Love, Michael: A second chance romance

by Gina A. Jones

  Damn it!

  My phone rings and I am all thumbs retrieving it from my back pocket. Ah, yes! Michael's name lights up the screen. "Hey, Sweetie, Grandpa's calling. Let Grammy answer, okay?"

  She nods. "Michael?" There's a pause, and then I hear a muffled sound, followed by breathing. Oh, God. Don't let this be a butt dial while he's having sex with someone else. Should I yell his name…or just listen?

  "Hi…Jill."

  "Michael…you there?"

  "Yes, sorry. Just catching my breath." Why?

  "So, you just arrive…or…"

  "I got in about an hour ago." And you're just now calling?

  "Ah…yes. Sorry. Just got tied up with things and…all." He doesn't sound right. He seems…preoccupied.

  "Well…how was your flight?"

  "Good. Good." More silence on his end. "I ah…I need to get checked in." Checked in? He's just said he got in an hour ago. What's he been doing?

  "Are…are you at the hotel or…jet center?" With Cami?

  "No, I'm…I went to my meeting first." Why does he sound so…distant…guilty?

  "Did it go… good? The meeting?"

  The sound of a deep breath, followed by, "No. Not really." Is this an excuse to have to stay longer?

  "So…what now?"

  "Hey, Jill…I have to make some calls. I'll call you later. I love you. Kiss Bindi for me."

  "Oh, okay. I will. She's on the swing you made. She misses you. I miss you."

  "I miss you all too. Make sure she doesn't climb that ladder."

  "I watch her…"

  "Bye."

  "Michael?" He's already ended the call. That was quick. He was defiantly bothered by something. His conscience? Rolling the phone in my hand, I consider calling him back, saying I was concerned. He was too quick to get off the phone. Yet, he did say he loved me and went on to express his concern for Bindi. Maybe it's nothing. He did say the meeting went bad. I'll send a text just to be sure.

  Me: Sorry about your meeting. You sounded stressed. Is everything ok?

  Michael: Thanks. Yeah, a bit stressed. Talk when I get home. Kiss the girls for me. I love you.

  Me: I love you, too.

  Talk? About what? Everything's fine, Jill. It's just a bad meeting. He asked about his granddaughter. Said he loved you. Stop worrying.

  "Swing! Swing," Bindi hollers, kicking her little feet back and forth.

  "Yes, Baby. Grammy's sorry." Grabbing onto the rope, I kiss her cheek. "That's from Grandpa. He misses you." And I miss him. So. Much.

  Then

  Drake and I were celebrating six months together, and I was the happiest I've ever been. He was such the ideal man, always opening car doors for me, helping me with my coat, allowing me to enter the room first while he held the door, and waited to eat until I sat down. Though Drake was good with Monica, I kept her at a distance from him. I was afraid of her getting too close and how she would feel if he left. She had already been abandoned by her own father. And to allow it to happen again, I would never forgive myself.

  Drake was always…happy…smiling, whistling. And in those six months, never once had I seen him get mad. I know six months wasn't a long time to get to know someone and I was going to be cautious this time. In one month, I thought I knew Michael. But it took three years to discover I never knew him at all.

  I tried not to think of Michael much and the bad taste he left in my mouth. I feared Drake would taste it each time we kissed. In bed, he was gentle and sweet. It was a different passion I had come to know. Michael's passion came with possession and flavorful words. Drake's passion came with extended foreplay and slow sex that lasted all through the night. The kind that put me at such peace and smiling in my sleep. I had never known such love.

  As a mother, I was uneasy letting Monica see us sleep together in the same bed. But Tammy said what she was learning was love and how a man should love and treat her mother. I didn't want Monica to think it was okay just crawl in bed with a man. Then I reminded myself, Drake wasn't any man. He loved me, and Monica loved him. And this alone scared me.

  Drake would tell her of the horses he would get someday and how she could ride them. We stayed with Drake on the weekends on his farm he bought, hoping to fill it with unwanted pets. I'd never seen such a loving heart. The farm had five dogs and many cats. Each had names, and each were friendly and loving. Molly also came with us when we stayed with Drake. I was glad Drake had them all spayed and neutered. I didn't want any more dogs in the house at home.

  We spent a week at the state fair, and Monica was in Heaven. I think it was the best summer we ever had. Drake volunteered his services as a vet and cared for many of the livestock. But the horses was where he wanted to be.

  Monica ate so much cotton candy, I thought she would become sick when she asked Drake to take her on the tilt-a-wheel. But the faster it went and the more it would spin, I could hear their shared laughter as I waited behind the gate.

  We all three rode the ferris wheel, and when we reached the top, Drake told me he was the happiest and luckiest man in the world. Monica and I gave him joy. And with that joy, I felt purpose and belonged.

  When we rode the merry-go-round, Monica insisted that Drake ride on the horse with her. My heart filled with bliss, to watch this man show my little girl such love and attention.

  It was Saturday morning, and I was still laying in Drake's arms as he slept. This was another thing I loved about him. He held me all through the night as we slept. I couldn't recall a time Michael ever held me through the night. Granted, in the mornings he would wake this a considerable hard-on and would pull me to him, even if I was sleeping.

  Moving up on one elbow, I watch the rise and fall of his chest. He was uniquely handsome in his own way. He was a country boy, and never tried to put on airs—even though he was a doctor. And I found it strange how attracted I was to him and his lifestyle. Never was I a country girl. I always thought it was Michael's city boy ways, traveling on planes and attending corporate parties made me feel so grown up. But it was Drake who drove an old Ford pick-up, refurbishing an old farmhouse, and slowly paying back his student debts made me appreciate being a responsible adult.

  Tracing a heart on his chest, my fingers felt the hair that covered it. It always smelled like fresh soap at night and it the morning. But during the day, Drake still smelled like the vet's office—dogs and sanitizer. I loved to cook for him because he was always so appreciative and complimentary, and he got me to try new things. We would go horseback riding where he made house calls for a few equestrian farms, and he would tell me about the horses he wanted to raise on the farm. I looked forward to the weekends and staying at the farm.

  He slowly opened one eye, and I watched the smile form on his sleepy face. I kissed his chest and looked up at his face. His arms came around me, and I felt his penis twitch on my leg. He was going to make love to me. Drake never used the word fuck, and his biggest pet-peeve was hearing the word coming out of a lady's mouth. I respected that so much.

  "Good morning, Peach," he whispered his nickname for me. Peach or Peaches he would call me. I asked why peach. He said because my skin was that of a peach, soft and always glowing with perfect color. My hair, he would pet softly and told me it reminded him of a palomino horse's mane—long and shiny. I loved to feel his hand brush down my hair and to the small of my back. His hands were always warm and had the touch of love—soft and caring, and I would think about all the puppies and dogs those hands cared for.

  "Good morning, Doc." My nickname for him.

  "Hmm," he purred. "Doc wants to play doctor." He rolled me over and lay on top of me. I felt how hard he was, and I felt my own sex flutter. His hands brushed the hair away from my face, and he put his forehead to mine. "You're so beautiful, Peaches. I can't believe you're here with me."

  "You make me happy, Drake. You're such a good man." He kissed me tenderly on the lips as he held my face. This would go on for minutes and even longer. I would be aching for him to be i
nside me. But Drake took his time with my body. He said I was a creature who deserved to be worshiped. Worshiped. How I would love to hear this word.

  "I love you, Peaches. I love this face, this hair, this body." His kisses each breast and then the center. "And I love this heart. You are unique and gorgeously made." No matter what Drake said, my heart and insides melted.

  My hands explored his back, moving up and down, feeling his muscle grow taunt as he worshiped me. I, too, was learning how to take the time and discover a man's body—his body.

  His knee pulled up and opened my legs. I moaned a sigh of relief when he entered me. "Open your eyes, Peaches. Look at me when I make love to you." His eyes would give the illusion that he was lost somewhere, lost in me. The more he moved in and out of me, the more his eyes would shine, and he would smile when I began to climax.

  "Ah…Drake. God, yes."

  "You love me, Peaches?"

  "Yes, I love you, Drake." As soon as I said the words, his slow love making heightened into a world of all things right, and sexy, and love. He was so good, and I felt I was learning all over again. And in ways, I was.

  When our lovemaking was over, he picked me up and walked us to the shower. I wasn't worried that Monica would walk in on us. She was spending the night with a little friend from school. However, she was very direct when I dropped her off, that I pick her up early so she could spend the night on Drake's farm. She was in love with the large yard, the big trees, and the many barns she loved to play in. All the dogs would follow her every step, which helped with her whereabouts. Drake had a pond dug, and currently, we were stocking it with fish. We would spend evenings around the campfire roasting marshmallows and watching the sun go down. All the romantic things Michael heckled as melodramatic and silly were now coming to life. And this was proof that romance did exist and was alive and well. At least with Drake they were.

  As Drake washed my hair, like he would a horse's mane, I closed my eyes and basked in his worship of me. I was in heaven, and he spoiled me.

  "My sister said she would stay here with Monica tonight when we go out," he said, wrapping his arms around me and massaging my breasts with foaming soap. Jenny was Drake's sister, who had a daughter the same age as Monica. Together, the two of them would play for hours on the farm.

  "Monica loves to play with Skylar. She'll be excited. I'll need to pick her up soon. She didn't want to miss a minute on the farm."

  "Okay. We can pick her up on the way to the Miller Ranch. I wanted to check on the new colt."

  "Oh, she'll love that." The Miller Ranch was one of the places we would horseback ride, and Monica loved the baby horses as she would call them.

  We finished our shower and dressed in blue jeans, flannel shirts, and boots. Something I never thought I would never be caught dead in. But with Drake, everything was in-style.

  Drake had made reservations in town at a bar called Clementine's. Walking in, the place was so him. With its mahogany, curved wood and ruined brick, the bar looked like something from the old west. It was classic-saloon chic. The place once held the bank of South Haven in the eighteen hundreds, and behind the bar, still stood the brass bars that covered the opening to the bank's vault.

  I felt Drake's warm hand on the small of my back as he took me over to the table reserved for us. While getting ready for the evening, he appeared nervous. Something I never saw in him. As I sat, I looked around the bar. We were once again tucked away in a booth to ourselves and I saw several men sitting at the bar with their backs to us. Something hit me inside, and a shiver ran through me. I didn't know why or what it was. But when Drake moved my face with his finger and smiled in my eyes, that weird moment passed, and I was back to all things Drake.

  "This place is amazing. I can't believe I've never been here before."

  "It's my first time too. A lot of my clients talk about this place. So, I thought we check it out."

  "Well, thank you. I'll have to tell Tammy and Ryan about this place."

  He took my hands from across the table and lifted them to his lips. As he kissed me, he looked up through his lashes, and something was there. I was about to ask when the waitress stopped to take our drink order.

  "I think we would like a bottle," Drake said and looked at me. "Jill, what kind would you like?"

  "Cabernet. If that's okay with you?"

  "A bottle of cabernet it is."

  "Yes, sir," the waitress said and left. It wasn't long before she returned with the bottle and poured out two glasses. "Enjoy." She smiled and once again we were alone. Drake had that look in his eyes.

  "What's that look about?"

  "Okay, I can't take it anymore. It's burning a hole in my pocket." He stood up and walked around to my side of the booth and pulled me out. Drake pulled something from his pocket and got down on one knee. The bar went silent, and I felt all eyes on us. "Jill, Peach…will you marry me?"

  A blanket of heat went through me, and my mouth fell open. Drake was asking to marry me. In front of all these people. Everyone was waiting. Especially Drake. This is what every girl dreams. What I had imagined. And it was happening. There it was. A ring for me. I never had an engagement ring…or a wedding ring for that matter.

  I swallowed and looked into Drake's scared expression. "Yes, Drake. I will marry you."

  The bar filled with claps and cheers as Drake slid the ring up my finger. He stood and picked me up and swung me around. "Thank you, Peaches. You've made me the happiest Doc in town." We kissed and toasted our engagement with the cabernet, and each time I lifted the glass, my eyes went to the sparkle on my finger.

  My first engagement at the age twenty-three, already once married and mother to a beautiful girl. It may have been a bit backward, but it was ours, and now life was going to be what I had always wanted.

  "I know it's early, Peaches. But I love you. You're not getting away this time."

  "Nothing could ever take me away from you." Except the next thing he said.

  "Now we can have our own children," he said, and the word own came out italicized in his voice. Not, ‘we'll have more children,' or ‘we'll fill the house with babies.' My stomach panged not from hunger, but from the fear Monica would be left out. Known as ‘not his' or ‘not ours together.' Her own father didn't want her, and I couldn't let her go through that again. I wasn't about to make her feel like a second-class citizen.

  "Excuse me," I said and stood. "Where's the ladies room?"

  "I think I see the sign over there," Drake pointed. "Are you okay?" There were tears in my eyes, of which he thought they were tears of joy. If only they were.

  "Just need to freshen my mascara," I said and went in the direction of the restroom. My head was bowed as I walk by the bar. A man was getting up from his stool and bumped into me. "Sorry," I said, not looking up to the man.

  "Sorry," he said, and his voice was very canny. "Congratulations." He threw some bills on the bar, and before I could get a look at him, his back was to me. My eyes were still blurred with tears. His voice sounded like Michael, or maybe it was all the bad omens from the past coming to warn me. Either way, I wouldn't let my daughter suffer just so I could have happiness. We would be happy together.

  I found the ladies room and pushed through the door and locked it behind me. Looking in the mirror, I was anything but a happy bride to-be. I grabbed some toilet tissue and cleaned under my eyes the best I could. But I still looked red and swollen.

  I returned to the table and forced a smile. "Are you okay?" Drake asked.

  "Yes…just all the excitement." Michael's bad taste filled my mouth once again, and I grabbed the wine and tried to swallow it down.

  All through the dinner, I couldn't match Drake's excitement. I avoided eye contact as much as I could. And would only give short answers throughout the conversations. Drake sensed my reluctance and asked several times if I was upset. How could I tell him without seeming defensive? In Michael's eye, Monica is what destroyed our relationship. But it was him…and his unwilli
ngness to be in a relationship. Somehow, I was going to have to end it.

  He patted my arms on the drive home, and I thought about telling him them. But felt telling while he was driving wouldn't be a good idea. The ring on my finger, the ringer I always wanted, felt like a weight on my heart. I would have to tell him as soon as we got home.

  Jenny congratulated us when Drake told her the good news. The girls were playing in the bedroom, and when she left, I took a deep breath. "Drake, I feel it's a little soon to be asking me to marry you." I began to pull the ring off when he stopped me.

  "Jill," he said. Not Peaches. "No, please don't take it off. I know it's soon. We can wait. I'll wait until you're ready." I began to cry because I knew I would never feel ready to let Monica suffer my consequences.

  "No, Drake. You deserve a fresh start. A woman all to yourself. Not me."

  "Jill. What are you talking about? It's you I want. It's you I've always wanted. Please, don't do this. I love you."

  My heart broke for breaking his. I went into the bedroom and told Monica we had to go. She didn't want to and complained. "Monica, tell Skylar goodbye. You'll see her at school."

  "But Mommy."

  "Now," I commanded.

  Drake looked as if the world had just ended. And it was all my fault. It pained me to pull off his ring and set it on the table. I couldn't look at him as I walk out. And when I shut the door, I closed the door to the best thing that ever happened to me. But then I reminded myself: Monica was the best thing that ever happened to me.

  Now

  This has to be the worst weekend of my life. And sadly, it should have been the best. I asked Monica to let me keep Bindi for the weekend, and for her and Jordan to have some alone time. I wanted this weekend to be all about Bindi and me, doing Grammy things and spoiling her. Instead, I had obsessed over Michael's lack of calls, his demeanor when we spoke, and not having the ability to call a direct number at the jet center to check if he's really there. Something in his voice, or lack of that is, is once again leaving that bad taste in my mouth and that punch in the gut feeling. What the hell is going on?