KEPT: A Second Chance Fairy Tale (31 page)

I feel his warm, unsteady breath on my stomach as he painfully whispers, “I’m scared to care about someone again, Lucy.”

I don’t say anything, but find it impossible to continue looking at him. My gaze moves to the wall behind him. I’m right. Michael hasn’t moved on at all. He’s trapped in a life he can no longer have, and I’m not sure he’ll ever be able to give himself the chance to be happy again without worrying it’ll be taken away.

Softly, he whispers, “I miss him. Jesus, he was my
son
. My little boy will never have a chance to become a man. He’ll never live to do the things he was robbed of doing. Successes, heartaches, triumphs. He’ll never get to know what falling in love feels like.”

My throat burns and my eyes swim with tears. I can’t breathe. One subtle shift in our position will undo me, and I’m not sure how he’d react.

“I don’t miss her,” he admits, his voice low and angry. “And I hate that I hate her for leaving with him. I’ll always hate her for that. What kind of person does that make me?”

Bending my head, I grab his face and bring it to mine. A tear I worked so hard to keep hidden falls against my chest. “It makes you human. You can’t control people or what happens to them because of the choices they make.”

Sitting back, Michael uses the back of his hands to wipe his eyes, then reaches out to hold my waist. “I can’t talk about him anymore.”

“Okay,” I yield, still feeling his pain as my own.

Looking up at me, a small, sad smile crosses his lips. “Do you still think about what your life would be like if your husband were still here?”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t. I loved Gabe,” I tell him, watching as his eyes narrow quickly, then relax. “I married him because of Dillon. I didn’t have…” I search for words, but can’t think about my own loss after hearing about his.

“You didn’t have your fairy tale,” he thoughtfully replies.

“What?” I ask to be sure I’ve heard him right.

Michael lifts me from his lap and turns to lay me carefully on the bed. His face lurks near mine as his body covers me completely.

“You didn’t get your ‘happily ever after’ with the man you married.”

He’s not making fun of me. He’s serious. It’s striking to know how vividly Michael recalls trivial things I’ve said before. He is always listening.

“I didn’t,” I admit.

“But you wanted that with him.”

Shaking my head, I look away, then bring my gaze to his. “All little girls want a fairy tale, but I’ve accepted it doesn’t always happen.”

“But you wanted that with Gabe. Am I right?”

“I…” I don’t know how to answer. My marriage was full of routine and masked with contentment. There was no laughter, passion, or desire, like I’d want as the foundation of a fairy tale. “Gabe wasn’t the love of my life, either. But I loved him.”

A calm acceptance passes between us before he tells me, “I get exactly what you’re saying.”

I touch his face, the feel of his warm skin beneath my fingertips reminding me how real he is. “Thank you.”

“Lucy, you deserve a life
you
choose. Don’t settle for anything less than that.”

I feel the hitch in my breath as his hand moves down between us, then parts my thighs. He traces the hem of my panties before shifting the lacy material to the side, his finger barely caressing my clit. Using his other hand, Michael pulls down his running shorts just enough. The heat of his arousal grazes my inner thigh. Without precedence of warning, he enters me completely.

Tonight, his thrusts aren’t deliberate or punishing. He’s taking his time. Sweeping in and out of me with half-strokes, then full, never setting a continuous rhythm. The soft kisses to my neck, jaw, and lips are sweet, if not appreciative.

This connection isn’t like any I’ve ever experienced.

After listening to all he’s said, then talking about Gabe the way I did, my thoughts are strewn. They’re left behind and forgotten among a life we’ve both lost before. Yet, for whatever reason, here we are, being given a second chance at this one.

Fear strikes me with a vengeance.

The chance of loss, always present, brings me pause. As I feel the churning in my stomach and the tingle of excitement through my spine, I grab his face, forcing his eyes to mine as my release powers through.

If ever I’m left alone, without his presence to remind me, I want to remember this moment for what it is
–
a lesson in the possibilities that fairy tales can come true, if only on borrowed time.

As my fingers clench the skin of his back, Michael looks up. His eyes are clear, searching far deeper than just the surface of mine. When the feel of him working inside me is too much to bear, I close my eyes.

I hear his strangled whisper, “Look at me, Lucy.”

His concentration starts to waiver as he thrusts one last time, holding himself inside, using every bit of possible willpower he’s held onto.

Then he lets go. I watch how such a truly beautiful tortured soul tries so hard to let go of a life he’s lost and open himself to the possibilities of something new.

Michael

L
UCY TORE ME OPEN, EXPOSING
me to memories I’ve worked tirelessly to keep buried.

My son’s life.

The way I neglected his mother.

Lucy’s husband.

Lucy
.

All of this leads to the truth. She’ll soon know. The connection of our loss will undo her, but in a much different way than she’s undone me. I have to tell her, but in doing so, I risk her walking away.

“It won’t be like this tomorrow, will it?” Lucy quietly asks on the way home from the airport. My driver had picked us up on time, and as much as I didn’t want to leave what Lucy and I shared behind, I was thankful there was no delay in getting her home.

She didn’t have much to say on the plane, and ended up sleeping most of the way.

“If you’d rather we not talk about what happened in Chicago again, I would understand,” she whispers.

Turning my head to find her twisting her fingers in her lap, I make sure my point is clear. “My feelings for you haven’t changed because we’re in a different zip code.”

Her lips part and her eyes gaze past my shoulders and out my window rather than at me. “I don’t
know
how you feel about me, Michael,” she exclaims. “I just thought since–”

“Look at me, Lucy.”

She does, but I hate what I find–fear of rejection, and maybe even, in some ways, regret. “We’ll talk about it, okay?”

She nods and says nothing more.

“I have a lot of catching up to do at the office tomorrow. But we can talk after.”

The car pulls into her rundown parking lot as she’s about to respond. Her head moves around the front seats and she smiles wide once she finds her son sitting next to Stella on her porch.

“I’ve gotta go,” she tells me with excitement, then leans over and attempts to kiss me quick and hard.

My hand wraps around the back of her neck, holding her close. Knowing I don’t have much time to feel her before she goes, my tongue pushes through and finds hers. I hear her soft moan of acceptance before letting her go, but still keeping her close.

“Wow,” she breathes. “I think you’re going to miss me.” She smiles, then focuses on Dillon coming our way.

“Go, Lucy,” I instruct. “Marcus will carry up your bags.”

“Thank you,” she returns, kissing me again quickly.

As I sit and watch Dillon rush to his mom, his arms open and a smile on his face, my chest warms with relief. Lucy’s brought him up to be a reflection of her. His exuberant affection toward someone he loves can’t be denied.

Today, and not for the first time since knowing her, the thought of going home alone holds no appeal.

Pulling out my cell phone, I quickly dial my sister. I’d bet anything she’s been waiting on this call all morning.

“You made it home already,” she states. “Unless you’re calling six hours too late to tell me your flight’s been delayed.”

“No, Deni. We’re home.”

She laughs quietly. “You’re the other half of a ‘we’. God, that’s cute.”

Rolling my eyes, I move to dismiss her comment. “Don’t start. How’s Mom?”

“Better. She’s giving me space so far, but it’s only been a day. Thanks for talking to her,” she answers. “You two only just left, but you should know I heard Mom tell Grace she’s planning on inviting Lucy and Dillon here for Christmas.”

Of course she is.

“Well, tell her I made it back and I’ll call her Sunday.”

“Will do. Grace sends you love.”

“I send it back. I need to get off here, Deni, but before I do, I wanted to thank you.”

She gasps, but it’s not for dramatics. “Thank me? For what? Why?”

“For the talk.”

Coming around to what I’m getting at, she finally lowers her voice to ask, “You feeling it yet?”

“Maybe.” I shrug, even though she can’t see it.

In all honesty, I’m feeling a lot of things.

In front of me, I watch as Dillon grabs his mother’s hand and follows Marcus to the door with her bags. Lucy’s long, blonde hair is blowing in the morning breeze, and as she looks down at him, the side view of her face radiates with happiness. I wonder how easy it would be to make it my life’s work to ensure she always looks as happy as she does right now.

I’m falling in love with her.

I’m already in love with her.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Hey, are you still there?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re good?” she questions.

“She’s making me believe,” I hear myself admit, knowing Lucy would have something to say about it.

Deni pauses before asking, “Making you believe in what?”

“Happy endings.”

I hear my sister sigh heavily into the phone before she sucks in a breath and exhales. “Oh, Michael.”

I don’t give her a chance to say more. “I’ve gotta go, Deni. Talk to you Sunday.”

“Okay. So happy for you,” she tells me right before hanging up.

Lucy

T
HE WEATHER FOR TODAY’S GAME
is just as predicted: hot as hell without a cloud in the sky.

I haven’t seen Michael since he dropped me off at my apartment yesterday morning. I didn’t call him because I was unsure where we stood and didn’t want to intrude on whatever he had planned for the rest of his day off.

I know my feelings for him have changed. They’ve evolved into something much deeper than before. As much as I want to push to find out if his have, I won’t. If the kiss he gave me before I got out of the car is any indication, I can imagine he feels the same as I do.

Michael called about an hour after I’d put Dillon to bed and insisted I take today off. I didn’t argue. I was too tired, and appreciated his offer not to have to send Dillon over to Stella’s after she’d just had him all week. When I immediately agreed, I heard his smile over the phone. He was obviously bracing for a debate. When I didn’t argue, the relief in his voice was obvious.

As I unpacked everything, Dillon begged and pleaded for me to take him to the zoo. I refused and, to placate him, we went shopping instead. Once he finally figured out why and what we were shopping for, all eyes came to us as the few customers in the sporting goods store had clearly heard his six-year-old hoots and hollers.