by Cat Porter
“Mi amor,” he whispered, laying soft kisses against my throat.
I spun in throbbing pink corazóns, deep blue cielos, cool green vidas.
“Mi amor.” His breath was hot on my neck. He sucked on my earlobe as his fingers traced dizzying trails down the delicate skin of my throat.
“Bone.”
He kissed me again, his hand at my throat, soft, slow kisses that pulled on my tongue, on my lips, on my soul.
“You wrote me a poem,” I whispered.
“Yeah.”
“You left it for me, here on the table.”
A shadow passed over his eyes, and he kissed me again, his fingers cradling my face.
I breathed in the warm scent of his skin. “I love my poem.”
His chuckle hummed in my chest.
“And I love you.”
His forehead slid to mine, his eyes shut. “Firefly.”
I held him tighter.
He cleared his throat. “You know, I don’t want this dulce de leche to go to waste.”
I glanced at him, my fingers lingering on his chest. “It did take me forever to make.”
I nuzzled the swell of his pec, and he let out a shaky breath.
“Got an idea,” he whispered.
“I hope it’s a tasty idea to fully appreciate my effort and the flavor?”
“Grab the bowl.”
I grabbed the small bowl with the thick caramel. He took my hand, and we charged up the stairs to his bedroom.
There, we experienced the sweet glory of dulce de leche and practiced our Argentinian Spanish, all at the same time.
Lo más…que rico, baby.
Yes, it was the best.
So delicious.
So damn good.
BONER AND I WERE GETTING MARRIED.
He hadn’t exactly proposed or asked. Over a quick cup of coffee one afternoon at the Meager Grand Cafe, he had suddenly taken in a deep breath and pronounced: “I wanna marry you, Firefly.”
I’d squealed and hugged him, knocking over his double espresso and my mocha latte.
“Is that a yes?” he asked, holding me tight.
I only burst into tears.
Oh, it would have been nice to have the baby first, to lose the extra pounds, to wear the perfect dress, to ride his bike to the ceremony and back. But what mattered was that we were together and couldn’t live without each other. What mattered was that both of us were finally ready to make a new life, and that life was with each other.
We decided to have our ceremony in the majestic lush beauty of Sylvan Lake. The tall spires of the evergreens were our cathedral, the green grass our velvet carpet, the unusual granite boulders and hulking rock formations rising from the ground our silent witnesses. We made the effort and got there very early on a weekday morning to be able to have the secluded small spot we’d chosen to ourselves, and we were so glad we did.
Only the One-Eyed Jacks along with Rae and Tania attended. We arrived and a mist rolled over the still, sapphire water. The cool, crisp mountain air was laced with the almost butterscotch-like sweet fragrance of the ponderosa pine. At first, none of us spoke, taking in the perfect sacred hush. The colors of the morning bloomed over us, their tones and hues depending on the shifting shadows of the clouds and the strength of the sunlight. Pure magic.
Grace was my matron of honor, and Lock was Boner’s best man. Strolling up the aisle formed by Boner’s brothers, Tania held Becca by the hand, and they threw white rose petals on everyone.
My dress was a Bohemian-style piece that Lenore had made for me using a vintage dress she’d found. A plunging V-neckline, ruched chiffon bodice with hand-sewn corded lace appliqué, and a low back set off my assets. The skirt was made of antique-looking beige chiffon. Pearl-shaped buttons made a line down the back. My gown was ethereal, flowy, and oh-so comfortable in my progressed state of pregnancy.
As a gift, Grace had given me a thin pale-gold cashmere shrug to wear over my bare shoulders to keep me warm in the cool morning air. And I had made myself a special headpiece, a long chain dotted with tiny crystals that hung down the back of my long hair like a necklace. I felt like a fairy-tale princess in the woods.
My soon-to-be husband’s wide-eyed stare and parted lips confirmed that he liked what he saw as Lock walked me down the aisle. I could’ve sworn Lock’s arm was shaking just a little under mine.
Boner wore a vintage black tuxedo coat with tails over his colors and one of those body hugging V neck T-shirts I had gotten him. My dashing dark prince. When he took my one hand in both of his, he didn’t let go until after we’d said our vows and he put the white-gold wedding band we’d chosen together on my finger, and I put one on his. Our rings were made of two coiled snakes with a tiny skull at the center where the snake heads met. On my ring, a diamond dotted one eye of the skull.
The justice of the peace declared us legal. Husband and wife. Old man and old lady.
We kissed, and Boner whispered in my ear, “That bright life just came true, Firefly.”
I kissed him again.
Everyone cheered and small champagne bottles popped open. I had one quick sip and kissed my husband right away. I wanted to lock the warm taste of him and the crisp sweetness of the champagne—this very moment—in my heart and senses forever.
We made our way back to where everyone had parked their bikes and cars.
Boner stopped in his tracks, his arm tightening around me even more. I followed his line of sight.
“Holy wow!” I blurted.
Dig’s 1968 black Camaro gleamed in the sunlight. That Camaro had been his pride and joy from all accounts. After Dig had been killed, Boner had taken it, but he never took it out, never drove it, although he kept it secured at the club all these years.
Now, here she was, glossy beyond belief, full of attitude, slick bravado, and sexy swagger. Stealth in motion. Breathtaking.
Boner turned to Lock. “What did you do?” His voice heavy with emotion, censure, shock.
Lock’s huge dark eyes held his. Grace twisted her arms around one of Lock’s.
“It’s a beautiful piece, and it’s meant to be enjoyed, meant to be ridden. That’s what he bought it for,” Lock said. “I was with him when he found it. You would’ve thought he’d won the damn lottery. It was a piece of junk he could barely afford, but he had to have it. He took his time rebuilding it with Wreck, loved taking it out, loved how it felt in his hands. It made him laugh, made him roar. You were the only one he’d let drive it, apart from Wreck.”
“You stole the keys once and took it for a joyride, you little shit,” said Boner.
We laughed.
Lock grinned, his large hands jamming into the front pockets of his black jeans. The renegade teenager was still pleased with himself all these years later. “Yeah, I did. I didn’t even have my license yet, but that was how irresistible she was.” He glanced at the car and then back at Boner. “I wanted to make her irresistible for you. You wouldn’t let anyone touch her after he died.” He took in a breath, tilting his head, his lips pressing together for a moment. “It’s time you take her out, man. He would’ve wanted you to. He would’ve wanted you to laugh and roar behind that wheel, just like he did, like we did together.”
Lock took Grace’s hand in his and they stepped toward us. “She’s got a professionally built 454 CID engine, turbo transmission. Original bucket seats with upgraded interior. Fresh paint, subtle silver stripes around the nose and down the sides, hand-buffed.”
Silence, but for the wind kicking up in the tall trees soaring around us.
Boner tore his gaze away from Lock and stared at the car. “The Raven is back,” he said, his voice so low that I could barely hear it.
“The Raven is back.” Lock held out the keys. “Take your old lady home, Boner.”
Boner lunged at Lock, and the two of them hugged tightly. Grace and I held each other’s watery gazes.
I didn’t think my heart could burst again today, but it did right then.
Back home.
A week after the wedding, Boner took me to the Jacks’ favorite tattoo parlor in Deadwood owned by their long time friend, Ronny. Looking through Ronny’s amazing array of artwork, I secretly made plans to get fireflies tattooed on my rear and up over my back after I had the baby. Today, Boner had a plan for a special tattoo for himself. He had Ronny brand the poem he had written for me over his heart and down his torso.
I was speechless.
I was humbled.
I was honored.
I was in so much deep fucking love.
There have been many more poems since—some long and some short ditties. A few are nonsensical, a few are philosophical; yet, for the most part, they all express joy, not sorrow, not pain. So many are dirty, but all of them are simply true expressions of whatever Boner is feeling in that instant. He hides them for me to find around our house. I’ve found them in Becca’s drawers, in the bathroom medicine cabinet, in between the bottles in my spice rack, in my makeup bag, inside a rain boot, in my pillowcase, in my underwear.
But that poem, the first poem, is still the most special one of all. I lay kisses over it on his chest every night before I fall asleep in his arms and every morning when I wake up, folded in his embrace.
Every morning.
I’ve captured my firefly
At long, long last
And she glows
She glows
Like a star in the dark
Like a flame in the cold
Heat in my lost soul
My Firefly
At long, long last
No prisoner to take
No lid to close
She is free
yet she glows in my heart,
For my heart has no walls,
It’s clearer than glass.
And she shines within me,
The wild light of my dark night.
I swallowed her tears,
I took them in then threw them at the sky
and made them rays of light.
JILL ENTWINED HER FINGERS with mine as the nurse attached a wide belt over her huge belly. The quick thumps of Super-baby’s heartbeat filled the delivery room, and Grace and Jill squeezed each other’s hands.
The heart—alive, pumping, circulating blood, maintaining life for this little being, working so hard to do the thing it had been created for.
My breath bottled up in my chest, and my legs suddenly felt weak.
“Mi corazón.” My mother’s elegant throaty voice came back to me, her hand ruffling through the thick waves of my hair, her final kisses of the day caressing my face before sleep would claim me. Without those gifts from her each night, something was always missing. The night would be empty.
My heart.
An odd floating sensation overtook me, and the baby’s quick heartbeat pulsed with my own. I rocked back on the heels of my boots.
This was Grace and Lock’s baby.
This was urgent life staking its claim among us.
I wanted to match it, sing with it, breathe with that heartbeat.
Can you hear it, Dig?
“Honey? Are you okay?” Jill asked, raising her head.
“Yeah,” I breathed, kissing her hand in mine. “Yeah, I’m good.”
My eyes went to Lock, his lips pressed together, his sleek black hair in his eyes.
The two weeks leading up to the baby’s due date, Jill and I had been very responsible in following the doctor’s orders to help Mother Nature do her thing. Jill had taken long walks around our property, and we’d fucked every chance we got.
Jill would come loud and hard each time. “I’m telling you, there’s nothing like pregnancy hormones. I wish I could jump you myself, but that’s physically impossible these days.”
I’d stroked the side of her hip. “No worries there, Firefly.”
She’d grinned lazily at me from our bed.
The day before Jill’s due date, her contractions had started coming frequently, and we’d headed for the hospital. The urge to push had overwhelmed her, and her water had broken in the truck.
Now, with my wife bracing herself against me and with Grace and Lock on her other side, Jill got into her breathing and pushing zone and used her diaphragm muscles—just like the seminar we’d faithfully attended with Grace had taught us—to push Super-baby out in under three tries.
I had my eyes on the doctor as the last of the baby’s body squeezed out of Jill.
The doctor’s face split into a huge grin. “It’s a boy!”
“It’s a boy? A boy?” Jill shouted.
“Oh my God, it’s a boy!” Grace exclaimed, her skin flushed, her hands flying to her mouth.
Lock clasped his arms around her and kissed the side of her face hard, whispering in her ear. She closed her eyes and pressed against him, a hand to his jaw, tears streaming down her cheeks. He rocked his wife, his wet eyes meeting mine.
Squalling and sharp cries pierced the air, uncurling around us. Lock’s lips trembled, a smile wobbling the edges.
“You did it, baby. You did it.” I kissed Jill’s sweaty red cheek and her forehead. “You did it.”
She let out choppy breaths. “I did it. Sweet Jesus, we all did it.”
The doctor rose and gestured at Grace. “Here you go, Mommy.” She laid the baby in Grace’s arms and turned to Lock. “Are you ready, Dad?”
He wiped at his eyes and planted a kiss on the side of his wife’s face, his thumb rubbing through a fallen tear.
“I love you,” he rasped.
Lock took the small clamp tool in his grip from a nurse, and a sob escaped Grace’s mouth. He cut the umbilical cord on his son’s body and bent and kissed his head.
Jill sank back into my arms, laughing.
Laughing.
Over a month after Grace’s baby was born, I got home early one afternoon, and Jill was curled up in the bay window seat, staring out the window, with her journal, a purple pen, a sketch of a necklace on the floor beside her. Her hands lay over her now much, much smaller belly.
I tucked in behind her without a word and took her in my arms, my face pressing against hers. The sun cast its orange glow over us as it dipped lower at the edge of the sky. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing. Just…”
“What?”
She let out a sigh, her shoulders dropping. “It’s strange.”
“Nothing’s strange.”
“I don’t want to feel strange. But I do.” Her breath hitched. “There’s this void...”
“I know,” I whispered, brushing my lips against her hair. “It’s only natural.”
She muffled a sob. “I’m glad it’s over, that it all worked out, but a part of me is sad.”
“It’s okay to be sad, sweetheart. It’s not wrong.”
“It feels wrong. I don’t want it to feel wrong. It’s not about missing the baby as much as it’s the whole experience that I’m missing. I don’t know how to put it into words,” she said, her voice hoarse.
“For nine months, you carried that baby in your body along with so many people’s wishes and dreams. A long, rich journey came to an end. You’re saying good-bye.”
Tears erupted from her, and she cried silently with her face buried in my arm as I held her. I planted kisses on the fireflies inked along her shoulder and neck.
“The good news is, we all live here together,” I said. “You’re not gonna lose out on that bond, Firefly—with Grace or being her boy’s favorite aunt—right?”
“That’s right.” She sniffed. “I’m really glad about that. Grace and I have gotten so close. I don’t want to lose that.”
“You won’t. I guarantee you, she feels the same way.” I kissed the top of her head. “Anyway, now is th
at time you’ve been talking about for so long. The Jill-on-the-go time. Jill-chases-her-dreams time.”
“Cuckoo!” Becca jumped in front of us.
“There you are, sweets.” Jill wiped at her eyes. “Did you have a good nap?”
Becca nodded and stretched her hands out to me. Jill sat up as I picked up Becs and brought her onto my lap.
My free hand went to Jill’s stomach, and she leaned her head against my shoulder, holding her daughter’s hand.
“Firefly, I want to fill you with us. How does that fit into your dreams?”
She met my gaze, her eyes shining. “I’ve got my dreams right here, Santi. They all came true.”
Two years later, Boner and I had our own child—a boy who was blessed to have those remarkable green eyes of his grandmother and father.
Nicolàs is three years old now, and he and his dad chase a soccer ball on our front lawn, the two of them laughing loudly, both of their long manes of dark hair flying. Becca lets go of my hand to run after her baby brother and his ball, her laughter joining theirs. Pure joy shines on my husband’s face.
Unfettered, free.
Our son kicks the ball hard down the hill and, jumping up and down, waves wildly at me, filling the air with his loud screeches and whoops.
In this very moment, I know that Nicolàs’s eyes will never doubt, never know the darkness his father or I had. They will live in this beautiful light that his parents have fought so hard for.
This I know, deep in my bones. Those eyes will feel and see and reflect our bright.
Always.
LOCK & KEY
RANDOM & RARE
BLOOD & RUST—COMING SOON
WOLFSGATE
CAT PORTER was born and raised in New York City, but also spent a few years in Texas and Europe along the way. As an introverted, only child, she had very big, but very secret dreams for herself. She graduated from Vassar College, was a struggling actress, an art gallery girl, special events planner, freelance writer, restaurant hostess, and had all sorts of other crazy jobs all hours of the day and night to help make those dreams come true. She has two children’s books traditionally published under her maiden name. She now lives on a beach outside of Athens, Greece with her husband and three children, and freaks out regularly and still daydreams way too much. She is addicted to reading, cafes on the beach, Instagram, Pearl Jam, the History Channel, her husband’s homemade red wine, really dark chocolate, and her Nespresso coffee machine. Oh, and Jamie & Claire Fraser and those Vikings...never mind. Writing keeps her somewhat sane, extremely happy, and a productive member of society.