28. Sarina
twenty-eight
sarina
Hopelessly Tangled
T he chilly February breeze mixed with the scent of burning wood from my firepit wraps a strand of my hair to my face, making it stick to my lip gloss, and I weave a hand out of the top of my blanket to pull it off my lips. My nose is cold, as are the tips of my ears, yet I feel warm all over.
Perhaps it’s the company.
My—and my twin’s—thirty-first birthday has been nothing short of perfect. And given we got to spend it with the people we love most, it turned out to be magical.
First, my dad and Emanuel took us and Rome out to brunch at our favorite place that serves the best deviled eggs. Our birthday brunch has become somewhat of a tradition over the past few years. Dad knows I wouldn’t call it a birthday if mustard isn’t involved, just like Nisha wouldn’t consider it complete without French toast drenched in syrup. Even Sapphire obliged us both with obligatory birthday kisses. Though, I swear, I saw her grimace after each one.
Then Dev and Piper stopped by with a handmade cake, squeezing in a quick celebration before Dev whisked my best friend away to Vancouver for a romantic weekend. It was cute to see Dev dote on her even more than he normally does. He even got misty-eyed talking about the baby, which then led to both Nisha and me swooning.
Troy arrived with Pearl shortly after Dev and Piper left with two bouquets of lilacs—one he handed to me, murmuring, “For my beautiful birthday girl,” into my ear, and the other he placed in Nisha’s arms. She’d rolled her eyes, telling him he shouldn’t have, even though she smiled widely looking at them.
And now, as the twinkling sky settles around us, I sit between my sister and Troy, nestled inside my blanket on a cushioned chair near my firepit. Its flames lap at the wind, providing more ambiance than actual heat, but I don’t mind. Rome and Pearl sit cross-legged on a blanket with their hats and gloves on, while my son points excitedly at the glimmering sky, signing to Pearl. The warmth inside my chest multiplies as I watch him teach her the constellations.
“See that orange one up there?” Rome’s fingers work through each word slowly—he’s been learning more signs from me each week. “That’s Mars. It’s called the Red Planet because its surface is made of iron-oxide.”
Holding her Blaze-the-Bobcat plushie, Pearl’s eyes widen with fascination as she follows his gesture to the sky, though I’m not sure how much her four-year-old brain has comprehended.
She signs back quickly, asking about a moving and flickering light. “Is that a falling star? Daddy says to make a wish if you see a falling star.”
“No, that’s an airplane,” Rome answers, but upon seeing her frown, he quickly amends his answer. “Actually, you’re right! That is a falling star!”
My son. He’s always told little white lies to spare the feelings of the people he loves. And as many times as I’ve told him he shouldn’t do that, I haven’t been able to break his habit. But I suppose there are worse habits out there.
Pearl’s face lights up. “Quick! Close your eyes and make a wish, Rome!” she signs enthusiastically, placing her hands on her eyes as if to make sure she doesn’t cheat.
I have half a mind to get out of my chair and pull them both in for huge hugs and kisses. The only reason I refrain is so I don’t interrupt their moment. There’s something so special about being able to watch their relationship grow from a distance.
“The national taekwondo championship is next month in L.A.” Nisha’s voice brings me back to the conversation she was having with Troy, her hands moving incessantly as she knits her latest piece. “My students have been training day and night. I’m actually worried they’re going to burn themselves out with how hard they’re working.”
Troy chuckles, his laugh as smooth as the glass of merlot I just finished. “Why does it sound to me like they take after their instructor?”
“She is the queen of working herself to the bone,” I add, recalling the time when we were sixteen and she was getting ready for nationals. “In fact, one time she practiced for five hours straight. She was so exhausted, her body literally gave up and she passed out in the middle of the dojang.”
“I didn’t pass out,” Nisha corrects, her hands stopping momentarily. “I just decided to take an impromptu nap.”
I bark out a laugh. “Pretty sure you haven’t napped since we were toddlers.”
“Hey. I can’t help it if I just have a lot of energy and never enough time.”
Our laughter mixes with the crackling fire, and I catch Troy’s gaze on me. And even though my pulse seems to increase, I don’t shy away from his gaze. In fact, I take the time to study him, too. Like the crinkles at the corners of his aged brandy eyes that I have begun to like so much. Or the upturn of his beautiful lips when his eyes settle on me. Or the way his fingers haven’t stopped playing with the hem of my blanket.
Gosh, I like all of it.
All of him.
In fact . . . I think I more than like him. Much more.
And that reality sinks in as I heave in a stuttered breath. A truth that’s taken time to roll through me like sap down the rough exterior of a tree, coating it with something sweet and inevitable. Utterly unchangeable.
It’s a truth I’ve desperately tried to ignore for quite some time, yet despite my efforts, despite knowing he’ll be going back to the MLB in just a few short months, it persists. The knowledge that I’ve gone and done the one thing I promised myself I wouldn’t.
I’ve fallen in love with the man.
Goddammit!!
Over the course of the past seven months since we ran into each other again, and then the last three where we’ve spent many nights together, this man has seeped into my bones, made a home where one wasn’t possible. And now I don’t think I can even dream of getting him out . . . not without a lobotomy.
Everything about this—about us—feels entwined. Attached and committed. Like we’re distinct threads on an intricate tapestry, hopelessly tangled.
And while I’m trying to accept this highly inconvenient truth, I’m also trying to shove down the terror rising inside me. The terror that signals impending doom, undeniable gloom, and certain heartbreak. Because wasn’t that inescapable from the moment we reconnected?
“Well . . .” My sister’s voice pulls me from my thoughts as she rises from her chair, putting her knitting supplies inside the bag she brought with her. “I think I’m going to call it a night with you two and spend the rest of it with my other two favorite people.” She nods over at Rome and Pearl, giggling at something as they point to the sky.
“You sure you want to spend the rest of your birthday with the two of them?” Troy asks, studying Nisha’s face. “Don’t you want to relax or do something else?”
“Spending time with my nephew and your precious daughter will be fun and relaxing for me,” Nisha states emphatically. “Rome has been doing sleepovers with me a couple of times a month ever since I moved out. We roll out our sleeping bags in my living room, read books—mainly nerdy space ones he loves—and make shadow puppets until one of us falls asleep.”
I chuckle. “Pretty sure I know who falls asleep first.”
Nisha ignores my jab, lifting her eyes to Troy. “It just so happens that this is exactly how I want to tie the bow on my birthday. I’m excited Pearl will also be there this time.” Her gaze flits back to the kids on the lawn. “I mean, just look at them. They’re like two peas in a pod. I promise to take good care of her, and if I need anything, I’ll call you.” Then she winks at me before looking at Troy again. “Or I can call my sister since I know you’ll be here.”
The conniving shit. Now I’m sure she asked both me and Troy if she could have the kids for a sleepover at her house because she wanted me to have alone time with Troy on my birthday. God, I love her.
“Sounds good.” Troy grins before winking at her. “Thank you.”
Nisha gets the kids’ attention, both yelling and signing, “Come say goodnight to your parents before we go.”
Rome grabs Pearl’s hand, her plushie still clasped tightly against her chest, before the two of them run toward us, beaming. Rome flings himself around my neck. “Goodnight, Mom. Happy birthday again.”
I give him a kiss on his cheek. “Be good for your aunt, okay?”
He nods and we both turn to watch Troy place a kiss on Pearl’s temple, signing to her that he loves her. She signs the words back before turning to wrap her little arms around my neck. I hold her tighter for a second longer before letting her go. The kid has seeped into my bones as much as her dad has, and I know the same is true for how Troy feels about Rome.
Nisha bends to lay a kiss on my cheek, and I wrap her in a hug while she whispers in my ear, “Happy birthday, sis. Sometimes the best presents are the ones we’re terrified to unwrap.” Then she straightens, speaking to the kids again. “Who’s ready to make shadow puppets?”
The excited cheers that follow her—one loud and one silent—fade as they head toward Nisha’s house next door.
Once they’re out of sight, Troy gathers me in his arms, carries me to my room, and makes my night even more special by worshipping my body until I’m breathless and limp.
But even as my body succumbs to his touch, Nisha’s words circle inside my head like a truth I can finally see. A truth I just need to reach out and grab.
* * *
Sunlight streams through my curtains as my lips part to release a moan. One of my hands fists the sheets while the other grips Troy’s hair. My hips jump to meet his mouth as his tongue spears my entrance.
This is how he woke me up only a few minutes ago.
Replacing his tongue with two fingers, Troy drags his lips to my clit, focusing on creating that delicious frenzy inside my body that he’s become an expert at. The rough scrape of his beard against my most sensitive skin sends a heady current through me, a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips. His fingers work their magic, pumping into me the way his thick length would, while his tongue lashes against my needy bud.
“Oh . . .” My eyes squeeze shut as my body prepares for what’s to come, undulating under him. “God, yes, right there.”
My toes curl as I try not to squeeze his head with my shaky thighs while Troy continues to take me higher. His fingers drive into me deftly as he laps and licks my lips, seam, and clit like an animal possessed.
His satisfied groans vibrate through my core and my hand curls over his head, pulling him further into me. Wanting, needing, taking.
And when his fingers finally curl, finding that one spot? I’m toast.
My entire body flushes with warmth, clenching and contracting with each overwhelming stroke of Troy’s deft tongue. Stars flash behind my eyelids as I arch off the bed, gasping out his name. My climax pulls me under as I ride his face with abandon, falling apart even as he pieces me together with each long and languid caress.
I’m limp and lost as Troy places one final kiss on my sex before dragging himself back up to lay on the pillow next to me, his lips glistening with my arousal.
He pulls me to him, kissing me while brushing strands of my hair behind my ear. “Good morning.”
I chuckle against his lips. “Yeah, I’ll say. The best of mornings.”
“So, what do you say we get some breakfast before we pick up the kids?”
I nod, nuzzling into his chest with a sigh. “That sounds good. But can we just . . . lay here for a couple more minutes?”
He kisses the top of my head in response.
My eyelids droop and my breathing evens out as I inhale the scent of him, like if I take enough of it in, I’ll remember it forever. The reminder that I’ll only have my memories of us to keep me company one day taints my momentary peace, pressing down like an anvil on my chest. Forcing myself from the dive my thoughts have taken, I look up at him.
I trace the line of his jaw, feeling the thick strands of his beard under my fingertip. “You’ve never said much about your biological dad. I know he died when you were young, but that’s about it.”
The silver surrounding his hazel irises softens. If he’s wondering where the question came from, he doesn’t say it. To be honest, I don’t even know where it came from. Or maybe I do—from an insatiable need to know everything about the man.
“He died in a boating accident when I was a little older than Pearl.”
“God, that must have been so hard for both you and your mom.”
His throat bobs against my lips. “He was a good dad from everything I remember. He’s the one who got me interested in baseball.”
“Yeah?” I smile. “I bet he’s proud of how far you’ve come.”
Troy’s quiet for a minute, lost in his thoughts, his fingers mindlessly making circles on my spine. “Mom put me in the little league team my stepdad was coaching?—”
My intake of breath cuts Troy off momentarily, the similarity of our situations clear. His mom married her son’s baseball coach.
“She was a lot like you back then,” he continues. “Scared to lo—” He clears his throat, but I know exactly what he meant to say. “Scared to get involved with someone again. But my stepdad is sort of one of a kind . . . persistent, too.” A small smile touches his lips. “He said he knew he was going to marry her the minute he saw her screaming at the umpire that her son was safe at home plate.”
I laugh softly. “I honestly can’t picture your sweet mom yelling at anyone.”
“She was the ultimate momma bear when she wanted to be.”
“I’m glad she gave in to him.” The words are out before I have a chance to think about their implication and before I land us in more hot water of conversations I’m not ready to have, I add, “Now, about that breakfast you were speaking of . . .”
Except, little did I know then, secure in my little private bubble and the warmth of Troy’s arms, that in less than twenty-four hours, my life was about to implode.