Unexpectedly Yours

by Shea, Rebecca

  Throughout the day, I found myself slipping easily into the space in my mind where I could see us creating a routine. Walking the High Line. Dinner at nearby restaurants. Grocery shopping at the local market, and I can’t let myself do that. My life is a far cry from Drew’s, and the sooner he realizes that and we go back to being nothing more than co-workers, the easier it’ll be for both of us.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks as his driver appears at the corner.

  “Nothing,” I lie to him.

  He side-eyes me and I know I’ve been caught. I shake my head and look out the window. “You’re going to love it here,” I say quietly, my throat tightening with growing emotion.

  “We’re going to love it here,” he corrects me. How can this man be so certain about us?

  I’m not in the mood to argue, so I let him finish with that, but the silence in the car is suffocating. He pulls me closer and I resist.

  “Grace.” He says my given name, not Gracie. This is how I know he’s serious. “Talk to me.”

  I give my head another little shake and he takes my cue and lets it go, but not before reaching out and pulling my hand into his.

  When we pull up to the Four Seasons and exit the car, Drew all but drags me through the bustling lobby to the private elevator for the suites. The tension in the air around us is thick and heavy. We step off the elevator and he taps the card reader on the door. Pulling me inside, he pushes me to the wall and slams his mouth into mine, stealing my breath, and my worries momentarily vanish.

  His touch is intoxicating, and when his fingers pinch my nipples through my shirt, I instantly feel the heat pooling between my legs. I moan as he drags his lips across my neck and bites that sensitive spot behind my ear.

  “Get out of your head, Gracie,” he whispers as he slips his hand into the front of my pants and right into my center. His fingers slide between my slick folds and he groans as he inserts a finger, spreading my wetness around my opening. He removes his hand and pulls me toward the bedroom, and I don’t resist. I can never resist his touch.

  Just inside the bedroom, Drew pulls my shirt over my head and slides my pants down my legs. While I kick them off my feet, he removes his jeans and shirt and guides me to the bed.

  My entire body trembles when he lays me down on the bed and settles between my legs. His gaze holds mine as he slides into me with one firm thrust. He never breaks eyes contact with me and I gasp as my body stretches to accommodate him. A moan falls from me as he slowly moves in and out of me.

  His movements are slow and methodical, careful and telling. This isn’t him owning my body; this is him owning my heart. His body is telling me what he won’t say because he knows it’ll scare me. He’s telling me this is more than one night, this was never one night. It’s so much more. I close my eyes and accept what he’s giving, even if it’s just for tonight. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into me and allowing him greater access, both physically and emotionally, to my body and to my heart. As much as I fight it, I can feel my walls slowly begin to crumble.

  Drew takes his time making love to me. This isn’t sex. This isn’t fucking. This is emotional and deep. He lets his body speak to me without ever muttering a single word. His hands and his lips explore every cavern, every peak, and every curve of my body while he devours me gradually, claiming ownership of me.

  We lie wrapped in each other, a tangle of arms and legs, and also my silent fears. I need to keep my focus and not lose myself or my career over Drew. My body shakes beneath his as he brings me to orgasm, and he finishes at the same time, spilling himself into me. We lie, staring at the ceiling as we both catch our breath and come down from our climaxes.

  “Tell me what’s bothering you,” he murmurs against my ear, brushing my long, tangled hair away from my face and tucking it behind my ear. I tense and he feels it, but he pulls me closer to him anyway. “Don’t pull away from me. Talk to me, Grace.”

  What do I tell him? I can’t fall in love with you? Because that’d be a lie. I’m already falling for him. Every smirk, every touch, every kiss draws me into him, and I fear once I fall completely, I won’t be able to let him go.

  Do I tell him that I have so much crap to deal with that adding a relationship to the heaping pile of shit that is my life will literally break me? That my focus has to be on my career, my mom, and paying off the loans that are literally robbing me of any happiness.

  I wiggle out of his arms and push myself up. Drew grabs the bedsheet I’ve wrapped around me and pulls me back down next to him. “Don’t walk away, Grace. Talk to me.”

  “I can’t.” I choke out the words, my throat closing around them. Tears sting the backs of my eyes and I feel the anxiety building. “Let me go!” I cry out and he releases his grip on the sheet.

  I haul the sheet and my body across the dark room to the bathroom, where I close the door and throw myself down next to the toilet. The dry heaves come as they always do. My body does its best to expel the stress and anxiety I do my best to hide on a daily basis. Physically, I can’t continue with this much longer; my body won’t allow it.

  With every heave, my stomach tightens into a ball of knots, and the tears I’ve managed to keep at bay until now fall in streams as I sob quietly. I’m angry. Angry at the life I was given. Angry at the circumstances I can’t seem to escape. Angry that people like Drew have so much money, life-changing money, and they can walk into a building and drop four and a half million dollars on a house like it’s a five-dollar bill in their wallet. I’m angry that life is so cruel, and the divide between the rich and the poor is so very, very unfair.

  From behind me, I hear the water faucet turn on and then off before a wet washcloth is handed to me over my shoulder.

  I take it with a shaky hand and clear my throat. “Can you give me a minute?” I ask without turning around. I can’t look at him right now because I’ll want him to scoop me up and tell me everything’s going to be okay when it’s not. It’ll never be okay, because I will never get on top of everything. I have to get myself out of the mess I’m in without dragging anyone else into it. Even Jamie doesn’t know the extent of the shit I’m knee deep in.

  I hear the door close quietly and I lean against the bathroom wall, my back pressed to the cold tile. I adjust the long sheet around my body and tip my head up, blinking my eyes rapidly in hopes the tears will stop.

  I do my best to focus on the breathing techniques I’ve been taught from a therapist to keep my anxiety at bay. Slowly inhale, hold that breath, and then slowly exhale. Repeat ten times. Focus on something happy. The beauty of a Montana snow-covered mountain or the summer sun warming my face. I place the cool washcloth over my eyes and let the cool fabric absorb my hot tears.

  I don’t know how long I sit here, but after a while, my pulse finally slows and my stomach releases the knot of muscles I had when I entered the bathroom. Finally, I push myself up and take a deep breath. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and I’m horrified: wild hair and a splotchy red face. I’m a mess. I actually laugh because of the irony. My outward appearance actually matches the disaster my life is and I don’t even bother trying to fix it or hide it anymore.

  I open the door slowly and there stands Drew in a pair of boxer briefs, pacing the bedroom. He spins around when he hears the door open and he hesitantly moves toward me. With one hand, I hold the sheet around me, and with the other, I stop him. “Don’t,” I tell him when he tries to shove my hand aside and pull me into his arms.

  “What the fuck is going on, Grace?” His normally calm and cool demeanor is now short but still concerned.

  “I need to go,” I tell him quietly and move around him as I collect my clothes from the floor.

  His eyes narrow and his tone is sharp, full of anger or hurt. “So that’s it? You’re not going to tell me what’s going on? You’re just going to run away and pretend we haven’t spent the last two nights together? You’re going to deny the connection we have?” He g
rips my upper arms, stopping me. “What happened? Please talk to me.”

  And it’s those words that break me. Tears form and fall in a split second. My voice shakes, my body trembles, and I feel my bottom lip quivering. “Yes, Drew. I’m going to run away. Because that’s what I do best. Except my problems are too big to run away from.” I’m a runner, not literally, but figuratively. I run from men. I can’t tell you the last relationship I’ve had because I don’t let men close to me. I also ran from my mother, thinking I could solve our money problems by moving as far away from her as possible. Running is what I do when I’m scared, and I’m so afraid of letting Drew in and hurting him, that to protect him I’ll run from him too.

  “What problems?” His face twists in anger.

  My voice is weak, full of shame. “Problems I have to fix. On my own. I don’t have time to get into—” I look away from him. “—whatever this is.”

  He lets go of me and staggers back a step. His jaw is tight with hurt. “Whatever this is.”

  I have no more fight in me as the tears fall. I simply sob and break down. I no longer have the strength to hold it in.

  He closes the gap between us, his hand clasping my forearm in concern. “Gracie, let me help you, please.”

  And as much as I didn’t want to hear those words, I needed to. I crumble into his arms and allow him to hold me tightly. He allows me to break and fall and let go, all while holding me up. Slowly, he guides us over to the bed and carefully eases us under the comforter. As afraid as I am to let him in, something inside me wants to trust him. I allow him to comfort me and we lie in bed for hours while I cry in his arms until sometime in the middle of the night, I finally cave to my exhaustion and succumb to sleep.

  * * *

  The room is pitch black when I finally crack my eyes open. I can see a sliver of light peek through the edge of the curtains telling me it’s morning. I’m congested from the hours of crying, my burning eyes the proof. I reach across the mattress for Drew, but he’s not there. All I find is a cold spot on the sheets where he was lying last night. The bedside alarm clock reads almost noon and I groan when I feel how sore my body is. I must have slept all tensed up and curled into a ball. My muscles ache as I stretch. I reach for the lamp and turn it on, then I swing my weary legs over the side of the bed and slide out, traipsing across the plush carpet and into the bathroom. The huge soaker tub is calling my name, so I draw a hot bath and brush my teeth while the tub is filling.

  Dark circles have taken hold under my eyes and the whites of my eyes are still bloodshot from last night’s episode. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a breakdown of that magnitude and I know it’s because I have a decision to make—a decision that hurts my heart, but I have to end whatever this is with Drew. Because I’m falling, hard and fast. He’s what I’ve always dreamed of, but I can’t lose focus on my goals, and that has to be my top priority.

  I ease into the scalding hot water. While it hurts, it also feels amazing on my sore body. I rest my head against the back edge of the tub and close my eyes while my body slowly begins to relax and feel normal again.

  The dull squeak of the door hinges startles me when Drew pokes his head inside the bathroom.

  “Hey,” he says quietly. “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah,” I answer, my voice hoarse from sleep and crying.

  He pushes through and I notice the large Starbucks cup in his hand. He’s dressed casually in a grey t-shirt and a pair of black joggers. His hair is mussed up, but he still looks every bit as handsome as the night I met him. This man looks like he could walk off a runaway even in gym clothes. “Uber Eats,” he says, handing it to me with a small but concerned smile. I return the same smile, grateful for the coffee and that he thought of me. “It’s been sitting for a bit. Hopefully, it’s still warm.”

  I pull the plastic lid to my lips and the warm liquid spills into my mouth and hits my tongue. I moan in pleasure, knowing the coffee will also help bring me back to life along with this hot bath. Drew sits on the edge of the tub and watches me.

  “Thank you,” I start, and set the coffee on the ledge next to him. “For everything.” My eyes meet his and he watches me carefully, his face full of concern.

  “What happened last night, Gracie?” he asks. His voice is uneasy, yet full of concern.

  “The culmination of every bad decision I’ve made in my life finally coming to a head,” I tell him. My heart hurts as I tell him this. Drew is everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner.

  “Wow.” His face is contorted with hurt.

  “Not you,” I tell him. “Except that, in a way, it all ends with you.” Silence fills the space between us for a moment.

  He sighs. “I guess I don’t understand.”

  “I can’t get involved with you, Drew. I can’t pull you into the mess that is my life. I have to keep my focus and you’re a distraction.” I pause and take another sip of coffee. “This ends today,” I finally say, my voice breaking.

  I pull my knees to my chest, feeling vulnerable under the weight of his stare. His eyes are impenetrable, a brick wall.

  He takes a deep breath and reaches for my hand, pulling it into both of his. “This doesn’t end today.” His voice is quiet but firm, confident. “We’re a team, Gracie. I know all of this is new for both of us, but two are stronger than one. I believe in us. Whether it’s at work with our clients or out of the office. Whatever it is you need to work on, I’ll be by your side to help you through it. I’ve never met anyone like you and I’m not ready to let you go, whatever it is, we’ll figure it out—together.” He pulls my hand to his mouth and presses a gentle kiss to my palm. “So you take all the time you need in this tub. Soak your worries away, relax your mind, but when you get out, you’re going to tell me what we’re up against and we’re going to make a plan.”

  And in this moment, I fall a little more in love with Andrew McPherson.

  Nine

  I pace the living room floor in the suite as I wait for Gracie to finish her bath. She’s been in there for an hour. I’ve never been good at patience. While I want to give her privacy, I’m anxious as hell to find out what had her on the edge of a goddamn nervous breakdown last night. My mind is running wild with possible reasons. I don’t understand what has her wound so tightly and afraid of getting close to me.

  She sure as hell isn’t walking away from me without a really good explanation, and there is basically nothing that I can’t fix. So it’s settled, in my mind at least. She’s not going anywhere. It was only three days ago that I met her and now I can’t imagine not having her in my life.

  I shake off those thoughts when Gracie finally emerges from the bedroom a few minutes later. She’s wrapped in an oversized plush robe and her long, wet hair hangs down over her shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed pink from the hot bath, but she looks remarkably calmer than I expected.

  She sits down in the corner of the sectional, tucking her long legs underneath her and then she pulls a throw pillow into her lap. It’s a defense mechanism, a barrier between us, a safety net.

  I sit down right next to her and pull her hand into mine before she takes a deep breath and looks at me. Her eyes carry so much pain yet so much strength. Whatever she tells me, we’ll figure this out. I refuse to abandon her.

  “This is a long story, so bear with me, okay?”

  I nod my head and give her my undivided attention.

  Her eyes drop from mine to the pillow in her lap. “I have to go way back to give you a better understanding of where some of this started.” She tugs at a loose thread on the pillow in her lap, twirling it around the tip of her finger. She’s nervous and I can’t help but notice the slight hitch in her voice. “My dad died in a car accident with his parents, my grandparents, when I was only a few months old. My parents were high school sweethearts, only eighteen when I was born.”

  She stops, clears her throat, and I give her hand a small, encouraging squeeze, urging her to continue. I tell myself I will refrain
from commenting or asking questions until she’s done.

  She looks away from me and out the large window of the hotel room. “My mom grew up in the foster care system from the time she was very young. She doesn’t remember her parents or if she had any siblings. Her foster parents were decent people—they fed her, clothed her, but’s that’s about all they did. She was a paycheck to them. When she turned eighteen, she aged out of the system and she was no longer of any use to them.

  “My dad was the only person my mother ever trusted, and they were head over heels in love with each other. They were high school sweethearts, starting dating their sophomore year of high school and totally in love by their senior year when she found out she was pregnant. By the time she realized she was pregnant, she had already phased out of the foster program and was on her own. She had no one other than my father, who was only eighteen years old himself. They graduated high school, then she and my dad got a small apartment together. My dad worked as a ranch hand to make money while my mom took some classes at the community college and worked at a grocery store.”

  She pulls her hand from mine and rubs her temples. I can see this is painful for her to talk about. “As you can imagine, they were young, working awful jobs just trying to pay their rent and survive. When I was born, my mom didn’t work. They couldn’t afford childcare and that left the burden of financial responsibilities on my father. From what my mom tells me, he was a good man, but still a kid. He worked hard and loved both of us, but times were hard for them. His parents had wanted him to go away to college. They said that my mom and I could live with them and they’d help us while he went to college and got a degree. He was adamant he wouldn’t leave us, but even my mom felt that it might be the best thing for all of us, for the long term. She knew they’d end up working dead end jobs for the rest of their lives and this was a good opportunity for my dad to get a leg up. She was willing to sacrifice having him with us, so that he could do better for us.”