A Heart of Time

by Shari J. Ryan

  After unrolling it over my throbbing hardness, she wraps her fingers around me and guides me into her. My thoughts go blurry; becoming lost within the sensations my body is gratefully experiencing. I close my eyes and thrust into her, finding that she likes it hard and rough according to her shouting words. I pin her arms above her head as I ride her like I realize I’ve wanted to for quite a while. Her legs tighten around me—everything tightens around me as she screams louder than I’ve ever imagined a chick yelling. Her tremors tell me she’s finished, but I think she knows I’m not there yet.

  She grips hers hands around my biceps and pulls me down to the bed where she climbs on top of me, giving me the most unbelievable view of her large bouncing tits. I squeeze my hands around her hips, enjoying the way her ass grazes tersely against my palms. With another wave of moans finding her lips, I’m guessing she’s about to finish again. This time, I’m with her. The pressure and heat builds within me and as if she knew the exact second to grind down on top of me with all of her weight, I release into her. It’s like all of my stress has melted away and liquefied into the bed beneath me. I don’t think I can move now. I don’t think I want to.

  She flops down on top of me, bringing her lips to my neck, leaving them there as a placeholder for whatever else is supposed to happen this second. “You’re amazing,” she whispers against my skin. “I have never had anything remotely close to what you just gave me.”

  Her words are a turn on and a compliment. I wasn’t sure what I’d measure up to, especially after being nearly dead below the waist for so long, but I’ll take this as a nice pat on the back. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I mutter. “Actually, you’re fucking incredible.” A grin stretches across my lips as I fold my hands behind my head. I really do feel like a million bucks right now.

  “No, I don’t think you get it,” she says. “No one has ever been able to make me...you know. Never mind once, but twice?” Her words and soft laughter are like a dessert wine—the perfect ending to an amazing meal.

  Married for however long and no man has ever made her finish? I don’t know whether to be surprised or really proud of my efforts. I’ll just assume I’m incredible—easier that way. “Wow, careful not to stroke my ego too much there,” I tell her.

  “I won’t stroke your ego, but—“ her words trail off as she climbs down the length of my body, taking my still very stiff cock into her mouth.

  I’m never moving again. This is it. I’m done for...whatever.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  FEBRUARY

  -Two Months Later-

  Vacuuming up the last of the left over carpet shreds, my focus is drawn to AJ leaning up against the far wall, staring down at his phone. An unsettled look is playing across his face and I can’t figure out what has gotten into him. “How did last night go? Did you finally tell Alexa?” I ask him.

  “It’s not important,” he mumbles, typing something into his phone. His jaw is grinding back and forth and he’s spurting out short breaths, something he tends to do when he’s either upset or pissed off.

  “Dude, something is obviously going on.”

  “Shit, Hunter, can you give me a fucking minute?” I walk over to him, ignoring his request because God knows he’d do the same to me. He’s done the same to me. Whenever I need space, he smothers me and crowds me into a corner until I break. I guess that’s how we show brotherly love. “Don’t do this right now,” he snaps, as he chucks his phone across the room. I watch as the thing bounces off of the opposite wall.

  “This isn’t our house,” I remind him. “Talk to me. Just take a breath. Something.”

  “Yeah, I did it last night,” he grits out. “I told her I wanted a fucking divorce.” It only took him two months to finally say it to her.

  “That’s good, right?” I ask. “Isn’t that what you wanted to do?”

  “Yeah,” he shouts. “That is what I wanted to do.” I’m not sure I’m following right now. What is there to be so pissed off about if this is what he wanted? “Shit. Shit. Shit!” Running across the room, he grabs his phone from the ground—lifting it, inspecting it. I can’t tell if it shattered or not but I’m assuming it didn’t since he’s hitting more buttons.

  He lifts the phone to his ear as he runs his fingers through the thick of his hair. His focus meets mine for a brief second but now he’s storming off toward the other end of the house. I follow him, though. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asks, his voice is low and soft. He doesn’t want me to hear, which is all the more reason for me to listen. “How do you know?” There’s silence on his end of the call while I assume he’s listening to whoever is on the other end. “Those things aren’t always accurate.” Another pause follows, likely filled with words I wish I could hear. “Hello? Jesus. Hello?”

  AJ turns around, finding me less than a few feet away. Anger is staining the whites of his eyes red. “She’s fucking knocked up,” he says through gritted teeth.

  Oh shit. The words, “Is it yours?” are probably not the best-chosen words at this precise second but it’s exactly what comes out of my mouth. Of course it’s his. Well, maybe it’s his.

  “Are you asking me if she’s been fucking other guys? Because I wouldn’t put it past her! What the hell am I supposed to do? Do you think it’s mine? Am I supposed to fix things with her now? Is it even possible to fix things with her? I feel like we were broken from the start. Fuck! What the hell am I going to do, Hunt?” Sweat is beading up on his forehead. He’s completely freaking out right now. I’m not sure AJ ever had intentions of becoming a dad. He said something to me once after Ellie died. He was shitfaced, of course, but it was something along the lines of he’s never going to risk ending up a single dad because he couldn’t do what I do. It was a compliment, sort of, but I can understand why my life might scare the crap out of him. It scares the crap out of me.

  “Let’s chill for a second,” I tell him. “Sit down.” He doesn’t sit down. Instead, he continues pacing and ripping hairs from his head. “AJ.” I try to keep my voice even in hopes of calming him down, even if it’s just a little.

  “I can’t do what you do, Hunt. I can’t do it. I can’t stay with Alexa and I’m not going to stay in a horrible marriage for God knows how long just because we have a kid together.” His anger is simmering a little, but I can tell by the look in his eyes that question after question is festering in his head.

  “You need to find out if it’s yours,” I tell him again. “We can figure things out from there.”

  “How the hell do I find out if it’s mine?” How does he not know crap like this at twenty-eight?

  “A paternity test. They can do it before the baby is born.” I grab the vacuum so I can finish up the job here. “You just have to convince her to go do it.” I adjust the vacuum and lean down to hit the button, but I pause as another thought comes to mind. “When’s the last time you two—“

  “She hasn’t touched me in weeks. She won’t go near me. I’m lucky if she sucks my dick once a month.” Awesome, I totally needed to know that. Whatever the case, I think he might have lucked out with this one.

  “Go find her and get a paternity test. I’ll finish up here.” AJ doesn’t give it a second thought. He grabs his coat from the closet doorknob and jets out the door. It’s only a matter of seconds before I hear his truck grumbling against the below zero temps outside. I hope for his sake that the kid isn’t his.

  I finish up earlier than I thought and head home for a quick minute before it’s time to grab Olive from the bus. As I’m pulling into the driveway, I notice the flap on my mailbox is open a crack. The mail doesn’t usually come until a little later but maybe I didn’t close it all the way yesterday. Or maybe there’s something in there. Hopping out of the truck, I jog to the end of the driveway and shove my hand into the box, retrieving an envelope. By feeling the texture of the paper, I already know it’s from her. She comes by here to put this in my mailbox and not once have I seen her drive by. For someone who
wants to remain anonymous, it’s odd that she does this, rather than mailing it. If she knows where I live, it isn’t like she can’t find my address. How does she know where I live? We just moved here a few months ago.

  At first, I consider ripping the thing open right here but on second thought, Charlotte could very well be eyeing me from her window and I’d rather not having another conversation about this anonymous woman.

  The moment I step inside, a little out of breath from excitement and jogging up the driveway, I tear the side of the envelope off and pull the note out.

  Dear Hunter,

  I can’t do this any longer. Her heart aches for you every time I send you a letter. Guilt fills my soul and covers me like a heavy blanket I can’t seem to find my way out of. I know I’m not responsible for taking her life but I feel like I’m keeping her alive for you and at the same time holding this heart hostage for the sake of yours.

  I’ve debated over the last couple of weeks whether or not this is the right decision, but I think it is.

  I asked the doctors to keep my information anonymous because I didn’t think I would have it in me to face the family who so unfortunately lost this very heart I protect so dearly. With realization of the unfairness in this situation, given you have not been offered the choice to remain anonymous, I feel I should unveil my identity to offer you proper closure. These letters aren’t fair to either one of us, and I have been selfish in pretending they are.

  I’d like to request that you meet me at the Borderline Grill for dinner tonight at seven. I realize it is short notice and I know you have to find care for Olive, but if I don’t do this now, I may never find the courage to do it again.

  I understand if this is too much to ask or if you don’t wish to meet with me. In any case, I appreciate your consideration.

  Best,

  Her Heart

  My hands are shaking as I reread the latter part of the letter over and over again. I’m not sure I follow her thought process or what she’s feeling. Does she want to meet so she can move on? These letters have been a connection I have needed over the past five years and the thought of not receiving any more makes my stomach hurt. Have I been misleading myself, giving in to a fictional relationship? I have considered the possibility of this being a side effect of completely losing my mind, but I avoid those thoughts, too.

  I can’t ask Charlotte to watch Olive tonight. I’d have to explain why and I don’t want to do the whole lying bit with how well things have been going between us. Even if I tried to explain this to her, she would tell me she understands, but I know better. I’ve been around women long enough to know this will never make any sense to her. In any other situation, I would never do something as sleazy as hide a secret meeting with a woman, but she is the keeper of Ellie’s heart, and that makes her a more than an ordinary woman, and it makes this a less than ordinary situation.

  I slip my phone out of my back pocket and thumb in a message.

  Me: Could you watch Olive for a couple of hours tonight?

  Mom: Of course. Is everything okay?

  Without allowing those three little thinking dots to appear for more than a couple of seconds, I respond:

  Me: Yes, I have a client meeting tonight. It was a last minute proposal.

  Mom: That’s wonderful, honey. What time would you like me there? I can make her dinner if you’d like.

  Me: That would be great. Six?

  Mom: I’ll see you then, sweetie.

  Lying to her doesn’t seem as bad as lying to Charlotte, I guess.

  Almost losing track of time completely, I hear the door slam across the street and I see Charlotte making her way down the driveway toward the bus stop. Stepping outside, I catch her attention, as she looks surprised to see me. “I thought you would still be at the site,” she says, shivering against the cold.

  “We finished early and I ran home for a few.” It only takes a few seconds to realize how cold it actually is out. “Should we take a car down there?”

  “It’s okay, I could use a walk,” she says, her words muffled against her gloved fists.

  “Everything okay?” Meaning, what’s wrong? Something’s wrong. There’s no smile on her face. There was no hello kiss. Going through the motions of falling back into another relationship, I’ve come to learn her mannerisms pretty well over the last few weeks. One of the things I like about her is that she won’t tell me “nothing” if something is wrong. She’ll tell me exactly what’s wrong, but not until I ask.

  “I saw a woman drop something into your mailbox today. She wasn’t a mail carrier. Is it her? The woman who has Ellie’s heart?”

  “What?” I know what. I’m using the word as a placeholder until I figure out what to say. “Do you know who she was?” I’ve never wanted and not wanted the answer so badly before.

  “Do you know who she is?” Charlotte retorts, firing my own question right back at me. If I knew who she was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

  “No,” I tell her.

  “Well, did you check your mailbox?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I refrain from lying, following my earlier intentions.

  “So you do know who it is,” she kindly informs me.

  “The letter was anonymous.”

  “It was her,” she whispers, a cold fog billowing from her mouth.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “I’m here!” Mom yells from the front door. “Where is my little Olive Oil?”

  Olive is watching TV in the family room and I’ve been staring into my mirror for the last twenty minutes. I’m not sure what I’m looking at but maybe I’ve been hoping some kind of sense finds my reflection. No such luck, though. Charlotte isn’t happy. She’s probably pretty rip shit, actually. I can’t say I wouldn’t be if I were in her shoes, and normally, I would care. I do care, especially after how much I have fallen for Charlotte. But this other relationship—or whatever it is—I’ve had with this woman who has Ellie’s heart has been alive for almost five years. I can’t just forego the one opportunity I’ve wanted more than anything since I received the first letter from her. I owe this to my curiosity, my pain, and heartache...and to Ellie.

  What I don’t understand is what suddenly made this woman want to change her anonymity. In any case, I will hopefully find out tonight. So many times, I have lain awake at night imagining what she might look like. A faceless woman is the only thing that has come to mind, though—a faceless woman with a heart made of gold, a heart that can outlive the most amazing woman who has ever existed in this world.

  “Hunter, sweetie,” Mom calls, her voice growing louder the closer she comes. As she turns the corner, stepping into my bedroom, a questioning look lines her face. “Must be a pretty big client?”

  “Yeah, it’s a huge opportunity—one I’ve been waiting for.” It isn’t a lie, just the client part. “Thank you for coming to watch Olive,” I offer.

  “Why didn’t you ask Charlotte to watch Olive tonight like you normally have been lately?” Mom asks.

  “I don’t want to take advantage of her willingness to help me so often,” I respond honestly.

  “I see.” There’s the look, wondering if things are fizzling between me and her dream of a new daughter-in-law. “Anyway...” Mom brushes the hair away from her forehead and releases a soft sigh. “Have you spoken to your brother today?”

  Ah shit. I’m going on the probable notion that AJ did not inform Mom of his newfound situation. Problem is, she knows we worked together today. “Yeah, we worked this morning.”

  “Do you know where he went after work?” Not that she’s ever great at giving us our space, but she’s definitely fishing for information right now. She must know something.

  “Nope, I’ve been a little preoccupied.” Truth.

  “Hmm.” She sweeps her fingers across the top of my bureau, creating a cloud of dust in the air. “You really need a housekeeper,” she says, wiping her finger off on her pants.

  “Noted,” I sigh. “Okay,
I won’t be home too late.” I don’t think. Finally breaking my stare from the mirror, I inhale sharply and swallow against the dryness in my mouth.

  “You put cologne on for a client?”

  My God.

  “Goodbye, Mom.” I grip her shoulders and place a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, again.”

  After saying goodbye to Olive and shooing off her four million questions, I have slipped out the door and into my car, unnoticeably I hope. Whether or not Charlotte is, in fact, watching me out of her window right now, I don’t know, but I feel as though I’m hurting her by doing this, even though I failed to mention this meet-up. I hate that it has to be this way, and I shouldn’t have to convince myself that what I’m doing is right or wrong because it’s something I know I have to do.

  The closer I come to Borderline Grill, the heavier my chest feels and the more painful my gut becomes. How will I even know how to find her? She left me no description or even a name. So now I’m going to have to approach every female in the restaurant and ask if she writes a stranger notes, or “Hey, I’m sorry, this might sound weird, but, do you have my wife’s heart in your chest?” What the hell am I doing? Maybe I’ll have this unsaid connection to her and I’ll just know by looking at her that it’s her. Except, that thought is ridiculous.

  My racing mind blurred out the last five minutes of this trip and I’m pulling into the half-full parking lot. I glance down the row of cars looking for any type of car that might stand out to me but I’m not sure what would stand out and make a statement. A car is a car.