So here it is, plain and simple, and I hope you can find it within yourself to forgive me.
Because, as I’ve said, my heart is yours. Whether you take it or leave it to rot, it’s yours.
And now you know.
Love, from the bottom of my heart,
Jude
Jude was right; I didn’t want to hear a bunch of crap. And I did appreciate the truth ‑‑ the stark, unrelenting white light of it.
But it didn’t change what I had come to know it my heart. That, in order for me to be happy again, for all of us to be happy again, I had to let it all go. The concerned notes from my friends helped with this. I knew they all meant what they said. But, apart from a brief, tear-filled fest with Megan over lunch one day, I wasn’t ready to face the starkness of that reality, not just yet, at any rate.
But every day I was a little bit stronger and knew the time was coming. The time it’d all be let loose to float into the world and be dispersed by the universe. The time I’d again be free.
But that time wasn’t now, or rather, not yet. But I knew, deep within myself, all would be well again.
For me, at any rate.
Chapter Ten
When I stepped, tentatively, through the door to Megan’s apartment, it looked as if I never left. It had been three months, though, since that first night, the night that everything changed. Now, the round-robin scheduling of our monthly dinners was back to Megan.
They skipped me for obvious reasons.
This was a big step for me. But it wasn’t because I harbored any anger; no, the fury that initially shook my small frame, justified though it had been, had long since faded. The human state pretty much demands we make mistakes, all of us, and, through the twisted machinations of our emotions and relations with one another, traps us into situations guaranteed to trip us up. The only way I could stay mad about the mistake Jude and Trevor made, the big-ass, nasty mistake I was sure I’d still whip out during future arguments, was if I never made one myself…and let me assure you, I have. Plenty of them. I’d been the “other woman” once or twice, and I’d been forgiven for that, then far be it for me to cast that forgiveness back in anyone’s face. Cast the first stone, and all that.
No, the hugeness of my appearance tonight had more to do with my decision regarding my future with Jude. I tried, numerous times over the past week, to pick up the phone when his number flashed over the call display, not to ask him why, since he’d already told me, and not to demand an apology; I’d received that, too. No, the reason I wanted to pick up the phone was simply to hear his voice, because the truth of the matter was I missed it. Missed him. And the phone remained on the cradle only because, alone, I didn’t have the strength to say what I needed to say.
Here, at Megan’s, I wasn’t alone. Would never have to be alone. And the feeling was good.
Ignoring them all for a moment, I looked around the room. Saw the spot on the wall where Trevor smashed a beer bottle months ago while announcing his virginal state, a spot that looked a bit brighter than the rest of the soft green. I thought maybe Megan had repainted it to cover the stain with something fresh and new or if she’d simply scrubbed so hard at the residue that clung, sticky and dark, the result was a brighter, cleaner green than the original.
Food was laid out on the dark coffee table; this, too, was typical. I saw a gleaming bottle of red strawberry margarita mix sitting beside a platter of something crispy that smelled divine, and smiled inwardly; Megan, my friend knew I’d come.
And behind the bottle, clad true to type in tight, faded denim, was the lean length of a leg I knew the shape of so well that it might have been mine. And, actually, it was my own, in a way, as was the rest of the man it was attached to, the man whose face I looked at for the first time in months as my gaze slowly traveled upward from his knee.
I told you earlier in this story I never saw Jude blush. Well, it appeared there were a lot of firsts here, because I had never seen him cry before, either. Not that burst into sobs at the sight of me or anything; no, he was too much of an alpha for that. But the slick wetness that shimmered over the clear, deep green of his irises was enough for me and confirmed my decision.
As did the subtle shift of his hips on the couch, which moved him just an inch further away from Trevor, next to whom he sat. That inch told me volumes about their story. Even if I was worried, the presence of the skinny, red-haired man seated next to Trevor, on his other side, would have assuaged the despair.
It seemed things were different all around, and the realization warmed me all over. I took a full step into the living room, and before I could take a second was enveloped in the arms of Megan, pressed against her soft, sweet smelling flesh, and comfort oozed from her skin into mine. As she scurried off to mix me a drink, a fuzzy navel, by my own request, I continued to force my legs forward, bit by bit, until I stood in front of Jude.
This was it; I had to make sure I made the right choice. But, as I leaned over and touched my lips to his in a soft, sweet expression of love, my heart swelled, and I wondered how I considered anything else.
When I pulled away, his hands reached blindly for mine and clasped tight. His face was the one, this time, full of uncertainty; in response, I shot him a cocky grin and dropped into his lap, the purple wool sweater I wore leaving a trail of fuzz in its wake. As Trevor and Megan cheered, and an icy cold yellow drink was urged into my hand, I pressed my lips up to Jude’s ear and nuzzled.
“I’m still not wearing any underwear,” I whispered.
The look on his face was more than enough for me.
Epilogue
“I think I liked it better when everything in your life matched,” Jude grumbled as, muscles straining, he pulled the new sofa, bit by bit, across the hardwood of his living room floor. I appreciated the view of his arms as they strained and the sweat that dampened his T-shirt, making it cling to the hard muscles of his chest. I felt bad for him, a tiny bit, that he did all of the heavy lifting.
But I still wanted the red couch under the window, instead of beneath the orange, blue, and gold painted canvas, one of my own, hung, slightly haphazard for the moment, on the north wall.
“It still matches,” I told him, offering up a sweet smile that I knew he’d appreciate, even as he moved the couch to the third place I’d tried. “It’s just not all the same color anymore.”
Inching the hulking piece of furniture over one last fraction of a foot, Jude dusted off his hands on the thighs of his jeans, and then peeled his tight top up and over his head with eyes fastened on me when he mopped his brow with the soft cotton. I knew what it was he saw. A small woman, with long, curly hair back to its natural copper color. Small breasts and curvy hips covered by a bright blue cotton dress. Feet bare with each toenail painted a shocking pink.
And, most importantly, a face softened, a bit, from the wary expression it had worn over the years. Softened with smiles, laughter, and good things.
And, most of all, with love.
THE END
Lauren Hawkeye
A firm believer in the power of a woman’s innate sexuality, Lauren originally intended to obtain a doctorate in sexology and become a sex therapist. Instead she was thrown head first into an accounting job (her worst nightmare). When it was gently suggested that perhaps numbers weren’t her thing, the English minor made a return to words instead, and found that it was a much better fit.
A self- professed “good girl”, Lauren loves to take a walk on the wild side in her stories, and she lives vicariously through her kick butt heroines and the delectable men who want them.
Inspired daily by the Canadian Rocky Mountains in which she lives, Lauren uses the time not spent at her keyboard to hang with her “funny little fur family” ‑‑ her pit bull mix Sasha, Persian rescue Sinatra…oh yeah, and her man, Rob. Without their unwavering support, as well as that of her parents, sister, and family dog Rory, whom she lives near, Lauren would never have found the guts to follow her dream.
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