by BK Rivers
“Mom?” Micah’s now standing at my door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. I pull him in for a hug, and the tears just fall. I can’t stop them, and when Micah’s arms hug me tightly I choke on my sobs.
“Where did Dad go?”
A gasp is pulled from my chest. He called Jordan his dad. What happened last night that my boy decided he could trust Jordan enough to call him his father? What is wrong with me that I didn’t say the things Jordan needed to hear? I’m such a fool. He’s gone, probably patting himself on the back for getting out of my crazy life before it was too late.
“How are you feeling, buddy?” I run my hands over his head, feeling for a temperature, but he feels normal. “Did Jordan take care of you last night?”
Micah nods, and a smile spreads across his face. “He read Jacob Wonderbar to me and then fell asleep in my bed.”
“I saw that, honey.” We’ve read all three books in the series, and whenever we finish them he always asks to start over. “Is your tummy still feeling icky?”
“No. Dad gave me crackers and water last night while he cleaned up my puke.”
There’s a glow inside my chest; it’s warm and bright, and like a magnet it’s pulling me off the bed and toward the front door. I have to see if by any chance he’s still in the parking lot.
“Micah, honey…Mommy will be right back, okay? I need to go outside for a second.” I kiss his forehead, pull a sweatshirt over my head, and jog out of the room. I reach for the doorknob of the front door, but it twists on its own and swings inward, making me step back.
“Jordan.” His name is a whisper on my lips, a prayer in my soul.
“I forgot my shoes in Micah’s room.” I glance at his feet to find him wearing only a pair of white socks with dirty soles from walking through the parking lot. He steps around me with his head lowered and jaw closed tight.
What am I doing? I was just going to find him, and now I’ve let him breeze by me. Panicking. That’s what I’m doing. He’s walking toward me now, shoes in hand, and his eyes are focused on the door behind me.
Block his way. My body reacts, doing what my brain hasn’t yet caught up to.
“Reggie-bug, I need you to step out of my way,” he warns, his voice low and soft.
I shake my head and press my back against the door. “I don’t want you to leave.” Words. The words have finally arrived, thank goodness. Jordan cocks a brow and tilts his head a fraction. “I want you to stay.”
Jordan’s lids close halfway, he clenches his jaw, and sighs heavily through his nose. His shoulders slump and then he says, “I won’t stay here if you don’t feel the same way I do. Do you not feel this?” He grasps my hand and places it over his rapidly beating heart and closes his eyes. When they open, they’re glossy, the rims of his lids are bright pink. I’m breaking his heart even though I’m trying to give him all of mine. I shake my head as my own tears build and slip down my cheeks.
There’s no other way to say what I need without taking a deep breath. Inhale, exhale. “I’ve loved you for eleven years. I’ve never stopped even though I tried. I tried so hard to forget you. When we were fifteen, I knew you were it for me. Eleven years later, you’re still the one.”
I pause to take another deep breath. Jordan’s eyes haven’t left mine since I started talking, and his thoughts are hidden well on his face.
“I love you, Jordan Capshaw. I love your heart, your courage, and strength. I love that you want to be a father to my son. Our son. He has called you Dad all morning, and there’s nothing sweeter I could ever hear. I love you, and I need you to stay. To love me.”
The dull thud of a pair of heavy shoes fills the silence, and Jordan’s hands cup my cheeks as he pulls my mouth to his. His lips cover mine, his tongue invades my mouth, and everything feels complete. My arms twine together behind Jordan’s neck as the kiss grows desperate, like a deep hunger that can’t be satisfied by this one kiss.
“Dad!” Micah runs to us, and I choke on a sob at the way my boy wraps his arms around us. This is what life should be—warm hugs, passionate kisses, and hearts running over with love from a good man and our little boy.
After Jordan tucks Micah in for the night, I greet him at the door with a contented smile. My heart is at peace, and I feel like my life is complete. Everything is right with us now, and together, the three of us will be the family I always hoped we could be, but never thought we’d become. His hands squeeze the tops of my shoulders and slide down my arms, stopping at my hands. He twines his fingers with mine and pulls me into the bedroom. We topple onto the mattress, still holding hands and quietly laughing like our worries have disappeared.
“Bug,” he says, pulling one of my hands to his lips. Jordan kisses my knuckles one by one and then rests my hand over his heart. “There are some things I need to tell you.”
My eyes bug out, making him laugh. “I don’t know if I can handle it,” I say, pulling away from his touch. He reaches out, grips my waist with his large hands, and rolls on top of me. Heat rises to my cheeks, my hair fans over the bed, and he looks at me like he knows one kiss won’t be enough. But he does it anyway. His lips are warm and hesitant on mine, but as soon as his tongue crosses into my mouth, my resistance fades faster than water on a hot sidewalk in the middle of July.
My legs move around his, pulling him down against my pelvis. I want more, though I shouldn’t right now since Jordan’s trying to have a serious conversation with me. He breaks our kiss, brushes the hair away from my face, and pushes up from me so he’s resting on his elbows over me.
“Some things came up in L.A. and I need to run a couple things by you,” he says slowly, dragging this on longer than necessary.
I squirm beneath him, readying for the shoe to drop. “What things?” I ask, my voice cracking.
“Good things. At least I think they are.” He scrunches his nose like he’s trying to guess what I have to say. When I say nothing, he continues.
“The guys and I need to go back to L.A. to finish recording the album.”
My brows draw together. “I thought you already finished it.”
He shakes his head, kisses the tip of my nose, and continues. “My contract with the record label is up.” I quietly gasp and hold my breath—I will break if he’s telling me he has to leave. “My agent’s contract expires in a month. The guys and I are going to head back to L.A., finish the album, and then I’m out. I’m retiring.”
I slowly release the breath I was holding and like it was the one thing keeping me from giving all of myself to Jordan, a dam breaks loose. I close my eyes, greedily take his lips with mine, and kiss him like there’s no tomorrow. We’re a tangle of limbs, grasping at the future, neither one of us willing to let go. Ever again.
“You’re done? You’re really done?” I ask with a squeal when we break apart.
He nods and then, like it’s casual conversation, he tells me about the house on a ranch he bought in Washington he wants me to see.
“This house is where I first gave sobriety a chance and it means a lot to me,” he says, rolling off and away from me. “This house is the reason I didn’t come back here right away after L.A. There were a few things that needed to be repaired before I take you and Micah up there to see it. But I really think you’ll love it there.”
I don’t know where we’ll end up, if we’ll pack up and move to this ranch of his, but I can’t wait to go with him and Micah there so he can show me how his journey back to me began.
Epilogue
Eighteen Months Later
Jordan
I hate the smell of hospitals. Bleach, antiseptic, blaring beeping noises, and the constant clicking of closing doors grates on my nerves. That sound is like someone chewing gum and popping bubbles in your ears over and over. I don’t know how Reggie can concentrate with the smells and sounds.
Her hand squeezes around mine, and the doctor between her legs tells her to bear down and push. Her cheeks puff out, face turns bright red, and she closes her eyes
so tight even her inky lashes disappear.
“I can see the head,” Dr. Robertson says with an easy grin. “Would you like to touch it?”
That would be a resounding no on my part, though I glance at Reggie, who shakes her head violently.
“Here’s comes another one. You’re doing great. One last big push and you should get to meet your baby.”
Reggie takes a deep breath and begins to push again.
“Keep pushing,” the nurse urges her while nodding.
“Come on, Reggie, you can do this.” Dr. Robertson glances up at us as the contraction stops briefly.
“I can’t!” Reggie growls. “I want an epidural!”
The doctor laughs and shakes his head. “Too late for that, Reggie.” He pauses, glances at the monitor, and says, “Okay, give it all you’ve got, Reggie. This one should do it.”
I lean in close to Reggie to tell her I love her and give her the encouragement she needs. I kiss her damp forehead as she bears down, pushing, until the doctor slides back holding a tiny pink thing squirming in his hands.
“Looks like a healthy baby girl,” Doctor Robertson says as he hands her to the nurses who quickly pat her with blankets and then bring her over Reggie’s stomach.
“You can cut the cord,” the nurse says, holding out a pair of medical scissors.
I shake my head and instead study this tiny infant being cleaned quickly and now placed in my wife’s arms. Reggie’s eyes are misty and she slides the shoulder of her gown down and brings the baby to her breast. Her tiny lips part and she begins nursing right away.
I thought I knew what love was. I thought having Reggie’s love was enough. But that day Micah wrapped Reggie and me in a hug and he called me Dad, I could’ve cried. Okay, a stray tear might have fallen, but I swiped it away before anyone noticed. But now. This moment, as our baby girl nurses at Reggie’s breast, my heart swells with more love than I ever knew I was capable of. Reggie looks more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her, as though she has a glow surrounding her and the baby. Our baby.
“You want to hold her?” Reggie asks.
I nod, unable to contain the grin on my face. Reggie slips a finger into the baby’s mouth to break the suction and lays her gently into my arms. Her little eyes flicker open, her cheek twitches, and then she promptly falls asleep.
“What are we going to name her?” I whisper, and then sit in the chair beside the bed. When we found out Reggie was pregnant, we decided not to find out the baby’s gender. We talked about names, but never settled on one, boy or girl.
Reggie’s lips twist to the side as she studies our baby girl. “Annie?”
Annie. Annie Capshaw. “I like it. Annie Mariquita Capshaw. My little ladybug.”
While the nurses clean up Annie and Reggie, I head to the waiting room where Micah is with Vic and Jemma. A year and a half ago, after talking with my lawyer and the band, we finished and released the album then walked away as a group. We called the album Farewell and it went double platinum. Carson and Drake still play together at local shows pretty regularly, but I’m done. I want my family and don’t want to be on the road anymore. Even though the guys understood, they wanted me to think about it before making a final decision, though I didn’t have to do any thinking at all. My decision had been made I think even before I knew about Micah. But he sealed the deal. I wanted to be there to raise my son in whatever capacity Reggie wanted or needed. Thankfully she wanted me.
After Jeremy and Emily’s wedding, we talked a lot about staying in Phoenix, but after I told Reggie about the house in Washington, she and Micah both wanted to see it. We flew up in May after Micah finished school, and Reggie fell in love with the land and house, so we packed up and moved in June. Jemma and Reggie instantly became friends, not that I didn’t think they wouldn’t. And in July we were married under the giant trees on the ranch. We flew back to Phoenix in November when Emily had her baby boy she and JD named Bryce. I knew I wanted to make babies with Reggie the minute I saw Jeremy holding his son.
Now, Jemma and Vic sit with my boy in the hospital waiting room with their own little girl who is sleeping in her stroller. Jemma’s about to pop again any day now with another girl, which I know will make Reggie happy knowing Annie will have a friend right away.
“How is she?” Jemma asks as she pushes herself up from the chair. A smile takes over my face as I hug Micah and ask them all if they want to meet Annie. They follow me through the hallway and back to Reggie’s room. She’s sitting up in bed, holding our little bug, and beaming. God, she’s beautiful.
Micah runs to his mother, softly strokes the black hair on Annie’s head, and smiles up at us. “She’s so tiny,” he says quietly.
We all laugh and visit until Izzy, Vic and Jemma’s daughter, wakes up and begins to cry.
“Let’s take her home,” Jemma says. She wraps me in a quick hug and then whispers in my ear, “You did good, Jordan. So good.”
And I feel it. This is the life I’ve always wanted. It’s full of love, laughter, and wonder. I’ve made mistakes in my life—huge mistakes—but I like to believe the changes I’ve made and the paths I took led me to where I am today. And I’m overwhelmingly happy, to the point where my addictions no longer rule my life. I’m no longer tied to them, worrying about dark corners and easy escapes. I’m whole. I’m better.
As Annie falls asleep on Reggie’s chest, I lean down, kiss my wife’s lips, and whisper in her ear. “Let’s make more of these.”
The End
***Sneak Peek***
Raining Down
Release
CHAPTER 1
July
Stacey
It’s hot as hell and I’m sweating in places I never knew could sweat until moving here when I was twelve. Whoever decided to settle in Phoenix back in the day was a complete and utter lunatic. A hundred and thirteen degrees and we still haven’t hit our summer peak.
I hate the summers here.
I especially hate the fact that the apartment complex I live in doesn’t have a pool. You know what else I hate? My apartment and the neighbors who smoke more weed than is medically necessary, if you know what I mean. To top it off, the vents in my place are somehow directly linked to their pot-filled living room and I’m pretty sure I go to work every day partially stoned.
Which is altogether strange, because the few times I actually smoked pot in high school, it made me feel like I loved everyone. Can you develop an allergy to weed? One that comes with bitter rage that strikes at any hour of the day, especially when you least expect it?
Like today.
In front of my boss.
That was fun.
My neighbor’s pot addiction better not get me fired from my job. Speaking of weed, an actual plume of smoke just wafted through the stinking vent over my head. What the heck? This has got to stop before I have a freaking meltdown. Remote in hand, I press pause on The Walking Dead, jump to my feet, and climb on top of the back of my brown chenille couch and peer through the vent. I can seriously see right into their living room.
“Hey!” I shout, pounding on the dusty metal vent. Three sets of heads glance around the room trying to find the source of my voice. “Up here, jackasses.” One of them stands, turns, and meets me at the wall. Swallowing back a little bit of fear when I catch a slight glance at his tatted up face, I say, “You guys are smoking me out over here. Could you please move to another room to get high?”
The guy laughs, turning his head toward his buddies, who also burst into laughter. “Dude, give me the reefer,” scary tattooed guy says. He turns back to me, joint in hand, and brings it to his mouth. Before I have time to back away or process what he’s doing, he blows a long puff of smoke through the vent. It hits me square in the face, making my eyes tear up and my lungs constrict, sending me into a coughing fit.
The guy and his friends’ laughter sends chills down my spine as I recover. My head spins a little, so I sit back on the couch and press play on the remote. I have got to
find a way out of this lease. On the plus side, the zombies on The Walking Dead are starting to look hot. So maybe I’m not allergic to weed after all.
Thank goodness I leave tomorrow. When I return from my trip to attend Reggie’s wedding, I will figure out how to move out of this hole. I can’t stay here much longer.
When I wake up the next morning, my head is foggy from the weed blown in my face. But remembering what day it is, I squeal and kick my legs under the sheet on my bed because in a few hours I’ll see my best friend and I can’t wait. Everything is packed and loaded into my car, and when I lock the front door, I can hardly contain my excitement. At the airport, the lines to pass through security are a joke. I barely have time to board the plane before they close the gate.
The airplane smells like sweat and dirty carpet, not great scents to have to deal with for the next two and a half hours. Though in some respects, it’s better than the weed from next door. I am definitely not going to miss that over the next ten days.
My BFF, Reggie, is getting hitched, and since I’m the maid of honor, I plan on living it up with her during her last days as a single lady. According to her, a group of us will be going dancing tonight, which loosely translates to couples plus Stacey. This should be interesting.
I mean fun. Tonight will be fun.
Staring out at the tarmac, my elbow is suddenly knocked from the armrest, making me toss my phone to the floor. “Shit,” I say, trying to lean forward in the cramped space to find it. Stretching awkwardly between the wall of the plane and the seat in front of me, my fingers finally wrap around my cell. Sitting up quickly, the back of my head smacks into something hard. Rubbing the sore spot with my free hand, I turn to the person trying to kill me.