Chapter Thirty-two
Martina
I lay in his arms by the light of the fire. He plays with my hair. I run my hand along his abs. I have no idea what time it is, only that it’s late. Neither of us sleeps. Because we know we don’t have but one or two sleeps left?
On his chest, I perch up on a hand. “I have a confession to make.”
His breathing stops. Does he think I’m going to admit my true feelings for him? I’m not. I’m not sure I ever can, no matter how substantial the pull is between us. We’re in two different places. Emotionally and physically. And the bottom line is… he’s just not ready.
“Relax.” I tickle his ribs to lighten the mood. “I was just going to tell you I’ve never done that before.”
“That?” He squints. “What are you talking about? We’ve been doing that for days.”
“I mean what I did to you.”
His eyes widen like saucers. “Never?”
I shake my head, embarrassed. “Charles wasn’t circumcised. He was self-conscious about it and I guess I just never pressed the issue. And he didn’t, um… want to do it to me either.”
His mouth opens in surprise. “Seriously? So I was the first on both counts?”
When I nod, I swear there’s a look of pride that overtakes him.
I wrinkle my nose. “I guess that makes me kind of a freak, huh?”
He caresses the side of my cheek with his thumb. “You’re anything but a freak.”
“So it was… okay?”
“Are you kidding? Marti, it was sensational. How in the hell does someone who’s never given head do it so expertly?”
My face heats up and I just know I’m blushing. “I read a lot.”
“Well, thank the Lord for books,” he says, laughing.
“Speaking of books. Are you ready for me to read?”
I’m not sure how many hours of the day I spend reading to him, but it’s definitely become our thing. How I’m going to miss it. How I’m going to miss him .
“Not yet,” he says. “I was thinking you could tell me about Alex. If it’s not too difficult, that is.”
I close my eyes and see her angelic face. “I’m happy to. I love talking about her. She was one of the highlights of my life. Those eight days I had with her were some of the best I’ve ever had. It was amazing how much she looked like Charlie. I think she would have had his eyes. My eyes.” I reach up and touch my hair, just left of my part. “She definitely had my cowlick. Just like Charlie does. In fact she was born with a full head of hair.”
“Wait. This was after you had Charlie? I thought you said Charles was the only man you’d been with.”
“He was. Alex was his. The pregnancy was accidental. Charlie was six months old. We’d been separated since before he was born. We were friends who were blissfully co-parenting. It was the day the divorce papers came. Charles brought his over along with a bottle of tequila. He said we started it together, we were going to end it together. One thing led to another and nine months later, Alex was born. The plan was to eventually share custody like we did with Charlie, but since I was breastfeeding, she stayed primarily with me. Charles would come over every day to spend time with her. And Charlie… oh my gosh did he love having a baby sister.”
A picture forms in my head. One with Charlie holding Alex, me by his side carefully holding her head as Charles snapped the photo. It’s my favorite picture, and to this day it has a place of pride on my nightstand. It makes me think of Dallas’s photo in the drawer. I wonder why he keeps it there, hidden away. Before I can ask the question, though, he beats me to it with one of his own.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Alex when I first told you about DJ?”
“It was DJ’s birthday. It was about your grief, not mine. You needed to feel what you were feeling without anyone, I don’t know, one-upping you.”
“So if my calculations are correct, your loss is even more recent than mine.”
“She died two years and two months ago. What bothered me the most is that they couldn’t find a reason. Crib death, or SIDS, they called it. When an infant just stops breathing for no explicable reason. I thought it was my fault, of course. Was it something I’d eaten that she’d gotten through my breast milk? Was it something I’d done during pregnancy? I was a wreck for months after. Every night Charlie was with me I’d sit by his crib and check his breathing. He was fifteen months old, but I was sure the same thing was going to happen to him.”
Dallas’s eyes are glassy with unshed tears. He may be the only person I know who can truly understand what I’ve gone through. “How do you deal with it? How are you so… normal?”
“You think I’m normal?” I laugh. “Half the time I’m barely holding it together. One minute I’m fine, laughing and playing with Charlie. The next, I’m in tears because Alex’s face flashes before my eyes, transposed onto his. What would she look like? What would her laugh sound like? What would she have been like as an adult? I think she’d have done something incredible with her life, like cure cancer.”
“DJ would have helped run the winery. Maybe he’d even have become CEO.”
I glance up. “Is it unhealthy to dream about how they would have been?”
He shrugs. “What does your shrink say?”
“She says everyone grieves differently and that there isn’t a script.” I shift uncomfortably. “Which is why I feel so guilty about yesterday and how I acted in the hobby room. I should never have said those things. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I get it. And Marti, those things you said are probably right.”
“Grief sucks.”
His chin dips in agreement. “It does.”
“People don’t understand that there isn’t a timeline in which you magically get over someone. They don’t get that you don’t just lose someone once. It happens over and over. In our dreams. In the faces of others. In a simple word, gesture, or memory. They don’t get that there isn’t an end to the loss. That there isn’t a cure for the daily shock you feel when you suddenly realize they’re gone. Again.”
He squeezes me. He squeezes me tightly because he knows every word I said is true.
I look up at him, tears coating my lashes. “And most importantly, what they don’t understand is that while it might be true that in time, the wound may heal, we will forever have a scar.”
“Jesus,” he whispers, eyes closed, tears escaping and rolling down the sides of his face.
I wipe the wetness away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be such a downer.”
His eyes open and he stares directly into me. “You’re not. Believe me.” He runs a finger along my jaw. “I think Alex would have had your kind heart.”
I rest my head back on his chest. “DJ would be strong like you.”
“She’d be a badass like her mom. Climbing towers to save the day.”
“He’d save damsels in distress.”
“She would be snarky. And funny. And”—he lifts my head so I have to look at him—“totally fucking beautiful.”
My heart explodes in my chest, spreading love and warmth throughout my entire body, all the way to every finger and toe. And I know for sure, in this moment, that I’m in love with him. Deep, profound, all-consuming love. The kind that won’t go away when you aren’t together. The kind I never thought I’d experience. The kind I know I’ll never get over for the rest of my life.
I crawl up so we’re face to face, mere inches between our lips. I inhale a long breath. “I… I…”
Love you.
But I can only say it in my head.
“… need you to kiss me.”
He sighs, visibly relieved I didn’t declare my love for him. It breaks my heart to be in love with a man who can’t love me back. Or won’t. But I see it in his eyes. The emotion. The desperation. The desire to regain something he once had. The intense fear of what that might do to him.
When his lips collide with mine, I get lost in them. In him. In the world I can only temporarily belong to. So I enjoy every feeling. Remember every touch. Relish every second.
And I ignore the ticking clock that’s counting down to just another moment in time that will destroy me.