All My Tomorrows

by Rochelle Alers

  It took over an hour of self-reflection for her to equate loving a man with the loss of her independence and identity, because she had never been able to give herself completely to any man—any except Kennedy. She knew it was the reason she’d never experienced sexual fulfillment with the men in her past. She’d been the one to hold back for fear of losing a part of herself.

  The harder she tried to ignore the truth, the more it nagged at her: she loved Kennedy Fletcher enough to spend the rest of her life with him. He had come to her baring his soul and she’d sat mute, unable to form a response.

  She’d taken the coward’s way out and e-mailed a rejection to Justin, but she didn’t intend to be a coward twice in one day. Swinging her legs over the side of the recliner, she stood up and pushed open the screen door with a force that left it banging against the frame.

  Lydia hadn’t taken more than twenty steps when a tall form loomed over her. “Where are you going?”

  Tilting her chin, she stared boldly up at Kennedy. She could tell he’d showered, because the smell of soap lingered on his body. “I was coming to see you.”

  “Why?”

  “I have to tell you something.”

  “Make it quick, because I’m going for a walk.”

  She swallowed to relieve her suddenly dry throat. “I love you, Kennedy Fletcher.”

  And as casually as she would tell someone the time of day, she turned and made her way back to her cabin. Her retreat was thwarted by the firm grip on her upper arm.

  Kennedy spun her around, pulling her up close to his chest. “Don’t play games with me—”

  “I’m not playing a game,” she said, cutting him off. “I love you even when I don’t want to love you.”

  His hands moved up and cradled her face as gently as one would delicate crystal. “Why don’t you want to love me, baby?”

  Tears flooded her eyes with the endearment. “Because I don’t want to lose my independence.”

  The pads of Kennedy’s thumbs moved over her cheeks in an attempt to wipe away her tears. “Is that really what you believe?” She nodded. Lowering his head, he kissed her parted lips. “Wrong, sweetheart. I fell in love with you because of your beauty, passion, talent, and independence. I have no use for a needy, insecure woman who’ll bore the hell out of me because she feels I’m not giving her enough attention.”

  “I used to be like that,” Lydia admitted softly, smiling through her tears. “Once my brothers were old enough to drive and date, I used to throw tantrums because I was no longer the center of their universe. But once my body began maturing, everything changed. They, along with my father, scared away every boy who had enough nerve to glance my way. That’s why I was so inexperienced with Vince…” She’d caught herself just in time.

  “Vincent Haddon.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You knew who I was referring to?”

  “Yes. The only thing I’ll say about him is that he’s a very talented jackass. Now, back to your brothers. Are any of them my height or weight?”

  She shook her head. “No. How tall are you?”

  “I’m six five and weigh 224.”

  Lydia shook her head again. “Dwayne has gained at least fifteen pounds, but I still don’t think he weighs as much as you do. Why did you ask about my brothers?”

  “I like to know what to expect before I meet them.”

  “Are you talking about mixing it up with my brothers?”

  Kennedy angled his head. “Won’t be none, if they don’t start none.”

  She pulled out of his loose embrace. “Oh no, Kennedy. I’ll not have you brawling with my brothers.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “There won’t be any need for a brawl as long as they’re not penalized for interference.” Reaching for Lydia again, Kennedy pulled her to his chest. “All I want to do is rush for one more touchdown with you as the extra point.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Kennedy knew what he was about to say would change him, Lydia, them—forever. “Will you marry me, Lydia Lord?”

  Her eyes filled again. “I came here to cook, not pick up a husband.” Brushing his lips over hers, Kennedy tenderly kissed the corners of her mouth. “That’s an illegal play,” she gasped as he nibbled her lower lip.

  “There’s no flag on the field,” he countered, breathing heavily.

  Lydia giggled, her arms tightening around his neck. “And there won’t be.”

  Bending at the knees, Kennedy swept her up into his arms, carrying her back to her cabin. He sat on the recliner, bringing her down to straddle his lap. “I’m still waiting for an answer.”

  Smiling, Lydia rested her forehead against his. “I thought I said yes.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Yes, I did,” she argued softly.

  Cupping her hips, he pulled her closer. “Say it, baby.”

  Lydia moved her hips in a rocking motion, eliciting the reaction she sought as Kennedy groaned as if in pain.

  “I said yes, yes, yes, yes!”

  Kennedy buried his face in her hair, breathing a kiss on her scalp. If possible, he would marry Lydia the next day, but knew he couldn’t. It would be another three weeks before camp ended, and he had to go to Alabama to see if he was a donor match for Marvin.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” he whispered over and over. Once his heart resumed its normal rate, he said, “I’d like to marry you before the end of the year.”

  Pulling back, Lydia tried making out his expression in the darkness. “Why the rush?”

  “If I’m not giving you enough time, then we’ll hire a wedding planner to put everything together.”

  “I don’t need a wedding planner, Kennedy. I just thought you’d want a longer engagement.”

  “Four and a half months is long enough.” He winked at her. “If I give you too much time you’ll bolt. Something tells me you might be a flight risk.”

  She slapped playfully at his shoulder. “No, I’m not. Once I commit to something I go all the way.”

  “I don’t ever want you to believe that I’m not totally committed to you,” he said in a tone filled with raw emotion. The love he felt for the woman on his lap radiated from his adoring gaze. “What’s your ring size?”

  “Five. Look, Kennedy, I—”

  He stopped her protest with an explosive kiss that left both of them breathing heavily. “Whenever you say, ‘look, Kennedy,’ I know I’m in for a tongue-lashing, so I suggest you think before you speak, because once we’re married you’ll find yourself on your back so often that you’ll forget how to walk upright.”

  She placed one hand over his mouth and the other over his groin, squeezing gently. “You can’t threaten the referee, darling. Do you know why?” Unable to speak, he shook his head. “Because the penalty will be the happy birthday song.” Eyes widening, Kennedy bolted off the recliner, bringing her up with him.

  When Lydia had taken him into her mouth she had stripped him bare, leaving him vulnerable as a newborn and malleable as soft clay. Each time he lay in her scented embrace he surrendered all he had, all he was to her.

  “I don’t want to make love to you again until we’re married,” he whispered close to her ear.

  Her face clouded with uneasiness. “Why not?”

  “I want you for you.” He placed a hand over her heart. “I want what comes from here to be the most important thing in our marriage, not what is between your legs. Remember, you’re my fiancée, not my groupie.”

  “What would I have to do to be a groupie?”

  “Hang around stadium exits after the games, in hotel lobbies, and of course at the bars and clubs where the players usually get together. Most of the women are looking for husbands, a few want babies just to say they’re someone’s baby mama, while others sleep with the players just because they can. Now, do you think you can wait?”

  Her smile was dazzling. “I waited for you, didn’t I?”

  He chuckled, the sound coming from his
chest. “Yes, you did.” Like quicksilver, Kennedy sobered. “It may be a while before I will be able to meet your family. I have to go to Alabama, and I’m not certain how long I’ll be there.”

  Vertical lines appeared between Lydia’s eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” He was in the best condition that he’d been in for years. The exception was his first year in college when he’d trained for the Olympics, qualifying for the two- and four-hundred-meter runs and the four-hundred-meter relay. He won the bronze medal in the two-hundred-meter and the gold in the relay.

  Reaching up, she trailed her fingertips over the stubble on his jaw. “You’re not hiding anything from me, are you?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to be one of those nagging wives?” As soon as the question left his lips, he realized it was the same thing he’d asked Lydia the morning she’d prepared breakfast at his house. Her comeback had been that she wasn’t going to become some man’s wife for a long, long time. However, within the span of a week she’d changed her mind.

  Flashing a sensual pout, she crooned, “Now, you know you wouldn’t love me any other way.”

  “You’re right about that. Come, let’s get you into bed. I don’t want you to have bags under those golden eyes because I’ve kept you from your beauty sleep.”

  She put her fingers to her lips before pressing them to his. “The proposal for my Lady Day was rejected.”

  Kennedy gave her a level stare. “Don’t worry about it, baby. We’ll talk about it later.” He kissed her tenderly. “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Kennedy stood on Lydia’s porch, waiting for her to turn off the light. Then he returned to his own cabin, this time to sleep. When he’d decided to go for a walk he never knew it would result in a marriage proposal.

  Lydia had asked him if he was all right. He was better than all right. His life was as close to perfect as it could get.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It took Lydia more than twenty-four hours to accept that she would change her marital status before the end of the year.

  She told Kennedy that she wouldn’t tell her family of their engagement until he concluded his business in Alabama. What she didn’t want was a repeat of the humiliation she’d endured after Vincent’s publicized engagement.

  Her whole being seemed to be filled with waiting—waiting for the end of the camp season, waiting for approval of her restaurant proposal, waiting for the day when Kennedy would meet the Lords, and waiting for the moment when she would exchange vows and become Lydia Lord-Fletcher.

  She sensed a change in Kennedy, too. He appeared calmer, less reflective. His interaction with the campers became almost paternal. Many of the boys who had little or no contact with their fathers came to him with their doubts and fears instead of seeking out the on-site social workers. Kennedy asked one of the social workers to talk to nine-year-old Seneca Mustafa Johnson after the boy refused to get out of bed one morning because he didn’t want to return to his group home.

  Mustafa wasn’t the only camper who had begun acting out. Many of the others also feared leaving their summer home and new friends in less than three weeks.

  * * *

  Lydia sat on a stool in the kitchen in a corner where she’d set up her makeshift office, checking her meat inventory on the laptop. She’d decided to hold the second Family Reunion Sunday outdoors, taking advantage of the warmer weather.

  The work on the massive barbecue pit completed, its chimney rising ten feet, it stood ready for the half dozen suckling pigs she’d ordered for the farewell dinner.

  She checked off her meat selections, then went online to send it electronically, noting she had mail. She clicked on the icon. Justin had answered her e-mail.

  Lydia,

  It was cowardly to e-mail me when a telephone call would’ve been more socially correct. And I’m certain your mother brought you up better than that. Speaking of mothers—when I told my mother that I’d asked you to marry me she appeared quite pleased with my choice. She feels because you come from a good family that she would be proud to have you as her daughter-in-law, but since your last e-mail her impression of you has changed drastically. I don’t need you to tell me to move on. I have.

  Justin.

  “Well, thank you very much, Mr. Banks,” she said to the computer monitor.

  “Who are you thanking?” Neil said, leaning over her shoulder.

  “No peeking,” she chided, deleting the message.

  Neil straightened. “Do you want coffee?”

  Lydia gave him a skeptical look. “You’re making coffee this morning?” Neil had never brewed coffee.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “I don’t know. This is the first time you’ve volunteered to do it.”

  Reaching for his skullcap, he covered his head. “There’s a first time for everything.”

  “Speaking of first time, I’m going to use the outdoor barbecue for tonight’s dinner and tomorrow’s family reunion gathering.”

  Neil gave her a bright smile. “Good move. Will the kids eat out tonight, too?”

  “Yes. We’ll set up some of the tables and benches for those who prefer eating outdoors. It’s time we go into wind-down mode.”

  “What do you want for tonight?”

  Lydia met Neil’s gaze, holding it. “Let’s go with a tailgate party theme. Burgers, franks, giant heroes, wraps, stuffed pitas, and salads.”

  Neil nodded. “I’ll take care of today, and you can start on tomorrow’s menu.”

  She saluted him. “Aye-aye, boss.”

  He blushed to the roots of his coal-black hair. “Don’t go there, Lydia.”

  “Why not? You’re a good supervisor, Neil.”

  “I don’t want to supervise anyone. I just want to cook.”

  “Would you work for me?”

  “In a heartbeat,” he said quickly.

  Moving off the stool, Lydia rested her hip against a serving table. “I’m planning to open a downtown restaurant next spring. I’d like you to come work with me.”

  Neil smiled. “Let me know when, and I’ll be there with my toque in one hand and a whisk in the other.”

  Her smile matched his. “Thanks, partner.”

  Winking, Neil said, “No, thank you, partner.”

  * * *

  Kennedy, the counselors, the female campers, and the support staff who had spent three days at the Fortress returned to Camp Six Nations late Saturday afternoon exhausted, but elated because of the expedition’s success. The girls had learned to erect a swamp bed to counter sleeping on the wet ground.

  Their spirits were revived after they sat on the grass rather than at the tables, eating, talking, and singing along with the upbeat music coming from overhead speakers.

  Mustafa trailed behind Kennedy like a lost puppy, talking nonstop. He hadn’t seen Mr. K for three days, and he wanted to tell him all that had happened at camp during his absence.

  Kennedy placed a hand on Mustafa’s head. “Excuse me for a few minutes, buddy. I have to talk to Miss Lydia.”

  “I’ll go with you, Mr. K.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Why? You don’t want me to hear you talk to her?”

  Kennedy turned his head to keep Mustafa from seeing his wide grin. “Miss Lydia and I have to talk about grown-folk things. Now I want you to go finish eating.”

  “Okay, Mr. K. I’ll see you later.”

  “Later, Mustafa.”

  Walking toward Lydia, Kennedy thought about Mustafa. The child lost his mother after she died from injuries in a hit-and-run accident the year he turned six, and because there was no father listed on his birth certificate he became a ward of the state when no relatives came forth to claim the boy.

  There were thousands of Mustafas, children in the foster care system falling between the cracks, who if given the right opportunity would flourish and become the brightest and best of their generation.

  Picking up a plate, he stared
at Lydia’s back as she flipped burgers on the grill. Today she wore a toque instead of her usual bandana.

  “I’d like a burger, please.”

  Turning slowly, Lydia smiled at her fiancé. Her smile faded quickly when she took in his appearance. He hadn’t shaved. He sported a short beard. His face was leaner and much darker from all of his outdoor activity. She peered around him.

  “Where’s your buddy?”

  “Who?”

  “Mustafa.”

  Leaning closer, Kennedy whispered, “I told him that I had to talk to you.”

  “The kid is going to lose it when all of this ends.”

  Kennedy’s brow furrowed. “I know. The social workers are going to have their work cut out for them helping the kids adjust to separating from their counselors and friends.”

  “I’m not talking about the other kids, Kennedy. I’m talking about Mustafa. The other children are going home. He’s going back to a group home.”

  “I know that.”

  “I just want you to be aware of what’s going to happen once he has to separate from you. You’ve coddled and protected him all summer. He sees you as a surrogate father.”

  “He doesn’t have a father.”

  Lydia kept her features deceptively composed. “That’s something you can’t forget.”

  Kennedy frowned. “What are you implying, Lydia?”

  She turned back to the grill, checking several burgers for doneness. Facing him again, she met his angry stare. “Don’t mess with the kid’s head. If you’re going to play daddy, then go all the way with it. If not, then pull back now.”

  His frown vanished, wiped away by an expression of astonishment. “Are you saying you’re willing to…” His words trailed off as he pointed to Lydia, to himself, and then signaled with his thumb over to where Mustafa sat with the other boys in his cabin.

  Lydia nodded, saying brightly, “How would you like it, Mr. Ken?” Several counselors had gathered at the grill.