Hope Blooms

by Jamie Pope

  But Wylie . . . he needed so much more: a home, a family. He needed to be loved.

  She looked around the bathroom again. She could tell that Wylie had replaced the sink, tub and toilet to make the room functional, but that was all. The room needed to be painted, maybe a soft teal or sage green. A new vanity in white would look nice, with an old-fashioned sink and a vintage mirror. She thought about the living room too, with those beautiful built-in shelves that needed to be refinished.

  He had lived in this house for a while now, but he still hadn’t made it a home. He deserved a home.

  She looked down at her fingers, which were now wrinkled and pruney from the water, but she didn’t care. Her body felt limp, and she was warm and exhausted, but in a good way. Despite everything she felt relaxed, and she hadn’t felt this way in a long time. She wasn’t normally one to take baths, to sit still and relax, but tonight she did. And it was only because Wylie had run one for her, with bubbles and lavender-scented salts. He even had lit a few candles and produced a book for her to read.

  He took care of her so well. She wondered if anybody had ever really taken care of him.

  She forced herself out of the tub and wrapped herself in his never-used bathrobe, which hung on the back of the door, ignoring the silky one she had purchased for herself. She wondered who had given it to him. It wasn’t something he would buy for himself, let alone use. But still it held his smell—the smell of soap and shampoo and aftershave, the way the bathroom smelled after he got out of the shower.

  She walked back to her room, thinking about Wylie, only to find him sitting on the bed. He had a jar of her scented cream in his hand.

  “Hey,” she said, surprised to see him there. His hair was damp and he was only in his boxers.

  “I used the outdoor shower,” he said, reading her mind.

  “It must have been cold, now that the sun has gone down. I’m sorry I took so long.”

  “You shouldn’t be. I kind of like it out there. The water was hot and it’s nice to see the stars when you shower. It almost reminds me of when I was in Afghanistan. We were in the mountains, and the terrain is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. There were no showers there, just some wipes to keep us clean, but we got to clean ourselves beneath the stars and sleep beneath them and eat beneath them. Being out there makes you think about life in a whole other kind of way. There are kids who never get a shower, never know when and if they are going to get their next meal. And every time I get to thinking about how my life could have been better, I think about those little kids we met who have it a whole hell of a lot worse than I did, and my life seems pretty good, in comparison.”

  “Oh, Wylie.” She felt ridiculously close to tears.

  He patted the bed beside him and she sat, wanting to wrap her arms around him. “Lean back on the pillows.”

  He unscrewed the lid on her jar of cream and scooped some into his hands. Taking one of her feet, he began to rub.

  “I’ve done two tours in Iraq and three in Afghanistan. I’ve been to Africa too. That’s where I met Tanner briefly. I’ve been shot at more times than I can count, but none of that made me lose sleep at night.”

  His strong fingers worked every groove in her foot as his deep, soft Southern drawl lulled her. She wanted to keep her eyes open, so she could capture every expression on his face as he spoke, but Wylie was hypnotic.

  “My unit was on patrol one day and it was one of those days that just didn’t seem right from the moment you woke up. You ever have them days?” His hands drifted up her foot to her ankle and then her calf, where he started to rub in slow, deep circles. Her body went limp, but her nerves seemed to wake up the way they only did when Wylie was touching her. “I knew something bad was going to happen. There was a street kid I used to play soccer with sometimes. His father had been killed by his government and his mother had to take care of his two little sisters, so he fended for himself. I know he used to steal sometimes, just so he could feed himself, and I woke up that morning afraid he had gotten caught. So when I saw him that day, I stopped to talk to him, to see how he was, and that’s when it happened. That’s when a rocket attack landed on my unit. I didn’t get hurt. I was too far away, but I felt it, just like it had hit me. I heard them screaming and smelled the fire and the blood. I watched my commander as half of his body burned in flames and I froze. It was too much. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Wylie.” She sat up. “That’s horrible. How could you know—”

  “Lay back down now.” He gently pushed on her chest. “Don’t interrupt a man when he’s spilling his guts.” He smoothed his hands over her calf again, slowly up and down, and she didn’t know if he was soothing her or himself. “I unfroze. My commander, Lieutenant Howard, is one of the biggest sons of a bitch I’ve ever seen, and he acted like he wasn’t hurt at all—though he’d been badly burned. He was helping those men, pulling them toward the medics when they arrived, even though I knew the pain had to be killing him.”

  “You helped them too,” she said, and it was a question.

  “Yes, I helped them too. Only three of us survived. Howard was one of them. They gave him a Purple Heart and made him a captain. Hell, they should have made him a damn general. I’ve never seen a man so brave.”

  “You were brave too, Wylie James.”

  He had switched legs, slowly massaging the lavender-scented cream into her foot, his fingers gliding over every single one of her tender toes. His touch was distracting. She wanted to ask him to stop so she could listen to every word he said, but at the same time she didn’t want him to stop, because his touch felt so good and she had waited so many years to feel this way again.

  “I was scared, Cass. Marines ain’t supposed to be scared,” he said, his accent deepening. “I would have died for my country that day. In fact, there are some days I wish I had, so this damn guilt wouldn’t eat me alive. I was there, right in the middle of it, watching them burn, watching them die, and I realized that I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live.”

  “Where’s . . .” She swallowed hard as Wylie’s fingers traveled up her thigh. It was the lightest of touches, but she felt it right between her legs in that spot that often throbbed for his relief. “Why be ashamed for wanting to live?”

  “It took me a long time to realize that I shouldn’t be. But it was a long time after they gave me the Silver Star, a long time after every one was patting me on the back and thanking me for my service.”

  “You had PTSD. You said your friend Art helped you get through it. I should have asked you before about your life. I’m sorry I didn’t. I’ve been so self-centered.”

  “Hush now,” he scolded gently. “I’m not going to tell you again.” He pulled the tie on the bathrobe, opening it just enough to see her skin. She watched him as he stared at her slightly exposed flesh. “I’m telling you this because I understand how you feel.” He slipped one hand between her thighs, touching the supersensitive skin there. A shiver ran through her and her nipples tightened. Her toes curled and she wanted him to do it all over again. “There was a time when the smell of anything burning sent me back to Afghanistan.” He opened the robe all the way and dipped his fingers in her cream again. This time he touched her hips, running his hands across them, his thumbs stroking her belly. “If a car backfired, I would hit the damn ground.” He moved up her torso, until his hands came to the undersides of her breasts. He lingered there for a minute. When she opened her eyes, she saw that he was kneeling over her, looking down at her with heat in his eyes. The same way he used to look at her when they were younger and she was all that he wanted.

  “The thing that brought me to my knees was I couldn’t look my commander in the eye. Not because he was burned, but because I knew that I wasn’t half the man that he was. I hadn’t fought hard enough for the important things. I was a coward in so many ways, during so many points in my life.”

  “But . . .” His large hand covered her breast, his thumb reaching out to stroke her nippl
e. Instead of words a moan escaped her lips.

  “He’s married now. His wife just had another baby. He’s got a little girl who thinks he makes the sun rise.” He touched her between her legs, one of his fingers running over the seam of her lips. She felt herself grow damper, more ready for him. “He was a mean, scary-looking son of a bitch and now he’s happy. He laughs. He puts bows in that little girl’s hair. I saw that his life went on despite everything. And it gave me hope.”

  He stopped speaking then, bending over to kiss the middle of her chest, right where her heart was beating uncontrollably. And then he kissed her again, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts, as his finger nudged inside her, gifting her with one long stroke, which made her tremble.

  “Honey,” he whispered, pushing one of his long fingers all the way inside her.

  The pleasure was so sharp that it almost verged on pain. Her nipples were tight, hard with arousal. She throbbed painfully between her legs and he was barely touching her. It was just his one finger, when she wanted him all over, when she wanted his heavy weight as relief.

  “What are you doing to me?”

  “I’m going to make love to you, Cass.” He bent his lips to take her nipple in his mouth and the gentle sucking nearly undid her. “I need to, and I think you need me to.” He switched to her other breast, taking his time tasting her, as his finger slowly worked inside her.

  She couldn’t speak, couldn’t form words if her life depended on it. This was Wylie touching her; Wylie, whom she had thought about too many times over the past ten years; Wylie, who was the only person who could ever make her feel this good, cherished and wanted.

  “Tell me no if you want me to stop.”

  She opened her mouth to say yes, but she didn’t get the chance because he took her mouth in a kiss so deep the rest of the world ceased to exist. It was just him and her, and their tongues touching, and their hands stroking, and their bodies coming together.

  He broke the kiss, breaking away from her completely to stand up and strip the boxers from his body. He was beautiful when naked. Thick and sacred and perfect. She wanted to reach out to stroke him, to take him in her hand and touch him, to take him between her lips and give him an ounce of the pleasure he had given to her that evening. However, she could do nothing but look at him; her body was too tight with anticipation to make a move.

  Wylie didn’t make her suffer long. He came back to her, settling his weight on top of her. The simple contact felt so good and she groaned.

  He wrapped her leg around his waist, and slid his hard cock against her opening, not entering, just rubbing her, driving her closer to the edge. “Tell me no if you want me to stop.”

  She couldn’t tell him no, even if she wanted. He was slowly nudging his way in, slowly filling her up, when she had been empty for so long.

  “Please” was all she said. It was all she could manage.

  “God, Cass. I missed you.” He stroked all the way inside her. “I missed you so damn much.”

  She missed him too. Missed his touches and his smiles and the slow, deep rumble of his voice. She couldn’t tell him that because he took her mouth again and kissed it. It seemed like he was making up for all the kisses they had missed for the last ten years.

  She wrapped her arms around him, opened her legs wider to him in an effort to get as close to him as possible. It was too much though—his fast, deep rhythm, and his hard, drugging kisses. She was all sensation, all raw nerves and good feelings. And he was too good; her climax was building. She wanted to stop it, slow it down, make this feeling last even longer, but it hit her hard and she cried out, her breath coming from her in sobs.

  “Damn it, Cass.” Wylie slammed into her, spilling himself inside her. For a long time they just lay there, their breathing hard, but slowing. Their bodies were an entwined mass of damp skin and limp limbs.

  “Thank you,” he whispered after awhile. “Thank you.” He separated from her, but just long enough so he could tuck her into his side and kiss her cheek. She fell asleep almost instantly, feeling happier than she could remember in a long time.

  * * *

  Tanner Brennan walked up to Nova’s salon, kicking himself for coming. He knew he should have stayed away from the bigmouthed little sister of his friend, but he couldn’t. He needed a damn haircut, and the last time he went to the little barbershop in town, they royally screwed up his hair. Plus Nova was good.

  As he spotted her cleaning up her station, he knew that the hot mess of a woman was good at so many more things than most people gave her credit for.

  “Stretch!” She greeted him with that sassy smile of hers. Her full lips were painted red today. The shade could have looked sleazy on her, cheap, but it didn’t. It suited her. Combined with all that thick, long, lush hair of hers, and the tight, long skirt she was wearing, she looked like she stepped out of a 1950s pinup magazine.

  “Hey, big mouth.” He looked around the empty shop, knowing that they always had clients until late on Friday nights. “You stayed open for me.”

  “I told you to come by.” He sat in her chair and she draped a smock over him, studying him closely. “What would you like today?” she asked him in her husky voice.

  He looked at her full mouth, and felt his groin tighten painfully. What he would like and what he could have were two very different things. He learned that a long time ago. “You mean you’re not going to insult me today? I don’t get many thrills in life anymore. Fighting with you is one of my only few.”

  She smiled softly at him; her lips wobbled a bit and he knew something was wrong. “I don’t feel like busting your balls today. Okay? Now shut up and let me work my magic.” She ran her fingers through his hair, rubbing his scalp, feeling the shape of his head. “You showered before you came here. Your hair is still damp.”

  “Well, I work hard. I can’t be playing in people’s hair all day, like you.”

  She looked thoughtfully at him, not taking the bait. “I would have thought you would have taken pleasure in stinking me out of the salon, but you smell good.”

  “A couple of our guys are out with the flu, so Wylie and I had to pull extra weight today. Although Wylie didn’t seem to mind. He was so damn relaxed I thought he was going to float.”

  “It’s Cass. He probably slept with her. Wylie’s been in my life for two years now and I’ve never seen him act the way he’s acting now.”

  “What do you mean?” Their locked eyes met in the mirror.

  “Like he’s alive. Like he has something.”

  “He’s in love with her, Nova.”

  “Everybody is in love with her. My mother-in-law, my brother, even my own damn son.” Her eyes flashed with tears and in a million years Tanner never expected to see prickly Nova melt so easily, especially in front of him.

  “Are you jealous of Cassandra?”

  “Duh, jackass! She’s the only thing my kid talks about now. Cass helped him write his letters, and Cass reads his words with him, and Cass gave him a shower in the sprinklers.”

  “If it makes you uncomfortable, tell her to back off.”

  “I can’t!” The tears spilled down her face. “I really like her and she’s good for my boy. She was raised right and she’s smart and she’s got good manners. She’s not fucked up like I am.”

  “I think she is, Nova. That’s why she’s here.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “What happened to her was different than what happened to me. She was sad, but she’s not screwed up like I am. She’s not broken.”

  Tanner pulled Nova into his lap and hugged her close, smoothing kisses along her wet face. “You’re not broken.”

  “I am. You don’t know what it was like, how bad it was. I’ll screw up my kid, just like my mama screwed up me.”

  “You won’t. You are not your mother. Don’t cry, baby.” He rubbed his hand across her shoulders, feeling the smooth brown skin her tank top left bare. “You’re not broken. You’re just a little damaged, like me.”
r />   “You’re damaged?” She looked up at him, her eyes full of tears.

  “Like a dented can of peas. But I’m still good on the inside and so are you. Why don’t you believe that about yourself?”

  “Because I’ve screwed up so much.”

  “I bet you I’ve screwed up more. I’ve done some horrible shit in my life and some days I can barely look in the mirror, but I do. Because I try to be better than I was, and as long as I keep doing that, I know I’m on the right track.”

  “You should be a motivational speaker,” she said, sniffing, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder, “because that shit was almost believable.”

  She wrapped her arms around his middle, bringing herself closer, and he hated to admit that she felt comfortable in his lap, in his arms, like she had been sitting there forever. “Such a filthy mouth. You ever going to get some class?”

  “Maybe. If you get some first.” They looked at each other for a long moment and he couldn’t help himself; he pushed his fingers deep into her thick, black hair. It felt like silk between his fingers. He could imagine how it would feel dragging across his chest; he could imagine how it would look spread across his pillow. She was the exact opposite of the type of woman he needed; but right now, as she sat in his lap, looking up at him with those sad, seductive eyes, he knew she was the only type of woman he wanted.

  He wasn’t sure who closed the distance between their lips, but they were kissing. Not him kissing her, or her kissing him, but they were kissing each other, slowly and deeply. Her kisses were sweet, even though they had a little heat to them, and he knew that there was a whole hell of a lot more to Nova that he wanted to get to know.

  “Oh, my God.” She broke the kiss and scrambled off his lap. “I can’t believe you tricked me into doing that! You’re good at it, but we are never, ever doing that again! And if you come near me, I will zap you with my stun gun, and if you tell anybody, I’ll stab you!” She grabbed a pair of scissors and angrily chopped into his hair. “I’m lethal with these things.”