Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
CARBON
Well, that ended up being easier than I thought.
My hand slowly rubs Ronny’s little body as he snuggles against my hip.
My other hand stroking softly against Harry’s bare low back as she sleeps snuggled against my other side.
As soon as Mom put the idea of marriage in my head, I knew she was right.
I thought it would be a bit more work to get Harry to agree.
But there was so much panic, so much pain, so much going on with her tonight.
I knew she needed marriage as much as I do.
It’s weird, I never thought it was something I needed—until Harry.
Kind of seems like it’s the same for her.
Hopefully she will explain what is happening for her.
I’m forcing myself to wait for her to tell me.
I have been pushing her pretty hard lately and while yes, she has not just gone with the pushes, but has met me everywhere I have pushed her—I just…
I need her to explain this particular thing.
I am struggling to know where it is coming from.
I can guess. I can guess that this stems from that piece of shit, but I’m not sure how.
I need her to tell me, so I know how to settle her heart.
Between the soft deep breathes of my woman and the subtle rumbling snoozes of Ronny, I am lulled into sleep.
My alarm going off startles me from sleep.
Harry’s nails poke into my hip. I pull away from her just long enough to grab my phone, shutting it off.
Ronny uses my thigh to stretch on and while I like Harry’s nails digging into me, I am not so much a fan of cat nails.
Thankfully, there is a comforter in the way that serves to dampen the little pricks of his nails.
“No wake up,” Harry grumbles, wiggling her face into my chest when I roll back to my side facing her.
Wrapping my arms around her and thoroughly enjoying waking up to her, Ron Ron meows.
When we both ignore him, coiling tighter together, he starts to climb up me.
He presses his paws into my shoulder stares down his nose at me and meows right in my ear.
“You have an automatic feeder!” Harry snits at him, throwing herself to her back.
Ron Ron meows again, still directing his displeasure at me. I frown at him. “Alright Prince Cauldron, what do you need?”
“He doesn’t like to eat alone,” Harry grumps. “He wants me to be in the room with him when he has breakfast. He eats just fine the whole damn day, but breakfast apparently isn’t a solo act.”
I can’t help but laugh. Well, now I know why Harry has been getting up with me. I stroke my hand down Ron’s head and along his back. “What if I am with you? Will that work?”
He gives a short meow that sounds more like a muh-yat. “Sexy girl, stay, rest. Let me see if he accepts just one of us.”
She nods and pulls the covers up over her head as I slip out.
I keep my chuckle quiet as I pull on some pajama bottoms and follow my adopted son out to the kitchen.
He seems perfectly fine with this arrangement, diving headfirst into his food bowl while I get coffee going.
I scratch at my bicep as I wait, my blunt nail catching on a scab.
Looking down I grin at the little marks Harry left on my skin.
This isn’t the first time, just the first time I can see them without a mirror.
They are mostly hidden by my tattoos, but one of them is between a gap in two tattoos.
Ron seems done with his meal, so he weaves his way over to me, rubbing against my legs. I pull him up hugging him to my chest as I scratch his neck. “Let’s make mornings our time? Let Mama snooze, we keep slightly different hours.”
He pulls back looking me in the eyes and I hope that is his way of saying, sure, this could work for me.
I pour some coffee for myself, setting the pot back on the plate to keep hot for Harry.
Adding a little milk, I take a seat at the counter after letting Ronny down, to which he immediately sets himself up on his throne to watch his programs. The birds are out in force this morning, finishing up the fruit I set out yesterday evening and attacking the seed.
I check the county’s site, deciding a simple window marriage will be satisfying for me but I’ll check with Harry.
I hear her footsteps and move over to pour her coffee, adding the milk and raw sugar she likes.
Her hands slide around my stomach, nails pressing against my chest as she holds me. “I hope that’s for me.”
Turning in her arms, I hold her cup out.
She takes it with one hand, resting her head against my chest, her other hand holding against my back.
She is working up to talking. I wrap my arms around her body, leaning back into the counter to support us both.
I start a slow soft rub of her back, waiting for her to decide she is ready.
“I’m sorry.”
I hum for a moment as I debate what she is apologizing for. Not able to think of anything besides maybe her needing reassurances, I decide it must be that. “Don’t be sorry for telling me what you need.”
“It’s pathetic. You have said it so many times.” I feel her finger with my ring on it rolling it against my skin some.
“Nothing about you is pathetic.”
“The scars. You wanted to know how I feel about them. I hate them. They are shameful for me. They remind me every moment of every day that the first person to ever tell me they loved me, took those words back. He cheated on me and he left me alone to face the school, which was my world at the time. Then, he… he did this to me. He hurt me. He hurt my heart, he hurt my soul, he hurt my body. He left me with scars so I could never forget that loving me wasn’t important.
Loving me wasn’t worth it—I wasn’t worth basic human decency. ”
Each word digs the knife deeper into my gut.
Hearing how destructive one person could be to her.
She was just a child, and someone whispered lies into her ear then betrayed her.
But not only that, he could do that depth of damage because she had parents that never once offered her peace.
The type of peace that comes with something as simple as love.
My woman’s pain is deeper than I realized.
Perhaps my brand of love is a good thing.
Knowing there is nothing that will deter me, or make me tire of reminding her, indulging her, and supporting her.
My feelings for her seem to only expand and crave a tighter hold the longer she has been in my life.
I only want her more and her thriving under my level of want only spurs me on.
I have a sneaky suspicion that she and I are in a never-ending loop of need, desire, fulfillment.
Pulling the mug from her hand, I set it on the counter, wrapping my hands around her beautiful head.
Her little shoulder shrug, and before I can get the mess of my thoughts out, she tells me something I didn’t expect to hear.
“No one has ever sought out touching my scars before you. They try to not stare, thinking it will upset me is my guess. When their hands begin to feel them, they shift away. But you just… you touch them. You look at them. They don’t make you uncomfortable.
When you told me—when I hunted you down because I hadn’t seen you in a couple days. ”
She looks at me to see if I remember, and I nod. Of course I do.
“You said that my scars represented a strong, incredible woman that couldn’t be stopped. A bright spirit that couldn’t be snuffed out.” Her pretty eyes move between mine.
I nod.
“Do you really see me that way?” Her cheeks pink a bit with her question.
“I do. I hate that you have those scars because someone hurt you. I hate even more what they mean to you. What he did to you was unforgivable. He lied to you. He betrayed you. He left you. Then he destroyed your faith in others. I fucking hate that.
“Harry, he was never worthy of you. And maybe I’m not either, but I will do anything it takes to be what you need.
” I let my fingers slide to the front of her body, pulling the shirt—my shirt—she is wearing up until my fingers can slide against the scars on her stomach.
“The reason you have these is horrible, unacceptable, and requires retribution. But”—I sink to my knees, looking up at her as I press my lips to the marred flesh— “for me… not only are they part of you—you who are the center of my fucking universe—but they represent a force of will. The will to survive and thrive. They are a vulnerability that you openly share with me. They are part of your internal and external beauty that I get the privilege of loving.”
I press more kisses to her stomach, her hips, around her panties, each thigh.
Her hands sink into my hair, nails drawing light whirls against my scalp, my lids desperately want to drop but I keep my eyes on her as my lips move along her skin.
I press my words against her flesh, “I will get you vengeance. I will never leave. I am here. I will be here forever. I am wholly yours. I love you, Harlow.”
Her hands slide down cupping along my jaw. “Never stop saying it.”
I grin up at her. “Never. I’ll never stop telling you how much I fucking love you. That I belong to you. That I will never leave.”
She pulls back, bending down, her hands still clutching my jaw. She brushes her nose against mine. “I love you, Frankie.”
She presses her lips to mine. Soft. Sweet. Filled with all her love and all her pain. I accept it all. All the love she has to give. I take all the pain she needs me to. All of it. Pushing to my feet, I wrap my arms around her, carrying her off with me. “We need to shower.”
She nods, her lips pressing more and more soft little kisses to my lips as I hold her to me, walking us straight to the bathroom we share. I get the water on and pull my shirt from her body followed by her panties. I give a shove of my pajama pants, then step us both into the spray of the shower.