Chapter 34 #2
I track his tongue running over his bottom lip and shiver. The side of his mouth quirks up in a smirk. “You taste like honey.”
“Oh, I’m sweet, huh?” I tease him.
He nods his head slightly, a satisfied smile playing along his lips. “I would spend every single minute between your thighs if I could.”
With strong arms he pulls me into his side, pressing my cheek into his chest, and I nuzzle in. Enjoying the silence I’ve gotten used to after we make love. He traces circles over my naked hip, and I place a small kiss to his chest. “Can it always be like this?”
“It doesn’t ever have to be anything different.” He presses a kiss to my hair, and I take a longer moment to really take in his space, how safe I feel here with him.
His bedroom is minimal and clean, the soft carpet being one of my favorite things of the entire condo—aside from the shower. What anyone would assume would be a dark and broody bachelor pad feels like a place someone calls home. Clean and welcoming, much like Clint himself.
I press a kiss to his chest, biting him a bit for no reason other than enjoying the feel of him between my teeth. Maybe it's for a sense of ownership, a claiming, even if I don't leave any marks.
“You like biting, hm?” he questions.
“Maybe I just like biting you.”
“As long as I get to bite you back,” he responds, tickling my side.
I buck against him, laughing loudly as I try to get away from his traitorous hands. “Clinton!” I scream, begging him at this point. “Please! I can’t. Please.” He finally slows, and I try to even out my erratic breathing.
“I love it when you sound needy.” My God, this man and his mouth will be the death of me. Can someone die of too many orgasms? Sounds honorable. His cock thickens against my leg, and I no longer give a damn if the sensations kill me or not.
“I need your hands on the headboard, Dove. I’m not done with you yet.” And I do just that. Clinton and I get lost in each other's desires. And not for the first time do I imagine what it would be like to spend the rest of my life with him, just like this.
This month feels like it's been at least two. I’m exhausted. Between the golf tournament closing in and Cassidy’s engagement, I don't have much bandwidth left, and the edges of my sanity are starting to fray.
My bones are tired. Shaken Tropes has been booming since we added in Dance in the Library nights. My feet throb from standing all evening as I slide into my sneakers and pull on the laces.
I may be tired but I know a run will clear my head. Tying my sneakers, I give Waffles a few scratches beneath his chin. “I know I haven’t been home as much, but I promise tonight will be chill.” He meows at me before he jumps up on the couch and curls into a cozy ball of fluff.
Slipping my phone into the pocket of my leggings, I fit my arms through my running jacket and head for the door. The cold wind whips across my face as I step outside, stopping at the mailbox to do a few stretches.
I haven't checked it in a couple of days, and something is nagging at me to check to see what’s inside. “I can do it once I get back,” I say to myself, urging my feet to get going.
I start off with a slow pace and work my way up to my full speed, which I’ll admit is still pretty slow…
but I'm not here to compete with anyone, this is for me.
The feel of my feet pounding on the pavement helps me focus, sore feet and all.
I need to clear my head so I can actually enjoy my day off.
What better way to start the day than with a run that will lead to the most perfect nap.
I stretch out on a bench on my way back, letting the burn ease the last bit of my fragments of frustration and exhaustion.
When I make it back home, I check the mailbox before looking up at the sound of a car pulling up.
I smile at Clinton as he pulls in behind my car in the driveway.
Looking back down at the mail in my hand, I sort through the bullshit and what's important. Sliding the new ads I have behind what I actually want to open, knowing I’m going to toss them in the trash because, let’s be real, I never actually use the coupons no matter how hard I try.
One envelope catches my attention. It's black with gold calligraphy on the front.
It's addressed from The Future Mr. and Mrs. Reyes, and my heart drops.
I don't understand how my dad could leave something so important out of our conversation or even his recent texts, and now I’m not enough to include in his new life.
Did he not want me to know about this? Then why would he send me an invitation? What else could it be? Memories of feeling like I lost my dad in the divorce begin to resurface as I open the thick envelope.
My eyes water as I peer at the crisp, white invitation, reading about a union I should have already been privy to.
It doesn't matter that I received an invite, not when I should have heard it from him first. Why the hell does something like this trigger me so badly? All the birthday parties I had hoped he’d be at.
All the school recitals he missed because of what happened.
I know I was angry with him but...Tears stream down my face, and I feel dizzy from anger, from past hurt bubbling over.
I can hear Clinton speaking, but I’m solely focused on the invitation I’ve got tightly fisted as my chest heaves.
Another oversight. Another moment where I feel like I’m simply an observer in my father’s life.
I can hear the steps on the stone walk as Clint comes up behind me, wrapping his hands around my waist.
“Hey, beautiful, I thought you would be napping the day away by now.” His smooth voice gives me enough reprieve that I lean into him, allowing his presence to calm me enough so I can say something.
“Clint,” I squeak out as I turn into his chest. “I–I...”
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” The concern in his voice causes me to look at his face, knowing tears are running down my cheeks.
“Hey hey, baby. Tell me what’s going on.
First, let’s get into the house. Give you some privacy.
” Clinton ushers me to the door, and I quickly unlock it, thankful Waffles is cuddled up somewhere inside and not ready to bolt the moment I open the door.
We walk over to the couch and sit, his hands stroke away the tears from my face. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“My dad…I mean…I got…” A silent sob chokes me. I’m angry at myself for even being disappointed with my father, who continues to prove to me that maybe he simply isn’t worth building a relationship with.
“Dove, I need you to take a few deep breaths with me.” I listen for his deep breaths and inhale along with him.
“Breath in, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.” I follow his instruction, thankful he’s here to help me through this. “Tell me what happened, baby.”
“I’m trying so hard to establish a real relationship with my father because I want one, and I had hoped he did too.
” Handing Clinton the wrinkled invitation, I continue, “I don't understand how he couldn’t share something like this with me.
Here I was forgoing love, and he has all but moved on and found someone to spend his life with, having missed out on most of mine.
I feel like some kind of forgotten pit stop.
“This feels like another way to push me away. I thought we would grow closer but sending me, his fucking daughter, an invite in the mail without even telling me a single thing about his new bride feels shitty. God, I feel like an idiot for being so upset.”
“Have you talked to your dad yet?” His question surprises me but the calm, soothing nature of his tone lets me answer without reservation.
“No, I saw it and was pulled right back into all his absences. How can he think it’s okay to just—” Balling up my fists, I lean my head back slightly, trying to quell the angry tears wanting to overtake me. “I’m sorry I-I didn't mean to bring you into all this.”
“We’re in this together. It’s only us. No running, right?” I take a deep breath as he rubs his thumb in small circles against my inner thigh. Not in a “I want to take your clothes off” type of way but an “I’m here with you” kind of way, and it melts the last reservation I have about us.
So instead of sugarcoating my sorrow and guilt, I let it out.
“When my parents separated, I was terrible to him.
I was so angry, because I thought he was the reason why our family fell apart.
I gave him all of my anger and pain until he didn't want me anymore.” I hiccup, explaining through tears.
“He was my hero, my whole world, and he abandoned me.
I was too young to understand, but I shouldn't have had to try to understand.”
“And then I get this in the fucking mail,” I say, gesturing to the invitation. “I thought after our brunch and talking here and there, we were ready to try to build our relationship, but I guess I was wrong.”
“Why is that exactly, Dove? Is this not a way to keep you in his life?” he asks me, and I don't really know how to answer.
“Why wouldn't he tell me this when we met? Why hide it? I didn't even know he was with someone because I’m not a part of his life. Why not tell me then?” I ask out loud, not wanting Clinton to answer; these questions are not really for him. “It just feels like I’m an afterthought, again. I’m his daughter.
I should not find out he's getting married through an invite that’s been shipped to who knows how many people. It feels like a slap in the face.”
Clinton squeezes my thigh gently, two times, getting my attention and effectively pulling me out of a spiral. “I know it hurts, but before we assume the worst let’s call him. Give him a real chance to explain himself because you deserve to know those answers.”
“I…Okay.” For a second, I'm surprised I agreed so quickly. I simply don't want this hurt anymore. I pull my phone out of my pocket with shaky hands, staring at it before opening his contact and calling him. I contemplate hanging up after the first ring, but he answers.
“Mija! I’m so glad you called. I was just thinking about you.” My dad’s voice is full of joy, and I recoil. I want to be angry at his obliviousness, but I just promised to hear him out. Another squeeze urges me forward.
“Dad, do you have a minute to talk?” My voice is shaky, pain clearly evident
“Are you okay, Paloma?” he asks. I can hear a metal chair scraping on concrete, and the noise in the background of the call lessens. “What’s wrong?”
“I got your invitation,” I spit out, voice hitching at the end.
“Oh, you received it already?” His question falls flat. He and I both know why I’m so upset.
“Yeah, I did. I want to say it's wonderful news, but I didn’t even know you were with someone in the first place. Why didn't you tell me?”
“I was going to, honey, but then it didn't feel right.”
“When was it going to feel right, Dad? After you got married?”
“When you reached out, I wanted to tell you right then, but you were coming to me because you needed me. It had been so long since you needed me, mija. I wanted to be there for you without making our meetup about me.”
“You could have said something, Dad, anything at all.”
“I was scared. I didn't want to lose you again, and I didn't know if this would push you away.” His words stop me.
He was scared? Before I can say anything, he continues, “I was selfish in my fear, and it's a lesson you think I would have learned by now. I’m sorry, Paloma, truly mija. No matter my intent to protect our new relationship, I still ended up hurting you, and for that, I am so sorry.”
“I don't know what to say, Dad. I–I just want to know you want me in your life and not as another postage stamp.” Clint gives my thigh another reassuring squeeze, and I settle into my body a bit more.
“You are never an afterthought, honey. I’m sorry I’ve ever made you feel that way.”
“That’s the thing, Papí. I want you to consider me. I want to be someone you want to share your news with. I want to feel like I’m a part of your life and not watching from the outside.”
“I want that too, mija. I held back for all these years, and my reasoning was wrong. What can I do to make this better? Tell me.” My dad’s question leaves me speechless for a moment. I don’t know what the solution is, and I don’t want to be the one to figure it out.
I’m quiet for so long until my dad’s voice comes through the line again. “Paloma? Are you still there? Maybe we got disconnected.” Clinton rubs his thumb against my leg.
“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry.”
“Can we try again? Can we…Do you still run?” he asks, and it throws me, fully pulling me out of my frustrations of the moment.
“Yeah, I try to go for a run every morning. Well, when I’m not opening the bar.”
“I’m going into work late next week. Can I join you? Maybe we can grab coffee, and you can tell me more about your life.” My lips quirk up at the corners. The suggestion is a welcome reprieve from needing to be the one to decide the next steps.
“I’d like that a lot, Papí.” And when I say it, I find I truly mean it.
“Will you come to my engagement party? It’s something I should have asked you about shortly after our breakfast.”
“Of course I’ll come.” My eyes flick to Clinton. “Can I bring a plus one, my boyfriend?”
“Of course, honey. During coffee, I’d love to hear more about this boyfriend.” I giggle at his voice so full of warmth.
Dad and I talk for a bit longer. I tell him about Waffles and give him a few details about Clinton, the man who has been grounding me during this entire conversation.
My hands are still shaking from the exhaustion, anxiety, and stress this would put anyone through.
Clinton is still next to me as a warm, solid presence, and I have never been more thankful for this man than I am right now.