Chapter 3 #3
Vivian’s eyes were pressed shut, her face the picture of pure pleasure. A tiny drop of sweat ran down her cheek. He licked it away with his tongue, wanting that taste of her.
That was when he realized he wanted a lot more than just a taste. God. He wanted a hell of a lot more from Vivian…and he didn’t know what to do with that feeling.
Because it wasn’t one he’d ever experienced before.
Dean shut it down, blaming it on the orgasm. He hadn’t been with a woman since he’d moved back to Baltimore and started the job as head coach. Clearly, he’d let it go too long and it was fucking with his head.
The rain still tapped steadily against the hotel window, softer now than it had been a few hours ago. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled out over the Boston Harbor.
Vivian trembled with aftershocks when he withdrew, but she didn’t open her eyes or look at him.
Twisting, he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off the condom before walking to the bathroom to throw it away.
He quickly washed his hands, pulled on a pair of boxers, then returned to the bedroom, half expecting Vivian to be conked out.
When he returned, however, she was lying exactly where he’d left her, but this time, her eyes were wide open.
“Hey there,” he said, returning and sitting on the edge of the bed. Part of him wondered if things were about to get awkward. Not that he was feeling any unease, but he wasn’t sure how Vivian might feel now.
“Hiya,” she said, with an adorable grin that turned slightly wobbly at the end.
Dean turned on the bedside lamp, suddenly concerned. “Viv?” He noticed her lashes were wet with tears.
“I’m fine,” she said, trying to reassure him even as those tears started to fall. “I swear I am.”
He reached for her, tugging her toward him and pulling her into his arms. “It’s okay,” he soothed.
She made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob, before covering her face with both hands. “Oh, God. I’m sorry! So sorry.”
Dean held her tighter against his chest. “What are you sorry for?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know…”
She cried harder, and it seemed as if that fact caught her by surprise as much as him. Dean rocked her gently, her face buried against his bare chest.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again, after a few moments.
His hand settled between her shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles. “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he reassured her.
“I do.” Another sob escaped. “I just…I don’t regret tonight. I don’t regret you. I swear I don’t.” She pulled back enough to look at him, her eyes bright with tears. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
She snorted in disbelief. “Then why am I crying? I should be happy. I am happy. So why…” She shook her head, blinking rapidly, trying to stem the flow. She was only half successful.
Dean didn’t answer right away, giving her a second to compose herself. Then he cupped her face in his hands, waiting until her eyes lifted to meet his. “It’s okay. I understand.”
“How can you? I don’t even understand this.”
He tilted his head and gave her a soft smile.
“Seriously. Can you explain it to me?” Vivian rubbed her eyes wearily, then wiped away the last vestiges of tears from her cheeks.
“You said Phil was your first love.”
She frowned, then nodded.
“I’m guessing that might mean he was your first…everything?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Your only?”
She swallowed hard, nodding once more.
“And tonight…” He paused, not wanting to say anything that might make her start crying again. Her tears bothered him more than he cared to admit. “You haven’t been with another man since he passed away, have you?”
“No,” she said in a choked, strained voice. Fresh tears filling her eyes.
“That’s a pretty big thing, Vivian.”
She closed her eyes, fighting to tamp down her emotions. It took her a minute or two, but he saw when she turned a corner, calming down.
“You spent years loving him. Then the last five grieving him.” He brushed her hair behind her shoulder before placing his hand over it, hoping the touch would comfort her. “You don’t just wake up one morning and forget.”
“I kissed you,” she said, as if she needed to convince herself of something.
“I know.”
“I wanted you,” she added.
Dean sighed, offering her another small smile. “I know that too.”
“I still want you.”
His heart thudded painfully, despite the fact he loved hearing that admission from her. “Want doesn’t erase the past.”
“It feels like…” She searched for words she couldn’t seem to find. “Like I left him.”
Dean shook his head immediately. “No.”
“It does.”
“Vivian. You loved your husband.”
He knew the moment he spoke, he’d used the wrong tense.
“I still love him.”
“Of course, you do. You always will.” Dean was suddenly regretting that they hadn’t taken the time to talk about this stuff before they had sex. If he’d known for certain that he was going to be her first lover since Phil passed—
He shut that thought down because it was stupid to try to lie to himself. He’d known the truth, known the moment she placed her fingers over his lips that she hadn’t been with another man.
“You don’t stop loving someone because they die,” he added.
She looked at him, her face clearing as she considered him.
While Dean wanted to kick his own ass for not talking to her before, he was determined to do all the damage control he could now. The idea that he’d caused her even a second of pain was too brutal to consider.
Victor would kick his ass for making her cry. And Dean fucking deserved it. “And Phil doesn’t disappear just because you and I slept together.”
She pressed her fingers against her mouth, trying to stop another sob.
“God, Viv. You’re allowed to have every single emotion you’re feeling right now. None of it is wrong.”
“It’s too much,” she said quietly. “Too many thoughts and feelings swimming around inside of me. I can’t tell what’s what. What’s right. What’s wrong.”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “Then I’ll tell you. You’re allowed to miss him. You’re not allowed to feel guilty. You’re allowed to be happy. You’re not allowed to feel like you’ve done something wrong. Because you haven’t.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and silence settled between them again.
Eventually, she opened them, looking him straight in the eye. They were dry now, and he could see that the strength he’d always admired in her had returned. “He made me promise him something. Before he died.”
“He did?”
“He made me promise to find love again someday.”
Dean had never met Phil Kelly, but he knew—all the way to the depths of his soul—that he’d been a good man.
“I got so angry with him,” she said, a sad smile flickering.
Dean listened without interrupting. He could tell she wasn’t just relating this story to him. She was reliving that day in her mind, seeking comfort from it.
“I told him he wasn’t the boss of me.” She huffed out a quiet laugh. “We said that to each other a lot. Always as a joke. ‘You’re not the boss of me,’” she reiterated, in a playfully bratty tone.
“What did he say to that?” he asked.
“He didn’t laugh like he usually did. Phil laughed a lot, so the fact that he didn’t crack a smile told me how sincere he was. He said, ‘I’m serious, Vivi’—he called me Vivi.”
“I like it.”
“He said, ‘Don’t spend forty years missing me.’”
Dean’s chest tightened.
“He said our daughter deserved to see me happy.”
“You knew you were having a little girl?”