Magnolia Road

by J. Lynn Bailey

  The scent that surrounds me is familiar. It’s a scent I associate with good feelings.

  The beeping stops.

  Thank God, the beeping stops.

  The warm hand patiently sits in my palm.

  “Ethan,” the voice whispers, “we can go if you want. Maria went down the hall to check in with the doctor.”

  It’s Bryce. She’s here, and I associate the smell and her soft skin. It helps draw me back from the edge of nowhere.

  My heart begins to pound—and not because of what she does to me, but because I’m not sure where I am or if this is all real.

  “Bryce?” I whisper.

  “Yeah?”

  I don’t respond. Maybe the question was to verify her identity since I haven’t been able to take my eyes off Robby—or what represents Robby, which is a hollow shell of someone I used to know.

  “Ethan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you need some fresh air?”

  “Yeah.”

  Bryce gently pulls at my arm, alarming my feet to move.

  The white overhead lighting of the hospital hurts my eyes as we enter the hallway, as if the sun had risen too quickly.

  Bryce keeps pace with my feet that move, though I’m not wiling them to; they’re doing it on their own. I’m amazed at how well the human body works.

  It walks.

  Moves.

  Breathes.

  Pushes.

  Stops.

  Holds.

  She takes me to the elevator and pushes the number one button. Soft instrumental music plays while we make our descent.

  Her hand stays in mine.

  I look down at her as she watches the light move to the number one position in the row of numbers. My heart beats against my chest as my breathing becomes shallower; it’s harder to breathe.

  My hand tightens around Bryce’s hand. “Is that too tight?” I ask.

  “No,” she says, her eyes finally coming away from the lights.

  The elevator doors open. She takes the lead, and I follow her out of the hospital to the fresh, cool air.

  I suck in a big gulp of air, and my hands fall to my knees. I’m suddenly aware of the world around me.

  Cars drive on the road out front.

  I feel the drops of rain begin to beat against my face as I stand.

  It’s chilly, I think to myself as I suck in another mouthful of fresh air.

  “Ethan?” Bryce asks.

  What happened in there? I want to ask, but I don’t want to scare Bryce. I like her a lot. I don’t want anything to change between us, and yet I want everything to change.

  I want to be the man who lifts her over the threshold of a new home.

  I want to be the father of her children.

  I want to be the man she’s been looking for.

  I want to be all that.

  But something tells me I can’t. She can’t have a fractured man. She doesn’t deserve a fractured man. She deserves someone who wakes up in the morning and doesn’t have to deal with a closet full of demons. She deserves a man who is as good on the outside as he is on the inside. Solid. Well built.

  “Yeah?” I say.

  “Drink some water.” She hands me a water bottle.

  Bryce turns to me. Stares straight into me. Gently reaches up and holds my face in her hands. “Where’d you go?”

  To a place I can’t control. It’s where I went after we made love for the first time in Los Angeles, I want to say but don’t. A place where time and space don’t exist.

  I should answer her. She deserves an explanation, but I can’t give it to her because I’m not really sure what happens either.

  Snap the fuck out of it, Ethan. Answer the fucking question.

  “Robby took me back,” I lie. Back to the days where we measured another day served by the sunset and another day of living by the sunrise.

  Bryce’s eyes burn into mine. Fierce. With hope though and conviction. Her hands stay on my cheeks. Where most people would probably ask if I’m okay, she doesn’t, and I like that. The truth is, I’m not sure I’m okay. I’m not sure if I’ll be all right.

  The only thing that is promised in life after birth is death.

  She deserves more of a man, Ethan. You know that.

  Undamaged goods. You could be that person, Ethan. You could be. With more work with James. You really could be.

  She deserves more than you can give, Ethan. So much more. Let her go.

  Something inside me tells me I can’t.

  “And what else?” she asks.

  I try to pause this moment. She’s touching me, not sexually. Touching me in a way that helps her heart and mind. Through the tips of her fingers. I feel this. She doesn’t know this, but I do.

  “Ethan, what else?” she asks again.

  I don’t want to tell her. I don’t want to visit the dark places Robby and I spent too much time in. I don’t want to tell her any of this. Because, if I do, will I look at her differently? Will I look at Bryce and attach the feelings of what we brought home from war to her? I can’t have that. If anything remains of us, we have to be friends. I can’t risk that. Or worse, will she look at me and think I’m an animal?

  I pull my cheeks away from her hands that cradles them like a mother would her child. “I can’t go there with you, Bryce. I won’t.”

  Her eyes still on me, she moves with my every flinch, my every blink, my every breath. “Then, come with me.” She takes me by the hand and pulls me to the truck. “Give me your keys.”

  I hand them over, and then we climb into my truck. “Do you know how to drive a stick?” I ask.

  Bryce looks at me through the corner of her eyes. “Ethan, you underestimate a city girl. First, I drive a mean stick. Second, I milked cows on my grandparents’ farm for many summers.”

  I listen to the low hum of the tires against the road and try to process what she’s just said.

  “Ethan, what can I do to help you feel better?”

  I turn my stare to her. What I want and what I need are two different things usually, but right now—they’re exactly the same. “You,” I whisper.

  Bryce doesn’t smile at this. In fact, I’m unsure she’s even breathing.

  She says, “You’re going to do what you need to with my body. If this is what you need to forget the current situation your friend is in, you will use my body to forget. Just for the night. Understand?”

  What about tomorrow? I want to ask.

  Bryce makes her way back to our motel.

  Turns.

  Bites her lip.

  Smiles. Even if it lasts for only three seconds, I’ll take it.

  Turns again.

  “Thanks for driving,” I say because I think she knows this is important to me.

  “You’re welcome.” Bryce pulls into the spot in front of our room. Turns off the truck. Pulls the key out of the ignition.

  Nothing makes a sound after that.

  A slow trickle of rain starts on the windshield.

  “Come inside, Ethan,” Bryce says.

  Twenty-Three

  Bryce

  We both walk to the front door as the rain closes in on us. I know the difference of what I need to do and what I want to do. This is both.

  I slide our room key into the door, Ethan close behind me, and I open the door.

  Inside, Ethan takes his jacket off, and I set the key down next to the television. I go to the heavy, thick curtains and pull them shut, so all we see are the tiny splashes of light around the big front window. I can barely make out Ethan’s figure, but I know where he stands.

  I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. Not for him to make love to me, but for his heart to mend. Heal from the wounds. The scars.

  I walk to him and place my hands on his hips. I slowly tug his shirt from his pants as he lifts his arms for me to slide it off. His shirt falls to the floor, and I run my hand across his chest, making sure this is real. That he won’t leave. Walk out. Not like the
morning in Los Angeles or the morning in the bathroom on Magnolia Road or in his bedroom.

  Want rushes through my veins, and I feel my body go flush.

  My fingers trace over the small ripples of his stomach as they work their way up to his chest. I run my hands through the small dusting of hair. You’d never know the body Ethan has. Women can only assume he’s fit, but what’s underneath seems only for me.

  With his hands at his sides, I take his hips in my hands and pull him closer, placing my lips first to his nipples, wanting once again to know what they taste like. I hear the breath escape his mouth as I do this. I move my lips to the left side of his chest, where his heart is. I tighten my grip on his hips and slowly place my lips to his heart.

  Ethan’s always been able to exercise control. Restraint, from what I can see. In Los Angeles, he let me finish twice before he gave himself enough room to reach his climax.

  As though I were in control, as if I had a say, I undo his belt and slowly push his jeans down to puddle on the floor.

  Right now, my heart doesn’t know how to fix him, how to make him okay, so my touch deepens as I slide my hands down his backside, inside his boxer briefs. I feel his breath against my cheek as I look up at him. His eyes closed. His hands still at his sides. His mouth slightly open.

  With his erection against my stomach, I want nothing more than to peel off these layers of fabric between us and for us to join in the middle where our bodies aren’t ours, but some sort of fate written in the stars.

  That’s when he loses it. Takes me by the shoulders. Squeezes. Turns and puts me down on the bed in one swift motion. Spreads my legs but leans back and yanks off my pants before he settles between my thighs. As if my top is as an afterthought, he gently pulls me up and slips my top off over my head. With my dark blue lacy bra exposed, he gently takes his fingers and pops it open so that my breasts pour out. He tosses it on the floor and leans back. The only thing left is my panties on my body as I ease back onto the mattress. Ethan marvels at my body as he sits back and takes me in.

  He looks away. Shakes his head. Bites his lip.

  I don’t ask him what’s wrong.

  I know he needs me.

  I know he needs this.

  I reach up and pull him from the back of his neck as I whisper in his ear, “Take my panties off, Ethan.”

  Hastily, he rips them off me as his stare turns darker.

  I lie back on the mattress and allow him to look me over as his hand slides against my inner thigh.

  “Do what you need to, Ethan.” My voice is raspy as I feel my body respond to his hands, his demeanor.

  He gets down flat on his stomach but not before taking off his underwear, and he puts his face between my legs.

  Without using his hands, his tongue slides between my folds, and my body begins to quiver.

  I quietly call out as my legs move to the sides, and I watch him.

  He pushes his tongue deeper into me, reaching my spot, and then uses his fingers to pull back my folds.

  I don’t dare look away as he probes me, taking his time with me, pushing his tongue deeper. I feel his finger slide inside me as he keeps pressure against me with his tongue.

  I call out, getting lost in the feeling this brings.

  He pulls his finger out and takes pressure off of my center. He leaves me on the mattress, breathless, legs shaking and spread for him.

  Ethan watches me in the darkness for a moment, taking me in.

  I reach down and take my breasts in my hands, needing him back. His touch.

  “Get on your knees and face the headboard, Bryce,” he commands.

  I do.

  With my backside exposed to him, I feel him finally settle onto the mattress. His hands are on my waist.

  He settles between my legs and pulls me back.

  We both call out because he’s inside me now.

  “Bryce,” he whispers as a saving grace. That, somehow, maybe, I’ll give him a break.

  I move my hips because this feels too good, and he groans. “Oh my God.”

  He reaches underneath me and cups my breasts as I rock against him, feeling him slide in and out of me with each push.

  Abruptly, he stops.

  “Are you all right, Ethan?” My words are breathy. The weight they carry is heavy. Like waiting out a hurricane, waiting for it all to pass. I know Ethan isn’t all right.

  With his hands, he pulls me back to him so that my knees are at the end of the mattress. I’m still on all fours while Ethan towers above me, feet planted solidly on the floor. Gently, he reaches down and pulls me up so that my back is flush with his chest. Pushing my hair to one side, he trails kisses down the side of my neck.

  “I have to pace myself with you, Bryce,” he says as his hands reach around and take my breasts once again.

  Feeling his erection against my back, I want to fall forward. I want him to touch me. But I don’t tell him this.

  I push my feet to the floor, making him step back. I turn to face him, walk around him, turning him with me so that we’re facing each other. I push him to the mattress.

  “Lie down.”

  He does. I climb on top of him.

  Then I put my lips to his, but he stakes his claim when he grabs the back of my neck with his hand and deepens the kiss. Then, he pushes away from my lips, slightly pulls me up, so he can put my breast in his mouth.

  I watch him.

  He watches me.

  Between my legs, I feel him. I gently use my body and maneuver him inside me as my middle meets his base.

  “Bryce …” His head falls back to the mattress, eyes closed this time, breathing heavily.

  I rock back and forth, trying not to come just yet. “Lose it.” I lean forward and whisper.

  “Oh, God.” He pulls his attention to where we’re joined.

  The bed begins to squeak as I sit up right and keep my hips right where they are.

  As we rock and sigh and pant, his eyes say so much more.

  They say, I want, but I can’t.

  They say, I love you, but I can’t.

  They say, I’m damaged goods. You deserve more.

  But, in this moment, it’s just Ethan and me. Separate yet joined. Two different people. Two walks of life.

  As if this life were written and, finally, someone had gotten it right. But they forgot about one thing. Sometimes, damaged goods are the best goods. Our life experiences can either make us or break us.

  Ethan has done both. He’s been broken. And he’s the best kind of broken. He’s the type of broken that’s putting himself back together. He’s not the type of broken with missing pieces, irreplaceable pieces

  In this moment, as his eyes bury into mine, I know I will love him for eternity. I know I’m meant to love him for the rest of my life. Whether he loves me or not, whether he allows me to love him or not, it isn’t my job to convince him. It’s my job just to be present.

  We make love in spite of ourselves.

  We make infinite love as he pushes me to my climax, eyes still boring into mine.

  I’m reaching my limit as we rock.

  “Ethan,” I say breathlessly.

  His arms around my middle, he gives me one last long look. I close my eyes and allow him to give me the release I need.

  Stars explode as my entire body reaches its peak. I drop my head back and call out his name, grinding myself harder against him, taking in his scent as his arms tighten around me.

  An explosion of broken and perfect and consequence erupts as euphoria settles in my body.

  When the world stops moving and our bodies slow, I drop my head to look at him. What I expect to see and what I really see are two different things. I expected him to look more peaceful, like my body feels, but all I see is anguish. Quickly, he pulls out, sets me to the side, and stands.

  He walks me to the wall, my backside to him, and places my hands against it. He isn’t soft about this. He’s desperate for an escape. In one swift motion, he pushes int
o me again and again and again.

  My backside rocks against him with jerking movements.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologizes in my ear. “You need to see the beast that I am. This is how I need this.”

  His words both scare me and do something to my body that makes me want to give him everything. I do my best to remain steady as he uses me for protection against himself. He uses my body to rid himself of his thoughts, his feelings, his hurt, his fears.

  “Bryce!” he calls out loudly as he gives one last hard push inside me.

  Then, everything goes silent, except our panting. My body trembles in his wake, and I’m not sure if it’s fear that he’ll walk away once we’re finished, just like the last time, or because my body is fully satisfied.

  This time, gently, he pulls out. With my back still to him, my hands against the wall, our bodies stand against the darkness—not individually, but together.

  “Bryce, you’re shaking,” he says, sliding his hands around my middle. “Come here.” Ethan leads me to the bed, dragging the comforter back, exposing the white sheets. Then, he climbs between the sheets, puts me to his chest, and pulls the sheets over our naked bodies.

  If silence had a name in this moment, it would be fear. Fear and darkness go together like smothered love—stifling, overbearing, and hard to overcome. But, right now, all I know is that I’d rather feel these things because I’m with Ethan. And I’ll do it the way he wants. If that means as friends or lovers because living without him doesn’t seem like a viable option. It’s not something I think I can do. The strong, willful, never-need-a-man woman that I am has somehow changed, turned. Flipped.

  This situation could have been avoided. Maybe, if I had ignored Ethan that day in Los Angeles, ignored his long legs and his dark brown eyes and long eyelashes, the vein that runs the course of his left arm, his big hands, maybe this moment wouldn’t hurt so much, knowing it was the beginning of the end. Knowing I made a choice that would shatter my heart because what we did today wasn’t love. We didn’t make love. We didn’t share our deepest secrets.

  We put bandages on our wounds.

  I lick my lips before I put my mouth to his chest for a kiss. “I know this is the end, Ethan.”

  Twenty-Four