11. Can Confirm That’s A Hospitalizer #2
Okay, I’m doing it. Fuck. Damnit. My gaze bounces down, then right back up. Adam’s eyes follow, and his mouth curves as molten heat rushes to the tips of my ears.
I dash by him, heading for the stairs. “I’ve gotta put my bathing suit on.”
“I brought your bag into my room. You can change in there.”
I halt, already halfway down the stairs. “Oh.” Whipping around, I strut by him, keeping my eyes on my feet. “Thanks.”
“Rosie?”
I pause at his door, watching his feet come closer, until all I can smell, all I can breathe, is him.
“Need help?”
I swallow. “No.” Maybe.
“’Kay.” Sizzling fingertips slide up my arm, hitching the strap of my dress back up to my shoulder. “Holler if you change your mind, trouble.”
I do need help. All sorts of it. Help cooling my jets, because I haven’t had sex in over a year, and looking at him, it’s suddenly all I can think about.
I’m flustered. So flustered. He’s so sweet and kind, so patient, and then he springs these little things on me, lingering, searing touches, starved gazes, hot, teasing words drenched in intensity.
I’m horny as hell, clearly, which is new and scary, but I’m not ready to jump into that, and what if that’s what he’s expecting?
But beyond that, I need help finding the confidence to walk out of here in this bikini.
I don’t want to feel pretty for Adam. I want to feel pretty for me.
And right now, as I stand before his mirror and take myself in, I’m struggling.
I remind myself that this body gave me the love of my life.
That it grew something from nothing. That it endured endless bouts of sickness, days spent hugging the toilet, aches and pains that made me feel like I’d never walk properly again, an emergency surgery that—so briefly—convinced me I was less of a woman because I couldn’t push my child out.
A surgery that had me unable to stand on my own for days, to take more than a couple steps with my newborn in my arms.
This body isn’t perfect, but it’s strong. Physically, mentally, in everything I’ve worked so hard to overcome.
This body isn’t perfect, but for all it’s done and everything it’s given me, it’s beautiful.
I tie the string of my sheer cover-up at my hip and take a breath before opening the door, starting down the stairs.
The photos lining the wall of the staircase catch my eye, and I pause to take them in. It’s Adam in every single one of them, I’m sure of it. Even the tiny boy tucked into the side of the smiling couple is so clearly him, vibrant cobalt eyes, the most genuine grin with just a hint of mischief.
And the couple…they’re everything. From the way they look at each other, full of devotion, endless love, to the way they look at Adam, like he’s their whole world.
I’m so enthralled with the love flowing from the pictures, I don’t notice Adam until he’s at my side, towering over me though he’s one step below. He’s smiling at the pictures, a hint of longing in his eyes that makes me a little sad.
“Those are my parents.”
I look back at the couple, their deep brown skin and warm eyes, the dark curls spilling down around the woman’s shoulders.
“I was adopted.”
A strange feeling grips my heart, the weight of that single word refusing to settle in my chest, questions I want to ask but can’t, for fear of overstepping.
Fear of revealing parts of me I’m not ready to.
So I tell him, “You can see the love between you three.”
“Mmm. I’ve always been able to feel it too.” His mouth hitches up on one side as he stares at a photo of him on his dad’s shoulders. “Even if it took my dad a little longer to figure it out.”
“What do you mean?”
Adam takes my hand, pulling me down the stairs. “I was in a group foster home.”
The grip on my heart instantly eases, a soaring, freeing feeling as excitement bubbles to the surface at the thought that maybe, after all, we’re so much more alike than I’ve realized.
That he’ll understand all the fears, the nagging thoughts that eat at me in the darkest, quietest parts of the night, when I’m all alone, wondering if I’ll always be this way.
Hope fills me so fluidly, a warm feeling that nearly spills out of me. Before the words can come, Adam goes on.
“My dad did a lot of volunteer work with the home I was in, so I met him right away. I think four-year-old me would’ve gone home with him that first day, I was so enamored with him.
Every time he was in, I followed him around like a puppy.
I wanted to be just like him.” He smiles, a little far off, like he’s remembering something.
“I was in foster care for ten months, and my parents adopted me not long after my fifth birthday.
All that bubbling hope dies, dropping like a dead weight, sitting on my chest in an oddly suffocating way.
It’s a petty, dirty thing, the jealousy that nips at me, the bitterness that he spent so little time there, that he found this beautiful family that chose him, that decided they wanted to love him for the rest of their lives and his.
All I want to feel for him in this moment is happiness that he found that. Instead, I’m overcome with guilt and a stinging pile of self-hatred, because beyond the genuine happiness lies the weight of wishing there was somebody out there, anybody
, who might understand what it’s like to sit there day after day, on your best behavior, hoping, dreaming
that someone might choose you. Might spend five minutes talking to you and go, Hey, I think I want to take a chance on her. I think I want to keep her.
I think I want to love her.
I bury the nasty thoughts as deep as I can, choosing to embrace the good ones as I squeeze his hand. “I’m happy you found your forever family, Adam.”
“Are your parents in the city?” he asks casually as he leads me through his house, toward his backyard.
“It’s just me and Connor. I came out here on my own after I graduated from high school.”
“Does it ever get lonely?”
Always.
I force a smile. “I keep busy.”
“Right, but…” His fingers circle my arm, stopping me. “That’s not what I asked.”
His eyes rake my face, searching for answers. But I’m still searching for them myself.
“How about this, Rosie.” He brackets my jaw in his hand, the pad of his thumb trapping my lower lip. “How busy do you want me to keep you? Because sometimes I feel lonely, but when I’m with you, I feel full.”
That fullness he swears he feels seeps into my skin, filling all the empty spaces like sand between pebbles. “I’d like you to keep me very busy.”
Happiness detonates his face. “I can do that.”
Adam’s backyard is as immaculate as his house, exquisite and sprawling. Situated below Mount Fromme, it’s a plush green oasis worthy of a magazine spread.
“Of course you have a waterfall feature,” I mumble as Adam dips into the pool, long arms making circles as he pushes himself backward, waiting, watching, grinning
.
My heartbeat threatens to pound out of my chest as I dip my toes. The water is warm, but the chill that trembles down my spine isn’t.
I swim where there are lifeguards. Where the water reaches my hips and my feet touch the bottom. Where Archie and Marco are arm’s length away, in case panic sets in.
My eyes flutter closed as I chant the mantra my therapist taught me.
My past is not my future. I’m allowed to be scared, and I’m allowed to choose to move slowly, so long as I move.
I move, down one step, warm water lapping at my ankles as the air in my chest rattles my rib cage.
“Rosie?” Adam murmurs, and my lids flip open. “You gonna take your cover-up off?”
“What?” I look down at myself, still covered. “Oh. Yeah. Duh.” I find one of the loungers below the gazebo, and with my back to Adam, I slowly peel off my cover-up and drop it. My fingers tremble at my belly as I remind myself I’m beautiful and strong, that if Adam can’t see it, it’s his loss.
I drop to the first step and stop, curling my fingers into my palms three times, squeezing my eyes shut as I count each one. I hear the lapping of water, the steady drip drip drip
as Adam climbs the steps, feel the warmth of his hands as they circle my waist, fingertips digging in.
“Rosie?” he whispers, so close, I think his lips may be nearly touching mine. I want to look, but I can’t.
“Yeah?”
“Open your eyes.”
“Do I have to?”
“I’d like you to, but I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to.”
I crack one, just a smidge. He cracks a smile, lopsided and sweet.
“What is it you’re afraid of right now, me, or swimming?’
“What if I said both?”
“Well, I’d tell you that you have nothing to be afraid of when it comes to me.
I’ll be gentle, and I’m not going to hurt you.
” He sweeps his thumb over the dimple in my chin, coaxing my gaze open.
Cobalt eyes lift to mine. “I wish I could tell you that you have nothing to be afraid of when it comes to swimming, too, but I don’t know your reasons, and I won’t undermine them.
I want you to know, though, that you’re safe with me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“You promise?”
“Swear it.”
I take one step, then another, dropping five inches lower, then ten, and my fingernails bite into his shoulders. Strong hands squeeze my waist tighter, guiding me into him. When he sinks to the bottom, water kissing his chest, he pulls my limbs around him, letting me cling to him.
“’Atta girl,” he murmurs against my temple. “You okay?”
I nod into his neck. “Don’t let go, please.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I almost drowned when I was eleven,” I blurt. “A firefighter saved me. It was a…a silly accident. In my own pool.”
“Fuck, Rosie. I’m sorry.” His hands still on my body. He starts wading toward the stairs. “I would’ve never asked you to—”
“No, please. It’s okay.” I drag my face from the safe spot in his neck.
“It’s something I’ve been working on for years, getting back in the water, and it’s been a priority since Connor was born.
I know why my fears exist, but I don’t want them to control me forever.
More than that, I don’t want them to impact Connor’s life.
He loves the water, and I want him to feel confident and safe in it. We’re learning together.”
Adam’s gaze is steady on mine, a comforting weight that tells me he’s listening, taking it in.
“Thank you for letting me be a part of your journey.” He dips his mouth to my shoulder, pressing a kiss there that sends all the blood to my head, making me dizzy.
“I won’t push you to do anything you aren’t ready for.
You tell me where your boundaries are and I’ll respect them. ”
“It’s easier,” I mumble against his neck. “With you, it feels easier.”
“I feel the same with you.”
I look at him, the shadow of stubble lining his rugged jawline, the sharp line of his cheekbones, the way his curls hang in effortless perfection above his eyes. “What’s easier for you?”
“Being me,” he whispers. “Just me.”
I take his face in my hands and swallow every worry. “I like you, Adam. Just you, the way you are.”
His smile is like the brightest beam of sunshine, heating the coldest, darkest parts of me. He drops his nose to mine, his lips so close I can taste the mint on his breath. “I like you, too, Rosie. Just you.”