12. Something . More
12
Something ... More
Bre
W hat she liked about Billy the most was the story his body told. The thin scars that intersected his many, many tattoos, memories of a childhood lived rough and outdoors with a band of unruly brothers. The art itself, sprawling lines of colour and shape so intricately designed that she had spent days, years ago, exploring.
He’d added a mass of smaller works to the collage, each individual image telling a story. They were a collection of moments and memories, he’d explained long ago, permanently inked on his skin, seeming to emphasise the magnificence of his body. Covering so much of him, they added texture and depth to muscles defined through hard, physical labour, ignoring the things he couldn’t do to focus on the numerous things he could.
She stroked the little coconut she found in the collage, and something deep and sentimental clicked into place.
Was it for her? This tiny tattoo among the artwork spanning his skin? How many other tokens would she find, if she looked closely, now she knew.
You have a knack for making me feel like I’m whole and complete.
She entirely understood that sentiment, so boldly spoken. He was so much braver than she was. He always had been, even that day at the train yard, when they were only five. She’d held his hand, her palm slick and clammy, awaiting the return of the brothers, who she’d ordered to find help. Billy had been valiant, stoic. Her hero, even then.
Lifting her eyes, she marvelled at his mouth hidden in that dark shadow of a beard, lips so soft and perfectly shaped to hers. Yet another jigsaw piece that just fit . He spoke to her more than to others, said the sweetest, dirtiest things she’d ever heard. Made her laugh and snort, made her fight.
His words had never resounded so deeply within her before. Not a fling … A fantasy … Something more.
The labels terrified her. How would they survive this, whether friends or casual lovers or the potential of Something More, when there was a baby involved? They’d been so solidly defined for so long, how would they pave a path into a new reality as … what? A couple? with a child involved in the equation?
“Bruce. Talk. Never stop talking.”
She examined every feature of Billy’s face, those amazing eyes, the dark hair that rested on his forehead, curling down into a wiry beard that she adored more than anything. She could spend hours following the individual zigs and zags of each hair as it trailed down to his tattooed chest.
She ran her hand over his wide chest, dropping her forehead to the familiar ink. Instinctively, his chin fell atop her head, his hand curling around her waist.
She became aware that she should say something, but her new nemesis – hormones – were getting the better of her once again. All because of towels.
He’d created a path in towels on the floor so she wouldn’t slip. The simple thoughtfulness of the act made her want to cry, which, in turn, made her mad. She wasn’t a crier! Who shed tears over linen?! Frustration melted into guilt.
How could she feel this way, so up and down and sideways? One minute she was literally dripping wet, about to orgasm from a shower and from Billy’s fingers, and now …
“I’ve spent so long being SO horny, and now I’m just … not.” Tears pricked her eyes once more, regret spearing through her, but she forced the thoughts from her mouth. “Mr Grumpy … Billy … it’s not you. Either of you. Not at all! I wanted you so badly, and I was so close only a minute ago, but the switched flicked. I don’t know what happened! One minute I’m all revved up and ready to go, and the next, my libido is as extinct as a damned dodo!”
“Honey, I told you, this isn’t about me. Whatever you need, or don’t,” he added, “I’ve got you.”
“You seemed like you had plans, though.”
“My plans … God.” He exhaled roughly, and she saw him mustering his courage to speak. “My plans will take longer than just tonight. Tonight, I wanted to taste you. But my tongue and Mr Grumpy …” His mouth kicked up into a gentle smile. “We’ll survive.”
She melted against him, and his familiar body.
“You used a contraction,” she teased. “Must be serious.” His deep, rich laugh rumbled through him, like he was a purring kitten, pleased with her. “So can we talk?”
He growled at the rhetorical question, like she knew he would. The warmth in his smile, the tilt of his mouth, the tiny rise of his brows all said to keep talking. With a grin wide as the Sydney Harbour Bridge, she continued.
“Your mum helped me so much this afternoon. She advised on new underwear, and why the elastic band position is important for comfort and healing, especially if baby is delivered via Caesarean. I see that expression, Billy Carmichael, and I know you’re wondering if that’s likely. Honestly, I don’t know. As you probably guessed, I haven’t been great at checking in with the good doctor Hargraves. But your mum, Billy, she found pants with just enough stretch AND pockets. She explained how maternity bras worked, and how to feed a baby.”
The list continued. There were so many things she didn’t know, simply hadn’t considered, or never thought to ask. Things Elanor would never discuss with her, because they weren’t ‘proper’ for young ladies to know. Bre had never been proper. Too curious, she’d needed to know everything, and never quite understood why she was punished for seeking answers.
A yawn racked through her as she thought about the strange turns her life had taken this December. The way the Carmichael clan insisted on taking care of her, but still allowed her a dash of independence. How Holly and Sharee knew that Bre’s version of ‘rest’ was to keep moving, simply changing the pace of her days without asking her to do the impossible and stop altogether.
God! She’d even gone shopping! It didn’t get more out unusual than that. Shopping had never interested Bre like it did other girls. The thought of hours spent trawling every store in town was as enticing as slamming her head in Edsel’s engine bay. She’d never stopped to consider her clothes – other than whether or not they passed the sniff tests. The fact that Holly and Sharee spent that time with her, asking, listening, advising, making it bearable with frequent snack and water breaks, had her emotions on a roller coaster she simply couldn’t control.
“Come here, honey.” Perching on the edge of the mattress, Billy patted his knee and Breanna sank into his lap. His grip tightening around her, he gathered her into himself. Home.
“I’m already exhausted with being a mum,” Bre admitted, worrying her bottom lip, hugging him tighter. “I’m exhausted full stop. I know Reece is right; it’s just so hard to let go, you know? It’s so hot this summer. Is it always like the surface of the sun? Or is it just me? And honestly, what is Piers’ problem?” She ranted and cried, sobbed, and stammered, unable to stop her mouth.
Billy quietly held her, allowed her to speak, even though most of what she said was nonsensical.
“And if one more person asks me how I am, I will absolutely lose my shit, grab a chair and prepare for a World-Wrestling-Smackdown-style spectacle that I know Piers will just love to see …” She sighed. “It feels so good to just get all this off my chest.”
Billy nodded slowly, dragging a towel closer with an extended leg, gripping it with his toes.
“You’re shivering,” he mumbled, lifting the fabric around them both, cocooning.
“You’re something special, you know that?”
He huffed, lips quirking among the wiry hairs.
“Honestly,” she said, cupping his face, thumbs stroking his bearded cheeks. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Billy. I don’t know how I ever imagined I could …” live without you? She bit the words down, because that was exactly the plan she’d made for her future. Be no burden. Ask nothing, of nobody. Survive as a single parent.
“I am here, Bre. Always.”
“I know.” The words whispered out.
If she were quite honest, she’d sometimes imagined what a life together as a ‘proper couple’ might look like. How she’d come home – to their home – dirty from working in the garage and covered in grease, smelling of metal and engine oil and faintly of petrol. She’d relived the fantasy, in detail, imagining how Billy would drag her into the shower and lovingly wash away all remnants of the day, his fingers tracing each bead of water down her smooth, freckled skin, like he had tonight. This isn’t a fling … He’d been right, of course. It was a fantasy. But it was also something more.
“What is it?” she asked absently, drowsily, snuggling into his damp warmth. “This thing between us?”
Another yawn consumed her. None of the dates her mother had arranged had been like this, or hinted at the comfort she implicitly felt with Billy.
He lay her down, curling beside her on the bed.
“We are best friends,” he whispered, words rumbling low and decadent across her skin as he kissed her temple. “I am yours, forever, Breanna. You are …”
Unconsciousness tugged at her edges, and she wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard the word “mine” growled into her skin.
With all the energy she had left, Breanna smiled, she dragged his arm over her. Comforted by his solid body, she ignored the sticky summer heat his body brought with it, drifting quickly into sleep.