Where We Meet Again

by Wilson, A. M.

  So, I grab hold, living in this moment where I can pretend that Law is mine and I am his. That I can believe an impulsive mistake never forced me to choose between the man I used to love and the daughter I could never regret.

  It isn’t real, it’s a fairytale. I’m ready to deceive myself if it means I can have this one memory to carry me through the dark times to come.

  “God. God…” he breathes through kisses, his harsh exhales eclipsing the silence of the house. “Your lips are perfection. And your body…” A fingertip traces my curves from my shoulders to my hips. “I could worship for hours.”

  Licking, sucking, tasting, his mouth moves from my lips to my jaw, from my ear to my neck; frantic in his quest to take his fill. His fingers reach around my back and unhook my bra. Once it’s gone, his mouth finds my breast. He strokes the tip with his tongue until it’s tight and red, and it swells thick under his touch. His mouth covers my nipple and sucks deep, sending pleasure blooming through me.

  Bending at the waist, he lifts me into his arms and starts down the hall.

  In the bedroom, he releases my nipple with a slow graze of his teeth that sends goosebumps skittering across my arms and tosses me onto my queen-sized bed.

  He looms at the edge, looking down on me, and grips his cock in his palm. His hand slides up to palm the head, then back down where he gives it three sharp tugs.

  Law is hot when he was in a pair of well-fitting, dark-wash jeans and a shirt stretched over his muscular frame, but strip the man naked and have him stroke his cock? He’s downright combustible.

  The thought must show on my face. Law smirks and slows the motion of his hand until he’s steadily masturbating.

  “Think I could get you off just standing here stroking my cock. By the way you’re squirming, I’d say you’re already close.”

  “Maybe next time. I need you in me.”

  “We should get rid of this, then.” His fingers hook in the sides of my thong and peel it down my legs. “Now spread them.”

  Nerves hit first, followed by embarrassment. “Wh-what?”

  “I want to watch you touch yourself.”

  “I thought we were going to have sex.”

  He leans over the edge of the bed. A hand plants in the mattress near my hip and his face nears mine. “We are. But first, I want to see how you’ve been taking care of yourself for the last decade and a half, and I want to touch myself while watching it. After that, when you’re so ready I can see your arousal dripping from your pussy, I’m going to lick you, and finally fuck you like I promised.”

  “Oh.” The word leaves my mouth on a shuddered exhale.

  “I know you like how I’m stroking my cock. Put your hand between your legs and show me how much. I’ll even help.”

  He pushes my legs apart and drops to a hip, trapping one of my knees around his back. Bringing his legs onto the bed so he’s lying on it with me, he uses his free hand to push my other leg up, opening me wide. Once my legs are where he wants them, he snags my right hand and pushes it between them. Already, I’m dripping wet.

  “That’s it,” he coaxes as I use two fingers to circle my clit. “Push them inside. Show me what you like.”

  I dip them into my wet warmth and pull them out. A groan rumbles from Law’s chest. Using my arousal as lubricant, I circle my clit again. “Oh, God, Law.”

  “That’s beautiful, Cami.” He strokes himself harder. “Show me again.”

  I repeat the motion. This time when I circle my clit, he lowers his head between my legs while he continues to pleasure himself. “Don’t stop touching yourself,” he commands.

  At first, I don’t understand why. But then his tongue joins my fingers, and a full body shudder rips through me at the pleasure. The pleasure steals my attention and my hand stops moving.

  His tongue stops in response.

  “Touch yourself, baby, and don’t stop,” he orders huskily.

  “Right.” I start again, and so does he, his tongue and my fingers pleasuring me. Once I keep my fingers where he wants them, he moves his tongue lower and dips it inside my pussy.

  He licks me like he said he would, and it ends up better than the first time. With the help of my hand, I come on a scream while he plunges his tongue in and out.

  Law crawls up my body, stopping to press random kisses along my torso. When he’s between my hips, he drops back on his heels. “Can you get pregnant?”

  “I’m on birth control.”

  “Good. I’m clean, baby, if you trust me. If not, you’re gonna have to wait twenty minutes while I run to the pharmacy.”

  I reach up and stroke the hair on his chest. “I trust you,” I whisper and mean it.

  He groans and drops his lips to mine. While he kisses me, he rubs the tip of his cock along my opening. “You have no idea how sexy that sentence is. Especially coming from you. Get ready.”

  “I’ve been ready.”

  With his lips to my collarbone, he chuckles. “You came thirty seconds ago, and you’re raring to go again.”

  “Please, hurry.”

  With my plea, he sinks the tip inside. It’s slow and tantalizing, but also the most blissful form of torture in my entire life.

  When he’s completely seated to the root, he begins another torturous rhythm of long strokes. The pressure builds immediately, and I know it’s only a matter of time before another orgasm rips through me.

  He seems to feel the same way. It isn’t long before he increases his pace. “I’m going to take you hard now. Can you handle it?” His face contorts in a wash of pleasure and pain, as if holding himself back nearly hurts.

  “Yes. Go faster. I can take it.”

  He makes me prove it.

  I clench his hips with my inner thighs and hold on while Law takes me hard and fast. He wraps one hand beneath my arm and up my back to hold on to the base of my neck. The grip helps him drive deeper while strengthening our physical connection. Our hips slam together so hard I’m sure there’ll be bruises. My hands roam every inch of his skin, desperate to feel all of him, to remind myself this moment is real and not something I’ve conjured up.

  “I’m close. Hold on.”

  “I’m nearly there,” I pant into the space where his mouth nearly touches mine.

  “Wait for me.” He angles this thrusts just right so the top of his pubic bone rubs against my clit. By the third brush of his pelvis, I fall over the edge.

  “Law!” I cry.

  I tighten around him, and he seats himself deep as his own orgasm washes over him. He buries his face in my neck and whispers my name repeatedly.

  “Fuck, Cami, fuck me. Are you all right, beautiful?” His hand behind my back strokes my neck, while he plants his other elbow in the bed to support his weight and brushes the hair out of my face.

  Emotion chokes me. “I’m perfect,” I squeeze through the tightness of my throat.

  “I know, baby. I feel it too,” he soothes and tucks my face in his throat.

  We hold on to each other while our heart beats return to normal and the chaotic emotions fade. Law carefully slips out of me and treks into my master bath. The toilet flushes and the tap turns on and off, and then he’s back with a damp rag. He hooks me around the thigh and cleans me off.

  “Thanks,” I say after he ditches the rag in the bathroom and returns to the bed a second time.

  “I’ve got to get going. Some things to take care of at work. Kiss me before I go.”

  Those words warm my heart. The entire day has blown my mind and I’m still processing if it’s real.

  I don’t keep him waiting since he has work to do. Putting an elbow to the pillows, I sit up and press my lips against his.

  “Have a good rest of the day, beautiful.”

  My eyelids flutter closed at the sweetness of it all. When I open them, he’s striding toward the hall. “You, too.”

  It seems inadequate, but not as awkward as ‘thank you’ or running after him and professing my love, both of which are possib
ilities.

  He strides out the door and into the hall. The jangling of his belt buckle tells me he’s getting dressed, and I smile to myself. An image of him standing naked in my hallway floats through my mind. His head pokes around the doorframe, and I quickly wipe the goofy smile off my face.

  If I hadn’t, his words would do it for me.

  “Oh, and have fun not thinking about me while you’re on your date tonight.” With nothing more than a smirk, he leaves.

  Seconds later, the front door opens and closes, and a few seconds after that, I hear the roar of his engine firing to life.

  That son-of-a-bitch.

  * * *

  Needless to say, I cancel my date with Nathan. I text Law to tell him so, but don’t know if he got it, because he doesn’t respond.

  Law’s back on my shit list.

  I don’t know if shit lists usually include people you had sex with, but mine does.

  And he’s the only person on it.

  15

  The following day is Thanksgiving, and Evelyn and I spend it the way we always do. Since it’s always been just the two of us, I felt silly early on trying to cook a big Thanksgiving meal. I created a solution that held true to the meaning of the holiday.

  I learned a lot during my childhood about poverty. My parents didn’t have much, and when they died, Ritchie and I had even less. I learned to work hard through circumstance, and used the knowledge to create a life for my daughter where she didn’t have to worry about money, food, or necessities like I did. That meant I had to do what I could to teach her about working hard in other ways, by donating our time and talents to those who didn’t have what we did.

  Three times a year I require her to do something selfless, and apart from Thanksgiving, the choice is hers.

  This last summer, she donated thirty hours of her time to community clean up by picking up trash, and earlier last spring, she volunteered during activity-time at the local adult group home.

  Thanksgiving I reserved to volunteer together at the soup kitchen one town over and provide meals to those in our county who can’t afford to buy their own. Throughout the day, the volunteers stagger their breaks and eat their Thanksgiving meal with the people who come to see us.

  I hope to teach her not only to be kind and helpful to those less fortunate but also the humility to see them as the people they are. To not judge based on circumstance. Each person has their own individual story.

  Distracted by the holiday, I don’t even notice the silence from Law until after my appointment on Friday. The doctor clears me from the crutches and instructs me to tape my foot and start some stretches for my ankle. The silence from him registers when I pull up our text thread on my cell.

  What am I supposed to do?

  I don’t want to seem needy by reaching out when he clearly hasn’t thought of me. Rather than come across as something I’m not, I text Kiersten my good news, tuck my phone back in my purse, and drive home to get my girl. Tonight, Evelyn and I get our mani-pedis.

  I go to bed with a heavy heart and without a text.

  * * *

  The weekend comes and goes.

  Sunday night, while Evelyn does her homework, I cave and send him a message to ask if he’s still in town. I remember what he said the night at the grocery store about living in Arrow Creek now, but maybe he had to go back home to deal with some of his father’s affairs.

  Just because we shared a few hours of mind blowing intimacy doesn’t make him accountable to me.

  He never responds.

  * * *

  A week goes by.

  Then two.

  Then three.

  Still nothing.

  16

  I kiss my twenties goodbye and greet my thirties by waking up at the ass crack of dawn, packing a shovel and a lawn chair in the trunk of my car, dropping Evelyn off at school, and driving to the cemetery.

  After shoveling a heavy, wet path from the main walkway to Ritchie’s plot and clearing a spot to sit, I return the shovel back to the car, and haul my lawn chair, the blanket, and two flasks of bourbon back to his grave.

  Ass in the chair, blanket covering my lap, one flask rests against the guitar on his headstone, and the other I clasp in my hand.

  Is it morbid spending every birthday with my dead brother? Most likely yes, but I don’t care. When I’m lonely, I feel more at ease here with Ritchie than I do in my own quiet house.

  “Hey, Witchy Ritchie. Your sister’s turning into an old lady. I’m sort of pissed you aren’t here to experience this with me. This morning I found a gray hair on my head. Do you think what mom used to say is true? That for every gray hair you pull, three more grow in its place? If so, I’m screwed, because I yanked that sucker out without even thinking twice.”

  I take a swig from the flask.

  “If I could see you, I’m sure you’d be shaking your head at me right now and rubbing the back of it like you always did when I was about to get into trouble.”

  A smile spreads across my face at the memory. It was his tell when I was digging myself into a hole. I easily recall him standing somewhere behind mom or dad and frantically rubbing the back of his head to warn me to cut it out. It never worked. I was too stubborn to listen to my wise big brother.

  “Hear that big brother? I just called you wise.”

  The only answer I receive is an arctic wind blowing across my face. I’m used to it. A little cold won’t scare me away.

  “He never called, Ritchie. He didn’t answer my text,” I whisper dejectedly. “I thought us having sex was his way of saying he was willing to work on putting the past behind us. I’m not naïve.” I crinkle my nose and tip the flask into my mouth. “I didn’t think we were suddenly back together and everything was hunky–dory. But I thought we’d be something more than this.”

  The sun peeks out from behind the clouds; the warm rays a welcome surprise. “He didn’t even wish me Happy Thanksgiving. What do you think my chances are for a Happy Birthday text?”

  From somewhere in the direction of the highway, a car horn blares.

  “Yeah, me neither.”

  I stare at my fingers as I fiddle with the flask. I twist and untwist the cap, and pass the flask from hand to hand. I try meditating in some form or another while I soak in this time with Ritchie, but no matter what I do, I remain restless.

  When I have a warm buzz going, I crouch in front of the headstone, uncap the second flask, and pour it out in the snow. I toss the empty container toward my chair. Crossing my arms on the cold marble, I rest my head against them.

  “I know this isn’t what you asked for, and I know it makes me selfish to do what I want instead of what you asked. I also know you’d understand. And if you don’t, that’s just mean, because I visit you all the time.”

  A warm tear courses down my cheek. I roughly swipe at the wetness before it freezes on my skin.

  Closing my eyes, the alcohol carries me back to the last time I saw Ritchie alive.

  Fourteen years earlier…

  I drove my red Honda around the circular drive at the front of St. Margaret’s Hospice Center. A chill had settled within me in a way I knew it would not leave. Each time I made the drive to this place, I was more frightened than the last.

  But this time signaled the end.

  I’d never felt more alone than I did pushing through the heavy doors into the reception area for one of the last times.

  McKayla sat behind the lone white desk and greeted me with a small, sad smile, her eyes drifting to take in my heavily pregnant belly. I didn’t have it in me to wave. I offered what semblance of a smile I could in return and hiked my tote further up my shoulder as I made my way through the familiar halls to Ritchie’s room.

  I knocked twice and pushed it open, calling out, “Hey, Witchy.”

  “Hey.” Even that one word was too much, as he immediately started coughing. It took longer than usual for him to catch his breath. My heart froze in my chest with each second that ticked pa
st and he continued to struggle.

  It was more real than ever that he was here to die alone, and I was responsible for not being here with him.

  “I’m sorry I had to come so early. I start my new job tomorrow, and they need to train me. I couldn’t… I tried to move my start date, but… I need the money.” My voice dropped to a sorrowful tone. “I’d never leave if it were possible, but the baby will be here in less than two months.”

  “I get it,” he said slowly.

  Even speaking took a lot of energy from him, and I reminded myself not to leave my sentences open for responses.

  “Anyway, happy early birthday, big brother. I brought you something.”

  He tracked me with his eyes as I crossed the room and sat down on the side of his bed. He was so thin; I hated it. It broke me to see him this way.

  My hands trembled as I dug through my tote to find the bottle of dark amber liquid. I pulled it from beneath my extra sweatshirt and showed it to him with a flourish. “Ta-da! I thought we could share, but I’m obviously unable to, so it’s for you.”

  Scooting back on the bed so I was sitting beside him, I uncapped the bourbon and offered it. I nudged his frail leg with my own.

  “Here.” I held the bottle to his lips. He tipped his head a bit, and I poured some in.

  He swallowed noisily and groaned. “That’s good, sis. Where did… you get it?”

  I smiled and twisted the cap back on. “Well, it turns out in the town I’m living in the liquor store clerk doesn’t card the young pregnant girl. I suppose he thought if I’m old enough to be pregnant, I should be old enough to drink, but I’m not sure what that says if he thinks I intend to drink it in this state.” I looked down to my round belly.

  “You walked right… in and… bought it?” He started coughing again, so I offered him another sip. He winked at me and opened his mouth.