Mended Affections (The Affections Series Book 2) (7 page)

"All right, boys, time for bed." I set the popcorn on the end table and walk over to lift Colt from the couch. I won't be able to carry this boy much longer; it's really becoming a struggle. I'm not sure if I'm ready to let that part of life go yet. If I admit that I can't carry him anymore, it's admitting that my baby boy is no longer a baby. Today's not the day for that. "Come on, Max."

I hear the sluggish footsteps of Max following behind me. Once we are upstairs, and the boys are all settled in their rooms, I head to the emptiness that waits for me. It's been tough to sleep at night. Having a large king-sized bed isn't as appealing as it used to be. It makes me that much more aware that I'm in it alone, and that my loneliness comes from the worst scenario anyone could ever come up with.

I hate that Dalton is gone. I hate that every night I go about my nightly routine, preparing for bed like it's any normal night, only to walk out of the bathroom and come face to face with my worst nightmare. My husband and best friend is no longer with me and will never return.

I sit on the edge of my bed. My mind feels blank, other than thoughts of Dalton. My chest begins to tighten and I grow short of breath. My heart is rapidly firing in my chest. This room closes in on me every time I sit in here in silence. Turning to look at the bed, I decide I can't climb into it tonight. I don't want to be wrapped in its cold sheets with no one to warm them for me. I don't want to reach for someone in the middle of the night, only to realize that he's not here. I don't want to think of him and how he is gone. I just want to sleep.

Quickly fleeing my room, I race down the steps and round the corner to Striker's room. There's a soft glow from the moon, since he never shut his blinds completely. I stop at the foot of his bed, trying to gain my composure. My breathing is still erratic, and seeing Striker lying there, barely covered with his blankets does little to help. I shouldn't climb into his bed, when he is wearing nothing but boxer briefs, but I need his company. Fortunately, I'm dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt.

I climb in, sliding under the covers. Turning onto my right side, I face Striker. He’s fast asleep, not a wrinkle on his face. Looking at him now, I realize just how stressed he has been over the last year. He looks several years younger, as he lays here. I faintly brush the tips of my fingers across his jaw. The five o'clock shadow he was sporting today is abrasive against my skin. My hand travels down until I can wrap it around his. His hand is warm and comforting. Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing and the feel of his skin.

It takes several long minutes, but I get my heart rate down to an even rhythm. One last deep breath fills my lungs, and then I open my eyes.

Striker is awake, staring back at me. I’m startled by his wide open eyes, and I feel embarrassed that I've been caught. I was going to quietly sneak in and out.

"Rea?" Striker whispers.

I pull my hand away and begin to sit up. "I'm sorry. I was having a moment and didn't want to be alone. I'll just head..."

"Stop, you can stay," Striker says, and reaches a hand around my waist to pull me back down in bed.

"Are you sure? I'm calm now. I can let you go back to sleep." I shift onto my side again to face him.

His strong arm tugs on my waist, pulling me closer until the front of my body is flush with his. "Stay, I could use the company, too."

I remain silent, taking in our closeness. I realize my hands landed flat against his chest. My fingers flex on their own, taking in the smoothness that lies beneath them. I try to focus on the feel of his heartbeat under my palm. I feel my own beating in my chest, and I swear his rhythm matches mine. He always told me when we were together that our hearts spoke to one another, that they were bound by something more than we could ever understand, two hearts, one beat.

Striker pulls in a deep breath, causing his chest to rise and fall under my touch. I can't help but think that after all these years; his heart is still in sync with mine. I open my lips to speak, but Striker shifts, and before I know what's happening, he's weight is above me, pressing me into the bed.

He places a hand on each side of my face. "You feel that, Rea? It's still there. That connection we shared. We still share it now, Alma."

The calm I found by entering this room is now gone. My heart rate picks up speed again at the sound of the nickname he gave me years ago. He thinks I don't understand what he's saying but I do. It used to infuriate me when I was young. What an unflattering name, but one day I looked it up and found that he was using a Spanish word that means soul. I am his soul, he feels every part of me. I swear sometimes I can still feel every part of him. It's not a welcome feeling, but one that I can't deny.

I feel the racing in my chest, while frozen under his touch. This feels so wrong, but I can't help but appreciate it. "What are you doing, Strike?"

"Aren't you tired?" he whispers; while lightly brushing his fingers through my hair.

"Tired?" I question.

"Of pushing me away. Of denying this pull between us." His lips are so close. I swear I can feel the slightest brush against mine as he speaks.

I reach my left hand up and grab his wrist. "I just can't. What would that say about me? It hasn't been that long.”

He pushes away and his eyebrows furrow. "Is this because of what other people will think?"

I try to roll out from underneath of him, but he just puts more of his weight on me to hold me down. I'm beginning to feel flustered, and the thoughts in my head are conflicting. On one hand, I want to throw caution to the wind, so I can feel Striker's touch. On the other hand, I think of how I would be dishonoring Dalton if I were to act on these feelings. "I just can't. It's not about anyone but Dalton. You don't worry about how you will feel after, the guilt that may set in."

"He brought me here, Rea. He wanted to give you back to me. I missed you like crazy when it was your time with Dalton, but I can't help but feel like he deserved his time with you. He loved you more than anything in this world, and his time here was short. He deserved to be happy, and you were able to give him everything he always wanted. He was my best friend. I wanted him to be happy, just as much as I want it for myself and for you." Striker leans down and places a featherlight kiss on the curve of my neck, causing a shiver to rake through me. "But, you were mine. You still are. I know deep down that he wanted us together. How long we have to wait is up to you, just know that he gave me his blessing to love you before he died."

My heart aches at the thought of Dalton being on his death bed and having enough love for us to give us the ability to move on and love again. I know without a doubt he would want me happy. Striker's words break something inside of me and I'm torn. Tears build and leak slowly from the corners of my eyes. Dalton knew Striker's feelings toward me, and how they never changed over the years, so he gave him his blessing. He also knew he couldn't do the same for me, and told me our relationship could be whatever I wanted it to be, because I would have fought it even more. I hated for him to know that I could love another man.

Then I think of myself as a young girl dating Striker. I for once was me. I had a voice. We talked about everything and how things made us feel. I didn't tuck my opinion away because I was afraid. With Dalton I lived in fear that he would leave me. I went along with whatever he wanted to keep him happy. It was his idea to get married in the first place, and even though my heart was not leading me in that direction, he was all I had left.

"I've lived my life in fear," I say.

Striker pulls his head back to look at me. "What?"

"I didn't really live actually. I did everything he wanted. I never questioned anything, just so he would be happy with me and not leave." My voice comes out small. I know I've realized the truth of my relationship with Dalton, but to say it out loud is different.

"I'm not trying to make you doubt your marriage to Dalton," Striker says.

I reach up to wipe my tears away. "I know, but I just need to get this out. I need to figure out the thoughts running through my head, ‘cause I hate myself for thinking anything bad. It was never his fault anyway. It was all mine. Had he known that I kept my feelings bottled up, he would have been upset with me. Dalton was a wonderful husband. I was just dishonest to myself."

Striker sits up and pulls me with him. "Tell me then, Rea. Everything. Please don't ever block me out."

"I don't know where to begin. I just know that I want to be happy on my own. I don't ever want to rely on someone like that again. I need to find strength in myself. I lost that once you left. I don't think I ever got it back, but I need to." I lean forward and place a kiss to Striker's cheek. "That's why I was pushing you away. I just didn't want to fall into my old habits. I want to love you because my heart is telling me to, not because I'm afraid of being alone."

Striker's head snaps up, and his eyes are searching mine. "What?"

"I don't know. God, I go back and forth on how I feel. Those words just came out." I jump from the bed and stand facing Striker. "I can't move on so soon. It's not right."

Striker slides off of his side of the bed and comes around to stand in front of me. "I feel guilty too, but we aren't going to figure anything out overnight. Just don't shut me out. You came down here for a reason. "

"I know. I just didn't like how empty my room felt. I just needed to be close to you." I do feel it. Our connection is still there. I felt it when he returned into my life, but I pushed him away because of Dalton. Now I'm just lost in grief and anger toward myself for how I've let my life go along as a voiceless woman, afraid of change. What good did it do me anyway? Dalton's gone. Another man I loved, taken from my life way too soon, against my will. When does one learn that you can't control what happens in life.

Striker takes my hand in his. "So stay. We don't have to talk and I won't touch you in anyway, unless you ask. Just be here, with me."

Do I want to head back upstairs and crawl into that cold bed that I sleep in every night? It's not appealing to me at all. I hate it. It's a strong reminder of what my family has lost and the lonely life that lies ahead of me, if I let it.

"What do you say, Rea?" Striker whispers.

"Okay," I reply.

Striker walks over and pulls the covers back, waiting for me to climb in. After I'm settled, he tucks me in. His care takes me back to when I was young. I used to sneak out and into his room at night. There were times I hated to be home alone when my mom was out tending bar. I started this long before we dated.

The bed dips. "Comfy, Alma?"

He must be remembering too. "Yes, thank you."

"I know I said I wouldn't touch you, but can I hold your hand like we used to do?" he asks.

Without answering, I reach over and slide my hand under his, settling into the comfort of his presence. I don't feel the need to say anything else. Before I know it, my eyes begin to drift shut and sleep takes hold. "Good night, Strike."

Striker

The smell of turkey wakes me from my sleep. It's our first major holiday since Dalton passed, and I fear what today will bring. A few weeks before he died, he sat me down to tell me what things were important to him.

"Striker, I lived my life with my family. We had our own traditions, and you'll need to create your own with them, especially on the holidays," Dalton said.

"Why wouldn't we want to continue your traditions? The boys love what you do on the holidays." I walked over, taking a seat across from where he was laid out on the couch.

"That's why, though. I still want them to love days that are about family. It's gonna be hard for them to still enjoy those days, with part of their family gone. Think about how things were for you once your parents died." Dalton folded his hands together and turned to look out the window.

I knew that feeling all too well. I especially hated the fact that other people still had their family around. I hated the sound of Christmas music and the sight of lights wrapped around homes filled with happiness and joy. My heart was broken, and I never fully recovered from that. Things got better once Reagan came into my life, but then she was gone, and I cut out the holidays altogether. "Yeah, that's the problem. I've had a ‘fuck the holidays’ mentality for so long now, I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"Please, you love Rea and the boys. That's all you need, Strike. I know you. If you do something that will make them happy, then you'll be happy," he said.

"I don't want to take away from anything you had with them. I just wan..." I said, but was cut off.

"Stop. You’re not taking anything away. I won't be here. Besides this was your life anyway. I stole it from you. I could have found you. I could have told you about Dylan. You should have kicked my ass, but you let that shit go, way too easily. Anything else happens; you need to fight for them. She won't trust easily, so it will be a struggle." Dalton coughed and turned back in my direction.

"I know. I won't let that happen again. I've never been able to move on. God knows I fucking tried but I just couldn't. You think because of this?" Dalton shrugged at my comment. Who knows why things happen, and who wants to accept that it was their destiny to die before they lived their life. "And I was pissed, more than you will ever know. I missed my little boy being born and ten years of his life, my only immediate family. I had no siblings, both parents were gone, and you guys still kept him from me."

"If there is anything in this life that I regret, it's that I didn't tell you about him. I hope you know that I would take it all back, if I could. I was wrong and so was Rea. We hated ourselves for it every day. I think that's why it was something we never talked about." Dalton reached his hand out and grabbed a tissue to wipe his nose. I noticed then that his eyes were red as he tried to fight back his emotions.

I got up and crossed the small distance between us and took a seat at his feet. "Dalton, I will be here for them. I promise. I'll help them move forward as best I can. I'll keep the traditions that they want and create new ones when times get tough."

He only responded with a nod of his head, letting me know he couldn’t continue our conversation.

Dalton always did his best to get out what he needed to say, but he wasn't ready to die, and at times he became very emotional when talking about our lives without him. It killed me a little more every time I watched him fall apart, knowing that I couldn’t change any of it. I would have traded my life for his if I could.

The sound of shattering glass, from the kitchen, pulls me from my memory. I jump from my bed, forgoing a t-shirt and rush in the direction of all the noise. When I round the corner, I find Rea on her hands and knees, head hanging down, and her shoulders are bouncing from the sobs racking through her body. I rush over and kneel down next to her.

Moving her hair from her face, I lean down, trying to get a good look at her. "Rea, I'll get it. Don't worry."

She smacks my hand away. "I can't not worry. I worry about everything. I try to tell myself that it's gonna be okay, but it's not. Nothing is okay."

"It's just a glass. We can clean it up," I say, as I sit back onto the floor.

Rea sits up onto her knees, staring at me with frustration and anger. "No, it's NOT! It's not just a glass."

"Then tell me, Rea. What in the hell is going on?" I ask.

Rea raises her arms out to her side, and screams. "THIS IS GOING ON. LIFE!"

For all this time, she has grieved quietly, crying in her room, locked away from the boys. I've waited for the explosion.

"Everyday just keeps passing us by. The world just keeps on moving. Strangers living their lives, like ours haven't been flipped upside down. How, Striker? How did this happen to us? My boys don't have their father. I don't have my husband. I'm not supposed to be cooking the fucking turkey. DALTON IS! But he's not here. He fucking left us, and I don't want to cook the fucking turkey." Reagan stands, walking toward the closet where she keeps the broom.

I'm at a loss for words. What do I say? I just want to wrap her up in my arms and keep her safe, but I know that's not what she needs right now. She needs to scream and cry, to let it all out. I let her slam around in the kitchen for a few minutes. She sweeps the glass from the floor and slams the cabinet door after returning broom. She still has tears streaming down her face, her hair a mess, but to me she’s still beautiful.

Rea starts to walk to the oven, but I beat her to it and pull her away by her hand. "Come and sit." I force her into a chair at the island and walk back to the oven. I remove the turkey from the oven and head toward the back door.

Rea chases after me. "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting rid of this fucking turkey. He's causing problems, so he's gone." I reach the outside trash can and toss the entire pan and everything in. When I turn toward Rea, she has a look of shock, mixed with panic.

"What are we going to eat, Striker? You just threw our main dish in the trash," she says with anger.

"I don't care if we eat peanut butter sandwiches." I walk back toward her.

"We need a turkey. It's Thanksgiving. That's what you eat." Rea tries to walk past me to the trashcan, but I catch her wrist, bringing her to a halt.

I turn her to face me. "Not today we don't. We aren't spending our day sad over what used to be. Dalton wouldn't want that. Today we create new traditions."

That son of a bitch was right again. I can't figure out how Dalton always knew what people would need, but he did. Maybe it was his need to always make others happy. The only selfishness he showed was when he stole Rea from me, along with my son. Maybe he needed to please others because of the guilt he felt from his mistakes.

Rea pulls against my hand, trying to break free. "We have to have turkey. I have a guest coming. They are expecting turkey."

"I highly doubt that Riley cares if we have a nontraditional Thanksgiving," I say.

Rea begins to struggle some more. I pull her back to me, but her free hand begins to move violently, slapping me in the chest, as her panic takes over. Letting go of her wrist, I place both hands on her waist and throw her over my shoulder, carrying her back into the house.

She pounds her fist into my back and kicks her feet along the way. "Yeah Riley wouldn't care, but she's not coming."

If it's not Riley, then who the hell did she invite? "Who the hell is coming then? You don't know anyone else."

Her fighting stops and I slide her down until her feet rest on the floor. The murderous look on her face scares me just a bit. "What do you mean I don't know anyone else? I've actually met a lot of people recently."

"Wait a minute. I just meant that I don't know of anyone else you would want to invite over for a holiday dinner," I say in my defense.

Rea walks over to the fridge and begins rummaging through it. "I don't have anything else in here, Striker. I'm gonna look like an idiot with no turkey." She turns, grabbing her keys from the counter. "I have to run to the store. I need a turkey."

"Stop, Rea. Who the hell is coming over for dinner?" I move over to block her exit.

"I just can't have her here and not have a proper dinner. She'll think that I've been a screw up all this time. God, she already blames me for not taking good enough care of Dalton," Rea rambles.

She's talking about my aunt. She actually invited her here for Thanksgiving dinner. "Wait, you invited my aunt to dinner today?"

The frustration and panic finally breaks free and tears are now streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes squeeze tight and she nods her head. I pull her to me, holding her tightly. "Why today?"

Her voice comes out muffled against my chest. "I don't know."

"It's okay, just explain it to me." I rub my hand up and down her back and she starts to settle.

"I just want to get everything out in the open. She's been leaving me voice mails and emailing me on a regular basis, begging me to meet her. She actually keeps apologizing for everything she's done and said over the years. I just want to meet, talk, and move on. If there's anything I've learned, it's that life is too short to be so angry with someone. She's part of Dalton and the boys’ grandmother. I'm so tired. I can't fight with her anymore," Rea explains.

"Okay, well, she's not getting turkey. Trust me when I say she will not care. I promise." I loosen my hold on her, moving my hands up to wipe her tears away.

"She's always thought the worst of me. What will it look like when I don't have a fancy dinner prepared on Thanksgiving?" Reagan turns and places her keys back on the counter.

"Doesn't matter what it looks like. I'll figure out something for us to eat, but we're breaking the mold today. She'll understand. Obviously she needs a change too, or she wouldn't be here," I say, trying to calm Rea's nerves.

She starts walking around looking at the floor. "I don't even know if I got all the glass up."

"Rea, stop worrying. I know today is going to be hard, but we'll get through it. Why don't you go upstairs, take a nice hot shower, and try to calm down." I guide her toward the stairs, but she's reluctant to take the break.

"Striker, do you think her coming here is a good idea? Maybe I should just leave well enough alone?" she asks.

"I think you'll have a hard time hearing what she has to say, but you'll find peace with it." She doesn't respond, just slowly drags her body in the direction of her room.

Heading back to my room, I grab my cell and dial my aunt's number. It only rings once. "Good morning," she answers.

"So we’re seeing you for dinner today, huh?" I ask, taking a seat on my bed.

Aunt Becky's voice is soft and gentle from sleep. "Yes, she called last week and invited me."

"I didn't know you were hassling her to meet with you," I say.

"I was kindly asking, over and over again. I wasn't hassling her. Do you think she would agree to meet with me if I was nagging her?" she says gently.

"All right, well, I will see you this afternoon. Don't expect any kind of traditional meal. I threw the turkey in the trash. It's been a bad day already, and she's extra stressed because you're coming for dinner." I lie back on the bed, catching the scent of Reagan from my sheets. The thought of her being in my bed last night stirs my body awake.

"I could come over earlier and we can have breakfast instead. Seems like you all are already up," she says.

"Um, let me talk to Rea. I'll text you a time." I hang up the phone, since my thoughts have shifted to other issues. God, I would love to have Rea in here with me every night. Naked preferably, but we're taking things slow, for her benefit of course. I want to hit the ground running.

Reagan coming in here last night was a huge step for her. When Dalton passed away, we relied a lot on one another. There were many nights where we would lie in bed facing each other, holding hands, but we never stayed together all night. Maybe it was the fact we were in Dalton's bed, and last night she finally was in mine. I wish I didn't need her as much as I do. I don't just want her either. I want the boys, too. The thought of finally having a family of my own, causes my chest to constrict, and my breathing increases.

I slowly pull myself from the bed and search out Rea. As I'm heading through the upstairs hall, I hear the boys stirring in their rooms. I check the clock at the end of the hallway and it's only seven thirty. Raising my hand, I knock on Rea's bedroom door. No answer. I know she came in here.

I slowly open the door, peeking my head inside, to find her room empty. Her bathroom door is cracked, but I don't hear any noise signaling that she's in the shower. I knock gently but there's no answer. I know she came in here. I knock a little louder. Nothing. She was pretty upset this morning. Panic spreads through my chest, and I rush through the door, in fear that she is lost in one of her debilitating panic attacks.

Once I round the door, ready for the worst, I catch sight of her. She's laid back in her soaking tub. Eyes closed and ear buds in, listening to something from her phone. Her figure stops me in my tracks. I can't move. Her entire body is on display for me. Moisture collects on the skin that isn't submersed under water. She's so fucking beautiful. My dick stirs to life, as I picture reaching out and running my hands over her soft, inviting body. Her chest rises and falls with every breath she takes, drawing my eyes to her chest.