by Karina Halle
“One step at a time,” I tell her, chuckling.
“You mean I can start horseback riding when I get home?” She asks me with big eyes.
“I thought you wanted to be a sports reporter?”
“I can do both!”
“She’s going to wear you down, Mateo,” Vera tells me, and I know how right she is. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for either of them.
With the ceremony over, the fun part begins. I’m already feeling right as rain after a couple of cocktails, though I know I’ll take it easier tonight, and Vera is feeling like her old self too.
When the happy newlyweds come back, they’re sequestered away for more photos including ones of us and all the wedding guests.
Then it’s time for food.
Speeches.
More food.
Dessert.
Drinks.
More drinks.
Music.
Dancing.
As the night falls, we take the party out of the tent and into the field where the tunes from the DJ spill out into the starry valley. You wouldn’t know it by just looking at us, but since Real Madrid has won so many cups and competitions (I like to take a little credit for that), we’re all used to cutting a rug on the dance floor in celebration. Maybe it’s because we’re athletes, but we certainly hold our own while dancing.
It’s while I’m dancing with Luciano and Ruby in a sandwich, that Vera comes up to me and grabs my hand pulling me away. At first I think perhaps I’m embarrassing myself, but from the very heated expression in her eyes, I don’t think that’s the case. Perhaps my moves were turning her on from afar.
She takes me away from the crowd, over the crest of the field, right underneath a towering Jacaranda tree.
I look around. There’s nothing but grass around us, moving softly in the hot breeze, the moon casting shadows, illuminating her beautiful features.
“This seems familiar,” I say to her, my mind going back in time to the day I first made love to her, beneath a tree on a hot sunny day.
“I thought so,” she says, and then before I can say anything else, she grabs my face in her hands and kisses me deeply, shoving me back until I hit the tree.
I don’t hesitate. My body immediately springs into action.
My lips devour hers, my hands run over her breasts, the dips of her waist, over the curves of her hips, sliding down until I reach the end of her dress and I’m hiking it up, all while her hands fumble with my fly, touching me with desperation.
That same desperation and hunger is what’s fueling me. My fingers quickly slide between the softness of her thighs, and to my surprise, she’s not wearing underwear.
Of course she’s not. It’s Vera.
I let out an appreciative moan, especially as I discover how wet she already is. The last few days have had me so riled up, that I know I won’t be able to take my time with her. The need to get inside her and get off is too overpowering.
I start sliding my fingers over her clit, dragging her sweet slickness back and forth, and I feel her knees start to buckle. I know exactly what she wants and how to give it to her, a little perk of being married.
She lets out a frustrated growl, then grabs me but my collar and spins me off of the tree.
“Get on your back,” she tells me.
I grin at her bossiness, already so hard that I think I might die. I get on my back in the grass, and then she’s straddling me, taking my cock out of my pants, sliding a fist up and down until my eyes go back in my head.
Then she takes a firm hold and climbs on top. I grab her hips, helping to lower herself on my cock inch by inch.
My god. I’m in heaven.
I take in a sharp breath, trying to watch, trying to keep it together.
She takes her breasts out of her dress, groping them, playing with her tight little nipples as she throws her head back, riding me back and forth, up and down.
She’s a sight to behold.
And I can’t hold on any longer.
I reach for her clit, rubbing with my thumb, trying to bring her to an orgasm before I come, and she’s moving her hips, faster and faster.
“Estrella,” I cry out, the heat building in my core, my cock growing thicker, my balls tensing, my nerves on fire.
Then she’s coming, loud. Very loud. Practically screaming as she rides me, and I grab her waist tighter, keeping her in line until I can barely hang on.
I come hard. So fucking hard. I can’t remember the last time we had sex outside like this and it’s blowing my fucking mind. I am out of breath, a mess of sweat, and unintelligible words.
And here is my wife, on top of me, her rhythm gradually slowing.
The moon above me comes back into focus, the air in my lungs gradually returns.
And we are here, together, as one.
She carefully climbs off of me, and as she’s leaning forward, I reach up and grab her. I kiss her, hard and desperate, as if I suddenly realized, for the millionth time, how in love with my wife I am, how much of me belongs to her.
All of me belongs to her.
And we belong in the stars.
“I love you, my Estrella,” I tell her, staring up at her face, the universe swirling behind her, that same sky and those same planets that aligned to bring us together, that will be there until the end.
“I love you too, Mateo,” she says to me.
She lies down in the grass beside me, resting her head on my chest.
We stay there for a few more minutes, just breathing, just loving, just counting shooting stars.
THE END
Arrow Through the Heart
A McGregors Novella
Prologue
1989
It wasn’t snowing.
The little boy had prayed last night that he could wake up to snow on his birthday, as if the white stuff would wipe the world clean and he could start again. Perhaps go back in time to the last time it snowed on his birthday.
The day that his mother gave him away.
Dropped him off at Hillside Orphanage like he was a discarded toothbrush, worn-out, useless, and dirty.
He often thought about what he’d do differently that day, that maybe if he never insisted on buying his toy lion, Lionel, that his mother would have never given him away, or maybe if he had tried harder, he could have escaped. Maybe he could have cried louder, so that his mother would see the pain he was in, how lost he’d be without her.
He prayed for snow so he could relive that day and try again.
But when he woke up before he was supposed to and quietly crept across the worn floorboards, careful not to wake the other boys, he found nothing but a dull, gray landscape outside the window.
Another day of darkness and gloom.
Another day of having no one to love him.
“Lachlan,” his friend Davie whispered. “Get back into bed before Old Chestnut catches you.”
Old Chestnut was the nickname for Mr. Douglas Chester, the ward of the boy’s dorm. He wasn’t an awful man, certainly nothing like the head of the orphanage, Mr. Ratchet, but he was cold and unfeeling toward the boys, and was especially crabby in the morning. If he caught Lachlan out of bed before he’s supposed to rise, he might send him down to Mr. Ratchet. You never knew what would set him off.
Lachlan nodded at Davie and headed back to his bed, just as the door opened, light streaming inside.
“Lachlan Lockhart!” Old Chestnut sneered at him, flicking on the lights. “What are you doing out of bed? Trying to escape?”
Lachlan froze in place and looked at his feet, while the rest of the room stirred. Lachlan never meant to be a troublemaker. He was quiet and kept to himself, and yet trouble kept finding him anyway. There was something about him that was so desperate for love, that it often clawed its way out of him, out of his control.
“Look at me, boy,” Old Chestnut said and Lachlan raised his head, squinting at the lights. “You’re supposed to be sleeping until I wake you up. Now if
I catch you out of bed again, you’re going to be sent to Mr. Ratchet.”
“Yes, sir,” Lachlan says, his eyes going back to the floor.
“Oooooh,” all the boys said in unison, the code for someone is in trouble.
But Old Chestnut wasn’t having any of it this morning. “Shut up, the lot of you, or you’ll be sent to Mr. Ratchet too.”
That shut them all up in a hurry.
Lachlan went back over to the cubby in the wall beside his bed and started getting ready for the day, starting with the itchy starched uniform they all had to wear. Mr. Ratchet believed that the boys had to look their best at all times, because you never knew when a couple would show up, looking to adopt one of them.
As such, Lachlan always took extra time with his hair, combing it over, trying to get it just right. Today of all days.
Not only because it was his birthday, which wasn’t even acknowledged at Hillside, but because it was Valentine’s Day.
On this day, a lot of prospective couples stopped by the orphanage looking for a child to adopt. Something about all the love in the air (but of course Lachlan never even knew what love was). They didn’t leave with the kids that day, no it was a long and often-drawn out process, but today at least gave the boys hope.
It gave Lachlan hope, even though he hadn’t been picked yet.
He just knew that someday he would find someone to love him.
He would find his family.
He took one last look at himself in the mirror, wincing at his ears which stuck out, then he picked up Lionel from the bed and kissed the lion on the nose when he was sure none of the boys were looking. He then tucked the lion in and followed everyone else into the hall.
So far the day had gone like it had every other day before.
They had their boring breakfast of oatmeal and orange juice.
They were taught in the classroom by Miss Black.
They had fish sticks for lunch, and the middles were still frozen.
They had more school.
And all throughout the day couples would appear, peeking in through the classroom door.
Lachlan was fascinated by them. They were always wearing their nicest clothes, the men in suit jackets, the women in dresses or nice slacks. Their hair and makeup were always done and even though Lachlan could never get close to them, you could always smell their perfume. On Valentine’s Day the hallways of Hillside filled with the scent of roses and lilacs and fresh linen.
He yearned to be with those people. Sometimes he thought about just running out the door to them and asking. What was wrong with asking? They were there looking for a child, we’re they? Maybe they’d want to take the one who wanted to escape the most?
But he never moved because he knew he’d get in trouble and that there would be some sort of blacklist on him and they’d make sure he was never adopted.
So he just sat straighter in his chair, made sure to look like he was paying extra attention to the teacher, and if he knew he’d get an answer right, he was raising his hand. At least he could try and look smart.
But as the day wore on, getting closer to dinner time, he knew the chances of getting any interest today were waning. The hole in his heart was growing larger and larger, filling with despair that he’d have to carry for another year.
No mother, no potential parents. No birthday wishes, no valentine.
Nothing.
It was enough to make him cry, except when he was back by his bed, he just clutched little Lionel so tight that he managed to keep the tears at bay. He’d cried a few times before and the boys always made fun of him, even though they were all prone to the sorrow of their lives from time to time.
Then Old Chestnut appeared in the doorway.
“Lachlan Lockhart?” he boomed.
Lachlan froze. Oh no. What had he done?
He dropped the lion on his bed and stood at attention.
The other boys watched him, not daring to make a sound this time.
“Come with me,” Old Chestnut said, beckoning him with the crook of his finger.
Lachlan’s heart started racing. This didn’t sound good.
He walked past Davie, eying him nervously, but Davie only smiled at him. “Good luck,” he whispered.
Good luck? Good luck?
Lachlan looked up at Old Chestnut, hope rising in his chest. The old man was giving nothing back.
“Follow me,” he grumbled, walking down the hall.
Lachlan quickly followed him as fast as his little legs would carry him.
Down, down, down the hall, down the stairs, all the way to Mr. Ratchet’s office.
“Now Lachlan,” Old Chestnut said to him as he opened the door. “There’s someone here to see you, someone that you—”
He stopped talking as they entered the room.
Ratchet was sitting there at his desk but the chairs across from him were empty. The air carried a familiar smell, a wash of cigarette smoke and something else.
Lachlan’s heart lurched.
“Where did she go?” Old Chestnut said.
Ratchet barely looked up over the papers. “She just left. Changed her mind. Said something about the boy being more trouble than he’s worth.” He eyed Lachlan. “I hate to say it but she might be right.”
“Who left?” Lachlan asked, amazed he found his voice to speak. “Who?”
“Your mother,” Ratchet said, sorted out some papers. “She was going to take you back. But if you ask me, I’m not sure that would have worked out for the best. If she took him back, perhaps child services would have looked into it. I’m not sure she’s all there in the head.”
But Lachlan stopped hearing what Ratchet was saying.
His mother?
His mother!
Before he could process any other thought, any other feeling aside from pure desperation, he turned and ran through the open door and out into the hall.
“Lachlan!” Old Chestnut yelled after him and he knew the old man was hot on his trail, his footsteps echoing down the hall.
But he didn’t care.
His mother was here.
He had to stop her from leaving.
He had to convince her to take him.
Lachlan ran all the way to the front door and pulled at it. It was really heavy so he heaved and pulled with all his might, finally getting it open.
Just in time to see his mother about to step inside a cab.
“Mum!” Lachlan screamed.
He lifted his foot, about to run down the steps.
But then Old Chestnut’s arms wrapped around him, holding him back.
“No!” Lachlan screamed, squirming in Chestnut’s grasp, his own little arms reaching out for his mother. He was wild, he was desperate, he would do anything to escape, to have someone love him, to have his mother back, as awful as that life before was.
But his mother looked Lachlan dead in the eye.
And her face said nothing at all.
She did nothing at all.
Except get in the cab.
“No!” Lachlan cried out, tears pouring down his hot face. “No, no, no! Please come back! I’ll be good, I’ll be good. Don’t leave me! Mum! Please!”
But the cries would do Lachlan no good.
She did leave him.
Again.
The cab puttered down the road, leaving Lachlan behind with a ravaged heart and a sunken soul
He knew she would never come back.
One
Kayla
“Oh my god, it’s fucking snowing,” I exclaim, my eyes glued to the window watching the fat flakes fall from a blurry sky.
“It’s what?” Lachlan shouts from the bathroom where he’s attempting to shave, trying to be heard over the running water.
“It’s snowing,” I say again, turning around as he comes out of the bathroom, half his face covered in shaving foam. I love me a stubbly Lachlan (something about the way his facial hair gives me just the right friction when he’s going down on me), but ev
ery so often he shaves and it’s like I have a whole other husband.
He glances out the window at the falling flakes that are starting to stick to the ground, and grunts. “Looks like practice shall be a wee bit chilly this morning,” he says, heading back to the bathroom.
I take a brief moment to admire the massive muscles and intricate tattoos of his back.
“It’s not going to get cancelled?” I ask.
“Not a chance,” he replies.
I let out a sigh of relief.
The thing that my dear husband doesn’t know is that I have spent the last few months planning the biggest surprise for him, and it all starts today. I need him to be at rugby practice in order for this thing to go off without a hitch.
You see tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.
Which is usually a special day for most couples but for us it’s even more so because it’s Lachlan’s birthday. Now, one would think that being born on Valentine’s Day would be a fun occasion, but it’s not the case with him.
Lachlan was given away to an orphanage on his birthday.
He rarely talks about it and I don’t blame him, but it’s one of the many reasons why he’s very raw and sensitive about that day. Not that you’d know it, Lachlan does tend to brush off things like that. But I know him enough to know how much that day matters, how every year it brings up the same pain and rejection.
Sooooo this year, I decided to do something different.
Something that would make him immensely happy.
His cousin Keir lives here in Edinburgh and we hang out with him and his fiancé Jessica all the time (she owns a really awesome yoga studio that focuses on people with disabilities, and she lets me drop in for free when I feel like getting “centered”). Lachlan thinks that we’re going out for dinner tomorrow, just the four of us.
But that’s a lie.
Tomorrow we’re having a party here at the flat.
He doesn’t know about that.
He also doesn’t know about the guest list, which includes the following people:
His brother Brigs, his wife Natasha, and their one-year old daughter Ramona.