by L. B. Dunbar
“I . . . Let me change. I just need to shake that off.” I tip my head toward the road where Daniel exited, but I also need to get my head on straight. Zack’s brows pinch, disappointment on his face, but he nods.
“I’ll pour you some wine and meet you on the lounger in ten.”
Weakly, I smile at him before turning for the house, feeling his eyes on my back.
When I return down the stairs, dressed in shorts and a sweatshirt because the late afternoon air temperature is shifting, I find Zack where he said, seated on the lounger. He holds a glass of wine in his hand, and when I settle next to him, he hands it to me.
“Is this mine?” I question.
“I thought we could share.”
I softly chuckle at the reminder of our first night. “Do you know how?” I tease, finding my tone suggests more.
“You seem off,” Zack says, keeping his eyes forward. The sun won’t set for hours, but it’s hanging lower in the early evening sky.
“I’ve had a few things on my mind this week.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” He still doesn’t look at me when he asks.
“Why would you say that?” I shift on the lounger to lean on my shoulder. Zack refuses to look at me.
“You know I hate confrontation.” His hand swipes through his hair, a tell-tale sign he’s upset.
“Why would you ask such a thing?” I question again, keeping my voice low. Zack remains quiet a second, considering something before he speaks.
“I could end up like Daniel,” he states, and it’s not what I expected him to say. Not one bit.
“How?”
“I could be bitter and hateful. Resentful even about my dad.” He side-eyes me before narrowing his, facing forward again. “You said Quincy wasn’t a good father. Whatever happened caused a wedge with his kids. He wanted to make amends at the end, and they didn’t. Now, they just continue living with their anger and Quincy . . . he’s just dead.”
I wince at the directness of his reference.
“I don’t want to be like that.” He turns his head toward me. “That’s why I want to be with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know you won’t let me be like that.” He implies Daniel.
“Does this mean you want to make up with your father?” The concept surprises me, but I’d also be so happy for Zack. He needs something with the man.
“It means I recognize I need to let it go. The thing with my father has closed off my heart for too long. I was guarded, so guarded. Thinking I wouldn’t be hurt ever again like that. I wouldn’t be abandoned, but instead, I abandoned my own kids. They didn’t know I loved them.” His eyes focus on my face. “Until you told them I did.”
Oh. “Zack, honey. They knew. They knew because you were here for them. Their mother left, but you remained in your own way.”
Zack swipes a hand through his hair, looking away again. “But my way wasn’t good enough.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“But I want to be better.” He turns to me once more. “With you, I’m better.” His eyes search my face. “Are we breaking up?”
The vulnerable man I’ve seen and loved returns in those silver eyes, and I have to get this off my chest.
“Why are you with me?”
“Because I love you.” Zack shifts on the lounger to mirror my position. His shoulder presses into the cushion as he faces me.
“Are you sure it isn’t about the house?”
“What?! No, of course not. Why would you ask that?”
It’s my turn to shift away, and I twist to my back, facing the lake slowly rippling off in the distance. I shrug. “You just seem so wrapped up in it. First, you didn’t want to enter it, and then when you did enter, all you want to do is fix it up. I’m worried you want what it represents more than you want me.”
“River,” he drones. “Look at me, angel.” He reaches for my jaw, gently forcing me to look at him. “I do want what it represents. I want a home with you. I want to live with you. But it doesn’t have to be this house. We can burn it to the ground and build a new one. Or we can sell it and move. We can live in Detroit.”
I instantly wrinkle my nose and then feel bad.
Zack softly chuckles. “I didn’t think so.” He turns to glance at the property over his shoulder. “I won’t lie and say I’d be happy to give up this land. I would be sorry because it’s a beautiful piece of property with a gorgeous setting.” He shifts his attention back to me. “But it’s the gorgeous woman I want more than anything. I’ll live in a box with you if you want. I just want to be together.”
Mr. Dress Shirts and Khaki Shorts would never live in a cardboard box, but I hear what he’s saying.
“I don’t want to move,” I admit of the truth. I do love this house and this location.
“Would it be too bold to ask if I could move in with you?” I stare at him, surprised by the question. “I realize I’m doing it all wrong. I should be asking you to move in with me or suggesting we move in together. Your call. I just want to live in the same zip code. I don’t want anything between us. Not distance or hours. I want to be with you. The boys miss you. I miss you.” He gives me that sexy pout of his, knowing what it does to me.
I hold up the glass of wine in my hand. “Would you even know how to share if we lived together?” Because I want a partnership, not a man bulldozing things.
“Teach me,” he whispers, lowering his eyes for my lips.
“Negotiate.” My voice is cautious, uncertain if I’m hearing what I think I’m hearing.
“I want to renovate this place and give it new life. I want to freshen up everything and fill this place with love.”
“Do you think I don’t love it enough?”
“I think there’s more love in your pinky than this house can hold, but I still want to be part of that love. I want my boys to have that love. From you. From me. In this place. I’ll handle the cost of everything.”
I sigh. “I can’t have you do such a thing.”
“You can’t have me move in?” His facial expression drops to something I’ve never seen before, and his hands slip from my face. Quickly, I catch his wrists.
“That’s not what I said.” Slowly, I smile, chewing at my lip.
“What are you saying then? Be clear with me.”
“I want to do it.” My smile grows larger. “I want you here.”
“Yeah?” He hesitates.
“But we do it together,” I say, my heart racing. This is really happening, and I emphasize again. “Together.”
“Are you trying to compromise?” He flirts. “You’re typically so pushy,” he sarcastically adds.
This man.
“I’ll show you pushy.” I press off the cushion and straddle his lap. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I peer down at him as he tips his head back to look up at me.
“Please push me,” he says, his voice dropping. His hips thrust upward to emphasize his point. Then with his hands on my hip, he flips me to my back, climbing over me. His heavy length presses against my heat, and he kisses my neck. “Push me to be a better man. Push me to be what you see in me.”
“You already are a good man, Zack, but I promise to try to make you better as long as you do the same of me.”
“How can I make perfection better?” His nose drags over the shell of my ear.
“Together is how we are better.”
“Together,” he whispers.
“No holding back,” I warn.
“I never hold back with you.” His head pops up, and he stares down at me.
Laughing I say, “Because you have no boundaries.
“Because I love you,” he retorts. “River, you once told me if I want something to ask for it.” He pauses, licking his lip and chewing on the lower swell for a second. “You mentioned treasure being under my boys’ nose. I saw you as the treasure you are the day we met. I’ve already told you how quickly I knew you were who I wanted. You’ve ca
ptured my heart and my boys’ as well. I want the time to be with you, to love you, to share with you. . . I want you to marry me.”
My mouth falls open. In the span of a conversation, we went from moving in to marriage.
“If that was too fast, it’s okay. You don’t have to answer me—”
“Was there a question in there?” I tease. “You normally don’t ask permission.”
“I’m asking—” His sheepish tone turns my insides, and my heart flutters faster.
“Yes.”
His brows lift, and he draws his head back for a better look at me. “Yes?”
Swiping my hand through his hair, I look up at him. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”
The smile that breaks out on his face is nearly blinding. Dazzling. “God, I love you so much. I never thought I’d feel so free . . . free to just love.”
“I love you, too, honey.”
“Is it wrong to say I want to get naked with you?”
Tipping my head back, I glance at the house behind me, noting the second-floor window of Anna’s house. “What will the neighbors think?” I laugh, drawing back to Zack’s face.
“Keep your clothes on,” he teases, leaning down for my neck and nipping at my skin.
“Keep your eyes to yourself.” The words recall what I said to him at our first meeting.
“Never,” he hums into my skin.
“Whatever makes you feel better.” I squeak because he bites the juncture of my neck and shoulder while grinding his heavy length into me.
“You. You make me feel better, but what would really feel better is if you were naked under me and I was buried inside you.”
Well, that’s something we might be able to compromise on.
Epilogue
[Zack]
July – the following year
After losing her young patient, River realizes her heart cannot continue with the pain of her career. She’s dedicated fifteen years to oncology nursing and the toll it’s taken on her gentle spirit. Death has taught her to cherish life in a different way than most. She sees the simple things, loves the bigger things, and counts every day as a blessing.
She’s the blessing the boys and I needed, and we moved in shortly after I proposed. Jeanine still had visitation rights, but her constant cancellations warranted another trip to family court, where I petitioned for full custody. I agreed that when Jeanine wants to see her boys, she simply had to call. She hasn’t called, and I don’t encourage the relationship.
If my friends think it’s strange I proposed to a woman after a one-night stand—finding out two months later she was pregnant—they say nothing about my deciding to marry a woman after a month of knowing her. It was only supposed to be a ten-day fling, but I knew within ten seconds of watching her out that second-floor window I wanted her. Within ten seconds of meeting her, I knew I’d never be the same without her in my life.
“Okay, who’s going with who?” I say, standing at the counter, trying to organize our crew.
“I want to go with Bryce,” Trevor says, holding up his arm, and I notice Lorna’s face fall. Huh. I glance up at Logan, who shakes his head to ignore the teenage pout of his twelve-year-old daughter. She’s stuck with her father. Mason takes Mila, and I have Oliver. Bryce is a good sport at sixteen to spend the day with the gang. If he’s missing his dad on this excursion, he’s too old to admit it.
“Thanks, pal.” I clap Bryce on the shoulder after he high-fives Trevor in acceptance of the call. Turning back for the counter, I pull out my credit card, holding the plastic to the man behind it.
“Your money isn’t good here,” he says, and I meet his eyes, hoping not to have an altercation with him before my friends. Logan and Mason know who he is. They’re here for support as well as an afternoon of canoeing.
“I’d feel better paying,” I admit, holding his eyes. “But maybe the kids could have free ice cream afterward.” There’s an ice cream freezer inside the shop offering bars and sandwiches. It’s a concession to his offer.
“That’d be fine,” he says.
“Okay, guys. Robert says free ice cream later, but that doesn’t mean it’s a race.”
“Aw, Dad, what’s the fun in that? Bryce can beat all you old guys,” Trevor whines.
“Who you calling old, little man?” Mason knuckles Trevor’s head.
“Alright. What do we say to Robert in case he isn’t here when we finish?”
A chorus of thank yous follows with Logan droning the loudest like he’s one of the younger set.
“You’re such a child,” Mason teases.
“Look who’s talking,” Logan retorts.
I simply shake my head.
“Friends?” Robert asks, tipping up a brow in a way I recognize and should hate about him.
“The best of friends. They’re family.”
My father purses his lips but nods once to accept what I’ve said. These men are my family. I’ve known them longer than him.
“Enjoy your trip.”
“Thanks again for the ice cream,” I say, slipping my card back into my wallet. “In case we don’t see you at the—“
“I’ll be here when you finish. I’ll be waiting for you.” He holds my eyes a moment before rapping his knuckles on the counter and walking to the holder of paddles and life preservers. A firm hand on my shoulder pinches it.
“You did good,” Mason whispers, knowing how difficult it was to decide to come here.
“Thanks, man.”
“Anything for you, my friend.” He pats my shoulder blade, maybe a little too hard, and we head out for the river adventure.
+ + +
“Benjawhina,” I deadpan while River is in a fit of laughter. “What kind of name is that?”
We had a good day canoeing with the guys, and even seeing Robert didn’t upset me as much as I thought it might. I have River to thank for that. Everything for River.
And now, she’s pregnant.
“I think it’s supposed to be a take on Wilhemina.” She chokes through her laughter as she tries to explain the baby's name. We know we’re having a girl. River said there were so few surprises in life, she didn’t want to know the baby’s gender early, but we found out by mistake. The amniocentesis matched the chromosomes accordingly, and the doctor blurted out the combination although we’d told her we wanted to wait.
“It’s a perfect XX.”
“Next time,” I told River, thinking I was accommodating. I was showing her I could compromise. She only glared at me, which I decided was rather cute on her, kind of like the pouty face she loves on me.
“Benjamina,” she tries again, but I’m done with this nonsense. We aren’t naming our child some construction of Ben’s name, even if I appreciate the honor River wants to bestow on our future child. River credits Ben as bringing us together even though she never met him. He was the neighbor she didn’t meet because the fence-lining arborvitae clearly said stay out. It wasn’t the bushes that made the statement, though; it was the ugly metal chain link.
“Absolutely not,” I grumble.
“The boys vote for Pirate as the name,” River says, completely straight-faced.
“Well, at least they aren’t asking if she can be named Kitty.” Thank you, Uncle Mason, for planting that seed as an option with all the sexual implications behind it.
“What about Lake?” River’s voice softens, and I do a double take, thinking she might be joking, but something in her tone tells me she’s not. She’s cautious, but serious.
“Do you mean Blake?” I correct.
“No, I mean Lake. Like a river flows into a lake.” My wild woman shows her nature-loving way, and I like the play on her name.
“I flowed into the river.” Wiggling my brows, I tease her, but I’m liking the idea. The lake was my first love, but it took River to open my heart and really soar.
“Lake Weller it will be, then.”
River slowly smiles. Those blue eyes gleam like when the sun hovers over the large b
ody of water, and I catch my breath, grateful for every day she looks at me like she is. She’s sunrises and sunsets, and I’m happy to start and end every twenty-four hours with her by my side.
I never expected to be a father again at forty-one. Then again, I hadn’t ever expected my heart to be so full of love.
“You know, you asked me once why I call you angel. I don’t believe in mystics or kismet or any other type of voodoo, but I saw you in your yard the night of Ben’s death, and again on the night I received his letter, and I swore he sent you to me. You were the angel meant to help me fly. You are the love I needed to learn to soar.”
I was flying, and I never wanted to come down from the high.
Second Epilogue
August—the following year
[Jenna]
Someone’s been sleeping in my bed, and she’s still in it.
I thought I was dreaming. I’d been reading copious amounts of children’s tales to my two little girls, and I was convinced the sentences had seeped into my subconscious. I could not get away from being a mom even in my sleep. But slowly, my brain registers that the sound of that final bear’s voice was a little too gruff and a little too gravelly and a whole lot of sexy.
My eyes flip open in the dark bedroom, and my heart races. I am not alone in here. My chin is pinned by the power of a thick paw of callused fingertips and the depth of dark eyes narrowed and focused keeps me frozen in place. His nose is so close we practically touch, and I’d scream if only my vocal cords worked.
“However, she doesn’t look like Goldilocks.” His eyes flick up to my hair which happens to be raven black, and he chuckles, rugged and low. “So, who the hell are you?”
I swallow, feeling his wrist near my throat as his fingers hold my jaw. Dear God, don’t let him hurt the girls. The thought speeds up my already sprinting heart.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I choke, and his eyes widen.
“What the fuck?” he snaps, startling me even more. “You’re in my bed, ’locks.” The incredulous tone mixes with his deep tenor.
His bed?