A Field Guide To Catching Crickets: ( a sexy second chance tearjerker romance )

by Unknown

  His throat bobs and his cheeks flush.

  “It was to make sure you loved me harder than any amount of pain I could throw at you,” I say. “Maybe every time I pushed you away was a test. Maybe I needed to see you fight for me. Maybe I needed to be sure you wouldn’t leave me for good. Because that would have been the end of me.”

  “I would never have left you for good, not for anything.”

  And those words are everything I was hoping they would be—until he kisses me. His kiss is a claim that also feels like an atonement. His mouth is soft and gentle; his tongue eagerly finds mine.

  I’m finally free to love him with everything I am. Finally free to trip hard into his loving and let everything he gives me feel like a prize I’ve been waiting a decade for.

  Later that night, Sloan stands with her back to me, a corkscrew in hand, about to plunge it into a bottle of wine. I press myself against her and trace one finger along the tattooed line of numbers on her naked arm.

  “So these are our son’s birth and death dates—I get that—but what are the underscores?” I point to three spaces that are yet to be tattooed with a date.

  “Hope,” Sloan says, twisting the cork.

  “Hope for what?” I take the bottle from her and easily pull the cork out. Then I fill our glasses.

  “For the day I knew with all certainty you’d stay.”

  Her smile is filled with a combination of questions and answers, all of which are now easy for me to understand. The girl I loved has gone through more than I can imagine most people could deal with. It makes the woman I love and all of her history something to appreciate and then some.

  “You were sure I was leaving, weren’t you?”

  She nods then goes up on her toes to kiss my lips. “More sure than anything. It’s why I could get only so attached when I came back—you get that, right?”

  I set my glass down after a sip then wrap my arms around her small frame. She looks up at me with a sparkle in her eyes. “How did I ever doubt you, Hawke Slater?”

  “I have no idea, but I’m going to remind you right now why you’ll never doubt me again.”

  Her smile trips my heart as I lean down to feather her lips with a kiss. We melt together, just as we always have.

  We walk into my production studio hand in hand. We’ve had a week of ups and downs. Though mostly ups now that everything is out on the table. Well, most everything. Today is one more step for both of us. Or two, depending on how everything shakes out.

  “I’m afraid I’m very serious about what I said on the way here,” I tell her as I flip a bank of switches on, and the studio goes full-moon bright. Sloan follows me as we head toward the theater part of my studio. It’s where we view films before they go out into the world.

  “You can’t just change your whole life because of me. You’ll regret it.”

  I hold the door for her, watching the smile on her face grow. I’d call it quizzical.

  “Will I? You think I’ll regret not fucking other women all day long? I have you now. That was my career. That was my ‘I don’t have her.’ That was my ‘fill my bank account because my love account was depleted.’”

  “You need to think on this,” she says harshly, sitting in one of the plush, black, velvet, theater seats.

  I throw in the disc then walk back over to her, the remote in my pocket. As I sit, she turns her body to face me. I’m pretty sure she still doesn’t believe me—doesn’t believe I’m willing to change my life for her, that is.

  “Actually, I have. The second your brothers told me you were coming home, I knew.”

  “Knew what? You knew nothing,” she says, laughing as she grabs my shoulders. Then she shakes her head until it rests on my chest.

  My God, she’s really home for good.

  “I knew that if you and I had any chance of being an us, I’d end this part of my career. I can still produce. Honestly, it’s better this way. I don’t want my dick inside another woman ever again and you do not want me coming home from work to ask me how many women I—”

  “Okay. I get the picture.” She chuckles, pressing one hand over my mouth.

  “Good. That was easier than I thought it would be.”

  “You calling me easy?”

  “Only if you want that title.”

  Sloan’s eyes shimmer as she takes my hands in hers. I know what’s coming next, but I’m still not prepared for it.

  “You ready to meet your son?”

  I can only nod. There are no words for a man in a moment like this, for a question like that. No words for a woman, either, according to the look on her face as tears roll down her flushed cheeks.

  “Wait.” She bites a sob back.

  Shit, I can barely look at her. The emotion on her face is torture. I’ve been holding my pain in. And, now, I’m sure her heart is beating as fast as mine. There wasn’t much I was able to do to prepare myself for this moment. It holds a lifetime full of meaning for both of us.

  “I think I’ve been waiting long enough, darlin’. But sure. What is it?”

  “I love you, Hawke. Always have. Always will. Even though you weren’t with us, you were.”

  “I love you too, Cricket. Always have, always will. I’m going to have an ulcer soon, though, if we don’t start this thing.”

  “This isn’t what you think it is. I made it all the while. Made it for years on end, hoping you’d see it while he was still alive. But, well, it’s my first-ever film. I’ve named it Idol.”

  The film begins, and I can’t not chuckle as the first thing on the screen is the two of us sitting in her folks’ clementine orchard, about to have sex for the first time all those years ago. I swear I can smell the sweet fruit along with Sloan’s scent.

  “You sure you want to film this, Cricket?”

  “Yes. Now, get naked before my parents find us.”

  “Your parents are out partying. I’m pretty damn sure the last place they’re gonna end up tonight is in the orchard.”

  “Sloan, look at me. Open your eyes and take a long breath or this’ll never happen.”

  “Hawke, I just need a second to adjust, don’t stop.”

  “You’re so tiny, darlin’, but if you breathe and keep focus on my face we can do this. That feel okay?”

  I look over to Sloan. My throat thick with emotion as I say, “Come here, darlin’.” I pull her into my lap and a fierce hug.

  We’re going to need each other for this one.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you made this?” I whisper into her ear.

  “What would I have said? I knew I needed to show you my last ten years. Then, when I was nearly done with it, I realized I needed to go even further back. I thought our first time was appropriate.”

  “Yeah…well…”

  Then there was our last time too. The time on the willow bank the night before she left for Amsterdam. The beginning of my ten years of hell without her.

  And then I see him for the first time and my stomach hollows out. His tiny, closed eyes. His head, smaller than her hand. The tangle of tubes and bandages and beeping noises. His birdlike hands—his fingers, small and red, gripping her tiny pinkie.

  Did he know who she was?

  “I didn’t get to hold him until he was six weeks old,” she says through a wet whisper.

  I nod and pull her against my chest as tears stream down my face. Our heartbeats connect as they always have.

  “Hawke,” I say aloud. I raise my hand and reach it out toward the giant screen in front of us, which is filled with only him. I knew this would be hard, though I didn’t know how hard.

  “His first birthday,” Sloan says, smiling as she leans her head back to look up at my eyes.

  I wonder how she can smile. I wonder how her heart isn’t fully broken. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to help her feel fully healed. And I realize she’ll never need to be fully healed. She’s become this beautiful woman because of all she’s endured—this pain included. This pain will never leave h
er. She may cling to it as a last vestige of our child.

  By the time he’s seven, he looks younger than I suppose a child of seven should look. I do get to see his eyes open. I never see a smile though. Did he ever smile? Did his brain know any form of happiness? It must have. He must have felt her love. How could anyone miss that? She loved him so much.

  She was amazing with him. Reading to him. Singing to him. Talking. She told him about me. About us. All the stories from the time we were six and then some. Our firsts, our middles, and even our end. Or what she, at that time, thought was our end.

  I can tell we’re nearing the conclusion of the film as there are no more clips of Hawke. My heart breaks, knowing that he’s gone. She makes no mention of it. There are no funeral clips or tombstone clips. And, if that isn’t enough to knock me flat, this next piece surely almost puts me under. Oddly, at the same time, it lifts me up. Funny how something can do those two things at once.

  Sloan is sitting in a meadow, the straps of her sundress falling off her bronzed shoulders. All the while, she talks to her laptop, she braids long grass.

  “Hawke, you may never see this. But I hope you do. I’ve kept myself sane this last decade because of you. I’m not sure what you’ve gone through, but if it’s anything close to my pain, or if I was the reason for any of it… Well, I’m sorry. With all of my heart. I’m trying to forgive myself even if you never will. I don’t blame you if you can’t. I didn’t mean to abandon you. Or him. Or myself, for that matter, which I did for a while. Maybe someday you’ll be sitting somewhere, watching this. Just know that, wherever I’m sitting, no matter how much time will have passed, I will still love you. Always have, always will. Thanks for being in my heart—even if you didn’t know you were. You’ve single-handedly helped heal me. Still are. Maybe I can do something for you someday that feels just as beautiful. I’m a lot of things. Some of them I’m ashamed of. Some of them I’m proud of. If you are watching this, you now understand more about me. One thing I’m not is anyone’s idol. But I’ll say this: You are. Hawke Slater, you’re mine.”

  As she says those last words, the only image I see is her smile and then her hands reaching out with that braided grass heart as if she’s handing it to me. It takes me back ten years to when we’d sit together, talking, and she’d make those for me. Most of the time, they’d end up in my glove compartment or on the floor of my pickup. But this one was going to one place.

  Straight into my heart.

  A few nights after I shared the film with Hawke we invite Fletch and Coco over for a cookout.

  “I found your note, and yes, you are as twisted as ever. Nice touch with the buns.”

  Hawke turns away from the grill he’s manning on my rooftop deck and chuckles. “I thought it was quite clever to tell you I want in your ass with a note tucked in a burger bun.”

  “Quite.” I hand him a margarita and take a peek at the burgers he’s about to throw on the grill. “Those look good! I’m starved.

  “You’ve always enjoyed my meat. That makes me one happy man,” he says, grabbing his groin.

  I squat down next to the grill and flick the floating balls in School Bus’s rubber tub around as she chases them through the water.

  “Grilling getting you horny?” I ask, staring up at him.

  “Being around you gets me horny,” he says as he squats down and drags his knuckle across my cheekbone.

  “How’s your new schedule working out? Feeling blue-balled without your typical nine-to-five release?” I lick the salted edge of my drink then take a sip.

  “Are you asking if I’d ever refuse you?”

  “I’m asking if you’re getting enough relief.”

  “I’m fine. And being with you over this last week has been more than enough relief.”

  We both stand, and Hawke wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to him. How is it I still get giddy when he does this? How is it that this is my life now?

  “You’re pretty sure about this? I want you to think on it for a few more weeks before you go making any sort of announcement about your retirement. This is big stuff.”

  “I’ve told no one but you, and tonight, I thought I’d tell Fletch and Coco. Speaking of, where the hell are they?”

  “Fletch is making Coco some fancy drink in the kitchen. I told them to come up.”

  As Hawke throws the burgers on the grill, I set the rest of the table and light candles. More than a few times, I catch myself staring at him, though not without a smile as wide as the cityscape he’s silhouetted against. Hawke Slater is mine. I rub the red, swollen tattoo on my arm, thinking about how we spent the day yesterday. Side by side at the tattoo parlor, holding hands, as two artists inked the same date on the same spot on both of us—as well as Hawke Jr.’s initials. The day we knew we were secret-free and back in each other’s lives.

  I’d say it’s been a cathartic week and then some. Hawke continues to ask me things about our son, and he’s also convinced me to tell my family the truth about him. And, while I will always carry the blame for that night in my heart, Hawke has helped me see I’m not the monster I thought I was. He’s forgiven me, so I’m working hard to forgive myself. It might be a long road for me, but at least I’m on it and moving in the right direction.

  Tonight will be a big step as we plan on sharing our son with Coco and Fletch. It was Hawke’s idea to ease me in a little at a time. Am I nervous to show them a film of him? Hell yes. But I’m also excited. Hawke Jr. mattered more than anyone to me; he should have been shared with my family. They should have known him. I’m not sure any of that would have been possible with me being Holl’s for all those years, but I can’t throw regret onto my pile of emotions.

  It’s enough that I’m kicking guilt in the teeth.

  “We have a little after-dinner entertainment for you guys,” Hawke says, winking at me.

  My stomach muscles contract and a lump in my throat follows.

  “Oh, God. It’s not something of you two naked, is it?” Coco sniggers. “Not sure I can handle that.”

  “Coco, have you actually had your fill of me?”

  “I’m getting my fill from Fletch, but thank you, Hawke.”

  I motion everyone to the couch and chaises. Then I open a bottle of champagne, needing to celebrate this moment as well as distract myself.

  “By the way, I’m thinking very seriously about retirement,” Hawke says as he grabs the remote from the projector then sits next to me.

  My hands shake as I pass everyone a glass of champagne. I wonder if anyone notices.

  “What? You’re not old enough to retire.” Fletch chuckles.

  I paste on a smile, wishing I could guzzle the glass in my hand.

  “My cock is eighty in dog years.”

  “More like four hundred,” Fletch says as he sits on my other side.

  “Retirement?” Coco says. “I thought you guys were going to do a film on the industry, about you?”

  “We’re still toying with that idea. I just won’t be the star.”

  “You sure about this?” Fletch says, arching one eyebrow.

  “I told him to give it a few more weeks,” I say. “He’s getting a little ahead of himself, but we wanted to share it with you guys. We also want to share our, um…” My heart drums as a sob escapes my lips. “Shit, shit,” I mutter as I bite my knuckle.

  “Hey, Cricket. It’s okay,” Hawke says softly. “You can do this.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” I whisper, hoping only he’ll hear me.

  “Sloan? What’s up?” Fletch says, rubbing my back, effectively releasing the valve on my tear ducts.

  “I’m…trying to forgive myself…and…Hawke thought this might help. But I don’t know if I can… This is big…”

  “Forgive yourself? Honey,” Coco says.

  Hawke goes on to clarify what I went through in great detail. He explains that fateful night and how I fell. Then more about Holl and the castle. Then he tells them about Hawke Jr.

&n
bsp; “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t,” I say. “Let’s have a toast. To our son and, um…you guys finally meeting him.”

  We all raise our glasses. Mine spills down my front, as I can’t get it to my lips.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. It was an accident,” Fletch says, gripping Hawke’s shoulder as his arm slides over mine.

  “It was my fault. Had I not been—”

  “Stop it. No more. No one is blaming you. He’s at peace. Now you need to be too.”

  I nod as I wipe my sleeve across my face while Hawke wraps his arms around me then begins the film.

  For hours over the last week, the two of us created this piece in his editing bay. It was tears and laughter; it was a decade of emotions. It was us healing and growing and understanding more about each other as adults. It was forgiveness and love.

  “He’s beautiful. He’s both of you,” Fletch says, giving my arm, then Hawke’s, a squeeze. His eyes are as glassy as are Coco’s when the two of them move closer to our sides, wrapping their arms around us to form a lump of love and family emotion on our rooftop couch.

  I choke a sob back; Coco does as well. This is good, I think. Yes. This is good. This is healing, and I’m not a monster. I’m a girl who went through hell and heaven at the same time and came out the other side a woman. A grateful woman who gave birth to a beautiful boy I’m finally sharing with the people who matter the most—next to the memory of him.

  After fifteen minutes, the film ends. I look around and crack up at our wet faces. Then, just when I think we’re all done with the ocean full of emotions, Fletch gets us all going again.

  “You guys are amazing in lots of ways—both of you. The way you love each other and how you came together and made that film of your son. Thank you for sharing that with us.”

  My tears are back in full force—rivers of them—as he pets my head.

  “Sloan, sweetheart. You’re something else, girl,” Fletch says. “Don’t you ever think, for one minute, we’d think anything of you other than how incredible you are and what a beautiful soul you’ve always been.”