Crank

by Shauna Allen

  “Man,” Jesse said. “That sucks. You call Mr. Henry?”

  I shook my head. “I figure the news can hold a couple days. I don’t want to ruin his Christmas.”

  He nodded his agreement, our silence saying all there was to say. Finally, Trace spoke up, lightening the mood. “So, who’s up for some egg nog and Christmas carols?”

  That got my wife’s attention. This was always her favorite part of his parties. Because singing carols wasn’t just singing carols. It was belting them out at the top of your lungs, terrible enough to rival dying cats, all in an attempt to outdo each other with our horribleness.

  We congregated in the living room with a now sleepy Ryder, and after everyone had their drink, Trace cranked up the stereo and collected his son into his lap. And we sang. And sang. Until our voices were hoarse. But it was worth it to see the joy on Ryder’s little face. And Delilah’s.

  After a finale of “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer,” Dee and I made our excuses and headed out into the brisk night. It was moonless, so once we were out of Trace’s porch light, I cuddled her close to keep her from stumbling as we picked our way along the gravel path to the car. “Did you have fun?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Her breath whisped out on a puff of white.

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  I tucked her into the car and cranked the engine, letting it idle a few minutes. I glanced over at her and she was just a silhouette in the darkness. “Were you okay with telling everyone about the baby?”

  “I wouldn’t have said anything if I wasn’t.”

  “I know, I just want to make sure I didn’t push you. It’s been killing me to keep it from them.”

  Her cold hand gripped mine. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just a little gun shy after all that’s happened. You know?”

  I picked up her hand and blew hot air on her fingers then rubbed them to warm her. “Yeah, I get it.”

  Her gaze caught and held mine. “I haven’t even told my family.”

  I didn’t say anything, sensing there was more.

  “I will. After the holidays.” She glanced down to her lap. “Not like they’ll care. They didn’t before.”

  “What about Danielle? She’ll care.”

  “I know. I didn’t mean her.” Her sadness filled the air like mist. “Of course she cares. I mean my parents.”

  My heart ached for her. We were in pretty much the same boat as far as family. Hers just hid their dysfunction better than mine. But we were a family now. Always would be, if I had any say in it.

  Once the car was warm, we headed home and I wondered what our Christmas day would hold. Could it be something special? Something different?

  As we drove, her gaze was pinned out the side window as we passed a neighborhood full of Christmas lights. I slowed so she could enjoy them. The way she’d always loved the holidays and all the tradition was one of the things I loved most about her, and I was sorry our crap had gotten in the way of her enjoying this year. Hell, she’d barely gotten our tree up and I’d neglected the lights she usually had me string up all outside the house. And yet, she hadn’t said a word. Not one.

  My princess wasn’t a complainer.

  As we left the neighborhood and drove on, it wasn’t long before we were passing my old trailer park. A couple of the trailers had sad looking lights strung up, but otherwise, it was dark and quiet. I hadn’t heard from my dad in a while, but that was fine with me. It was my mom I missed every year. She’d been the fun in Christmas. In everything when I was a kid.

  Delilah reached over and linked her fingers with mine on my lap. “Missing your mom?”

  It never failed to amaze me how she could read me so well. “Yeah.”

  She was quiet a moment. “What about your brother?”

  “What about him?”

  I could feel her eyes on me, but I stayed focused on driving. “You never really talk about him. Do you miss him?”

  I thought about it a minute. Sure, I missed the old Brent. The one who used to play war in the yard with me and who walked me to the bus every day to keep the bigger kids from picking on me. Who took the blame when I broke Mom’s favorite antique dish and didn’t say a word when he got spanked for it. He was a good big brother. Until he followed my dad off the deep end.

  “Not really,” I answered, not wanting to talk about him. He was serving hard time in prison, and unlike Jesse, he hadn’t been justified in what he’d done and he wouldn’t be seeing the outside world anytime soon.

  “Hmmm,” she said thoughtfully. “I was just curious. I can’t imagine not having Danielle in my life, even for all our differences.”

  Yeah, I got that. The Jackson sisters had survived their parents together and the stifling expectations of their home. At least Danielle was following the path decided for her, keeping them placated and able to ignore the way Delilah had defied them and made her own life. My girl had paved her own way and I always wondered how I got lucky enough to be a part of it.

  “Speaking of Danielle, you talked to her lately?” I asked, her earlier comments about her family not caring fresh on my mind. I was also curious if she’d told her sister anything that’d been going on.

  “Yeah. We talked just yesterday. She’s super busy with some project that’s due as soon as the new semester starts plus she’s dating some new guy. She sounded happy.”

  “That’s good.” I pulled into our driveway and killed the engine. Neither of us moved, our breathing and my heartbeat filling the space between us.

  “Blake?” Her voice was whisper soft and filled with more emotion than I ever thought I’d hear from her again.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “You love me, right?”

  I sat back, stunned. I could only gape a moment as I struggled for words. “Of course I do. How can you—?”

  “Do you think it can work this time?”

  She didn’t have to elaborate. I knew exactly what she meant. Would I do something else to break us, to suffocate us? I wanted to say no, with everything in me, I wanted to. But I couldn’t lie. “I’m not sure, darlin’. If I could, I’d go back in time and erase all the hurtful shit in our past, but I can’t. All I know is that I love you more than my own breath and I’ll damn sure try. If you’ll let me.” I waited a beat, my heart tangled in my throat. “Please say you’ll let me try.”

  She never answered me. Instead, fingers of ice cold air wrapped around my legs as she opened the door and stepped out. Everything in her body language screamed how worn out she was. Physically and emotionally.

  I jumped out and locked the car, then rushed to catch her on the porch before she could escape into the house. I gripped her elbow and spun her around, leaving her key in the lock. She landed up against me, her palms pressed against my chest, her breath rushing out of her in a startled puff.

  “Blake . . .”

  I cut her off by slamming my mouth to hers. I’d force out her indecision, punish it into submission, if I had to. I could not lose my wife. It would kill me.

  I nipped her lips, slid my tongue along the seam until she opened to me. Just a fraction, but I took it and plunged in. Her breath was infusing life into me and I couldn’t get enough. I didn’t think I’d ever get enough.

  Gradually, I realized her hands were fists and clutching my jacket desperately, as breathy little moans escaped between kisses. Pressing her up against the door, I snaked a hand under her sweater, feeling her silky hot skin. My baby had always been so soft and I reveled in the fact that I knew every dip and valley, every beautiful inch of her body. I, and I alone, knew her pleasure.

  In her arms, nothing else seemed to matter. Not the shop, not money, not the constant need to prove myself that had hounded me as long as I could remember. It was just her. Always her. But I knew she was scared of being let down again. Of being hurt. Of losing this baby. Especially after we’d made the public announcement.

  She drew back and stared up at me with liquidy blue-black eyes and I wanted to melt. My heart began
to pound and I silently prayed she wouldn’t push me away again. We’d made tenuous progress and I needed to find a way to stay on that road. To not hurt her or disappoint her again. To not be a ghost.

  After a moment, she reached behind her with purpose. She pushed the door open with her foot and led me inside, her arms still linked around my waist. I pressed it closed, mirroring her action with my booted foot. I studied her face, searching for an indication of where this was going. Would my promise to try—that I wanted to try—be enough?

  Rising up on her tiptoes, she pressed a tentative kiss to the corner of my mouth and something inside me released in relief. She wasn’t giving up on me. At least not tonight.

  I cupped her jaw between my hands and thread my fingers through her hair, guiding her lips back to mine. It didn’t take much coaxing for the kiss to turn hungry and demanding. Much like it always was with us. We were always hot or cold. Never a nice, calm warm.

  Her curvy body pressed into mine and I took what she offered.

  Mine, my brain screamed. Mine, mine, all fucking mine.

  As we tumbled into the living room and to the couch, I felt her mirroring the sentiment. I’d been hers since we met the day she ran into my car. She’d burrowed so far under my skin she was practically in my bones, and I had no intention of letting her go. No matter how bad things got. We would figure it out. I could not accept things any other way.

  I whispered love words across her skin as I tried to brand myself into her. To show her how much I needed her.

  Her fingers worked through the stubble of my shorn head and she arched her belly up to my mouth. I pressed an open-mouthed kiss to where our child grew. Another. Love swamped me fiercely and all-encompassing. I glided my hands up her hips, her waist, to her even fuller breasts. I plucked and rolled gently the way I knew drove her crazy, keeping my mouth on her stomach and hips.

  My name was a whispered plea from her lips and I gave her everything I had. Every last drop. Until she was sobbing my name. Until I held her cradled to my chest under her throw blanket on the couch, both of us naked and sticky.

  “I love you, Princess,” I murmured into her hair. “Don’t ever forget that.”

  She didn’t answer, but her deep, rhythmic breathing fanned across my neck telling me she was sleeping.

  I quickly followed her, wondering what she would’ve said had she been awake.

  I woke alone on the couch, bundled into the blanket like a burrito, heavenly smells coming from the kitchen. I laid there a moment just listening, absorbing the quiet peace that had become so rare.

  I glanced over to the corner where Dee had put up our Christmas tree. Little mismatched ornaments commemorating every year we’d been married hung interspersed with multi-colored balls and an angel ornament for each of our lost children. The white lights twinkled softly in the early morning sunshine and I blinked back the hot rush of tears. What would be hanging there next Christmas?

  “Morning.”

  My head snapped toward her soft morning voice. She was in her ratty flannel robe, leaning against the doorway, steaming mug in hand and a sweet smile on her face.

  “Hey.” I sat up and realized I was at the disadvantage, still naked under the blanket.

  Her smile became a smirk as she took a couple steps in my direction. “Merry Christmas.”

  I watched her, keeping my face impassive. As soon as she set her mug on the coffee table, I snatched her hand in mine and yanked until she toppled on top of me with a squeal and a giggle.

  I pressed a kiss behind her ear. “Merry Christmas to you, Princess.”

  She braced herself on my chest and peered into my eyes. “Hungry?”

  Oh, yeah, I was hungry. I pressed my hips up toward hers so she’d know just how hungry I was.

  She swatted my arm though her body responded and she melted into me, her eyes going dreamy. “Are you hungry for breakfast? It’s ready.”

  “Yeah.” I sucked her plump bottom lip into my mouth. “I’m starved.”

  She moaned and shoved back to sit up. She reached behind the arm of the couch and tossed a bundle of clothes at me. “Get dressed, sleepyhead. I’ve managed to call my family, bake a pie for later, and cook your breakfast, all while you’ve been sleeping like a dead person.”

  With a laugh, I shoved my legs into the sweatpants and yanked the plain white T-shirt over my head. “Better?” I asked as I stood and looked down on her with a smile.

  She shrugged. “I guess. Can’t have a naked man at my table . . . though it is a pretty nice view.”

  “Nice, huh?”

  Her eyes raked over me like hot honey as she stood and looked me up and down. “Yeah.”

  Hot damn. I adjusted myself in my pants before following her into the kitchen.

  The table was already set with her Christmas placemats, Christmas cups with juice, and Christmas plates full of steaming omelets, bacon and toast sitting merrily in their spots. It was a regular Santaland feast.

  “Coffee?” she asked, heading to the pot.

  “Nah. Thanks . . .” I sat and noticed the little gift next to my plate. Shiny silver paper embossed with bells covered the small box and she’d wrapped it in curly ribbons of all different colors. I checked the tag.

  TO: Blake

  FROM: Mrs. Claus

  She sat across from me and caught my eyes, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth like she was nervous. “For me?”

  She let her lip loose and smiled. “Well, what does the tag say?”

  I fingered the slip of paper a moment, feeling guilty for the insignificant gift I’d gotten her. I’d had big plans with the money from the sale of the Spyder. Vacations, any and everything to pamper her, a new baby-friendly car. “Hold on a sec.” I leapt up and headed to our bedroom, where I’d tucked her gift away a couple days ago when she was in the shower.

  I returned and handed her the professionally wrapped box. She accepted it, her lips parted slightly in surprise.

  “What?” I said. “You know I don’t wrap—”

  “It’s not that.” She shifted the small package from one hand to the other. “I just thought . . . after everything . . . I didn’t expect a gift.”

  I stared at her. “You’re still my wife, Delilah. Of course I’d get you a gift.”

  “Oh.” She gazed at it like it was something sacred. Had I been that bad over the years? “Well, yours isn’t anything big.”

  “I don’t care.” She glanced up at me, her eyes oozing happiness. I tipped my head toward the box in her hand. “You first, Princess.”

  Seconds ticked by as she gazed at the package. Then, like the girl I knew, she ripped it open with abandon. She got down to the velvet box and her eyes snapped up to mine. “What’s this?”

  “Open it.”

  She gently pried the lid open to reveal the mother’s heart pendant necklace I’d picked out. Delicate gold with a mother and child creating a heart and encrusted in diamonds. It wasn’t much, but the way her eyes glittered with tears, you would’ve thought I’d handed her the moon and stars.

  “It’s beautiful.” Her voice was an awed whisper. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She stood and moved to my side, pulling the chain out of the box and spinning to give me her back. “Help me put it on?”

  I accepted the fragile necklace and clasped it around her slender neck then pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “There.”

  “Thank you.” She sat back down and pointed at my box. “Do you want to open yours now or after we eat?”

  The scents of bacon and egg were heavenly and my stomach grumbled, but I could wait another minute. “I’ll open it.”

  She fiddled with her napkin and took a sip of her juice while I slid the ribbons off and pried off the paper, revealing a little white box. I shook it. Nothing. It felt empty. I shot her a glance then slid the lid off. A thin slip of shiny paper stared back at me, covered in black and white fuzz.

  I looked closer.

 
It was an ultrasound photo. I recognized it from the other pregnancies. With trembling fingers, I picked it up and stared, making out tiny hands and a head with dark spots for eyes. “Is this—?” I glanced up at her and her gaze shot to mine.

  “Yes.”

  “When did you get this?” I focused again on our baby, wondering how in the hell I missed it.

  “The doctor sent me to a specialist in maternal-fetal medicine. You know . . . because I’m high risk. I went the other day and they gave me that.”

  Hurt coursed through me. Why hadn’t she told me about that appointment? Or that she was seeing a specialist? “I see.”

  She seemed to sense my emotion. She reached over and brushed a finger across my hand. “You were busy at the garage with insurance stuff and you didn’t answer your phone. It’s no big deal. You can come to the next appointment if you want.”

  I stared at my baby a moment longer. “I want.” I turned my gaze to her. “Don’t leave me out of the loop again, okay? Promise, no matter what, no matter how busy I am, you’ll interrupt if you need me for something. I can’t do better if you don’t help me.” And, God help me, I wanted to do better.

  Watery eyes darted away and she picked up her fork. “Okay.”

  She didn’t sound convinced, but I let it go. I set the picture back in the box and carefully set it aside to eat. Please, baby, I thought, please stay healthy. I’m not sure your mother and I can stand to lose you, too.

  Delilah

  Rachel didn’t get home until New Year’s Eve, and by then I was practically climbing the walls, waiting to hug her. I knew she must be hurting and I wanted to comfort my bestie. And tell her everything that had happened with Blake since she’d been gone. The party at Trace’s. Christmas morning. What had started as a magical night making love on the couch and waking up to exchange gifts, had only gotten better. I was starting to believe this might work. Things might really be different this time.

  He’d pampered me with a long, hot bath and a massage then made us lunch and watched a movie with me, snuggled up on the couch. And not just any movie. The Notebook. Sigh. Then we’d laughed over some rounds of poker when I whooped his ass after he suggested raising the stakes to make it strip poker. Let’s just say I was toasty in all my clothes while Blake shivered in his boxers.