by Shey Stahl
An hour later, she was back with ice cream.
“How’d it go?”
She shrugged and handed me a blizzard. “Couldn’t find him.”
“Where’d you look?”
“Dairy Queen.” And then she handed me a box of Captain Crunch. “It’s settled. I’ll stay the night if you stop being a big baby.”
“You know,” I laughed, setting the cereal down, but taking the blizzard in my hand, “I thought for sure he’d be at Dairy Queen.”
Rosa smiled. “Me too. Do you think his phone has GPS? Let’s look that shit up.” Rosa waved to my laptop. “His IP address is probably heartbreakerhotpieceofbadass.” And then she looked confused. “Nah, that’s probably too long, huh?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at her, knowing there was a reason why I hung out with her and Casten when I needed cheering up. They were always good entertainment.
Rosa looked at me as the second of three gossip news stations covered the story. When a picture of Rager popped on the screen, she appeared confused. “I think his eyes are fake. No one has that blue of eyes. Or maybe,” she touched her forefinger to her chin, “he dyes the whites of his eyes?”
“Have you been hanging out with Willie lately?”
Suspiciously, her eyes darted around the room. “Yeah…why?”
“I think his dumbness rubbed off on you.”
“Why?”
Beside me, Casten broke out in a fit of full body laughs.
I gave her an honest what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you look. “How could someone dye the whites of their eyes?”
“Hell if I know.” Rosa couldn’t let it go. She had to know. “His eyes are so blue though. Like they’re contacts.”
“They’re not.”
“How would you know?”
“I just know.” I threw my arms up in the air, getting frustrated. “They’ve always been that way. His mom’s eyes are the same color.”
Throughout the next few days, as I waited for Rager to return from hunting and no cell service, I obsessed over him not coming back and how I was to blame for that.
I held this guilt inside that I had done this to him, but Casten was the voice of reason for me that night. “At any time, Rager could have walked away. He could have. You know that. You’re not to blame for all that, because he stayed. He made that decision for himself, and he was the one to keep coming back, knowing you were married. Don’t blame yourself for that.”
“And if he doesn’t come back?”
Casten shrugged off the question. “Then have Rosa move in with you.”
I started to cry.
“Arie, a relationship is like a race. Any relationship. You’re constantly seeking consistency, sometimes when there isn’t. But if you keep at it, be persistent, it’ll come when you least expect it.”
“Are you talking about me or you here? Because I’m confused.”
“Me. Not everything is always about you.”
Such a brotherly thing to say.
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THERE WAS A good part of me when I read that article with photographs of Rager, rather hot photographs of him, in US Weekly that wondered what Easton would do. I hadn’t spoken to him, nor did I feel the need to. We were over.
What I did hope, was that he would be the bigger person and set the tabloids straight on what happened, rather than making Rager out to be the bad guy because he wasn’t.
Two days after the story broke, Easton addressed the media with a public statement on Twitter and Facebook.
Arie and I were separated long before anything happened with her and Rager Sweet. We were legally separated when she turned to him. That was my fault. Not hers. There have been rumors of infidelity -- on her part -- and I would like to address that. Arie didn’t cheat on me. I was the one who turned to another woman before we were separated. I’m deeply sorry for the pain I caused my wife. In order to protect our families, we kept our private lives just that -- private -- until everything was finalized. There are no hard feelings, and even though this wasn’t how we wanted it to end, life happens and sadly marriages grow apart as you mature. I’m happy for Rager and Arie, and I wish them all the best in their future together and in parenthood.
Noble of him to come clean. It didn’t change my thought that this all could have played out differently and, really, should have, had we been mature and open.
The morning Rager was supposed to return from hunting, part of me worried he wouldn’t. I know, childish, but I blamed the hormones. In my mind, I was able to do that all the time now. Perks of carrying around aliens in my stomach.
I spent the morning in the babies’ soon-to-be room, decorating it with Bailey and my mom. Hayden refused to help. Said it wasn’t her thing and couldn’t understand why I didn’t hire someone to decorate it. So she sat on the floor directing us as to what we should do while drinking chocolate milk out of a carton.
Bailey brought with her my archenemy these days. Abigale.
She hated me. I was actually impressed with how well that kid could give the bitch brow.
With her hands on her hips, she examined my growing belly. “You’re really big.”
“Thanks.” I snorted, looking at the crib Mom and I managed to put together.
“Who is the daddy of them?” Abigale asked, pointing to my stomach, which looked like twin toddlers were inside there.
Bailey’s eyes widened with Abigale’s question, a slow shake to her head. “Abigale, leave Arie alone.”
Only Abigale didn’t; she wanted answers. Pulling her onto my lap, I tickled her sides. She squirmed around, trying not to laugh, but cracking a smile despite that. “I’m not talking to you, Arie,” Abigale stated, hands on her hips.
Beside her, Gray shook her head in annoyance, lying on her stomach, lining up toy sprint cars in what looked to be a four-wide salute to the My Little Pony’s next to them.
“Sorry, kid.” Ruffling up her hair, I scrunched my nose. “He knocked me up. Can’t do anything about that.”
“What does that mean? He hit you?”
“He hit my ass. A couple times.”
“Arie!” Bailey gasped, lunging forward to put her hands over her child’s ears. “Don’t tell her things like that?”
Hayden and I both started laughing. It wasn’t appropriate, at all, but still funny.
Mom stood from the floor, admiring her handiwork on the crib. “I keep getting better at this.”
“Now we have one more to build.” Laughing, I handed her a screw. “Do we need this one?”
She turned, a few strands of hair falling from her ponytail, and frowned. “Well shit…”
Rosa walked in just then with Slurpies for us, thankfully. This was exhausting. Now that I only had a few months before the babies were born, I knew I needed to get things like this done, and it was nice to be around the girls while doing so. Rager wanted nothing to do with it. Probably. If he was even coming back.
See, there I went again. I couldn’t stop my mind from going there once that article was out.
Mom noticed, she always noticed, and bumped my arm as we sat on the floor again, this time placing paintings of stick animals in frames to be hung on the cream walls.
“Are you feeling okay?”
Nodding, I didn’t look up as I tried to get the hooks on the back of the frame fastened. “I’m fine.”
“Something’s running through your mind.”
“Just nervous I guess.” My voice was low, and mostly for her. Bailey and Rosa were adjusting the curtain rods to our left near the four windows that overlooked the backyard.
Mom regarded me for a moment, and then asked, “About the ba
bies?”
“Yeah…and Rager.”
Turning, she retrieved her mocha on the dresser and took a small drink from the black straw. “Why Rager?”
“Just nervous he won’t come back,” I mumbled over the words, not really wanting to say them.
“Why? He just went hunting, right?”
“Yeah…” saying this out loud was a little pathetic, sounding worse than when I was flipping it around in my head, “but that was before the statement to the media.”
“Arie, he loves you.” Setting her mocha back on the dresser, she made me look at her, hands on my shoulders until my eyes found hers. “An article’s not going to change that.”
“I know. I just get nervous and paranoid.” I felt almost like a child admitting my fears for the first time. “I hate being pregnant. It makes me irrational.”
“Tell me about it. I was the same way. If I wasn’t eating ice cream, I was crying.”
Mom and I had talked since I announced that Easton and I were getting a divorce, on Christmas of all days, but I never told her how sorry I was about keeping that from her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Mom frowned, as if I should have known it wasn’t a big deal to her. “It hurt that you didn’t come to me and have someone to talk to. I would have wanted to be there for you through that. But I’m proud of you. I raised you to tackle the media and everything surrounding this lifestyle with grace, and you did. You knew what would happen once the media got a hold of it, especially after Jack.” Her eyes dropped to the floor, the pain evident when her features tensed. It was still so hard to talk about for everyone. “But everything that happened this year with Lily…and Easton…I just wanted to be there for you and Axel, and Rager. He’s like one of my kids, too.”
“And you find him attractive,” I teased, remembering my mom’s comment when she was in the hospital before her surgery when she had cancer and admitted it.
Mom sighed. “It’s the eyes.”
My hand dropped to my stomach, so content for a moment thinking about their little faces and hoping they had his eyes and dark hair. “I hope they look like him.”
“How did he react when you told him they were his?”
I went into the story of everything, that first time, the lake, going away and then finding out I was pregnant. All of it. And she listened attentively to every word.
It made me feel good that my mother loved me enough that no matter what I did, she didn’t care. She loved me, unconditional love that in a way, I feared. I loved these babies already, but honestly, what if they turned out like Cole?
Speaking of Cole, it made me realize no one had heard from the little shit. My eyes went wide. “Did you ever find Cole?” I asked Mom.
She glared, her eyes immediately meeting mine. “That little asshole. He jumped ship and no one has heard from him. Even Anna.”
“They’re still together?”
“Yeah, only because she thinks she can fix him.”
Mom and I both knew not a lot was going to fix Cole. He was the exact same age as me, still lived in his parents’ house, when he wasn’t crashing at Anna’s apartment, and hadn’t passed a drug test since he was fifteen. My dad gave him chance after chance, wanting to help his nephew, but there was only so much he could do for him. At some point, he was going to end up in jail, and I wasn’t talking about the month long stays he was used to. He needed prison.
Beside me, Mom drew herself up to her feet and reached for my hand. “Come on, let’s go feed you.”
Food definitely sounded good—as it always did.
FOUR DAYS AFTER Rager left for Montana with his dad, he returned. I heard his truck and smiled.
I wanted to go all gushy and weep prayers, like, he came back to me!
And then I thought, buck the fuck up, crazy girl. Get your shit together.
When Rager walked into the bedroom where I was folding clothes, he looked amazing, as usual. Wearing dark jeans and a gray collard polo shirt with the black JAR Racing logo on it. Olive skin, scruffy face from spending two days hunting, hair tousled, and those shocking, tormented blues shining bright, I was thankful I was going to have this for the rest of my life. I was sure of it.
Stupid. No one should look that good.
Especially next to a pregnant woman.
Because really, look at me. I was a train wreck in my tear-stained maternity shirt and stretchy jeans.
Dark hair spilled out around the edges of his hat as he took another step inside the room. The scruff I knew well called to me. I wanted one of those pathetic moments from movies where I’d run to him, wrap my legs around his waist, and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe.
I didn’t do that because I couldn’t. I could barely walk across a fucking room without being out of breath. And besides, no way in hell I could wrap my legs around him. My belly would get in the way. It’d look like I tried to wrap a marshmallow around a pretzel stick.
As he approached, my mind raced.
Best-case scenario… he still loved me and didn’t care about the media drama.
Worst-case scenario… he was done with my drama.
I wanted to punch him in the face for making me think about the worst-case scenario. I didn’t though. It would have exerted a lot of energy I didn’t have.
And punching him in the face wasn’t very nice.
His arms wrapped around me when he reached me, and he pushed his head into my neck, letting out a shuddering sigh that melted me. “God, Arie, I missed you.”
My nerves soared, body trembling. “You’re not mad?”
“I saw you called. I rushed over here thinking something was wrong.” He shook his head. “Why would I be mad at you?” And then he held up the toothbrush in his hand. “I brought over a few things to move in.”
“A toothbrush?” I quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Well, yeah, let’s take this slow,” he teased.
I couldn’t say anything to that, didn’t have energy for that either, and wrapped my shaking arms around his shoulders again.
With a low chuckle, he did the same, holding me against his chest. I wanted to beg him to never let go, but he knew. Strong arms held me in place, secured together.
After a moment, or like five minutes, I drew back and looked up at him. I thought maybe this might have been the first time he was really seeing me for what I was to him now. His girl. Now that it was out, there was nothing to stop us.
When I fell for Rager, I experienced a love I never thought I would, but I let it go before I had a chance to understand what was really there.
First love.
The kind of love that only came around once, so true and powerful. The pure kind. Love that paled in comparison to anything else you’d ever feel again. It was the love you never recovered from, despite thinking you moved on.
And then I jumped from one relationship to the next, never giving that one great first love a chance again.
Only now, the past had come back. My second chance was here. My first love had returned.
Forehead to forehead, hot breath mixing together, his lips slowly teased mine, both of us refusing to let go.
“As much as I want to have sex with you right now,” he swallowed hard, words pausing, “and show you I’m not going anywhere, I haven’t showered in four days and I stink.” His lips brushed against my neck as he spoke the last part.
Shaking my head, I went in for another kiss, my hands working on his belt. “I don’t care.”
“I do.” Cupping my chin, he ran the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. “Join me?”
“Fuck yeah!” My excitement for taking a shower with him was slightly alarming, but I was willing and so ready to have sex with him. Pregnancy did strange things to your body, and the added hormones were driving me crazy. I needed sex. Badly.
My first thought about shower sex when I entered the bathroom was please don’t slip.
And then Rager voiced it, standing at the door, removing his shirt, “Be car
eful.”
It was risky to have sex in the shower, but so worth it.
I was adjusting the water temperature when Rager came up behind me, his hands on my hips. “Can I stick it in your ass yet?”
“No. Don’t even think about it Mountain Man.” And then I wanted to change the subject, only Rager’s hands were removing clothing frantically. “By the way, how was hunting?”
“I don’t like to hunt.” He stopped at my maternity bra, struggling with the clasps on the back. “I go for my dad. I’ve never killed an animal before. I’d rather go hunting beaver.”
“Beaver?” Scrutinizing his face, I tried to decide if he was drunk, but I couldn’t tell. Beaver wasn’t a word I’d ever heard him say. “Are you drunk?”
“Maybe a little. And horny.” He frowned at my bra he couldn’t get off. “So help me out and get this bra off. I really missed you.” He gestured to his raging hard-on poking into my thigh.
Stepping back, I motioned him forward as I stepped over the side of the shower, carefully letting my feet hit the stone floor.
Once inside, he had me put one leg up on the bench and my hands on the wall. “Please do not slip.”
“Well, be gentle then.”
“I can’t promise that. Just hang on.”
No more words were needed. Rager and I were good at having sex. He could get me off at nearly any angle, and I don’t think it was necessarily that he was better than anyone I’d even been with. Though there was that, it was that I trusted him with seeing me fall apart. Open to the vulnerability to letting him love me in those ways. Trusted him with my body and my nerves.
With my leg up on the bench, one hand fisted in my hair and the other squeezing the damp skin of my hip, he whispered, “Touch yourself. Make yourself come.”
“That’s your job,” I moaned out, slapping my palm against the tile.
“Not tonight,” he growled, voice muffled from the spray around us. “It’s your job.”
“You’re being lazy.” Turning my head to look over my shoulder, I had to squint around the water cascading in my eyes.