by Josie Wright
“I understand your reaction. I do. It’s normal to want some closure, an explanation for things to be able to let go or to forgive. I wouldn’t feel any different. Even I want an explanation from him, want to know what made him hurt you like that. But he’s here now. He isn’t lying to you; he just isn’t ready to talk. Whatever went on in his life, whatever happened—he isn’t ready to share it yet. When he says it has nothing to do with you, then you should believe him. I don’t think he left because he didn’t care, or he wouldn’t be back now. He wouldn’t be doing all the things he’s doing if he didn’t care for you. You’re allowing your need for closure to ruin what is happening in the now. You don’t have to give him a clean slate. Hell no, sooner or later he will have to man up and tell you what made him do the things he did. But give him a bit more time. From what I can tell, he’s a good guy who worships you. He’s just also dealing with his own shit on top of that.”
“I’m scared.” I admit, hating how pathetic it sounds.
“What are you scared of?”
I stall, not wanting to admit or face what I feel. Instead I look around the room, attempting to hold the tears at bay that are trying to escape. Why do I have to be such an emotional creature?
“You know, I can sit here and wait for your answer all night.” Dean pinches my hip playfully.
I rub my hip dramatically. “Ouch. That hurt, you jerk.”
Dean laughs, but still gives me the look that says he wants an answer now. After another few moments of taking in the decorations of my room, from the colorful, bright paintings of the four elements, to the vast array of candle holders, I finally sigh, giving in. Facing your own feelings is like attempting to slay a fire-breathing dragon, and admitting your fear seems to make it more real, way harder to suppress.
“I’m scared that I open myself up to him; that I dare to hope. That I allow myself to have all those feelings for him—to care about him, to want him,” I pause, taking another breath, “to love him. And that he’ll leave again. Or just doesn’t feel the same way I do. Or that there is someone else,” I say, thinking of the phone calls. “I’m scared of having my heart broken—again. I don’t want to be rejected. Once was bad enough. I can’t do it a second time.”
“Oh, sweetheart. It’s too late for that. You already have all those feelings, whether you admit them to yourself or not. You never stopped loving him. No matter if you open up or not, if things don’t work out, your heart will be broken anyway, so you might as well give it a chance. The way I see it...why not give it a chance instead of ruining it from the start. When you cook a stew, you’re not scared it’ll taste horrible and therefore just over-salt it right from the start, do you?”
“You’re comparing my love life to a stew?” I lift my eyebrows in what I hope is an incredulous look. “Seriously?”
“If it gets the point across,” Dean shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
I contemplate what he said for a moment. I’m not sure what to feel or think. But I realize my anger and hurt doesn’t come from Ben not telling me what he was doing all this time he was gone. It’s still the lingering hurt from him leaving me in the first place; my heart demanding an explanation that would justify his behavior and allow me to not feel discarded and rejected. It’s the uncertainty of who he has been with in that time. Not knowing if he was thinking about me, if he regretted leaving me. It’s the hurt about him not telling me he loves me when I did. But I can’t force any of that to happen; it wouldn’t mean anything if I did. I want him to confide in me because he wants to, not because he feels he needs to in order to pacify me. Which means I have two choices: I suck it up for now, allowing things to develop at their own pace, seeing where it takes me—risking to have my heart broken again, but also opening myself up to the opportunity of happiness. Or I end it before it can even start. Stopping the little innuendos, the flirts, and the closeness. Drawing a line between us that neither of us will cross, making it clear he is in Archer’s life, but not in mine. And with that breaking my own heart, while crushing any chance to find happiness with him.
Laying it out like that, the answer seems obvious. Only how I’m supposed to do it is beyond me. I groan loudly, frustrated and exhausted with all the emotions coursing through my system.
I kiss Dean’s shoulder. “I hate you.”
“Because I’m right?” he asks, laughing.
“Yeah. Smartass.” I nudge him playfully. “Thanks.”
We sit in silence for a moment, watching Archer crawl around the floor like a man on a mission. Even with all the imagination I have, it’s hard to see what is so fascinating about crawling back and forth, but he seems to really enjoy it. That is until he gets to the green, ugly, yet extremely comfortable wing chair I got in a garage sale. Crawling up to it, he reaches his tiny arms to the seat, starting to pull himself up.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” I squeal, trying not to startle Archer in the process. He’s standing up. I’m so excited I want to jump up and down, instead I call out to Ben, making sure I don’t go all banshee in the process.
“Ben, come here, NOW!”
Something in my voice must have alerted him, because despite him supposedly sleeping, he’s there in an instant, charging into the room. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Look at Archer.” I point at our son excitedly, bouncing from foot to foot, while Dean keeps clapping his hands like an excited seal. “He’s standing up. All by himself.”
I can’t help but squeal again in excitement, moving over to stand next to Ben, I grab his arm and tug at it. “Oh my God.”
Archer seems oblivious to the commotion behind him. That is until Ben goes up to him, lifting him up into the air above his head. “Who’s a big boy? Are you? Yeah, you are.” Archer laughs and I’m not sure if it’s because he likes being up that high or because his daddy sounds really silly. But I don’t sound any better. “You’re a big boy. Standing all by yourself. Momma is so proud.” I tickle his feet, while he is still up high in Ben’s arms, causing him to laugh even more. Suddenly, Ben lowers Archer into his arms, becoming all serious.
“If he starts walking now, we need to make sure everything is safe, so he can’t fall down the stairs or get into things he shouldn’t get into. We need to make sure all the furniture is stable and can’t fall over.”
“Ben, breathe. It’s all as baby safe as it gets. You do remember the gates at the stairs that you had to open every time you wanted to get to the floor below or up here, the drawers and cabinets, the doors and windows that don’t open without you taking off the safety latch? And yes, the furniture is also stable and safe. It’s all taken care of.” I give him a pat on the shoulder. “It’s all good.”
“Good.” He relaxes again, cuddling Archer to his chest.
“Guys, I’m off to read,” Dean says, before leaving us alone.
Without wanting to push or prod Ben, I still can’t refrain from asking. “Ben, you okay? With the phone call earlier?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I just took off after dinner. I just needed a moment to clear my head.”
His expression is tense, probably waiting for me to bombard him with questions.
“Well, if you want to talk, I’m here.” It’s all I say and he visibly relaxes, the apprehension vanishing from his face. “And now let’s get the little troublemaker to bed.”
That’s what we do—together. When Archer is asleep, Ben walks to the door, but stops before opening it.
“Thanks, Frankie, for not pushing the topic.” I just smile and nod at him.
He has no idea how hard it is. It seems easier after my conversation with Dean, but it still preys on my mind, wanting to know what has him so wound up. Asking about it before hasn’t gotten me anywhere, so maybe Dean’s approach will work better. The fact of the matter is I want to know what was so important that he left. I want to know what was more important to him than me, because that night he was all that mattered.
Chapter 23
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Deer In The Headlights
When the next morning rolls around, Archer wakes me up at the crack of dawn, slightly fussy, but nothing too bad. All the things we’ve bought to ease the teething process seem to be doing their job. At this point, the rest of the gang, including Mrs. Walsh, have gotten themselves the teething jewelry pendants, so no matter who is holding Archer, he can chew and drool away. And drool he does.
I get him out of his crib, laying him down in the bed next to me. With everything going on, I feel like I didn’t give him all the attention I should have. Knowing I have another half an hour before I have to start getting ready, I cuddle him, tickle his tummy, and shower his head with kisses. He giggles and laughs, at times making those cute hiccup noises. I could stay right here all day and just spend time with him. Unfortunately, that isn’t the most realistic option, so instead, I start getting ready, setting Archer back down in his crib with his favorite teddy bear. Poor teddy is covered in so much drool I fear he’s going to dissolve in the immediate future.
After getting dressed, Archer and I make our way to the kitchen. Alex has already gone to court, and Dean has gone out for breakfast before classes. Viv is probably sleeping so it’s me and the little man. I feed him and eat something myself, before setting him in his play pen. Planning to quickly let Ben know that I’m leaving so he can take over baby duty, I head upstairs and knock on his door lightly in case he’s still sleeping. I don’t want to rouse him by banging on the door. When I don’t hear an answer, I open the door and walk in. The room is illuminated by the light of the breaking dawn.
My eyes fall onto Ben’s bed. What I see there has my mouth forming an O, but no sound escapes. He’s lying on his bed, his sweats lowered, freeing his hips, his abs are strained allowing me to see the slight touch of a six-pack. What makes my throat go dry, while I can’t say the same thing about other places, is his hand wrapped around his cock, halting mid-stroke while he looks at me with what I suppose is a similar expression to mine. For a second we’re both like a deer caught in the headlights.
While I still can’t move my body, I can’t help my eyes from straying from his face to his cock and back up to his eyes. I repeat this for what feels like forever, although in reality it’s just seconds, worrying I might give myself an epileptic seizure if I keep up these rapid eye movements. I can hear his labored breathing, mingled with the pounding of my heart. I’m surprised that blood still reaches those areas of my body. It feels like it all went down south. I guess this stuff doesn’t just happen to men. The sight is so sexy it would bring every red-blooded woman to her knees. Surprisingly, I’m still standing. But I think this has more to do with my fear of what my next move will be if I so much as twitched a muscle. My brain, my heart, and my vagina aren’t on the same page at all. While my brain wants me to get the hell out and take a cold shower, my heart wants to be close to him, while my vagina wants to ride him into oblivion.
I don’t know how many minutes pass. For all I know it could be seconds or hours. I feel suspended in time, entranced by the sight before me. I only feel a little like a pervert, not enough to make me stop from ogling his cock. When he clears his throat, he breaks the spell and self-preservation or maybe even some manners kick in. I start talking, although I doubt speech therapists would consider the mumbles that leave my mouth speaking.
I sound breathless, like I ran for a few miles or well, fucked for a few hours. My voice is low and husky.
“Um. Sorry. Um. Archer’s awake. Downstairs. Classes. I mean...I have classes.” And what comes out of my mouth next, has me praying for the gates of hell to open and swallow me alive. “You have fun… ahh... a great dick... oh God... I mean day.”
While I turn around to save myself from any more embarrassment, quickly closing the door behind me, I can hear him chuckle. Mortification doesn’t even describe what I’m feeling. I got hypnotized by his cock; my brain cells going on vacation. It doesn’t help that I now keep remembering how his cock felt inside of me—every stroke, every thrust. Why doesn’t someone shoot me?
I’m downstairs, when a sleep drunk Viv pokes her head out of the kitchen.
“Frankie, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I shake my head, trying to shake the images that are now seared into my brain. “No, I saw a cock.”
Not waiting for a reply, I make my way through the living room, grabbing my purse as I go.
I can hear Viv snort, before I close the door.
***
In my whole life, I’ve never been so thankful for classes and work, knowing it’s allowing me to stay far away from home and Ben. I feel like a teenage girl, not wanting to face him. Every time I think of this morning, it’s as if my face catches on fire. I wish it would be the only thing though. My hormones are raging inside of me, and I keep on pushing the thought back to where it came from. It doesn’t work very well. Every time I let my thoughts drift away from what I’m doing at the moment, I see him in front of me, his hand around his really impressive, sexy cock. I squeeze my legs together to stop the throbbing between my thighs, wanting nothing more than to go home and climb him like a tree.
My concentration is sub-par to say the least and even Professor Winston notices. When I get myself a glass of water from the kitchenette in the counseling center, he suddenly appears beside me. I’m baffled at how a man his size can sneak up on people like a cat.
“You okay, Frankie? Is it still Anna’s story that’s haunting you?”
“I’m fine. I mean, when I think about it, it does throw me off balance, but it’s not at the front of my mind.”
“What’s up with you then?”
I give Professor Winston a pained look. For a second I consider spilling the beans to someone before I explode. Then again, I don’t think it would be wise to tell my Professor and boss that I’m hornier than a Viking’s helmet.
“Let’s just say, as much as I managed to spare myself embarrassment through most of my childhood and teenage years, I seem to be catching up on it now.”
“You embarrassed?” He puts his hand to his chest, gasping in mock horror. “I don’t think I even want to know.”
“Trust me, you don’t.” I leave him standing in the kitchen, definitely not planning on relieving this morning’s fun moments.
I dread going back home, knowing that it’ll go one of two ways. Either Ben will be a gentleman about it and keep his mouth shut, or he’ll tease me until I’m ready to fling myself off the roof. Yeah, I have a feeling it won’t be the first option.
***
When I walk in, everyone is hanging out on the couch. Alex is reading some files, while Dean has his nose in a book. Viv is playing some video game with Ben and Archer watching. Well, Archer is drooling on his father, chewing the life out of the pendant.
“Hey guys. What’s for dinner?”
“Oh, we decided we don’t feel like cooking, so we ordered some Chinese. It should be here soon.”
“Great. I’ll just go change.” I avoid looking at Ben at any cost, not wanting to see his stupid grin. Viv’s delighted smile tells me she already knows what happened, probably interrogated Ben as soon as he appeared downstairs. I hate her right now.
I take my time upstairs, even jumping in the shower quickly. When the doorbell rings, I know that unless I want to starve, I have to get back down and face the music.
“Took a cold shower, huh?” Ben asks, while walking past. Without looking at him, I flip him the bird, wishing I signed up for the night shift at the crisis hotline.
I concentrate on my food, barely engaging in conversation. I really want the dinner to be over soon, so I can go upstairs to sulk and wallow in self-pity, after giving my vibrator a run for its money. But because fate is an evil little bitch, after about twenty minutes, Dean addresses me. “Frankie, everything okay?”
“Uh huh, just eating.”
“You sure?”
But before I can answer, Ben takes over.
“Oh, don’t worry. She just walk
ed in on me jerking off this morning. And now she can’t stop thinking about my cock every time she looks at me.”
I don’t need to look up to know he has a satisfied, cocky grin on his pretty face. Damn, this word seems to haunt me.
I can hear that Dean is trying to suppress a laugh. “Is that so, Frankie?”
I don’t reply. Instead, I drop my head onto the table, banging it a few times before I mumble, “I hate you all so much right now.”
Apparently, my misery is the most amusing thing of the evening as my so-called friends break out in a fit of laughter. Sulking, I grab my plate. “I’ll finish eating in the living room.” That only makes them laugh harder, while I wonder if a judge would have pity on me after I strangled them all.
Later that night, while I’m getting ready for bed, there is a light knock on the door and Ben pokes his head in.
“You still want to kill me?”
“Yes, slowly and painfully,” I pretty much growl at him.
“Oh, come on. It’s not my fault you walked in.” He gives me a pleading look, but ruins it all when he adds, “And stayed. And stayed. And looked.”
“I was just surprised, okay?” Huffing, I try to walk past him to get to the bathroom.
“You tell yourself that if it makes you feel better. We both know you wanted to do way more than just look.” With a smug grin, he closes the door behind him and leaves me to my sulking and pouting.
Chapter 24
Christmas In The Air
Although it’s Saturday, I get up early, quickly make breakfast and feed Archer, before I get us ready to go outside. It’s only a bit over a week until Christmas and I need to pick up some presents.
Thankfully, we’re all fairly relaxed about that. It’s not a crazy hunt for gifts, not a the-bigger-the-better mentality. From the start we always agreed on a price limit. Each person gets a maximum of $80 worth of gifts. So it’s either one big present from all of us pitching in or a few small things from each individual. That way we make sure not to max out our credit cards and accounts, as well as ensure that Christmas doesn’t revolve around gifts only. Instead, it’s about spending time together, enjoying each other’s company, and making the other smile with a little something. It’s worked great for us and has taken a lot of pressure and stress out of the equation.