by Tina Reber
I gave him my attention, trying not to let it blow out of proportion. “It’s all right.”
Suddenly he snagged my wrist, pulling me to the opening on the porch. “I. Fuck. Come,” he ordered.
“Where are we going?”
Ryan stepped off the porch, then stood directly under the water overflowing from the gutter above.
“What are you doing?” I asked as the water poured onto his head. He smiled wickedly and shook the water off his head before bending and catching me behind my knees. I felt the whoosh as I was hefted over his bare shoulder and then cold rainwater pelted my hair, my shoulders, and my back, causing me to squeal.
“Ryan!”
“Come on, baby.” He walked us down the flooded driveway in his bare feet. He only had a pair of track shorts on since we were lounging around the house.
The rain was cold but refreshing and instantly blocked my thoughts out, giving me the space to only worry about getting soaked.
“What are you doing?” I giggled as he hustled down the long drive.
“Makin’ new memories,” he said in a rush, stopping when he reached the torrent of water flowing down the street.
Just when I thought I couldn’t love him any more than I already did, I fell another few miles deeper in love with him. He twirled us around, holding my legs out so I was balanced over his shoulder on my stomach. Heavy rain pelted my legs as I laughed from his playfulness.
“You’re crazy!” I felt so giddy and free.
Ryan motioned like he was going to dump me on the ground. “Do you love me?”
I grabbed the back of his wet shorts. “Yes!”
He raised my legs higher. “What?”
“Yes!” I giggled louder, exposing the top crack of his ass as he hung me down his back.
He splashed into a huge puddle. “Say it!”
“I love you!”
Ryan spun us in a circle. My wet hair whipped around, sticking to my face. “What? I can’t hear you.
It’s raining. You’ll have to speak up.”
“I love you!” I shouted, wiping the wet hair out of my eyes with one hand while holding his shorts with the other.
“You what?”
I smacked his perfect, soaking-wet ass. “I love you!”
“You love me?”
He was making me dizzy, jumping and twirling us around like that. “I love you!”
His hands gripped my thighs. “You gonna marry me, Mitchell?”
“Yes! Don’t drop me!”
He dipped me back farther; my wet shirt gathered uncomfortably under my breasts. “Yes? Yes, what?”
I was laughing so hard, I was getting one of those side-stickers in my ribs. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”
He set me down in the cold, streaming rainwater; one hand grasped my hip while the other got stuck into my hair at the base of my head. And then he was kissing me. In the downpour. In the stream of water running against the curb in front of his parents’ house outside of Pittsburgh. Kissing me with everything he had and then some. Smoothing back my wet hair. Biting my lips. Swirling his tongue with mine.
Mingling our hungry breath into one.
Marking my memories with new thoughts of the rain.
Shining his brightness on me in the midst of a dark storm.
My hands were on his smooth, muscular back, his ribs, his neck and face.
Mine.
Mine, mine, mine.
“I love you,” he murmured.
“I love you more.”
He broke away to grace me with his killer smile. His happiness, knowing I was a huge part of it, was like a gift. One that I’d cherish forever.
But I still had to get him back for spinning me upside down. I bent down, gathered up a handful of water, and tossed it at him.
“Oh yeah?” He skimmed his big foot through the stream, sending water splashing all over my shins.
I hadn’t felt so free in such a long time. I kicked water back at him. When he bent for his own handful, I kept kicking and splashing, until he was sufficiently drenched.
Ryan straightened, glared down, and said, “You’d better run.”
I took off through the rain, running only the length of the neighbor’s yard barefoot in the street before I got tagged and scooped up off the ground.
Ryan was smiling as he carried me down to the corner where the street storm drain was overflowing.
The rain was coming down so hard, the water was flooding the street.
“We used to play down here,” Ryan said, walking with me pressed to his chest. “Me and Nick. Ricky Beidler used to live in that house over there. We’d get into all sorts of trouble.”
He set me down in ankle-deep water. That’s when the serious splashing started. Water soaked into my bra, trickling down my back.
“That all you got, Christensen?” I kicked, sending a blast of water at him. He laughed, tossed his wet hair back, and grabbed me around the waist, sitting me down on my ass in the water. I squealed again when cold water flooded down my butt crack.
Ryan plopped down, sitting next to me in the stream. “Come here,” he ordered low, snagging me by the armpits to haul me across his lap.
The rain was slowing down but it could have been hailing for all I cared, being in his arms next to the curb in the street, sitting in rushing storm water. Ryan wiped the matted hair off my forehead, tilting his neck down to kiss me.
There was no denying that look of love in his eyes; that gaze that said a million words. I wrapped my arm over his shoulder, sliding my hand up his wet neck and into the tangles of his hair, feeling his kiss and all its meaning down into my bones.
We were the only two people in the world.
Sitting in the street.
In a small stream.
In the rain.
And just like that, my gorgeous man replaced bad with another slice of great.
It was almost one o’clock the next afternoon when I heard Ryan’s mom, Ellen, huff for the thirty-second time—or was it the thirty-third? I was on my laptop at the kitchen table and Ryan was outside working on his car and ignoring his mother’s desire for him to keep a scheduled feeding time.
I made a silent deal with myself that the next huff would get me moving and sure enough it did.
“Ask him if he’s ready for a sandwich,” Ellen said in a rush, making sure I carried her message out to the garage.
I silently added “Yes, mother” to my “Sure. No problem.”
I found Ryan, or should I say Ryan’s legs and khaki cargo shorts, which were riding very, very low on his hips and exposing all sorts of tight flesh and happy trails of hair. He was on his back underneath the front end of his Shelby, and by the streaks of grease on his very sexy, low-riding khaki cargo shorts, I guessed he was changing the oil. The guy had $29 million but was too much of a guy to pay someone to change his oil. God love him and all of his humbleness.
I tapped his foot. “Hey, hot, sexy mechanic. How’s it going under there?”
Ryan curled up enough to grin at me. “Going good.”
The sight of him with dirty, grease-stained hands, a smear of it on his plain white cotton V-neck tee and one on his forearm, and some tools in his hands added to his sex appeal.
“You’re looking so delish under there; I might be tempted to have you change my oil, too. What do you think?”
That earned me another smug smile. “I think you need more than your oil changed, ma’am. I’m thinking you’ll need a tune-up and a lube job as well.”
“At a minimum!” I joked. “And a buffin’ and a waxin’ too.”
“Keep up with the dirty innuendos; you’re making me hard.”
“Keep up with the hot, dirty mechanic act and I may just do you out here in the driveway.”
That earned me a few eyebrow waggles. “Your mom is having a slow meltdown because you haven’t eaten yet today. How long until you’re finished?” There was no way he’d be able to hold a sandwich with all of that motor oil on his hands
so no sense making him something to eat until he was cleaned up.
He groaned. “Doesn’t she have anything better to do? I’ll eat when I’m hungry. I’m still full from last night.”
I was just about to give him a comeback when his cell rang. It was sitting on a towel next to an opened bottle of Gatorade.
“Grab that, would ya? Who is it?”
I crouched down and picked it up, tilting the screen so I could see it in the bright sun. “Your lawyer, Len Bainbridge.”
“Answer it. My hands are too greasy.”
I tapped the screen and said, “Hi, Mr. Bainbridge, it’s Taryn Mitchell.”
“Oh hello, Taryn,” he said jovially. “How are you?”
After a few pleasantries, he asked for Ryan.
Ryan’s legs were still sticking out from underneath his car and he’d already given his instruction. “I’m sorry. He’s indisposed at the moment. He’s asked if I can take a message for him.”
Ryan cocked an eyebrow at my formalness.
“Yes, please tell him that my office is emailing the settlement documents with Brown and Sullivan PR.
He needs to review them and if all is acceptable, we will proceed with the disbursement.”
“Okay, great. I’ll let him know.”
“Thanks. Oh, yes, one moment. Thanks, Miriam. Yes, I almost forgot, Miriam is sending the requested prenuptial agreement template for his review. He’ll need to mark it accordingly as to what your wishes are in the event of dissolution of marriage. It’s all quite self-explanatory. He, of course, should call me if he has any questions.”
My brain seized up at the word prenup.
“Taryn, are you still there?”
I think I formed a spit bubble first, which caused an involuntary reaction to choke.
At the second calling of my name, I managed a nod. “I’ll tell him,” I rasped.
Ryan rolled out from underneath his car, wiping his hands off on an old rag. He looked up at me, squinting one eye at the bright sun. “What did he have to say?”
Did you ever have that warm rush feeling—the kind that hits you right before you either freak out, pass out, or throw up? Yeah, I was there.
“I don’t want your money, Ryan,” I managed to say, even though I felt numb and disconnected from the conversation. He had millions in the bank. I thought we’d gotten beyond that, but apparently my assumption was incorrect. Of course he would want an escape clause.
“Not one cent,” I sort of choked out through the lump in my throat. “I’m capable of earning my own way and if we bring babies into this world I’d expect you to help me raise them right and healthy, but I’ll keep the apartment should you ever decide you need dissolution and I need a place to live. I guess that stuff will just be a given in the divorce proceedings anyway but I would never touch your money or demand a piece of it because you earned that money. I would never do that to you. You’re building the house on your property—it’s not mine nor will it ever be. I need you to know that. I would never take it from you.” I didn’t realize I was tearing up until he went blurry.
Ryan stood quickly. “Babe, you’re freaking me the fuck out. What the hell are you talking about?”
My arm moved, holding out his phone. I should have been angry, but I wasn’t for some reason. I was more desperate and wounded than anything. “Your lawyer is emailing you the prenup agreement you requested. I want you to know I’ll sign it. It’s only right. You should have peace of mind.”
Ryan looked like I’d just punched him. “Whoa, whoa. Hold up. What prenup? I didn’t ask for a prenup.”
I shook the phone in my hand, making a point. “He says different.”
Ryan ducked down, making sure he had my eyes. “Taryn, honey, I swear to God I did not ask him to write up a prenup. I swear. I am just as blindsided by this as you are. But I will get to the bottom of it, you can be damn sure of that. Give me my phone. I’m calling him right now.”
Just as I was ready to hand it over, thankful that he didn’t think I was going to empty his pockets or even imagine me being that greedy that I’d do such a thing, I pulled my hand back.
“Wait.” I wiped the hurt from my cheek. “Before you do that we should talk about it. I know that there are no guarantees that people stay together for life, but I want it written down that I don’t want your money. You help me pay for your children’s’ care, should we have any, and that’s it. I don’t need alimony or any of that because I’ve gotten spoiled or feel entitled that you owe me or something.”
Ryan took my arm firmly in his hand. “Hey, hey, stop. Stop this—right now.”
Once the floodgates had opened, I couldn’t. “No, we need to discuss this! You have a lot of money, Ryan. I didn’t work hard to earn that; you did. That’s yours—all of it. I don’t expect you to fork over gobs of cash I didn’t earn because we didn’t last like we’d hoped. And then there’s the property you bought and stuff. That’s all yours, too. Just because it’s next to my family’s cabin doesn’t mean I’m entitled—”
“Stop!” he ordered, loud and firm. “I am not talking about this.”
I don’t know why that frustrated me, but it did. “We need to,” I insisted.
“No, we don’t.” Ryan frowned at me, tugging my arm slightly. “You want to give me peace of mind, then stop talking about this shit right now.”
“We’re going to need to talk about it eventually. You know that as well as I do. There’s too much at stake . . .”
He glared down at me. “Let me ask you something. Did Dan and Jennifer Mitchell have a prenup?”
“Ryan, that’s—”
He raised his voice over mine. “Your parents have a prenup, Tar? Yes or no?”
“I’m pretty sure my parents didn’t, but still, that’s not the point.”
He held up a halting hand. “You think my mom and dad in there have a fucking prenup?”
I just stared at him, avoiding having to answer.
“I can tell you they don’t,” he said. “And I sure as hell didn’t ask my lawyer to draft one up, either.”
He started jabbing his finger on his touchscreen phone.
Ryan was breathing heavy while being placed on hold. “When he gets out of his meeting, you tell him I want to know who the hell told him to write a prenup on my behalf.” He hung up abruptly, without even saying goodbye.
Ryan stormed off toward the kitchen door and I had no choice but to follow.
“Ryan? What’s wrong? You look mad,” Ellen questioned when he used the kitchen sink.
“I’m not mad, Mom. I’m pissed.”
Ellen quickly looked at me, trying to ascertain if I had caused his anger.
“What’s going on?” she continued to pry.
“You have a prenup with Dad?” he asked with a definite growl.
I saw the confusion blanket her face. “No.”
Ryan glanced over his shoulder, casting me his see, I told ya look.
Ellen was smarter than I gave her credit for. She held up her hands, backing up and out of the conversation as if there were a ticking time bomb sitting on her kitchen floor.
“Ryan, things were different for them. Our parents didn’t have the amount of money that you do and —”
Even though his back was turned to me, the hand that shot out, slicing the air in my direction, was a definite cease-and-desist order. I stood there in silence, watching him hunch, his arms pressing into the stainless steel rim of the sink as if he were pressing his emotions back together.
“Time and time again, we keep coming back to the same spot,” he muttered at the sink. “I know there are no guarantees”—he turned to face me—“but the reason why neither of our parents had a prenuptial agreement was because they didn’t start out in their marriage by preparing for it to end.”
I pulled a chair out at the large oval dining table, feeling the need to anchor myself. He said the words that were in the back of my mind. “I know.”
“You want us to start ou
t that way? You want some paper that says if I fuck around or if I don’t sit down and talk shit out and work through our problems that you’d get a few million tossed at you?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t. But apparently your people think differently.”
Ryan’s lips squashed together in frustrated anger. He pushed his hair back, scratching his head, venting his anger in an audible huff. I knew that one wasn’t because of me.
“I’d never take from you regardless.”
His shoulders dropped. “That’s why I want to give you everything.”
My breath hitched. “I already have the part that I want. Love is priceless.”
He came over to the table, pulled out the chair next to me, and sat down, our knees touching.
“You have a lot of other stakeholders concerned about your bottom line, Ryan. Even agreements for our wedding photos and stuff, like you said. All of those things; it all has to be legal.”
Ryan took my hand in his. “You need to realize that I’d cut them all loose before I’d risk losing you.”
I leaned into the other hand cupping my cheek. “I want you to feel safe with me forever, even if that means signing something to give you that.”
“Tar, I know you’re not a taker. You’re the most giving person I’ve ever known.” His frown softened. “I do not want that kind of paper looming between us.”
“Escape clause,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Escape clause. It outlines how everything gets divvied up in the event of a divorce. Did you know that Marie and Gary are fighting over who gets to keep the TVs and dishes?”
Ryan sighed, disgusted. His eyes met mine. “And you think that might happen between us.”
I felt my head shake, but facts were facts. “I’m watching my best friend get her heart torn out and working on a new relationship at the same time while arguing about who gets the toaster. She and Gary made it three years. I just don’t want you to ever worry about me taking your TV.”
He leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on my lips. “We are going to blend our lives together. We’re going to have a family. But I’m not starting our marriage with a paper that outlines how we end it. Family is important to me. Baby, we will go to counseling to straighten our shit out before we start picking fights over a damn toaster.”