Bring Me Back

by Karen Booth

  “Wow. I wonder how Sam got Angie’s phone number.”

  “She told me she hacked into your email account. She put your dad on the phone with me, too. He’s a talker once you get him going.”

  “What’d he say?” I squeezed my napkin in my lap and dug into my own hands with my nails.

  “We talked about everything that happened. It’s hard to know with your dad, but I feel like we understand each other now.”

  “Did he explain himself?”

  He took another sip of water and his voice cleared. “He did. I know you think that he doesn’t care, but he really does.” He looked at me with an intensity I hadn’t seen in a long time and his voice began to shake. “It’s hard for him, the emotions, and that was where he was coming from when he told me to stay away from you. He was—” He looked away, composing himself again. “After the accident, he was scared. He didn’t want you to get hurt. I don’t blame him. I was scared too.”

  “But I still don’t understand why you took him seriously, especially when you know how I feel about his opinions.”

  His voice became softer. “Because if I was going to be in your life, I wanted us to have everything. I didn’t want you to have to schedule birthdays or Christmas around the fact that your dad and I couldn’t get along. That he didn’t want me around. I didn’t want that for you.”

  “But—”

  “Hold on.” He held up his finger, his annoying and insulting finger, but now I could appreciate it. “You need to understand something. I felt so unsure of myself when you were in the hospital. Your dad wanted me gone and Jeremy was mucking about and I don’t know, I suppose I felt like I wasn’t good enough for you.”

  I took a deep breath, held in place by everything he said.

  “Then I bought the car and that opened up a whole new can of worms, but I was so angry with your dad at that point that I had to follow through. After he asked me to break it off, I was worried that the car had been an empty gesture, that maybe I wasn’t capable of giving you what you need, of truly loving you. I honestly thought your dad was right about everything. I’ve never been so confused in my entire life, and I’m not used to being confused. I’m the guy who always has everything under control.”

  Now that we were finally getting somewhere, Helena appeared to take our plates and pour the remaining wine. “Birthday cake?” she asked.

  Chris and I looked at each other—I wanted to be alone, to continue on the still undetermined path.

  “I don’t know about you, Chris, but I’m stuffed. Maybe later?” I glanced up at Helena, but she and Chris were exchanging looks, this time she smiled wide at him.

  “Of course. It’ll be in the kitchen. I hope you have a wonderful birthday, Claire. I’m very glad you came back.” She leaned down to give me a hug and whispered, “I’m not the only one.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  “I’m going to change the music,” Chris said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Moments later, I heard the opening strains of my favorite Stevie Wonder song, Golden Lady, a song dripping with sex and romanticism, for me at least.

  He seemed so pleased with himself when he emerged from the house, exactly like he was up to no good. “I was hoping to dance with the birthday girl.” He wiggled his fingers at me. His smile, his hand, even his damn eyebrows—he was using every unfair advantage he had.

  “Dancing?”

  “It’s your birthday. We should dance.” He pursed his lips. “Come on.”

  I stood. I wanted to be close to him, but it felt as though I was stepping foot into the lion’s den. My body quivered as we were drawn to each other and his hand slid to my back. Of the many times he’d put his hand there, including the day after we met, it had never felt like that, never so torturous. He tightened his embrace and I swallowed, hard. We swayed from side to side and I followed his lead, lulled into a false sense of security as he eased the side of his face against my hair.

  “You aren’t being fair.” I sighed and closed my eyes, overwhelmed by his presence—the feel of his strong and bony shoulder coupled with his seductive smell, the way he once made me feel protected, his undeniable pull on me.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He spun us around.

  “Yes, you do. You know I can’t resist you when you’re like this.” I willed my shoulders to relax, but they would only go so far. My body craved his more than I thought possible. “It isn’t fair.”

  Our dance slowed to nothing more than the shifting of weight from foot to foot. We went without speaking for minutes and his breath became uneven. “Claire, none of this is fair,” he said, lightly touching the back of my head. “It isn’t fair that I’m desperate for a baby and you’re not sure. It isn’t fair that we live three thousand miles apart.” His hand moved between my shoulder blades and he pressed us so close that I felt his chest rise and fall with each breath. “It isn’t fair that I can’t get over you, that I wake up in the middle of the night and feel you next to me even when I know you’re not there.”

  The sensation spread from my shoulders inward and into my throat; a mix of the way I felt every time he gave me the look and the way I felt the day he’d left. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about those things anymore,” I mumbled, the words struggling to make their way out of me.

  He stopped moving, but he didn’t let go and we stood, frozen in time. He sighed before turning his nose and lips into my hair. He whispered, “I don’t want to talk about it, but I can’t stand to leave things the way they are, like this. It isn’t right.” He combed his fingers through a few strands of my hair. “What made you come back? I was sure you were gone forever.”

  I allowed myself the luxury of his face. The color in his eyes had resurfaced as if the lights had been turned back on, incredible green lights. “I wasn’t gone. You were.” I watched as he listened and I felt his breath on my lips. “And I tried to, but I couldn’t convince myself that you didn’t love me anymore.”

  Tears welled in his eyes and he waited, possibly for the right words to say. “I was a bloody git to ever hurt you. I’m so sorry. I’ll say I’m sorry every day for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to forgive me.” He sighed again, as if he was shedding weight, and pushed my hair behind my ear. “I mean it. I’m truly sorry for everything I did wrong.”

  “Please don’t do that,” I muttered. “You know I hate it when my hair’s behind my ear.”

  “You’re so funny,” he said, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

  “But, I’m not funny. I’m just me.” I took in a deep breath, desperate to reclaim what was rightfully mine. “Listen, I love you, you…big British jerk. I can’t be away from you because it’s killing me. We have to figure this out or else, I don’t know…or else I’m going to have to kick your ass.” Now I could laugh, a tear making its way down my cheek.

  Chris started to laugh too and everything that had once held us together grew again, standing up and coming back to life. It felt as if the whole world was splitting open, making way for everything between us. “I certainly don’t want that. I don’t know that my ego would ever recover.”

  “I’m sorry, too.” I drew in a breath slowly. “I know I hurt you. I never wanted to do that.”

  We focused on each other for a heartbeat or two, his tingly hands gripping my shoulders, and I hoped like I’d never done before. I hoped it all was really happening, that it wasn’t just a dream. It was like watching a movie at half speed, the film clicking and creeping through the projector, pops of black and light.

  He set his lips against mine with gentle hesitation, resting a few unsteady fingers on my cheek. We didn’t move—we resisted. The only sound was breathing; I couldn’t even hear the music anymore. Then he leaned in, his lips parted slightly and it jolted me, unleashing my impatience for him. I smashed my body into his and grabbed the back of his head. I told him exactly how I felt without words. Like a little girl hungry for cinnamon rolls on Christmas mo
rning with a box of kittens under the tree, I wanted everything I could squeeze from that moment.

  “Okay. Wow,” he said breathlessly, resting his forehead on the top of my head. “After that, I’ll give you whatever you want. You can drive my Porsche to the grocery store. Actually, just take the blooming car.” He laughed like the old Chris, my Chris.

  The laugh, the look on his face, the last five minutes—everything I’d longed for was right there, mine for the taking. I kissed him quickly. “I couldn’t care less about cars.” I grabbed his hand and marched to the stairs.

  He lagged behind me. “Where are we going?”

  We continued up the stairs and I tugged on his arm. “Come on.”

  He laughed. “Am I in trouble already? I just finished saying I was sorry.”

  I yanked on the sliding door handle and we stepped inside before I turned and kicked off my shoes. “Hurry up.” I walked backwards, pulling him along, my heart pumping against my chest.

  A handsome smirk spread across his face. “Where are you taking me?”

  “We’re making the trek.”

  I came to a halt in his bedroom doorway and watched his lips form a devilish smile. I unbuttoned his shirt in seconds flat and pushed it off his shoulders. My hand smoothed over his chest and I swallowed a breath as he caught me with a look I’d never seen before—like a new version of his trademark look, but better, tickled and intoxicating.

  He set a finger against the skin of my throat and traced along my neckline. My heart began beating even more forcefully than when he’d kissed me. It was the oddest sensation, beating more slowly, but growing stronger.

  “I love you, Claire,” he whispered. He pressed his lips to my cheek as he began to unbutton my blouse.

  I had to close my eyes to get my bearings. His words and face were too powerful a combination. “I love you, too. I do. I never want to be apart from you again.”

  He wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and rubbed his thumb along my jaw. “I’ll come to stay with you until Sam goes to college. Then we’ll make another plan.”

  I unbuckled his belt before he shot me a flicker of his green eyes and unhooked my bra. I dropped his pants to the floor and he peeled away my black skirt.

  “Will that make you happy?” he asked.

  “Sounds perfect.”

  His eyes became smoky. “Good. No more talking.” He led me to the bed, where he tossed aside the pillows and threw back the covers. He sat, stretched out his long body and I followed.

  I kissed him, eagerly, and slid my hand down his stomach and under the waistband of his boxer shorts. A relieved moan came from him, escaping between our lips. “Does that feel good?” I asked as I pushed away his boxers.

  He cleared his throat. “Of course it does, but I’m serious. No talking.” He propped himself up on his elbow and gently set his hand on my hip. “I never thought this would happen. Let me make love to you.” He pushed me to my back and skimmed my neck, and then my chest, with his lips.

  He chipped away at my heart with each kiss, his nimble fingers working their way over every part of me. He’d stop now and then to look at me, telling me how he felt with his eyes.

  We took our time, moving in our own rhythm, and my heart swelled, knowing that Chris and I, together, was exactly what love felt like.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  It was dark when I opened my eyes. I shut them slowly, asking myself if it was real. Then I heard him breathing, followed by a mumble—something about me, although the words were mostly indecipherable. The bed rocked as he flopped over and dropped his gangly arm across my stomach. He nuzzled his face into my neck and I settled my head against his.

  I’d only been dozing, I couldn’t fall asleep for real—there was too much to think about, an abundance of happy things. Chris didn’t share my problem. He’d fallen asleep soon after we made love. I would’ve relished one of our all-night talks, but it didn’t bother me that he was sleeping. I hoped it meant he was content and relaxed; something neither of us had been in a long time.

  He stirred again and rubbed my stomach. “Are you awake?” He mumbled against my collarbone. “Get some sleep. Stop obsessing.”

  I laughed, quietly. “How do you know I’m obsessing?”

  “You’re Claire. If you’re awake, you’re obsessing.”

  “There’s a lot to think about.” I turned on to my side and put my arm around his waist.

  “Uh, huh. That’s what morning’s for.” His voice trailed off.

  He was right. I was obsessing. I’d thought about it constantly since I’d found the books in the baby’s room. I couldn’t stop thinking about a baby—the baby we’d lost, what it would be like if we tried again.

  My memories of those days with Sam came back as they often did, except now I found myself drawn to the good ones—the look in my dad’s eyes when he first held her, the way she got delightfully hyper when she had chocolate, and the many nights she’d climbed into bed with me. I’d been scared for most of those years, unsure of how I would pay the bills or doubting my ability to be a good mom. I didn’t have to be scared the second time if I got the chance. I wouldn’t have to be alone.

  I’d imagined the child we might have, hopefully as beautiful as Chris with my mom’s freckles and natural musical talent. Maybe even a writer. I pictured Sam as the super cool big sister, reading bedtime stories while home during college breaks. And my dear old grumpy father would be jubilant to have another grandchild on which to dote.

  I knew that Chris would miss a lot if he never experienced parenthood. He’d never know it was like putting on a pair of glasses when you’d always thought you had perfect vision. Everything in the world, beautiful or horrible, became painted in a completely different palette, in the most vivid colors and painstaking detail.

  I also knew that Chris would make an incredible dad, but his desire to become one was more than an unfulfilled wish, it was part of what made me love him so much. He’d be an amazing husband too, if I decided to nudge him in that direction. It was hard to believe that Claire Louise Penman might become my real name one day.

  “Chris? Are you awake?”

  “Not really,” he grumbled, in the cutest way possible. “Are you okay?”

  “I want to have a baby.” I didn’t believe the words at first, but they felt so right once they were out of my mouth.

  He coughed. “I’m up.” He rolled away and turned on the bedside lamp before flipping back and squinting at me with heavy eyelids. “Really? Seriously?”

  “Yes, really. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

  He scooted closer and scanned my face, the green sweeping back and forth. “You want to have a baby, with me?”

  “I’m certainly not planning on having a baby with someone else.”

  He watched me as a grin crept across his face. “You aren’t just giving in. You really want a baby.”

  “I really want a baby. With you.”

  He laughed quietly and rubbed his thumb along my lower lip. It made me a bit woozy. “Do you have any idea how happy that makes me?”

  “I have a pretty good idea.”

  “You do realize we forgot a condom earlier.”

  “Uh, yeah, I was there. Remember?” I nodded. “I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.” He drew me in with his eyes and that made the tears start in my own. “Either that or I already knew I wanted to do this.”

  “This is amazing. I mean, wow.” He shook his head and smiled. “Bloody unbelievable.”

  “You have to promise you’ll help me in the middle of the night when the baby’s crying. We have to do all of it together. The laundry and making school lunches and all of the other things I wished I had help with when Sam was little.”

  “Of course.” He circled his arms around me, smoothly sliding a hand over my hip to my butt. “I can’t wait to do those things.”

  My heart puffed up inside my chest, feeling a bit spoiled. “And I want one more thing from you.”

/>   “Why am I not surprised?” He nibbled at my neck, driving me completely nuts.

  “Please tell me you’ll grow your hair back.”

  “You don’t like the bald is beautiful look?” He scrubbed the top of his head and bent his eyebrows.

  “I prefer your hair.” I bit my lip. “I need something to dig my hands into.”

  His eyes flashed. “Sold. I’m definitely growing it back.” He kissed me tenderly, his tongue sweeping along my lip as his hands worked their way down my back. He stopped and rolled back to switch off the light, granting me a glimpse of his butt and those incredible dimples.

  “Well, then,” I said. “I guess everything’s decided. That was easy. See? We can make decisions together.” I fluffed my pillow. “You and I are officially trying to get pregnant.”

  He pulled me close with urgency, sending tingles through my entire body. He rubbed his nose against mine before he mumbled into my neck. “Officially trying to get pregnant, right now.”

  THE END

  About Karen Booth

  Karen Booth is a Midwestern girl transplanted in the South, raised on 80s music, Judy Blume, and the films of John Hughes. An early preoccupation with Rock ‘n’ Roll led her to spend her twenties working her way from intern to executive in the music industry. Much of her writing revolves around the world of backstage passes and band dynamics.

  When she’s not creating fictional musicians, she’s listening to everything from Duran Duran to Otis Redding to Superchunk with her kids, honing her Southern cooking skills (she makes some mean collards), or sweet-talking her astoundingly supportive husband into whipping up a batch of cocktails. You can learn more about Karen at karenbooth.net.

  Also by Karen Booth

  Hiding in the Spotlight

  Coming February, 2014 from Turquoise Morning Press

  Spark to Flame, from the Foreign Affairs anthology

  Long-Distance Lovers with Karen Stivali