” Rett demanded, sailing in. Tracey sent him a look she hoped froze him where he stood. He dropped his briefcase on the desk in the foyer and walked over towards them. It was Saturday, but he'd gone into the office for a little while anyway.

“I was trying to comb her hair,” Tracey answered through her teeth, not wanting to let on how relieved she was to see him. “You know she's staying over at Kelly and Marne's tonight with little Leslie.”

He knelt and plucked her from Tracey's lap. Nathalie threw her skinny little arms around his neck, burying her face into it. He walked over to the sofa, holding her and taking off his jacket at the same time. After sitting down, he rocked her gently while cooing that she was his special little girl. Tracey sat there impotently, holding the comb in her hand. He kissed Nathalie's forehead and asked if she wanted him to brush her hair. Tracey's daughter, the traitor, nodded her head as she wiped away the tears in her eyes with the back of her hand.

Rett looked over at Tracey.

“Go ahead,” she answered, relenting.

Rett leaned over and took up the brush lying beside him on the couch then began to stroke it through the baby's hair, without even combing the tangles out first. And she let him, she let him do it. Tracey watched, shaking her head, as slowly, lovingly, he brushed Nathalie's hair out and put a braid on each side of her head. She didn't say a word. She didn't shed a tear.
I taught him how to braid her hair!
Tracey thought. When he was done, he cuddled her up into his arms and Tracey could see that she was on her way to sleep.

It made her smile. “Daddy's little girl.”

“And Mama's.” He chuckled. “She won't eat anything I give her.”

“Well,
that's
true.”

* * *

Rett stood close to Tracey on the balcony off the master bedroom, his bedroom, if they were talking to her parents. His chin rested on her shoulder and his arms around her waist. “I love this,” she said.

“Me, too,” he replied softly, giving her the gentlest of kisses on the side of her neck. That touch wrung another little yelp out of her and she turned as Garrett circled her with his arms.

The kiss was everything. Beauty. Sweetness. Passion.

He kissed her deeper and his hand crept up beneath her shirt.

Tracey's response to him was immediate and without regret. She put her own hands beneath his shirt and pushed him back against the wall. She followed close and tried to consume him with her lips, tongue, and fingertips. She wanted this contact desperately and everything that came with it.

He dragged her inside and stripped her of her shirt. He cupped her breasts as she leaned into him and stole another kiss, letting her tongue tangle briefly with his. He pulled his own shirt over his head.

Tracey pressed her hand to his chest and began to run her fingers through the silken hair covering it lightly. She watched her hand move over his flesh in fascination. Each time she actually touched him was like something altogether new because she had spent so much time only imagining touching him. It was like receiving a gift every time. Her eyes widened when she saw those chill bumps prickle his skin. “Are you cold?” she asked seductively.

“No,” he answered with a rasping voice, putting them both down on the bed. His hand captured hers and he kissed her palm, his warm tongue snaking over her sensitive flesh. Abruptly, she pulled her hand away and rolled over on top of him. She brought her lips hard against his while running her nails up his sides. With strong hands he drew her even closer, the startled wildness in his amber eyes melting her. His eyes fell to her lips and he brought her down to kiss him again.

* * *

Garrett stood and walked over to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Every time she saw his naked body, she knew he was absolutely perfect. She ran her hands over her moist skin, taking care against the heightened sensitivity that always overtook her after making love with Garrett. The slightest brush was too much sometimes. When he opened the door again, he halted to watch her run hands over her breasts and over her stomach. She didn't think to stop because they had never supported any inhibitions between them, at least not in bed. His eyes heated her, making her bolder. Her gaze still locked with his, she arched her back and let her legs slip apart. She touched her warm thighs and he leaned against the door frame. When she slipped a hand down into the moist area he had so artfully brought to convulsion, he strode over and put his hand over hers. Instead of stilling it, though, he moved his hand with hers, causing desire to blossom in between them again.

“Do you know how beautiful you are? And when you do this…” He moved her hands over her body. “When you do this, you look like Circe.”

“Wow, you really do get poetic,” Tracey retorted breathlessly.

“A country boy still has to read from time to time. You know my undergrad work was in English.”

“I thought it was poly-sci.”

“That, too.” He grinned.” Baby, I'm sorry,” he said and Tracey turned to face him.

“What?”

“I'm sorry I asked you to move in here and be my roommate.”

“What?”

“It was stupid.”

“I'm here. I moved in. Life is good.”

“Your parents are not happy about it.”

“Your mother isn't happy I'm alive.”

He laughed.

Slowly but surely, it had gotten easier for them to communicate. They were less and less likely to get angry or hurt when together.

“Tracey, you and I both have done and said a lot of stupid things.”

“You certainly have,” she retorted.

“Baby, I'm serious.” He stroked her arm. “Through the whole time, though, I still loved you.”

Her heart started to race.

“I was angry for those three months, but even then I missed you and I couldn't get over you.”

“I never got over you, either,” she told him, although it was hard the way her throat suddenly started to close up.

“And you love me?”

Her lips were dry. She licked them. She nodded.

“Say it. Please.”

“I love you, Garrett.” But she didn't look at him when she complied. All of a sudden she felt so exposed.

He turned her face to him and kissed her senseless.

“Tracey, I have loved you from the day I saw you leaning against the wall in those overalls and that ratty windbreaker. Your hair was all over your head and you looked like you'd been in bed all day. And it was then and there, that day, when I started to think of my future as your future. The first time I saw this house was about two months after we broke up. I saw it and I said that when you came to your senses, I was going to buy it for you. When I saw you at the mall that day—”

“Do we have to talk about that?” Embarrassment made her cheeks hot.

“Tracey, don't be embarrassed. I was angry; I won't deny it. Angry enough to want to kill you for a good ten or fifteen minutes—” She grimaced. He went on, “But it was probably the best day of my life, outside of today.” He paused and rolled out of bed. “I need shorts for this.” After he put on shorts, he came back to the bed. Tracey frowned, trying to understand.

He went on, “I think if we can make it through everything we've been through and still love each other, still want to be around each other day in and day out… then that means something.”

And then he was kneeling in front of her and her eyes went round. He produced a black box and opened it.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”

This was it. This was the strangeness, the subtle tension, the waiting game. This was why she had felt they were a family, and
not
a family. This was it.

“I hope you're saying ‘Oh, my God' because you're happy.” He chuckled, but the sound was nervous.

“Yes, yes, yes. I'm happy.”

“That's a yes?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you'll marry me?”

“Yes!” she squealed. Then he slipped the diamond solitaire onto her finger.

When he stood and pulled her up and hugged her, she couldn't help jumping up and down.

* * *

“He's been asking everybody on earth if they thought you would say yes,” Angie supplied the next night. So many of Tracey and Rett's friends and family had showed up that evening that it had become an unofficial engagement party.

Her eyes found Garrett's, and she hoped he got their message. She could never have said anything other than yes. She squeezed him with one arm and gave him a quick kiss.

“Yeah, he even asked me,” Moni said.

Tracey lifted her glass of champagne to her and Rico. They were standing next to her parents. Angie and Clay stood with their arms around each other, even though Big had done his level best to intimidate the boy he'd known since he was in short pants.

Some of their other friends were there, too, and the occasion was truly joyous. Tracey didn't know how she got so lucky, but her heart was filled to bursting with emotion for everyone there who loved her little family and wished them the very best.

Later that night, after the small get-together and after Big had taken Nathalie for the night, Tracey and Rett sat next to each other on the screened-in balcony holding hands in the cool dark and rocking in the swing. Tracey barely felt the air. There was too much warmth within her holding back the brisk spring night.

She turned her gaze away from him and stroked his hand with her thumb.

“What are you thinking?” he asked gently.

“Just that I don't deserve you.”

“Hell, I don't deserve you, either, Tracey, or Nathalie, for that matter. Maybe with some work we can try to deserve each other. I've already got some ideas about how you can get started.”

“Oh, really?”

“If you come inside with me, I'll show you.”

“This sounds like it could take all night,” Tracey answered, putting her arms around his waist and letting her hands travel up over his chest as she followed him into the warm house.

“I'm counting on it taking a lifetime.”

* * * * * *

Grayson Cole
loves language, romance, and the fantastic. She is intrigued by the relationships people build and what makes them work. Grayson hopes to bring intense and engaging characters to life for her readers along with well-developed, interesting characters.

Currently residing in Florida, where she writes, cooks and paints, Grayson has always called the South her home though she also has a longstanding love affair with travel and enjoys sharing stories of her adventures. She dabbles in lots of languages: a fair amount of French, travel Spanish, German, and Tagalog.

Come meet Grayson at her home on the web:
www.grayson-cole.com