Chapter 20 Sean #2
A heavy inhale from Sean, like this was getting to be painful. ‘If you want. I’m quite certain I’m a spring, though.’ He exhaled heavily and adjusted his jeans.
Catching a flicker of amusement on his face, she knew this was nothing to do with the colours.
‘Something in your jeans giving you a spring vibe?’
‘Aye. I might need an expert to sort it out.’ The need in him beckoned to her without a single word spoken.
Cherry dropped her hair, let it cascade down, closed the inches between them with a silent, barefoot step.
‘I’m an expert; how can I help?’
Softly, he considered her and the question. ‘You can start by taking this off for me. It’s the wrong shade of blue, and I can’t be seen in petrol when I’m a periwinkle guy.’
‘Mm-hmm.’ Cherry skirted her hand along the hem of the t-shirt, glancing across the thick cotton that clung to her husband’s body in all the right places.
The blue might be wrong, but the fit was incredible the way it hugged his barrel-making arms, hung over those surfer’s abs.
Cherry slid her hand under the hem, round to the small of Sean’s back, the curve and dip of the muscle there strong and fevered.
She ventured her touch further up the geography of the body she hadn’t yet explored properly, like a foreign land in an atlas.
A land of hot plains and valleys of muscle.
Palm splayed on his back, she pulled him in, needing the closeness, their combined temperature far beyond tolerable already.
The whole time, he watched her.
Dropping her hand to the hem again, she tugged his t-shirt up as far as she could reach until he brought it over his head, letting it drop to the ground.
‘It really didn’t suit you.’ She trailed her finger around the Celtic band tattoo on his wide, muscular arm. ‘This, though, is perfect; tell me about this.’
‘Mmm.’ Sean’s voice was low and deep like a loch. ‘It represents my family. You know, the love that wraps all the way around you.’
‘That’s lovely.’ Cherry was mesmerised by the beautiful artwork on his arms. ‘Which did you get done first?’
‘Hmm, there’s an ugly thistle right there.’ He cocked his head towards his bicep. ‘We don’t make the best decisions when we’re seventeen.’
‘Those decisions are you. I love them all.’
‘Thanks. There’s always room for you on here, when you’re ready.’
She shot her gaze to his. It was bold; it was tender; it was trademark Sean. It shouldn’t be a surprise, given that he’d married her after two days, but that he would get a tattoo for her, if only she said the word, rendered Cherry speechless.
The awkwardness flared between them for a moment or two before dissolving.
‘What about you?’ He ran his hands down her arms. ‘Tell me about your tat. The one on your back that I saw on poker night.’
Now this was taking things down a different route. Did she want to do this? ‘You might think it’s naff.’ Her chin dipped, coyly. ‘But it’s special to me. I’ll tell you if you promise not to laugh.’
‘I’m not going to laugh, Cher. I can assure you of that. Come on.’ Sean craned his neck to meet her eye, and she lifted her head to him.
‘It’s a string of forget-me-nots. In memory of my dad. We used to see them when we walked on Corstorphine Hill together. And I wanted to let him know I’d never forget him.’
He smiled.
‘See? Told you it was naff.’
‘It’s not naff at all. Would you show me it again?’
Cherry’s stomach roiled a little at the intimacy of this request. Talking to anyone about her dad was intimate; showing someone the tattoo she had done in his memory was another thing. Sure, it was on display when she wore low-cut jeans, but this, with Sean, it was different.
‘Um, sure. I’ll need to lift my dress up.’ She turned away from him, lifting the hem, the white lace of her underwear very much visible.
Apart from the low, steady breath of her husband as he contemplated her lower back, the room was deathly still. She should feel exposed, but somehow there was no rawness, no vulnerability. Only tenderness.
‘It’s beautiful, Cher. A really lovely tribute.’ Sean’s voice thrummed behind her, through her, mellowing her.
She could tell him the rest now. This was as good a time as any.
‘There are four extra flowers,’ she said, hardly believing herself. ‘Can you see them?’
She couldn’t see his face to give a hint of what he was seeing or thinking, but he must have found the flowers.
‘The white ones?’ he said.
‘Yes, they’re…’ The words hitched in her throat. ‘They represent…my…my babies.’ Pressure surged behind her breastplate. Saying that out loud would never be easy, which was why she rarely did.
Babies. Fine, downy hair, unaffected giggles, chubby arms – those things she longed for, slipping from her grasp every time.
Sean was silent. Cherry drew in a slow breath and wondered if this was a mistake. It was hard enough to deal with her own emotions without having to navigate other people’s difficulties.
But then something happened. It was soft, it was simple, but it meant the entire world.
‘Can I touch them?’
Oh, Jesus! No one had ever asked that before.
No one. Not even Dale. But Sean wasn’t Dale; that was very clear.
Cherry managed a nod. Then she felt the pad of his thumb on the small of her back, assured but tender, tracing across each of the flowers, one by one, warm, stabilising comfort over her unimaginable, life-altering loss.
Her urge was to spin round and fall into his wide chest. Have him hold and tell her he would take care of her, shield her from any more pain. But she knew those words would only ever be words, and this wasn’t Sean’s hurt to shoulder or heal. That felt acutely true.
‘I’m so sorry you went through that, Cherry. I can’t even imagine the pain.’ His voice vibrated at the perfect timbre to soothe.
‘Thank you.’
Silence filled the air as he gave her time, as she let the feelings bubble up to the surface, allowed them to form words that might explain what it was like. Explain what most people never heard about because it was too sad, too uncomfortable.
‘I never thought I’d get through it,’ she admitted, quietly rubbing the fabric of her sundress again. ‘Every time, it felt like the world was kicking me black and blue and laughing at me, saying, “What did you think, that it would actually work out? Don’t be so fucking stupid, Cherry.”’
‘Oh, Cher.’
‘I can’t explain how attached you get to this idea of being a mum. So quickly. And every time, I believed. I had to. But I almost wished I hadn’t been allowed to believe, so the fall didn’t hurt so much. But then I’d have blamed my own lack of belief for the outcome. Do you see?’
‘Aye, I see.’ Sean’s voice was calm and reassuring over her shoulder. ‘Sorry for upsetting you.’
‘It’s okay. I’m okay now… Sorry.’ She worked her jaw. ‘But that’s how it was; it’s the worst thing – things – I’ve ever gone through. That and my dad dying.’
Sean glanced his fingers over her skin again. ‘You’ve been through devastation, Cher. White forget-me-nots are perfect.’
She swallowed hard, wanting to stay composed.
Tears were not always the answer. ‘Thank you. I put them with my dad so they could all be together.’ The cracking in her voice told her it was time to stop talking.
Sean’s strong hands dusting and smoothing down on her shoulders steadied her. So bittersweet.
‘Thank you for letting me share with you,’ she whispered.
‘Thank you for telling me.’ Softly, he kissed the curve of her neck.
Just once. Then he reached for the sides of her dress, which were bunched inside her fists, and gently eased them from her, lowered the skirt so it dropped and covered her exposed skin.
When she came back round to him, his expression was soft and serious.
‘Do you want to talk any more?’ he said. ‘Or go to bed?’
She stalled. He must mean going to separate beds, but they could walk upstairs as husband and wife.
There was so much unspoken yet spoken in the silence between them.
The way he looked at her, like she blew his mind but completely broke him.
It was almost impossible to bear. She could make it better. They could heal each other.
But she didn’t want grief sex. Or pity sex.
And if they did it tonight, that’s what it would be.
Sean feeling like he had to treat her with kid gloves, as if she would break were he anything but gentle.
Everything was overshadowed by the past, her shame over her body failing her, her fears for the future, and the chance of waking up an emotional shambles, not knowing which way was north anymore.
Keeping her gaze fixed on Sean’s, she said, ‘We should both get some sleep.’
‘Aye, okay.’ He took their beer bottles to the bin. ‘Come on, I’m knackered too.’
Together, they ascended the stairs. Stopping at the top, they faced one another, the landing dim but the atmosphere burning.
‘Night, Cher.’ Through the smoky light, Sean’s voice was deep and protective, and she wondered if he could give her an orgasm just by talking.
Probably, yes, but get a grip, Cherry.
‘Sleep tight, Sean.’
‘Aye, you too.’ His breath was warm, his rough stubble comforting, as he leaned in and kissed her softly on the cheek.
And he might sleep well, but she bloody wouldn’t. How on earth could she do anything but lie in bed, her to-die-for husband in the next room, and think of him?