The Other F-Word (29 page)

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and turned to me with such a sad smile, I felt my heart tear. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t tell me sorry.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Tell me I can change your mind. That it’s different with me. That you love me enough and—”

“I won’t, but I also won’t hold you back from what you want either.”

The sounds of the realtor and buyers walking out distracted us then. We watched them get into their cars and drive off. Damien pulled into my driveway. “They were in there a long time. They’ll probably make you an offer,” he said.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

A slow, sad smile crept across his face. “It would have been better if you’d told me you were pregnant.” He turned to look at me, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “Much better.”

I took it as my cue to get out of his car and go into the house. He didn’t stop me. I wasn’t sure if we had broken up, but I couldn’t hear the words. Not tonight. I wanted a tiny piece of hope to hold onto.

I crashed into my couch, sobbing uncontrollably for what seemed like forever. Eventually, I pulled myself up, knowing there were only three things that would ease the pain a bit. I changed into my comfortable flannel pink jammies—the ones with the hole in the thigh, but they were so comfortable, I couldn’t bear to throw them out. I blared Pink Floyd and drank cheap wine. The soothing, downhearted sounds of
Wish You Were Here
filled my clutter-free, anonymous living room.

A half hour into the album, Kate called.

“You and Damien broke up?”

“How did you know?”

“I can hear Roger Waters. What other explanation can there be?”

“I guess we did.”

“I’m coming over.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, missy. Save me some wine.”

The doorbell rang just then. “Is that you, Kate?”

“Hell no, you think I’m that fast?”

I checked the peephole. “It’s Damien,” I whispered.

“Well, let him the hell inside. Why are you still talking to me?”

I opened the door. He looked so beautiful standing in the light of my front porch, I almost wondered if he was a mirage.

“I just drove around and ended up back here. I don’t think we’re done talking.”

“Come in,” I said, opening the door wider for him.

He slumped onto the couch. I got him a glass of wine and sat next to him. He put his arm around me, and my head fell on his chest. It was a perfect fit.

“You broke out the Pink Floyd, huh? And I thought I was sad.” He read me so well.

“Were you listening to anything?”

“
Hey Mama
by Mat Kearney.”

“Really? That’s a happy song.” It seemed surprising, though when I thought of the lyrics, I guess it made sense.

“Yeah, it reminds me of you.”

“Why are you here?”

“I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to end us. I don’t know what the right solution is here. Maybe we can figure it out…together.”

“You deserve to be happy, Damien. You’d be a great dad and I’d never take that away from you.”

“You make me happy. I’m not looking to have a family tomorrow or anything. It’s down the road. I just know that being with you feels right to me, like nothing else has.”

I was thoughtful for a moment. “We can’t be together like this. You’d grow to resent me. I would hate that.”

“Then give me another solution.”

Sometimes where there were no good solutions, the stupid ones made sense. A temporary fix that wasn’t going to work, like putting a bandage over a broken bone. “We can keep going, but if you find someone that you might want a future with, you tell me. And I’ll get out of your way.”

“Don’t talk like that. It sounds almost as ridiculous as seeing other people.”

“Just agree to it. It’ll make me feel better about this.”

“It’s a very selfless thing to do.”

I buried my face in his chest and he kissed my head. He didn’t understand. It was completely selfish. I wanted him for as long as I could have him, but I wasn’t so heartless that I’d keep him from his dreams.

Chapter Twenty-Four

We moved forward, but I think we both wished we could go back. Things had changed between us. Our laughter was hollow. Our conversations more shallow. I’d always been insecure when other women looked at him. It was worse now. I’d encouraged him to look back. He didn’t, but it was just a matter of time before he found that special someone who could fit into his dreams as well as his bed. When we were intimate though, we were stronger than ever. Perhaps because that was the only time we could express how we felt about each other without trying to skirt around dangerous topics.

He came over on Friday night, bringing a large box. “I brought you a present.”

“I thought we agreed.”

“It wasn’t expensive. It’s not romantic. It’s utilitarian and you need it.” He set it down on the table. “You’re listening to Mat Kearney?” he asked, gesturing to the stereo.

“Yeah, I really like him.” The truth was, I’d been listening to everything he sang since that night.

He looked around the sparse living room. “It looks so different.”

The large dining table with its cracks and marks was gone, replaced by a small round thing that could barely hold a dessert plate. The bookshelves were all gone too, making the space look large. I’d never been a knick-knack person, but I sorely missed the photos and books that I’d always had around me.

“More room to run,” I said. I lifted the plain, unmarked brown box from the table, almost dropping it, not prepared for its mass. He’d carried it in one hand like it weighed no more than a doll, creating an illusion it was light. It was far from it. “It’s heavy.”

He took it from me, walking into the kitchen. “It’s supposed to be.”

“Okay, I give up. What is it?”

“A garbage disposal.”

I gave him a puzzled look. “Well, you’re right, it’s not romantic.”

He laughed, cupping my chin. “I noticed yours doesn’t sound right. Buyers look at that kind of thing.”

He opened the side drawer where the tool set he’d purchased was stored. I took a beer out of the fridge for him. We were in sync with each other’s movements, at ease and uncomfortable at the same time.

“You want to do it now?”

A sly smile slid across his handsome face. “By ‘do it’ are you talking about the disposal or sex?” he asked, spinning the screwdriver in his hand.

“Either one.”

“You pick.”

“The latter,” I said, unbuttoning my shirt. “Is that okay?”

He tilted his head. “As much fun as replacing a garbage disposal sounds, I would really like to bang you.”

“Bang me?”

“Your words, baby.”

I placed my hands on his belt, unbuckling it, cursing my fingers for not going faster. He finished unbuttoning my blouse, ripping the last two fasteners. His fingertips brushed against my waist before his touch became more furtive. He made my body sing, like every cell was dancing at once. And not a waltz, not a jig either. More like a slow, sexy salsa.

“Do you remember our first time?” he whispered.

I squirmed out of his embrace. “Yeah, I beat you in a race.”

“Ah…actually I won.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I beat you fair and square. We both know that.”

Then as if on cue, the music changed. We both laughed as
Hungry like the Wolf
by Duran Duran filtered into the room. He licked his lower lip, causing the humour to become charged with a new energy. “Did you plan this?”

I shook my head. “Must be fate.”

An electric spark of energy bounced between us as we stared at each other. His eyes challenged me without the benefit of words. I nodded and turned, running out of the kitchen. He followed in close pursuit. My shirt was flapping so I shrugged it off. For once, I was grateful there were few objects in the living room. In fact, the open rooms allowed me to run in a full circle. His fingers caught on my bra. I realised a second later he’d managed to unhook it in mid-run.

“How’d you do that?” I asked breathlessly.

“I’m very familiar with it,” he said.

It was on the second go-round that his arms captured me.

“So naughty. You know I’ll always catch you,” he said, turning me. His lips met mine. His tongue brushed against mine. I fell back to the ground with him on top of me. He planted slow kisses down my neck, licking and biting into my flesh. He slipped off my bra and threw it up in the air. Far. Really far. I looked up to see it land on the ceiling fan blade.

“Did you mean to do that?”

“If I say yes, do I get bonus points?” His tongue flicked my nipples.

I held his head there, arching my back towards his mouth.

He unbuttoned his jeans. I curled a toe on each side of his waist in one belt loop, dragging them down with his boxers. He pushed them off then pulled off my jeans and panties in one sweeping movement. His hand caressed my legs, followed by his soft lips. He kissed my inner thighs, pushing his fingers inside me.

“You’re wet already.”

“Come here. Let me show you how wet I am. I want to extrapolate.”

He did, pushing my legs far apart. Damien bit my lower lip, slowly sucking it between his. Then he entered me, his muscular frame propelling inside me. He flipped us around so I was on top. He had told me once he preferred this position because he loved to watch the way my breasts moved. I leant back as I slid into the ecstasy of him, using his shoulders for leverage. The second time, he grasped my hips, holding them at an angle as he pushed into me.

“Your body was made for mine,” he said between harsh breaths.

“I know.” It was. We fit despite the marks and scars of life that separated us, or maybe because of them.

I fell forward, holding my gaze steady. We stared at each other with the crazy intensity that manifested itself in physical form when words failed us. Damien smiled at me through his grunts and growls. I tried to match it, but all I could do was moan and scream. I brought my hands to his as he held my hips. He curled his fingers around mine, pushing into me at the same time. I let go then, not being able to hang onto my release any longer. Damien followed with a garbled grunt, calling out my name. The special name only he called me.

I collapsed into his arms. He cradled me against his hard but comfortable body. I ran my fingers through his hair. We were tangled up in each other. Damien ran his finger down my cheek. He kissed my forehead while his fingers sought out the scar on the back of my head and he rubbed gently against the area. Making love to Damien was an emotional rollercoaster. It was the pure energy and intense anticipation in his kisses and touch when we started followed by many steep peaks and valleys of euphoria. Then the slow, soft tender moments of our embrace.

“I love you,” he said.

I stiffened immediately. We hadn’t said it since that night.

His body tensed. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? We love each other, but it’s not enough, is it?”

“Damien—”

He pulled away. “We should get going on the disposal. I have an early meeting tomorrow and need to get out of here.”

He threw my clothes to me.

Twenty minutes later, I was dressed and flashing a light for him while he was under the sink, changing out the disposal. His muscles were visible under the thin fabric of his shirt. I found myself staring at the rise and fall of his abs. This man was special. He took care of the people in his life, not just with words but with his actions. It was evident in what he was doing for me now. He had been hurt and it was apparent that he hadn’t fully recovered from that. He deserved every happiness.

“Jessie, can you please shine the damn light in here so I can see what I’m doing?”

In my hypnosis, I’d made a spotlight over that six pack of his.

“Sorry.”

“I’m almost done.”

“Are you sure you can’t spend the night? I thought I’d make you breakfast tomorrow.”

“No, I need to get up early like I said.”

“This feels like a booty call.”

“That’s because it is one. What else are we, really?”

He was right. We were stuck in some temporary vortex. He was already resenting me.

“All done,” he said, sliding out of the cabinet.

He stood up and turned it on. My garbage disposal had sounded mean and grumpy before. It was kind of scary. Now it hummed, like a purring pussycat.

“Thank you.”

Before he could respond, the doorbell rang.

“Are you expecting anyone?”

“No, I’ll be right back.”

I opened the door and there stood my family…all of them. I could see Adam, Stevie and Marley in the small doorway, but I could feel the rest of them hovering behind.

“What are you doing here?”

“We wanted to surprise you for your birthday,” Marley said.

“My birthday’s not until next week.”

Stevie hugged me. “It wouldn’t have been a surprise then, would it?”

“Besides, this one couldn’t make it because of mid-terms,” Dillon said, then he pushed my little blonde baby to the front.

“Billie?” I asked in disbelief. I’d been missing her so much.

“Hey, Mom, they flew me out. I couldn’t miss your birthday.”

I hugged her then, feeling complete relief at seeing my baby.

“Are you planning to invite us inside, cause it’s kinda cold out here,” Dillon said. “My hair’s too delicate to withstand this weather.”

“Get your butts in here,” I said, holding open the door.

They marched in bringing smiling faces, colourful balloons and a huge cake. Billie, Dillon, Marley, Rick, Stevie, Adam, Bobby and Kate. My family—God love ‘em.

“From the vegan bakery,” Marley said.

“Your present,” Stevie said, holding up a cat crate with a grey, furry feline that wasn’t Van Morrison.

“You bought me a cat?”

“Who couldn’t use a little pussy in their lives,” Adam said, giving me a big hug. I sighed, shaking my head at what was a sweet, but unnecessary gesture. They thought I was so lonely I needed a cat companion.

They all halted halfway to the table, because Damien was standing there, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

“We didn’t know you had company,” Stevie said.