Only Trick (53 page)

Goodbye, Darby Carmichael

Trick

Carmichael—I can barely breathe.

Swollen eyes, blurred ink, and a bleeding heart.

With shaky hands, I lift the package and notice another envelope behind it. Setting the package back down, I open the envelope—divorce papers with his signature. If it’s physically possible to die of a broken heart then this is where they’ll find my body. The papers slip through my fingers and float to the floor in slow motion like a dream, because this just cannot be real. I buckle over resting my hands on my knees, my body wracked with sobs.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

My tears fall to the brown paper covering the package. I pick it up and rip off the paper with an uncontrolled anger, a death grip of pain.

“Oh … my … God …” I sob even harder, holding the sketch—Just … no words. A blown up black and white photo—every detail finished with such precision I can
feel
it, like I’m in the picture … in the moment. It’s Trick’s lower abdomen with me pressing my lips to his black sanskrit tattoo and his hand fisted in my hair.

Don’t look back in anger.

Leaning against the glass wall, I slide down it, completely drained. In this exact moment I realize something … I’m no longer crumbling. I pull my phone out of my coat pocket and text my
husband
.

Me:
Come.

T
amsen raises her
glass. “A toast to my boys for not burning my house down and spending the holidays with your dateless, lifeless, will-die-an-old-cat-woman sister.”

“Did you get a cat?” Grady asks as our glasses clink together.

“No, I’m referring to my vagina. In the straight world it’s called a pussy. I’m going to die with an old and minimally used pussy.”

We all laugh.

“I love that you think everything in the ‘gay world’ is different than the ‘straight world.’ Silly me, all these years I assumed it was just sexual orientation.” Grady shakes his head.

“I have to go.” I stand. “I’m … sorry.” I whisper, staring at my phone—lost for words.

“What’s wrong?” They ask in unison.

I close my eyes and swallow hard. A week ago, after the last of my stuff was sold, I took the drawing, divorce papers, and letter to the place I knew she’d find it when she gathered the courage to face me … to let
me
go. I gave thanks for the best days of my life, left the sketch, and then I did it so she wouldn’t have to—I let her go.

Asking her to love me with the recent revelation of my past is too much to ask of anyone, especially the person that I’d die to protect. But just now she did what she does best … She completely blew my mind, bringing me to my knees, reminding me that my heart still beats—many miles away.

“I’m going home.” I look up from my phone—from that one word and hold it up to show my family.

Tamsen makes it only two seconds before she’s a complete basket case, then Grady loses it too. I’d like to say that I hold my shit together—but I don’t.

I throw most of my stuff in my bag and leave anything that’s not in plain sight.

I give Tamsen and Grady quick hugs.

“So Chicago for New Year’s?” Grady asks.

I turn before closing the door behind me. “I’m not going to Chicago.”

I
managed a
direct flight by just minutes. My plan was to leave tomorrow after spending Christmas with Nana, but when I showed her the drawing, the letter, and the divorce papers she was booking my flight and shoving me out the door to my “destiny” before I could slip in a single word of protest. I told her
if
Trick came, the chances of him getting here in the same day would be slim at best.

The sunset bid the day farewell, leaving me in a blanket of dark on our veranda, nestled in the old blue chaise lounge where we slept our first night here. I don’t know that he’ll come, but I’m not letting my heart in on that bit of doubt. He let me go and it could be too late. I can’t stumble over the
what ifs
. I needed time and I never expected him to wait for me, but I couldn’t hold him out of fear of losing him, that’s not true love. Two months without a word from me—tears sting my eyes as I wonder if he felt abandoned, like the day his parents just … vanished.

I brush my finger over my tattoo. He may never know that my heart has the same mark as his, and if it’s too late for us in this life, I will wait for him in my next. He’s right … our love is timeless.

“Wife.”

Oh God! Thank you.

I close my eyes, sucking in my lips—tears. With one word he breathes life back into me and I feel the crumbled pieces coming together again.

I turn and slowly stand. Looking at my whole world in the doorway, I blink, releasing more tears.

With each step my heart swells more and more. His thumbs brush my wet cheeks. I close my eyes with a chill, taking in a shaky breath.

“Are you? Are you still my wife?” he whispers.

Looking up, I bite together my quivering lips and nod.

“I’m so sorry …” His fingers thread in my hair, pulling my mouth to his.

I sob into our kiss, but he doesn’t stop. This is the most beautiful pain. My hands clench his shirt, my lips bruising from his desperate touch. Lifting me to his body, he takes me upstairs, sucking and nipping at my neck. My heart clenches as he moans like he’s starving, like his soul is bleeding into mine.

“Oh God … I missed you.” I fist his hair as he
possesses
me.

We fall to the bed in a tangle of frantic movements. He tears his lips from my skin just long enough to shrug off his shirt and mine. The clasp to my bra is broken with impatient hands.

“Ung!” I cry as his mouth covers my breast, the stinging bite of his teeth on my nipple.

Our hands spar, fumbling for leverage as we tug each other’s pants off, lips refusing to let go. I shove down his briefs with my foot. He takes the quicker route and rips my panties off. Everything about this feels like the first time we made love. This is not just a physical need, it’s an emotional reclaiming.

Interlacing our fingers above my head he sinks into me.

“Trick …” I breath out his name, and for the first time in two months I feel
alive
.

He stills. I’m not sure if it’s a moan of pleasure or pain that escapes from his chest with his face buried in the crook of my neck. Sex is usually the means to a release, not tonight. The urgency between us has been to get to this precise moment—this perfect all-consuming connection. I close my eyes and just hold him—this is love—we’re making love.

Lifting his face to mine he looks at me. In his eyes are all those emotions that mean so much more than words ever could. Right now I feel like my whole body is connected to his. I may not want to lose my individuality, but right now I just want to be one with my husband.

“You came back to me,” he whispers.

My lips tug into a sad smile as I see the unshed tears in his eyes. “I never really left.”

I
t’s been five
years since I brought my wife and my Ducati back to Chicago. Darby works three days a week at the ER while I sketch. My drawings now sell for far more than either one of us ever expected. We travel the world attending art openings and living every day to the absolute fullest.

Tamsen moved to Chicago a year after we moved back from Todos Santos. She said she wanted to be closer to
family
. Fate stepped in for our favorite angel and gave her a husband a year after she arrived. Jordan works for the Chicago Fire Department, and according to Tamsen and Darby, he’s a squirrel like me. Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.

Tamsen and Jordan are expecting their second child, another daughter, in two months. Darby is in love with Lyla, but I see the pain in her eyes that nobody else does. We’ve been trying to have a baby for over three years. Darby thinks it’s karma for her promiscuity during college. I think it’s just not our time and that patience bears the greatest gifts.

Grady refuses to jump on the relocation bandwagon. He loves LA too much. However, he hops on a plane to come visit every chance he gets, especially since Lyla is so crazy about him. She’s been a good influence on him. He’s given up his cavalier bachelor life for a committed relationship with Abel, a commercial property developer who is ten years his junior and
not
married.

Rachel Hart just finished a five-year jail sentence for possession of cocaine. How it ended up in the trunk of her car and who tipped off the police remains a mystery. We happened to be at a sports bar when the news of it played across the screen. Darby closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then asked the bartender to change the channel. What she did not do … ask me one single question.

Nana celebrated her eightieth birthday this year, but nobody told her it’s okay to slow down. Her mind is razor sharp, except when she likes to pretend she’s getting dementia just to mess with Darby. On a sad note, her friend, Mary, died three years ago and so Darby has filled in as Nana’s shopping and lunch buddy, and I pick her up every Monday and take her to the shooting range.
Yeah, Darby loves that.

*

“Nana wants me
to pick her up in twenty minutes.” My tease of a wife hops up on the vanity in her Christmas red lace bra and panties. “Make me look beautiful.”

“Done.” I sink my teeth into the swell of her breast.

She grabs my face. “It’s Christmas … I want the Trick special.”

“I thought that’s what you got in the shower.” I fight back my grin … the one she calls her favorite subtle-but-cocky smirk.

“If you want your wife fix later then I suggest you get to work.”

Of course I’m going to do her make up. There is absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do for her.

With an air kiss and a quick tease to my cock, (she tortures it
all
the time) she’s dressed and off to Nana’s, leaving me to supervise Grady and Abel making Christmas dinner while Tamsen and Jordan keep Lyla out of the presents for a few more hours.