by K. L. Kreig
As I inhale her intoxicating scent, absorbing this gorgeous, wild, incredible creature into my body, I know One Nut is just the tip of the iceberg. There’ll be a thousand One Nuts standing in line for a chance with her, one behind the other, popping up like fucking jacks-in-the-box.
I know she’s going to college soon. I know she’ll be subjected to other attempts. It sickens me she’ll be invited to frat parties, may have her drinks spiked, may get taken advantage of and not because she’s not smart but because she’s so fucking alluring and magnetic. I also know I won’t be able to do anything about that. I can only hope and pray she doesn’t find someone else.
That thought sends ice-cold shards of panic firing through my veins and instead of stewing on my thoughts for a few minutes so I can talk myself off the ledge, I do something rash and stupid. Something I’ll come to regret for years. Her words cut me in two, both haunting me and infuriating me every time I replayed them.
“Go out with me.”
“What?” she asks lazily.
I stop the sway and lean back to capture her eyes. “Go out with me.”
She stares at me blankly. Clearly confused.
“A date, Swan. Go out on a date with me. A real one.”
Her brows tug inward. I swear she stops breathing. She opens her mouth once, her tongue getting ready to form words, but rethinks herself. Then she stomps all over me. “Kael, I…I can’t.” She looks genuinely sad. For me, I suppose.
“Why? Give me one good reason.”
Cocking her head, she answers slowly as if I’m brain damaged, “Because we’re friends.”
“Friends go on dates. All the time. Friends even go on to fall in love and get married. And live happily ever after,” I tack on idiotically.
“I can’t,” she almost whispers now. Jason Wade is still crooning in the background and right now if he were standing in front of me, I’d throat punch him. I think his sappy words and hypnotic melody softened me into believing I could sweet-talk her into being mine. I should know better. Nothing with this girl comes easy.
“That’s not good enough.” She tries to disengage from me. I refuse her. I tighten my arms and dig my fingers into her back. “Tell me why.”
Her eyes look anywhere but mine. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Every single muscle in my body tenses. From scalp to heel. That sick feeling I had earlier in the pit of my stomach at the mention of Killian’s name gets worse. Far, far fucking worse.
“You won’t,” I rasp. You will. “Tell me,” I gently coax her. I can’t bear to look into her heart when she ruins this life I already have planned for us, so I set my cheek to hers and whisper again, “You can tell me anything, Mavs.”
I feel her throat work to swallow. Her warm breath fans the lobe of my ear when she confesses softly, just as Lifehouse’s last note is played, “I’m in love with someone else.”
That hurt like a motherfucker. Not gonna even try to deny it. I feel as though a knife has just been lodged between my ribs, the tip piercing my heart. It sits there, burning hot as the flesh around it is branded with the agony her words inflict.
“Well,” I finally push the heavily weighted word out, “I guess that’s a reason.”
“Kael,” she starts, pressing her hands between us, trying to escape again.
But I hold on. I can’t look her into her eyes just yet. I can’t witness the pity I know I’ll see skimming the top. “It’s okay. I understand.”
I want to ask who. I want to make her utter the name of the man who’s always had that one piece of her I haven’t. But I don’t, because I don’t want to hear my brother’s name come out of her mouth again. So I hold her through another song, paste on a fucking plastic smile, and get through the rest of the dance in a haze of equal parts hurt and fury.
When I drop her off shortly after two in the morning, I have half a mind to drive straight to Killian’s and beat him to a bloody pulp. We talked about Maverick once. Just once. It was when I was fourteen. I told him I loved her and that I wanted to marry her. I was staking my claim, even then. But so was he. His response after my declaration of ownership was simple and enigmatic: “What if that’s not what she wants?” But it wasn’t the words themselves that tipped me off because it was a fair question. It was how he said them. Possessive. Jealous. Determined.
When I was younger, I would have given my brother anything he wanted. I would have done anything to please him. That’s how much I idolized him. But that day by the lake when Mavs had me mesmerized changed me. I realized there was someone else I wanted to worship more.
And if I thought for a single solitary second I could thrash the feelings he has for Maverick out of him, I’d have gone. I’ve have spent all night torturing the brother I used to exalt until I realized he was competition. But I know it’s pointless. I think he’d fight for her as long and brutally as I would. She’s worth it and we both know it. So instead, I drive the five hundred yards from the DeSoto driveway to my parents’ house, where I’m staying for the summer. I dig through my box of CDs. I watch Lifehouse burn and melt into a globby puddle of plastic in the sink. I take my mom’s shit the next day when she chastises me for ruining it.
Then I make a vow. I will not give her up. I will not give up on her, either. Maverick is all I’ve ever wanted and I can’t just throw away that dream until my nightmare becomes reality. And as long as they’re not together, I still stand a chance.
I give the dial a spin, watching one through ten whiz by in a blur of colors.
“Eight,” Kael calls out when the plastic clicker thingy stops the disc from twirling. He’s lounging on his side, head propped up in one palm, a cocktail dangling in the fingers of his other hand. He’s been acting strange all week—distracted if I had to put a word to it. He says it’s work, but I’m not so sure. I’d hoped a fun, relaxing game of Life would lighten him up. We used to play it all the time as kids. I’d whip his butt, although I think he really let me win most of the time. But I don’t think it’s working. It’s our second round and he seems tenser than ever.
I dutifully move my yellow, six-passenger car eight blocks, counting them off out loud as I go. I moan about all the Life tiles I’m leaving behind on the way, seeing if I can get a rise out of him. Again, I fall flat. He’s stoic, staring at the board, clearly lost in thought. My eight takes me past the “Get Married” space, but I have to stop to take a spouse. When I pluck a pink figure and put her shotgun, he doesn’t even bat an eye.
Kael drops his glass to the floor and takes his turn. I got to take the college trek while Kael shot out of the gate with his career and is half a board ahead of me, his red car weighted down with a wife and three kids already. He covers the yellow space with his hunk of plastic, not even bothering to read it. I pop up and move it over, announcing, “Another boy.” I wedge a blue figure into the one remaining empty slot. “I didn’t realize we were having so many kids? We’d better get started.”
At that, his eyes dart up to mine, gripping them with such intensity it steals a breath, maybe two. This is the first time he’s been engaged in anything outside his own head in the last hour. He pushes to sit, scooting his glass over so the contents don’t spill. “We haven’t talked about that yet, you know.”
Gulp.
“What? Kids?”
His head moves in an up-and-down motion. Slow and steady. I pluck at my baggy Old Navy tee suddenly feeling warm even though it’s thirty degrees outside. “I mean, I know you want kids. I know I want kids. And I was on the money when I told you One Nut wouldn’t give them to you.”
I watch his face, watching for a smirk, thinking that’s a horrible thing for him to say. Bruce Chutney has been married for five years now to Carrie Ann Miller, a sweet girl three years my junior. He comes from a big family. So does Carrie Ann. Farmers tend to breed big broods to help with the chores and leave their legacies to, but five years later they’re in that big empty farmhouse on the south side of town all alone.
Then the corner of his mouth fires up, making his eyes dance. “You’re terrible,” I tell him, pushing his shoulder so hard he falls over. On his way down, he manages to grab ahold of me, taking me down with him. He pinches my sides, tickling me until I’m squealing like a stuck pig, begging him to stop. I feel wetness soaking into my yoga pants and realize we spilled his vodka gimlet in our tussle. By the time he lets up, I’m gasping for air. Mostly because 185 pounds is lying on top of my back, squishing my lungs.
“I heard they’re pregnant,” is thrown straight into my ear. My heart stops. Just stops right there in my chest cavity. I feel it beat its last beat. I’m sure of it. “Ran into Bruce at the bank the other day and he told me the good news.”
Oh fuck. It starts again. Thumps so hard against my bones it hurts, taking a few pulses to get back into a normal rhythm. I let my forehead sink into the rug beneath me, chastising myself that I thought he was talking about Killian and Jilly. And that the news absolutely gutted me.
Why? Why after seven months of marriage can I not just let this go? Why do I have to care what they do, where they go, if they procreate or not? Why—fucking why—am I still hanging on to the notion of him by the hair of my chinny chin chin when I know beyond a shadow of a doubt I’m in love with the man currently crushing me?
My body flips and now Kael straddles me, gazing down with concern. “Did I hurt you?” he asks so sweetly it kills me.
My forehead scrunches up. “No. Why?” Oh, I’m rubbing my chest. Right in the center. Trying to ease the dull ache that settled there. I tell my brain to tell my hand to stop moving in little circles over my heart. My fingers slow, then finally stop.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Uhhhh…yeah. That’s great for them,” I bumble.
“I thought so. He looked happy.”
Is that what’s the matter with Kael? Does he want kids and is afraid I won’t? Is he afraid this is all some surreal alternate reality we’ve temporarily found ourselves in? Are we?
The smile on his face is almost sad. He bends over, putting all his weight on his forearms. His fingers tunnel in my hair, anchoring us as one. We’re chest to chest. He touches his forehead to mine. He does that a lot. Like he can transfer the love he has into me through that one simple connection. Through osmosis. And the funny thing is…it feels like he does. I always feel calmer when he’s touching me in some way. He’s that gravitational pull that keeps me grounded in all things real and true.
I stroke his flank up and down in slow, calming motions. “What’s wrong, baby?” I coax softly. I’ve asked the same question half a dozen times this week. I’m met with the same curt answer: “Work.”
He breathes deep, his heavy exhale swirling across my face. It smells of cinnamon and vodka and a touch of fear. His body shakes a little and the confident man I’m always used to seems to have disappeared. His voice is so low I strain to hear him. “Are you happy, Maverick?”
Somehow his question doesn’t take me by surprise. It’s only a matter of time before we’re going to need to have a frank and very hurtful discussion. Maybe that’s one of the reasons Killian’s ghost hangs over us. Because we both refuse to acknowledge it’s there. Maybe if we unite, we can eradicate his hold over us for good.
“Very,” I assure him simply, truthfully. Despite that lingering melancholy over Killian, I’ve settled into this life with Kael and am happier than ever. I’m starting to feel like an actual newlywed. Maybe seven months too late, but beggars can’t be choosers.
“Because if you’re not happy, if you’ve changed your mind and this isn’t what you want—”
“Stop,” I angrily cut him off. “This is exactly where I want to be. Right here with you.”
“I sometimes feel like this isn’t real, Swan.”
“Kael,” I mutter on a light cloud of regret. The tone of his voice is like a gunshot through the center of my heart. Wrapping my arms around him, I tug until he comes flush with me. He’s heavy. It’s hard to breathe. I don’t care. And I don’t even pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about. I’m tired of pretending. I infuse my voice with strength and confidence, meaning what I say. “We’re real, Kael. We’re real. More real than anything in my life.” Truth.
“Sometimes, when I go to bed at night with you curled into me, I’m convinced I’ll wake up and you’ll have been this horribly fantastic dream. It eats at me all the time. I worry I’ll open my eyes and you’ll be gone.”
Tears spring up. They quickly roll into my hair, except the one on my right side. That drop of salty moisture works its way around the plastered-together flesh of our cheeks. I have done this to him. To us. How do I fix this? What do I do?
“I won’t be gone. Ever,” I manage to say through the constriction in my chest, now for an entirely different reason. I squeeze him harder. Try to make him believe me. “I promise. I love you so much, Kael.” I know I can’t live without you. “I know this is where I’m meant to be.” I hope he understands what I’m not saying.
He breathes evenly at my ear, speaking quietly. “I want kids. I wanted to wait and just enjoy being husband and wife for a while but I’ve waited a lifetime for you, Mavs. I have this burning inside me to see your belly grow big with our baby, knowing together we created a life that’s part you, part me, forever us.”
After we married, it took me weeks to just take a full breath without panic. It was a lot like the stages of grief, letting Killian go and accepting my life with Kael. Denial, anger, nearly debilitating sorrow. Then I’d repeat them all in no particular order. Gradually, though, I’ve moved to acceptance. More than acceptance, in truth. I’ve come to realize in the arms of this selfless, amazing man is where I should have been all along. Of that, I’m convinced.
I know I’ve made a lot of progress since that day I walked down the aisle. I’m not perfect. Not sure I ever will be as my reaction tonight will attest. I didn’t realize how far I’d come until this very second, though…until faced with the decision to bind us together forever with our combined DNA in a tiny human life we’ll both be responsible for loving and raising. I can say nothing else but, “Okay.”
Kael breaks my hold, drawing back to look inside me where he’ll find certainty. Solemnness has been replaced with pure, unadulterated, flabbergasted joy. “Okay?”
I nod. More water falls, even though a smile breaks out on my face. He scoops the ones on the left side away with his thumb before doing the right. “Why are you crying, Swan?”
“They’re happy tears,” I whisper. And they are. Mostly. The ones not filled with remorse for planting and nurturing that kernel of doubt about us anyway.
“You really want to start trying?”
“I do.” I really do.
“God, I love you, Maverick Shepard.”
Smiling through watery eyes, I take his face in my hands and assure him in the strongest, most genuine voice I can muster, “I love you, Kael Shepard. Believe that, please.”
Desire instantly smokes up his liquid amber pools, but flames behind the smolder make them glow brightly. It’s mesmerizing and dizzying to know he wants me so much. Always.
Untangling one hand, he skates it slowly down my body, on the outside of my now aching breast. He teases around my nipple but it’s just a tease because he keeps moving down my torso. He then slips it between us. Under the elastic of my pants. Between the silk of my panties and my naked flesh. Over my mound, through the wetness of my pussy.
“My God.” My back arches off the floor when he pushes a lithe finger inside.
“I want to start right now.”
I start to laugh but huff out a harsh gasp of air instead when he drags that wet finger to my puckered hole, circling it. “Kael,” I beg, not sure what I’m even begging for but I don’t stop begging anyway. “I’m…I’m on the pill.”
“Then we practice,” he offers on a husk. Watching me with raw hunger, he tugs my loungewear down my long legs. The clingy material catches on my feet. I start to laugh whe
n he yanks and the fabric stretches with his long arms.
“Impatient?”
“Enthusiastic,” he replies with that sexy smirk once he’s finally rid me of them. Efficiently, he has my tee over my head and my bra unclasped. The last garment to join the pile is my nonfrilly underwear.
He sits back on his haunches, eyes raking leisurely over my nude form. I twist under his scrutiny, aching, feeling needy everywhere his gaze kisses along my flesh. Unable to take any more, I hold out my hand, palm up. “Come here.”
His eyes come back to mine. They shine bright with happiness. That smirk morphs into a delicious smile. It takes over his whole being. Then it takes over mine.
In a flash, his clothes are gone, thrown haphazardly everywhere. Covering me with his rock-hard body, he kisses me until every nerve flares to life and every bone feels weak and sloshy. He pushes inside me with focused purpose until I cry out his name over and again. He makes love to me for hours on end, making my body sing, my soul soar, and my heart meld into one with his.
“I think we have this baby-making thing down pat,” I tell him wearily in the dead of night as he holds me tight. Instead of going upstairs to bed, in Kael style, he insisted we make a fort and sleep here on the floor together. It was almost as if he needed that connection from our past, so I couldn’t argue. I needed it, too.
“Mmm, I think we’d better keep at it so we don’t lose focus.” Warmth flashes through me where his lips find my temple.
“I’m game.” I snuggle closer, feeling sated and fuzzy everywhere. “I’ll be here when you wake up,” I promise softly, placing a gentle kiss on the pec underneath my cheek.
His grip on me tightens. “I believe you.”
“Good night, Kael.”
“Night, Swan.”
Instead of playing the game of Life—which we never finished by the way—shit’s turning real and I am deliriously happy about it. My heart is bursting out of its seams. We’re going to make a baby. A. Baby. And I’m not panicky or feeling sick in the pit of my stomach or wishing I was having this conversation with someone else.