Chapter 16
Christian
It’s midnight and everyone is gone. Lana is outside grabbing the last of the mess while I clean the kitchen and do the dishes.
Music is playing softly, the lights low and candles illuminating the seating area and kitchen. Lana loves her candles.
“Stay” by Post Malone—a song Lana and I used to listen to together—comes on and I hum along, thinking of her and the day she planned for me.
The time I got to spend with my closest friends and my best friend.
The best part of it is now, ending the day with her.
The party might be over and gone, but this right here, this is the party of a lifetime with her.
After finishing the dishes, I dry off my hands and check the missed messages on my phone. The first one I see is from Terrance.
Terrance Holt
Happy birthday kid
Proud of you
Christian
Thank you. I appreciate you
Terrance Holt
Good day?
Christian
Good day. Nothing triggering
Terrance Holt
Good. Go on and enjoy your night. Tell Lana I say hello
I leave my phone on the island, feeling like I’ve gotten so many pieces of myself returned these past few days. Terrance was always an incredible father figure, even before he became my sponsor and someone I reach out to on a very bad day. And this day with my friends was…nostalgic. Freeing.
The “friends” I had in New York weren’t friends at all.
They were strangers who pretended to know me, and I pretended to know them.
They weren’t the guys I had grown up with here in Willow Springs.
They weren’t the guys I went to school with, played on the same soccer teams with, or survived alongside with. And no one was Lana.
Lana, my love, did all of this for me today. And for the first time since my first night back, I feel the burning slice in my chest pushing me toward sobbing. I want to wrap my arms around Lana and rest my head on her stomach, and lie there the way I had when I came home from the bar.
Sniffling, I scratch at my jaw and rub at my eye with the heel of my palm.
Then the backdoor slides open and the most beautiful human walks through them, carrying the last tray of leftover food. She flashes me a small smile as she sets it down on the island.
“Hey,” she breathes, going to wash her hands in this sink.
“Hey.” I immediately reach for the Tupperware in the cupboards to help her pack everything.
“I missed listening to this song,” Lana says quietly, drying her hands.
“You did?”
Lana shrugs. “Yeah. I listened to it a lot…”
I frown. “Oh.”
“Did you have fun?”
Lana chuckles. “I’m supposed to ask you that.”
“But I asked you first.” I scoop the leftovers into containers, close them, and put everything in the fridge as she places the empty tray in the sink.
“I had fun,” she says, drying her hands. “Did you?”
“I did, thank you,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting…”
Lana shrugs shyly, rolling and twisting her lips, her eyes avoiding mine. Then she says, “I would never miss a chance to celebrate your birthday. It’s my favorite holiday.”
“I know,” I whisper, frowning and turning away from her.
Every year it was me and her. And, honestly, she made me feel like a prince every birthday we spent together.
My parents never did that. They got more successful and stopped caring—not that they cared much to begin with, but whatever little care they had vanished by the time I was a teenager.
I never realized how much damage it could do to someone's head until I saw my dad. A couple extra zero’s and he saw himself as a god. He’s dead and I hate him. I hate him.
Every birthday with Lana was a dream, but then my parents—mother—would insist I stop by the house, and my father was always still the abusive drunk.
I don’t know why I was ever surprised or expected anything other than a punch to the face every time we interacted.
But at least I always got a punch in too.
I think he soon realized that I was going to fight back every time, so he gave up and drank himself to death.
He didn’t deserve half of my liver.
“Christian?” I feel her hands on my shoulders, the warmth and love of the touch searing through my shirt and imprinting on my skin.
I exhale a heavy breath that was suffocating me along with my thoughts. I hang my head between my shoulders and her hands run down my back, stopping at my rubs. “Christian.”
I sniff. “Yeah, baby.”
“Look at me.” Her hands hold onto me tighter. “Please.”
After a pause to gather myself, I face her, spinning with her hands still around my ribs.
Slowly, tenderly, her hands smooth up my body while her eyes are soft and loving.
Her perfect hands hold my face and there isn’t anything I have to say for her to know.
And there isn’t anything she has to say to me, she just has to give me those eyes and put her skin on mine, and I read it perfectly—I love you.
“Sit,” Lana murmurs.
“Where?” My hands wrap around hers, lowering them slowly.
She jerks her chin at one of the stools at the other side of the island. “There. I have something for you.”
I take a seat and she opens the fridge, pulling out a smaller cake. With her back to me, she places a candle in its center, and grabs a lighter. Carefully, she rounds the island and sets the tiny cake in front of me.
I half smile. “What is this?”
“Our own birthday celebration,” she says quietly and her cheeks redden.
Still sexy at 27.
I laugh, reading it out loud, “‘Still sexy at twenty seven.’”
Lana shrugs, giggling. “Natalia made the cake for me. I wanted us to have something to celebrate with. After.”
I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her between my legs. “I love it,” I breathe and kiss her shoulder. “Thank you.”
Lana smiles, biting her lip, and lights the candle. “There. Make a wish.”
I smile down at the cake with vanilla frosting and yellow lettering, and can’t think of a thing to wish for. “I think I have everything.”
“You made a wish outside, make the same one.”
I shrug. “It wasn’t a real wish, it was just blowing out the candles for the pictures.”
Lana gapes at me. “I didn’t take a picture!”
I chuckle. “Okay then take this picture.”
“You just said you have nothing to wish for.” She pouts.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t wish to keep what I have.”
She nods and breathes out, “Okay.”
Lana gets to the opposite side of the island and takes out her phone. She holds it up with a smile and says, “Make a wish, Christian.”
I smile over the candle, and she takes the first picture. I close my eyes, and she takes another.
Lana and me.
I blow out the candles, and Lana takes another picture.
When I open my eyes, she’s grinning. “Did you make a real wish, Christian?”
I twist on the stool and wait for her to come back between my legs. She sets her phone down and her arms come around my neck, my hands rest on the swell of her backside. “I did,” I tell her. “It was a really good one too.”
“Do you want to tell me?”
“If I do, it might not come true.”
“Hmm.” Her fingers push through the hair at my nape and her nails scratch gently. “Happy birthday, baby.”
Lana lowers her forehead to mine, and her breath dances across my lips. I bump my nose against hers and she does the same with a quiet, breathless laugh.
I reach up as she leans down, our lips touching with a soft graze, just brushing skin against skin.
“It’s after midnight,” I whisper.
“It is.”
“Is the kiss still valid?” I breathe against her lips.
“Yes,” she breathes.
“Any rules?”
“Don’t hurt me.”
“Never again,” I breathe and pull her into me by her hips.
Lana presses her lips to mine softly, then harder, just before she pulls away. My hands fly to her face and I pull her back. “I’m not done.”
She giggles but I silence her with my mouth moving in sync with hers. “It was one kiss,” she says breathlessly, holding onto me tightly.
“You said no rules.”
She moans and tangles her tongue with mine. It’s all I need before I stand, pick her up by her waist, and sit her down on the counter.
It happens so fast the way it did a few weeks ago. We move together smoother than water. I know her—I know her body, her sounds, her hands. I know her tactility and once I learned it, I’ve never been able to unknow it—unknow her.
Lana fingers leave my hair and run down my chest just as my hands move up her thighs and roam her back, under her sundress. Her hands fumble with my jeans and I force my hands to come off her skin and wrap around her hands.
“Lana,” I breathe, stopping her hands. “Lana.”
“What?” she breathes, still kissing me like she can’t stop. I can’t stop either. “Christian?”
“No sex,” I whisper.
Her hand cups my erection in my jeans. “But—”
I hold her hand. “No sex. Of any kind.”
“We are way past that point, Christian,” she chuckles.
“I know, baby,” I say with a quiet laugh. “But not until we’re okay.”
Lana frowns. “We aren’t okay?”
“Not completely—not yet,” I say.
I still have a lot I need to say.
She nods, swallowing audibly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
But our lips are still locked together, and in between the kisses, I say, “We can watch a movie?”
She nods, coming up for air to say, “What movie?”
“I don’t care.”
“Then let’s just do this.”
I shake my head. “Not like this, baby,” I whisper. “Not like this.”
“Not like this,” she echoes with a moan. “Okay. Okay.”
I steal one more. Two more. Three. Four. Five. Until I pull away, the two of us breathless and holding onto each other for grounding. Lana pants with her forehead pressing into mine and I hold her waist tightly, suppressing how badly I want her right here, right now.
“When are you going to tell me?” Lana whispers.
“Lana—”
“I’m being patient—I am,” she says. “I just…”
“I’ve been…” I tell her. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to talk about it properly, I guess. How to talk to you about it without feeling like… Like you might hate me even if that isn’t who I am anymore.”
“I could never hate you,” she says. “Much less for trying.”