Love Resurrected (Love in San Soloman Book 5)

by Denise Wells

  Brad murmurs in my ear, “It’s okay. They’re both okay.” His good hand runs from the top of my head to the middle of my back, petting me, again and again. The rhythmic motion is calming, which I appreciate. The front of his shirt is wet from the liquids coming out of all orifices of my face—nose, mouth, and eyes. I feel bad when I pull away and see it, and try to rub it dry with my hand, ineffectually.

  He holds my bicep with one hand and rests the casted hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

  I nod and sniffle.

  “Coffee?”

  I nod and sniffle again. He smiles slightly and motions for me to walk toward the elevators so we can head down to the hospital’s twenty-four-hour coffee shop.

  I want to cry again when I see that all they have open are vending machines with black coffee, and then packets of dry creamer. There’s nothing about dry creamer that makes coffee taste good, and it always leaves some kind of greasy film over the coffee. Plus, it doesn’t cool it off. I don’t know how people can drink black coffee straight out of the machine; it’s practically boiling. They are just asking for serious mouth burns.

  I shudder, just thinking about it.

  “Uh-oh,” Brad says. I look at him, eyebrows raised.

  “I don’t see breve latte as an option in the vending machine.”

  “Ha. Ha,” I say drily.

  I opt for a vanilla cappuccino and hope for the best. We find a small table and sit down, but it’s comfortable and awkward. At least for me. The silence is comfortable, but that it’s so silent is awkward. Emotions have run so high today, and of such an intimate nature, I’m not sure how to bridge the gap I’m feeling from almost everyone right now.

  When I saw the look in Sadie’s eyes as they brought her the baby, and then as she looked at Ethan, it hit me she and I will never be the same. As friends. Her priorities are forever changed, and it’s natural that should happen. God forbid a mother should birth a child and not feel that way. But from here on out, it will be baby Audrey, then Ethan, then herself, and then me.

  If I’m to be honest, that’s part of what I cried about when we left the room. I will never get back the Sadie that I once had. In some respects, it’s like she’s died. Though, I’m sure someone like Brad would disagree with me and insist having the person still alive in any shape or form is better than having them dead. But I would argue back that, for me, a part of Sadie died today.

  Just like a part of her died the day she met Ethan, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I have no way to combat that and wanting to do so just makes me a shitty person. Why wouldn’t I want my friend to move on and be happy? To meet the man of her dreams and have his babies? Part of me definitely wants that for her, but some other super small part of me wanted things to stay the same. Where it was me and Sadie against the world.

  Like how it began, when she first befriended me and quickly became the most important thing in my world. That hasn’t changed, no for me. But it’s changed irrevocably for her. I can’t let that bother me. Or maybe I can, but only when I’m alone.

  “Let what bother you?” Brad asks.

  “What what?” I ask.

  “You said something about it only bothering you when you’re alone.”

  “I did?” Shit. I hate when I talk my thoughts aloud.

  He nods and sips at his coffee. He looks so in his element, even here like this. It’s amazing to me.

  “Tell me,” he says.

  “No judgment,” I preface.

  “No judgment.”

  “Part of why I was crying earlier . . .” I pause and he nods for me to continue. “Sadie’s entire life has changed. All of a sudden, she has these new commitments and priorities, and she should. Her child and husband should always come first. But given that, I’m barely in the top five now, whereas she’s still the most important person in my life. Nothing has changed for me and everything has for her. It makes me feel a little at a loss, you know?”

  He stares at the inky liquid in his paper cup, as though it will give him some answer to then give to me.

  “I’ve been so caught up in my own shit, I didn’t even realize the same is true for E. I don’t think guys really prioritize their friends in the same way that women do. Or maybe that was just me.” He pauses and smiles. I wait silently, hoping he’ll keep talking.

  “But Ethan’s entire life has just changed. Gone are guy nights and poker games, and happy hours. I didn’t think about that before now. Mostly because I’m self-absorbed and was only thinking of myself until a short while ago, but also because this is somewhat recent for him. And I want this for him, I do. But I get what you’re saying about now being left out. Ethan will put his family and work before me, every time, and I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want it any other way, but I didn’t think about how that would impact me until now.”

  He looks sad suddenly. I feel bad for bringing that out for him.

  “I’m sorry if I brought up something negative for you.” I reach across the table and try to take his good hand in mine. He lets me for the briefest of moments before squeezing mine gently and pulling his back into his lap. I try to be okay with that, but, in all honesty, it feels like yet another person who is separating themselves from me. I hate that.

  “You want to get out of here? Come back fresh tomorrow?” he asks.

  “I would love that.”

  We make our way back upstairs and peek into Sadie’s room. She’s asleep, but Ethan is awake, sitting in the chair beside the bed, resting his head next to hers on her pillow. The baby is not in the room.

  “They had to take Audrey back to the NICU,” Ethan whispers. “They gave Sadie something to help her sleep.”

  I nod and head over to kiss Sadie on the forehead, then lean across and squeeze Ethan’s arm. He nods back at me, waves a hand at Brad, then immediately turns his attention back to Sadie. Brad and I slip out quietly.

  He has a harder time helping me into his truck with only one working hand, but I manage into the cab just fine. I turn to thank him anyway, but he’s closer than I thought, and I’m surprised to find we are eye to eye, with our faces only inches apart.

  I lose myself in his eyes; they are so beautiful and happy and sad, all at the same time. He looks from my eyes to my lips and back again. I want to kiss him. I think he wants me to kiss him. We end up meeting halfway. The kiss is soft and fleeting at first, where we barely touch. He pulls away an inch and runs his nose against mine, then dives back in.

  This kiss is hard and hungry, like he decided to actually kiss me, so he is. His good hand slips behind my head and holds it in place while his casted hand wraps around behind my back and pulls me toward him. I slide on the leather seat, widening my legs so he can step between them.

  He pushes his hard length against me. My panties flood, and I can smell my arousal in the small space. He pushes me prone on the seat and I scoot back until my head is hitting the driver’s side door. He climbs in after me and moves to shut the door, then attempts to unbuckle his belt with one hand.

  “Here, let me,” I say as I reach for him, getting his belt and pants undone in seconds. Luckily, my romper has big, almost skirt-like, shorts on the bottom, so I pull the legs up and tug my panties to the side, then help Brad guide himself inside me.

  “Oh, god, Tenley,” he moans, sinking all the way in.

  I lift my legs and wrap them around his back to give him better access. He leans down and takes my nipple in his mouth and tries to push himself up with his elbows. His right elbow slides off the bench seat and he falls, with little grace, on top of me.

  “Oomph.” I grunt.

  Attempt number two ends with the same results.

  “Sorry.” He pushes himself up with his good hand and sits in the passenger seat. “Get on top.”

  I scramble over and sink onto him. Its perfection. My nipples are practically at face level, and I have the use of both my hands to work myself up and down using the seat back to assist.

  Brad moans, loud as
he bottoms out in me. My god, I love the feel of this man. I begin to move, and he thrusts up each time I come down. The force of the connection hits me in exactly the right place.

  “Ohmigod, don’t stop.”

  He bites at my breast through my top, trying to pull it into his mouth.

  “Brad,” I breathe, kissing my way up his neck. He groans in response and works his good hand between us to play with my clit. It hits me like a freight train, bowling me over with such impact, I lose my breath. Lights explode behind my eyes; the tension right before the ultimate release.

  “Oh, god, I’m—” My orgasm takes over and I’m lost in a void of pure pleasure. With one last thrust, he follows closely behind. It’s quick and intense. I rest my forehead on his shoulder to catch my breath, and his chest lifts and falls with slow breaths.

  “That was incredible,” I tell him. He nods, his head still beside mine. I’m almost afraid to look him in the eyes. I don’t know what to say or do. I’ve never felt this way before, about sex or otherwise. This moment, right now, I feel more connected to this man than I’ve ever felt with anyone before. Like we belong. Like a missing puzzle piece that’s finally found. Whatever the it is that everyone talks about, I know without a doubt that this is it.

  His body jerks beneath me. At first, I think it’s the after-effects of his orgasm.

  I take more than a minute to realize he’s crying.

  32

  Brad

  I try to hold in the emotion I’m feeling.

  I can’t.

  What starts as a few tears turns into something more. My body shakes as I try to get it all out. It’s been a crazy emotional day, but it’s not just that. There was a moment, just now with Tenley, where I felt joy again. True joy, not because I orgasmed. And different from how it felt with Kat, but just as powerful.

  In all honesty, I don’t know how to feel about that. On the one hand, I’m tired of being angry and sad all the time. On the other hand, Kat is gone so how can I possibly feel any other way.

  And the third emotion weighing in is my feelings for Tenley, which I’m starting to have. She brings a level of comfort to me I haven’t experienced for years. How can I possibly have feelings for someone I barely know? A woman I didn’t even think I liked. It’s too fast.

  “Are you cry. . .” Tenley starts.

  I have no idea how to answer. I bury my head in her neck as my dick softens completely and tries to slip out of her. She moves to get off me, but I hold her tight and shake my head. I can’t let go yet. I need something to stabilize me, emotionally and physically. Right now, that’s Tenley.

  I’m so tired of feeling so up and down all the time. Mostly down.

  “I don’t want to be sad anymore, Tenley.” I surprise myself by saying it aloud. That wasn’t my intention. My voice is muffled by her neck, but I can tell she understands by the way she wraps her arms around me and holds tight.

  “It’s okay to be sad.”

  I know she’s right. It doesn’t change that I just want to go back to the person I was before. Before what, I’m not sure. Who I was prior to meeting Tenley, because there’s comfort in the routine of constant misery. And just as intensely, I want to be that man who existed before Kat passed. The one who only knew the pain of a temporary split, not an infinite one.

  Tenley’s hands run up and down my back, and the motion is soothing. It makes me want to relax, but it doesn’t make me actually do so. I hate that I’m so angry—at the world, at Kat, at myself. How do you explain that to another person without them trying to make it all okay? And is it acceptable to talk to the woman you just had sex with, about the other woman you’re still in love with?

  Despite the despondency of my thoughts, my tears subside and my breathing returns to normal. “We should go,” I whisper. She nods in agreement and pushes herself off of me. It’s a loss I feel immediately and have to stop myself from pulling her back in. It’s like I’m drowning, and I know how to swim, but I just can’t get my body to move with the right motions.

  I hand her some tissues from my glove box so she can clean herself up. When we’re both situated, with our clothes back intact and in the right seats for driving and riding, I start the truck. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly. I can feel I’m on the precipice of losing control and I don’t know how to rein it back in. The problem is, I’m not sure what it is I’m in control of. Me? My emotions? My life?

  Definitely not.

  I’m going through something right now that I don’t know how to deal with. But it feels life changing.

  I’m expecting that feeling to come, the one where I need to run. Run from the situation to hide from the emotions it’s evoked.

  It doesn’t come.

  The guilt?

  Oh, fuck yes, that’s still there.

  But the need to escape the situation is not as dire as it once was. If anything, I only want to leave so I can talk to Kat about this. Tell her about Tenley, because I think they would like each other. And try to get a feel for how I move through life loving two women, one of whom is dead.

  Wait a minute. Who said anything about love? I’m not in love with Tenley. I’ve just gotten to where I’m okay liking her.

  I glance over at Tenley. Her head is turned, and she’s looking out the window, making it hard to read her expression. We’re both quiet after what happened. I can only imagine how it must feel to have a guy cry after sex.

  Fuck.

  I need to explain how I feel. Make her understand it’s not her, it’s me. Ha, isn’t that the perfect way to do it too? Jesus. I don’t know how to tell her what I’m thinking. What would I even say?

  Way too soon, we’re pulling into her driveway.

  She unbuckles her seatbelt and turns to face me.

  “You okay?”

  Am I okay? She’s asking if I’m okay. I’m the one who cried on her. I should be asking if she’s okay. Why am I so fucked up?

  But I don’t say anything of those things. Instead, I nod and return the question.

  “I’m good,” she mumbles, then opens the truck door and slides out without another word. I, too, remain silent. She doesn’t turn back and I wait until she’s inside the house before I drive away.

  “Kat, what do I fucking do?” I ask the space around me, as I slowly take the twists and turns down the hill from Tenley’s house. She doesn’t answer, not that I expected her to. “I like her. But I can’t get past what it does to the memory of us.”

  I can hear Nessa’s voice in my mind, saying, You can’t stop living your life just because someone you love lost theirs. And I see Kat nodding her head in agreement right alongside her, shaking her finger at me for not following through with my promise to love again. Logically, I know it’s true. Emotionally as well, based on experiencing my mother’s death when I was young. With the loss of my mother, the grief subsided after time, and life became much easier to take.

  You can’t just meet a new mom three years later and make her a part of your life the way you can a romantic partner. My father eventually dated again after my mom passed. I’ve met countless people in my grief groups who have moved on and found love again, my friend, Andy, being one of them.

  I know life goes on. My mom and Kat aside, encountering death is not new to me as a first responder. Losing someone is a natural part of life. All living things die. The inevitability is charted from the beginning. So why is it so hard to accept when it happens?

  I pull my truck to the side of the road, unsure if I want to go home to an empty house. As the four o’clock hour approaches, my only other options are an all-night diner or the fire station. I could go back to Tenley’s house. But, for what?

  Sex?

  Comfort?

  Are those things fair to her? I don’t know what I fucking want. Who I am. How I feel.

  Nessa’s words echo through my mind: There is no cure for grief, Bradley. I lean my head against the top of the steering wheel then bang against it a few times. How many hits does i
t take to knock sense into a person?

  You know the answer.

  I don’t know the answer. My subconscious is fucking with me. If I knew the answer, I wouldn’t be conflicted. I also wouldn’t be sitting on the side of the road hitting my head against the steering wheel.

  Feeling love again does not diminish what you’ve felt before.

  Oh, but it does. It fucking does. How will they even compare?

  There is no comparison. Each love is different whether it be romantic, familial, friendly . . .

  My love for Kat filled every single hole and crevice in my soul. No way can that ever be replicated or replaced.

  Nessa’s musings push through once more: It’s a tribute to how much the two of you loved each other to find love again. How else do you recognize love again if not for having experienced it before?

  How does she know? What makes her right over anyone else? How is it she shows up in my life at the exact time I need her? What makes Tenley so special?

  You know the answer to that also.

  She understands me. She accepts me, even as broken as I am.

  She’s broken through that once impenetrable wall around your soul.

  “Well, fuck,” I say aloud, as I turn my truck around and head back to Tenley’s.

  33

  Tenley

  I wake up slowly. Mornings are not my favorite anyway, but especially not when I’ve only gotten a couple hours sleep. And by a couple, I mean, like, two. I roll over to see if Brad is awake, but that side of the bed is empty. And cold. Meaning, he left a while ago.

  I sit up and look around, hoping to glimpse his clothes. My floor only holds remnants of my striptease after Brad returned to my house last night.

  He did it again.

  He left right after being with me. I guess it’s better than vomiting, but still not great. I don’t get it. The sex was amazing. If I knew a word that meant better than amazing, I’d use that one. We had one of those moments where you just know, this person is it for me.