Hot Georgia Rein

by Martha Sweeney

  My head bobs. “Now,” I agree, surrendering to him.

  If I had said no, Henry would have stopped. He would not have forced himself on me. Yet, I didn’t. I didn’t want to say it. I need him just as bad as he needs me.

  Our bodies rock and sway together like a tree blowing in a hot summer breeze. At some point, I think I hear it starting to rain outside, but I don’t bother to really check. Instead, I focus on the storm between us that has always been there.

  “What did you want to talk about?” Henry asks, walking back to his bed naked and with two cups in hand.

  “Stuff,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. I take one of the glasses when he offers it.

  “Stuff?” he questions softly.

  “Can you cover up?” I request.

  “No,” he chuckles, sitting down next to me.

  I tighten the sheet around my breasts, needing a little bit of coverage before we start diving into certain topics. “Why not?” I whine.

  “‘Cause, it’s hot,” he replies, taking a sip of his drink.

  “It’s distracting,” I announce.

  “Good,” he chuckles.

  “Henry,” I sigh.

  “I’m not covering up,” he informs. “You want to talk…talk.”

  “Why do men need to make things so complicated,” I huff, wiping my hand over my face.

  “Men don’t make shit complicated, women do,” Henry retorts.

  I glare at him. “Men are just as bad as women.”

  “Nope,” he challenges.

  “The fact that you’re debating this point with me is a clear example of it,” I state.

  “This is what you wanted to talk about?” he asks, changing the subject.

  “No,” I sigh. I look at him, all of him. “Please, put some shorts on or something.”

  “Not happening, Firefly,” he contends. “Like I said. I’m hot.”

  “You’re not that hot,” I snicker.

  “This coming from the woman I’ve fucked three times in less than forty-eight hours,” Henry challenges.

  My mouth opens, but words fail me for a few seconds. “If you’re so hot, then go take a shower and then put on some pants.”

  “First you want to talk,” Henry laughs. “Now, you want me to shower. Which is it, woman?”

  I go to answer, but he cuts me off.

  “I caution you,” he warns.

  “Why?” I gulp.

  “If you want to talk, this is how we’ll talk,” he says, gesturing to his naked body. “I ain’t putting on clothes. If you want me to put on clothes, that means we’re showering.”

  “We?” I scoff.

  “Yes, we,” he confirms.

  “Ain’t no way I’m showering alone when I’ve got a hot ass chic in my place,” He replies.

  “If we go in the shower, you’ll want another round,” I whine. “And, then we end up not talking again.”

  “If we go in the shower, you’ll want another round,” he accuses.

  “Bullshit,” I laugh, knowing that I’m fibbing.

  “How about this?” Henry offers. “We thumb wrestle for it.”

  “What exactly are we thumb wrestling for?” I check.

  “You win, we shower and I put on bottoms,” he states. “I win, we get in the shower and have sex.”

  “I’m sensing that my win includes sex, but you’re conveniently leaving that part out,” I assume.

  “I’m happy to put it in anywhere,” he teases, confirming his intent.

  My head flies back, hitting the wall in frustration. “Henry,” I whine, pinching the ridge between my eyes. I feel him take the cup from my hand. “What are you doing?” By the time I open my eyes, I realize that he’s scooped me up and is heading toward the shower. “Henry Lee Rein, put me down!”

  “You women are always too indecisive,” Henry states. “So, I’m deciding.”

  “Put me down,” I command.

  About five seconds later, he lowers me and then immediately yanks the sheet from my body. Henry turns on the shower and snatches my wrist, tugging me closer.

  “No,” I protest.

  “Yes,” he commands, claiming my mouth.

  14 Henry

  I know I should feel a little guilty for not letting Ivy talk last night, but I needed her the second I heard her call out my name. I had been hoping she would follow me out of the house, or come over sooner, but I was more than happy that she came at all. When I saw her standing by the barn door, I knew that she heard me—heard my confession.

  “Ivy,” I groan, rolling over on the cot. I peek up when I don’t hear or feel her. “Ivy,” I call out, louder this time. “Fuck.”

  It takes me a moment to sit up and get the fuzziness to dissipate. I grab the closest cup and go to drink it, but it’s empty. I search for the other one, the one that Ivy had, hoping there’s still some left. I have to stand to reach it, so I let the blankets fall to the floor.

  “I need a dog,” I say to no one. “I need to know when people are fucking coming and going.”

  I look around the barn, noticing how empty if feels with Ivy gone.

  “I need more than just a fucking dog,” I laugh to myself.

  A thought to call Ivy pops into my head, but then I realize that I don’t have her number. I still have her old number though. I never could delete it. She disconnected it when she decided to officially stay in New York her junior year of college. For a while, I would just call, hoping that it would ring and she’d pick up. In time, someone else answered. At first, I got mad, thinking it was someone she had replaced me with, but then the guy confirmed that he didn’t know an Ivy after about two months of me calling and finally asking.

  I think her Mom gave me her new number, but I’m not sure where I put it. I felt like I was invading in her life if I called. There were a few nights that I was thankful I couldn’t find it. Nights that I had too much to drink, not that I drank often, or nights when Julianna pissed me off. I guess God was letting me know to leave her be. If I had bothered her, she might not be here now.

  I jump in the shower despite the fact that I don’t really want to wash off Ivy’s scent. Aware that it’s Sunday, I know I need to look and smell presentable with the way the town is and how they’ll talk if you don’t look your Sunday best. I’ve never really been religious, but I’ve done my share of praying over the years, even for Julianna.

  Every holiday and each of Ivy’s vacations from college, she came home to Blackburn. We’d fall back into our usual routine: hanging out, talking, and having sex. She’d keep talking about us needing to grow beyond what we had, that I need to find my potential in life. I argued that she was my potential, that our love was our potential, but Ivy always wanted more. She wanted to travel. Leaving Georgia freaked me the hell out and I never understood why. Ivy felt stifled in Georgia while I felt at home.

  Ivy’s freshman year in college was the beginning of the end for me. When Ivy told me that she wanted both of us to have the freedom to date and experiment with other people, I immediately thought she had cheated on me. It took a good two hours for her to calm me down and realize that she hadn’t. I understood what she was trying to say, trying to do, but it never felt right to me.

  Ivy and I weren’t dating, she made that clear every time I did see her. She told me she wanted me to live my life while she lived her’s up in that big city. Ivy said that it wasn’t fair to either of us to do a long distance relationship after we tried it during her first semester. I disagreed and kept believing that we were together.

  At first, I clung to her more. I’d call her every day and acted like a jealous boyfriend for a few months. I stopped the day after I went out to one of the bonfire parties Davis would rally up when Halloween came. I was still underage, hell most of us were underage, but there was always booze. I never needed it, not until I needed it to drink my sorrows away after Ivy broke things off between us.

  That night, I was drunk enough to remember, rather than drunk enough to forget wha
t happened. Davis had invited a number of friends from college and I ended up sleeping with one of them. I called Ivy the next morning, apologizing profusely until her voicemail cut me off.

  When she came back at the end of her semester, I was racked with guilt even though she told me everything was fine between us. There were a few times, just before she had to go back in January, when we were had enough time to be alone. I tried to convince her with my body that I needed her, only her, but she treated it more like we were just fuck buddies.

  Over the years, I never dated really. I slept with a few women on and off. At some point, Julianna started hanging around more. We had sex a few times, she was one of the few chicks, but she pursued me. Even though I clung to the idea that Ivy would realize how much she missed me, how no guy could please her better than me, that I was her home, I let Julianna in enough to the point that I married her.

  I never loved Julianna, she knew that, but Julianna thought that the fact that she loved me would be enough for the two of us. We were friends, but we were never as close as Ivy and me. No woman could compare to my Ivy. Julianna tried though. She did anything and everything to make me happy, even sacrificing her own happiness for a short while.

  When Ivy graduated from college, I thought she was going to finally stay in Georgia. She came back when she couldn’t stay in the dorms. Ivy hadn’t gotten a call from any of the jobs she applied to and I was praying that it wouldn’t happen. We were quickly back into our usual routine only two days after she graduated. I paid no attention to Julianna because my life was Ivy. Every day, I’d go to her house, needing to be with her. She’d spend hours on her computer, looking for jobs and submitting her resume. Most nights, I was able to get her leave and be with me. We’d sneak off somewhere, usually our treehouse, our secret place in the forest.

  I remember one night when she tried to talk to me which darn near broke my heart.

  “Henry,” Ivy said, getting dressed not long after we just made love.

  “Yeah, Firefly?” I asked.

  “I’m not staying in Georgia,” she admitted. “I don’t belong here.”

  “You belong with me,” I challenged playfully.

  “I’ll always love you, but…” she paused.

  “Don’t,” I commanded.

  “We can’t keep doing this,” she said, looking down. “It’s not fair to either of us…or Julianna.”

  “I don’t love Julianna,” I informed.

  “You could,” Ivy pushed.

  “Never,” I rebutted.

  “I just need you to know that I love you, but I need more,” she shared.

  “I don’t,” I stated.

  “That’s the problem,” she claimed.

  “There is no problem,” I countered.

  “I want more out of life, Henry. You don’t,” she accused. “That’s the problem.”

  “I don’t see how that’s a problem,” I returned. “I’m happy.”

  “I want to travel…you don’t,” she replied.

  “So?” I asked.

  “So, how can I be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t want to travel?” Ivy pried. “It’s not fun doing it alone.”

  I didn’t know how to respond.

  “I’ll always love you. We’ll always be friends, but I need more. I deserve it too,” she announced.

  I turned away from her, not wanting Ivy to see my cry. “I’ll always be here when you change your mind.”

  “And, I’ll always be out there when you change yours,” Ivy stated.

  She left the treehouse and we didn’t see each other for a long while after that. Ivy got several job interviews for the following week in New York and she was suddenly gone from my life again.

  Over the next few years, she came back less and less. When she did, Ivy spent most of her time with her family while she stayed for only a few days. We’d still see each other, but I had to push to get time with her. I pretended like we never had that conversation and she never reminded me. We’d hang out, fall back into our habits of being together, sleeping together, even when I was still dating Julianna. Despite Ivy’s words, we’d still fall right back into our routine each time she came to Blackburn.

  Two winters later, when Ivy was home for Christmas and New Year’s, was the last time I saw her until the wake. It didn’t end well. It was worse than I had imagined it could be.

  “We can’t do this ever again…ever,” Ivy claimed, emphasizing her last word.

  “Why?” I groaned, pulling up my pants.

  “Because,” she says, pausing a second to get her shirt over her head. “Because, you’re engaged.”

  “So?” I argued.

  “Engaged!” Ivy repeated. “To someone who isn’t me.”

  “So?” I repeated.

  Ivy let out a loud huff. “Henry, I know that this,” she says, gesturing back and forth between us and the bed. “Is…was our thing, but it can’t…it won’t be anymore.”

  “Why not?” I whined.

  “Because, you’re marrying Julianna in about six months,” she reminded.

  “Then, stay. I’ll break things off with her, we’ll get married, and we can keep doing this for the rest of our lives,” I offered.

  “No,” she challenged with a huff.

  “Why not?” I pushed.

  “You know why,” she bit back.

  I lifted a brow in opposition.

  “Henry Lee Rein, I’m not going over this with you again,” she sighed.

  “We do have the habit of doing it over and over again,” I teased playfully.

  “Not anymore,” Ivy commanded. “I will not be someone’s mistress. I will not be the reason to break up a marriage.”

  “We aren’t married yet,” I reminded.

  “You will be,” she stated.

  “If you stay, I won’t be…at least not to her,” I pressed.

  “No!” she shouted.

  I frowned, realizing that this just might officially be the end of Ivy and me. She was breaking it off, ending things all because I was afraid to leave Georgia. She was ending it because I wouldn’t even come visit her, though I couldn’t leave and didn’t know why, but because to her, I didn’t have any dreams outside of us and Georgia.

  “No!” I rebutted.

  “What?” Ivy replied, shocked by my tone.

  “I said no,” I replied more sternly. “I’m not okay with that.”

  “Why?” she asked. “We’re two different people now.”

  “We’re not different,” I challenged, trying to keep myself calm. “People change, yes, but we’re still the same people. I love you and you love me.”

  “No,” Ivy returned, shaking her head. “You haven’t changed…that’s the whole point, Henry.”

  “What?” I asked, confused by her words.

  “You haven’t changed…that’s why this won’t work between us anymore,” she claimed.

  “No,” I said more softly, not wanting to acknowledge defeat.

  I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t face the truth.

  “I’ll always love you,” Ivy claimed. “We’ll always be friends.”

  “What if I want to be more than friends?” I posed.

  “Henry,” Ivy sighed. “Our paths are moving apart. They have been for a while. We want different things.”

  “I’ll never love anyone the way I love you,” I confessed.

  Ivy left the treehouse without another word. I thought about chasing after her, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let her or anyone else see me cry. I couldn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t do anything.

  It took a long while for Ivy’s words to hit me, for me to understand what she meant that I hadn’t changed, that I didn’t have goals. My twenty-fourth birthday came and went which was another marker, confirming that Ivy was serious that things were over. She didn’t come back, call, or even send a card. My denial ended a few months later when Julianna and I married and Ivy never returned to Blackburn.

  Julianna tried to do her best
to be happy for the two of us. We had a honeymoon, but I insisted on staying in Georgia because of work. We bounced around the state for two weeks and moved into the house we’ve lived in since. Julianna’s parents gave it to us as a wedding present. She had it decorated completely in just a week.

  I kept myself busy as soon as we got back. I had resumed work with the construction company that came into town to start building a slew of buildings and cabins for a resort that will open in a few years. Ultimately, I worked every chance I got to avoid everything that was my life.

  It wasn’t until Julianna demanded that I sit down with her the night she told me that she was sick that things changed for me again. We actually talked for at least four hours straight.

  Our friendship returned that night and we started over as two people, two friends, helping each other to heal. I stopped sleeping in the barn and returned to the house to support her as best as I could. I slept in the first guest room to be there if she needed me. We spent many nights watching movies and laughing as much as we could. Julianna and I talked about our dreams and desires and how we’d pursue them more. She encouraged me to do my best with my ability to build so I did and still am.

  The night Julianna died she told me that she had forgiven me for everything, but more importantly, she had forgiven herself. She said she knew before we married that I could never really love her and blamed only herself for what had happened between us. I took responsibility for my actions, knowing that I could have been a better husband. She made me swear to do things differently for myself and to not have regrets like she did. I tried to convince her that she still had time to correct those regrets, but she and I both knew that wasn’t true.

  15 Ivy

  “So…did you get to talk to him?” Momma asks when I enter the kitchen.

  I yawn and check my phone before answering since a few texts just popped up. “Not really.”

  “Looks like you slept here?” she pries.

  “Yep,” I confirm. When I look up from my phone, Momma gives me a questioning glance. “He didn’t sleep here.”

  “It would have been okay if he did,” Momma claims.

  “Yeah, right,” I scoff. “I think Grady would be the one who would be more freaked out than Papa if they found out he spent the night…even in a completely different room.”