31. Braxton
Chapter 31
Braxton
I t’s Sunday, and although it’s my day off, I’m up at the crack of dawn. I’m too worked up to sleep. Jemma’s coming over today to work in the garden.
Last night, we talked on the phone for almost two hours. It reminded me of old times. When I went away to university, we’d do this every night. She’d give me a blow-by-blow account of her day, and I’d tell her about mine.
Although I was an hour-and-a-half drive away, we tried not to miss a minute of each other’s day. It helped keep us connected. It didn’t stop me from missing her, though.
The hardest part of our conversation was saying goodbye and then trying to fall asleep without her wrapped in my arms. At least there was a smile on my face as I lay there thinking about her. Until there’s a reason not to, I’m going to remain positive. Every step forward is a step closer to getting her back.
After a long walk on the beach with Bella-Rose, I’m surprised I don’t wear a path into the hardwood floors waiting for Jemma to arrive when we return to the house. The poor dog paces right alongside me, but eventually she gives up and curls up on her bed.
Looking down at my watch, I see it’s almost eleven. I want to call her, but I don’t want to seem too eager. We didn’t agree on an exact time, but she said midmorning.
A few minutes later there’s a knock on the door, and my worry that she might have changed her mind soon turns into elation.
“Hey,” I say when I open the front door. She’s dressed ready to work, in a pair of tights and a T-shirt. Her hair is tied back in a low ponytail. I’ve noticed since the accident that she has a side fringe instead of having it all pulled back from her face. My guess is it’s to hide the scars.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I had to swing past the shops and grab some things.”
She lifts the arm that’s holding her shopping bags.
“Let me take those.” I reach for them. “You didn’t need to bring anything. I’ve already organised lunch.”
“This is dinner,” she says with a smile. “In one of your letters, you mentioned how your mum would cook a roast on Sundays. It’s Sunday, so I thought I’d cook one for you … that’s if you want me to, of course.”
My smile is as bright as hers. “I’d love that.” Leaning forward, I place a soft kiss on the side of her face. “Thank you.”
Once the groceries are packed away, we head out into the yard, where I have her gardening tools and bucket waiting.
Gardening is not something I ever enjoyed, but Jemma loved being out here; she found it therapeutic.
“I might get started on the lawns then, if that’s okay.”
“Go,” she says. “I’m fine. This is actually relaxing.”
I duck into the house quickly, grabbing her iPod from our room. She used to love listening to music while she gardened.
“What’s that?” she asks when I hand it to her.
“Your iPod. It has all your favourite songs on it. You used to listen to music while you were out here. Sometimes you’d even take it when you went for a run. I’ve been meaning to give it to you.” There are so many of her things still here at the house, but I’ve been reluctant to let them go. “You can choose what playlist you want to listen to by scrolling up and down. Then just press play. You can attach the iPod to your clothes … here.” I take it from her hand and clip it onto her T-shirt. “That way, your hands are free.”
“Thanks,” she says, smiling.
She goes back to her gardening, and I retrieve the mower and edger from the garage. I have never looked forward to doing the lawn so much in my life.
“That looks scrumptious,” she says when I place the prawn-and-avocado salad in the middle of the table. “It’s one of your favourites.”
It looks more like rabbit food to me, but Jemma used to love this before the accident. I bought some crusty rolls to go with it for myself, to make the meal more hearty.
The gardens and lawn are all done, and everything looks great again, just like it used to.
Jemma places the plates and cutlery on the table before taking a seat. “I Skyped with Rachel this morning,” she says.
“I’m glad you two are doing that again. You used to Skype all the time before the …” I let my words drift off.
Picking up the tongs, I scoop some salad onto her plate.
She pops a prawn into her mouth before continuing. “Anyway, I mentioned Lucas. I never got a chance to bring it up when she came over for the farewell dinner.”
That comment gets my attention. “And?”
“She burst into tears. Oh, Braxton, it was awful,” she says with a sigh.
“You didn’t tell her what Lucas told me, did you?”
“No. I’d never betray your trust like that. I brought up the shopping centre you guys designed. But as soon as I mentioned his name, she lost it. When she finally stopped crying, she told me everything.”
I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t.
“You don’t have to tell me what she said if you don’t want to.” As much as I’m curious to know, I don’t want to put her in an awkward position.
“I trust you won’t relay any of it to Lucas.”
“You know I’d never do that. Whatever we discuss has always stayed between us. I’d never do anything to jeopardise your friendship with Rachel.”
“I’d never do anything to jeopardise your friendship with Lucas, either.”
“I know you wouldn’t.”
She smiles before continuing. “She told me they’ve been secretly hooking up for years. Did you know that?”
“Until Lucas’s confession, I had no idea.”
“Things got serious between them after our engagement party.”
My eyebrows jump in surprise. “It’s been going on that long?”
“Yes. He spent the night at her hotel, and when he drove her to the airport the next day, he asked if he could call her sometimes. She said that at first, he didn’t call often, but over time, the calls became more frequent. They’d talk for hours. They made a pact not to tell us.”
“Why?”
“She said we were always trying to set them up, and they were just having fun.”
“We were,” I chuckle. “They always got on so well.”
“Anyway, to cut a long story short, after our wedding, he took her back to his place. That night, he told her he loved her, and she told him she loved him too. He begged her not to go back to New York.”
“That wouldn’t have gone down well—she loves that job.”
“I know. She said at the time she panicked. She waited until he fell asleep and snuck out.”
“Ouch!”
“He turned up at the airport the next day, and she told him she wasn’t prepared to give up her job. And he told her he wasn’t interested in a long-distance relationship. They got into a big fight, and haven’t spoken since.”
Sitting back in my chair, I ponder her words as I take a swig of my beer. “It all makes sense now.”
“We need to do something, Braxton. If they love each other, they shouldn’t be apart.”
I try not to show how much her comment stings. We love each other too, but we’re apart. Well, I love her; she just doesn’t remember that she loves me just as much.
“I’m not sure if there’s anything we can do.”
“We need to get them to talk. I felt for her this morning.”
“I feel for Lucas as well, but I don’t know how we can fix this when she’s on the other side of the world.”
“That’s the thing: she told me she’s thinking of quitting her job and moving back to Australia.”
I certainly wasn’t expecting her to say that. “Well, I guess that changes everything.”
“I should think about getting this roast in the oven,” Jemma says as she rinses the lunch dishes and passes them to me to stack in the dishwasher. “Christine said the meat takes about three hours to cook.”
“That sounds about right. I’ll help you with the prep when we’re done here. I’m an expert potato peeler.”
“Is that so?” she says, laughing. “You’re a man of many talents.”
Once upon a time, I would have thrown her over my shoulder and carried her upstairs to show her just how talented I am, but those days are long gone.
It’s funny, because when we were younger, I was content with being friends, but now I’m not sure I will ever adjust to being just that—not after everything we’ve shared. I’m trying, I am, but the closer we become, the harder it gets to keep things platonic.
I switch on the oven while she grabs everything from the fridge. This is only her second time in the house since the accident, but she already seems at home.
She sets the timer once the roast is in the oven, before we head outside to take the dog for a walk along the beach.
“She seems to love living here with you,” Jemma says as I pick up the stick Bella-Rose drops at my feet.
“Yes, she does. It works both ways. I’m thankful for the company.”
Jemma doesn’t reply; instead, I’m pleasantly surprised when she reaches for my hand. We walk the rest of the beach in silence, but her hand remains firmly clasped in mine. The only time she lets go is when I bend down to pick up a shell.
“For your collection,” I say, passing it to her.
“It’s pretty, thank you.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon enjoying the sunshine on the back deck while we wait for the roast to cook. The house smells divine. Today has been perfect. My only gripe is that it’s going too fast. Soon she’ll have to leave, and my full heart will feel empty once more.
A southerly wind whips up after dinner, so we move inside to the lounge room where it’s warmer. She doesn’t appear to be in a rush to go home, but I’m not complaining.
I choose not to turn the television on, preferring to just talk instead.
Although Jemma’s attention is solely on me, I notice her gaze occasionally flicker to the canvas of us above the fireplace. She hasn’t seen the wedding album yet—it arrived after the accident—and I’m torn about whether to show her.
I’m not sure why I’m scared to see her reaction, but I am. Maybe I’ll send it with one of her letters.
“Do you have any pictures of your mum?” Jemma asks, out of the blue. “I’d love to see one if you do.”
Rising, I walk towards the long low-line entertainment unit, where Jemma kept all of our photo albums.
Many years ago, I confessed to her I was frightened that memories of my mum were fading, and how guilty it made me feel. How could I possibly forget her? I could vaguely remember the scent of her perfume and picture her smiling face in my head, but over time, her image had become clouded, and I hated that.
About a week later, Jemma presented me with an album filled with pictures of my mum she had gotten from my father.
“If you ever feel like your memory of her is slipping, just look through this,” was all she said when she passed it to me.
When I opened it, the first picture I saw was of my mum holding me minutes after my birth. She had a huge smile on her face and a look of love in her eyes. I immediately closed it when a lump rose to my throat and pulled Jemma into a tight embrace.
“Thank you,” I’d whispered as I fought back the tears.
My eyes flicker now to the wedding album when I open the drawer. It’s sitting right on top. I have looked through it so many times, and on each occasion, my heart broke a little more.
Moving it to the side, I take out the album of my mother and pass it to Jemma.
The first time I looked through it was the day Jemma gave it to me. I locked myself away in my room and wiped the tears from my eyes as I turned each page. All the happy memories that had been overshadowed by her death came flooding back.
That night, I dreamed of her.
She came to me in my sleep and asked me to dance with her, just like she’d done when I was a child. But I was no longer a small boy; this time, I towered over her petite frame. There was no music, but she hummed a tune that was unfamiliar to me. Although I knew it was just a dream, in that moment I felt at peace.
“Oh wow, she looks so much like you,” Jemma says, opening the album to the first page.
I have my father’s build and jawline, but my mother’s nose, eyes and hair colouring. I don’t always get upset like I did the first time I looked through these photos; sometimes I smile and feel grateful for the time we had together. I’m hoping this is one of those times.
My heart feels heavy as I tell Jemma the stories that go along with the images. Over time, I’ve learned to live with my loss, but the longing to be with my mother again never lessens.
Finally, we come to the last page. The photograph shows our last Christmas together. I’m sitting on the floor surrounded by presents and discarded wrapping paper. My mum is wearing a Santa hat and holding a piece of mistletoe above my head as she kisses my cheek. I’m scowling, and now I hate myself for it. I was only eleven, at that awkward age, but I’d give anything for a redo now.
“Hey,” Jemma says, placing her hand on my leg as I stare down at the image.
“I took everything for granted,” I whisper. “I was unaware that this would be our last Christmas together.”
“You weren’t to know … none of us know what lies around the corner, Braxton. That’s life. It is so unpredictable.”
Tears rise to my eyes as they meet hers. “Ain’t that the truth?”
If you told me a few months ago that my wife and I would be living in separate houses, I wouldn’t have believed it. I thought nothing would ever pull us apart. Our bond was too strong.
She lifts her hand off my leg and places it on the side of my face. When her gaze flickers down to my mouth, I don’t hesitate to bring my lips to hers. This time I don’t ask permission; I need to seek solace in her. She has always been my comfort, my happy place.
I’m taken aback when she shifts her body before climbing onto my lap and straddling me. It’s hard for me to hold back and not take the lead, but I know I have to let her move things at her own pace.
When her lips meet mine again, my fingers slide into her hair as I tilt her head back slightly, deepening the kiss.
“Braxton,” she breathes into my mouth.
The restraint I’m forced to show makes me feel like I’m a kid again, not an adult who has been deeply intimate with his wife too many times to count. She’s even harder to resist now because I know what I’m missing.
I groan when she pushes her hips forward, seeking the friction. My hands move down to her waist as I slowly rock her body against mine. I already know I’ll be having another cold shower tonight, but this isn’t about me, it’s about her. I want her to experience this. It’s something the old Jem couldn’t get enough of.
“Braxton.” Her fingernails dig painfully into my shoulders as she picks up the pace on her own. When she pulls out of the kiss and tilts her head back, a perfect little ‘O’ forms on her lips. I know what’s about to happen, because I’ve seen that expression so many times over the years. “Oh god,” she moans as she continues to move against me. “Mmm,” she whimpers as another wave hits. It takes every ounce of strength I have not to stand and carry her up to our room.
Her body goes limp and collapses against mine. “What just happened?”
This moment is like déjà vu.
“You had an orgasm.”
I can tell she’s mortified when she buries her face further into my chest. “You must think I’m an idiot.”
“Far from it.” I place my finger under her chin and lift her face so I can see her. “Your very first orgasm happened in the same way.”
“Really?”
“Yes. We were making out in the back of your car. You were straddling my lap, just like you are now.”
“Did I know what was happening?”
“Nope. You asked me the same question.”
“I’m sorry.” Her expression shows genuine concern.
“Sorry for what?”
“For what just happened.”
“Never apologise for that. Watching you come undone is still one of my favourite things to witness. The look of ecstasy on your face,” I say as I tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “The way you bite your bottom lip between your teeth. Those sexy little noises you make.” The pad of my thumb gently skates across her mouth as I speak. “The sweet blush that spreads across your cheeks. The look of pure lust in your eyes. You have no idea what it does to me.”
“Did I get embarrassed back then too?”
I lift her off my lap and seat her beside me before discreetly adjusting my aching cock. I can’t have this conversation with her while she’s straddling me.
“Hardly,” I chuckle. “You asked me if we could do it again.”
“Geez, I was forward,” she says, turning a deeper shade of red.
Her comment makes me laugh. “Not at all. We were young and still experimenting. I loved the way you were. I loved everything about you.” I want to add I still do , but I don’t. “We’d never been with anyone else, only each other.”
Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles. “I like that.”
“You’re all I ever wanted, Jem. Nobody could hold a candle to you.”
She tucks her legs up under her chin, and I settle back into the lounge and cross my legs, trying to hide my raging hard-on.
“Did we … you know … have sex often?”
I have to roll my lips to suppress my smile because I can tell she’s uncomfortable asking that question. It’s very sweet.
“Yes. About twenty times a day,” I reply, trying my hardest to keep a straight face.
“We did not ,” she squeaks, nudging me with her shoulder, causing me to bark out another laugh.
“Okay, maybe twenty is a slight exaggeration.”
“A slight exaggeration. I doubt I’d be able to walk if I had sex that much every day, let alone be able to function throughout the day … or hold down a job. I would have been permanently on my back.”
“When we were younger, we went at it like rabbits.”
“Oh my god, Braxton,” she murmurs, covering her face with her hands. “Stop it!”
It’s times like this that I notice the real change in her. We had a very open relationship, and the old Jem knew she could talk to me about anything.
“It’s the truth, we did,” I say. “We waited for months before we took the plunge, but once we crossed that line, there was no stopping us. Every chance we got, it’s what we did. We couldn’t get enough of each other.”
That’s the way it stayed, right up to the accident.
“Did I … umm … enjoy it?” she asks as her embarrassment grows.
“Of course. I’m an exceptional lover.”
“Of course you are,” she says, giggling.
“You always found me irresistible. You couldn’t keep your hands off this fine specimen of a man.” I run my flattened palm from my chest and down to my abs as I speak.
With that statement, she completely loses it, and seconds later, I do as well. When she wipes tears from her eyes, it only makes me laugh more.
This is the old us, the way we’ve always been—fun, easygoing, completely ridiculous. Down for a good laugh.
It’s the perfect end to a perfect day.