Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
We finish in the shower, clearing away the layers of grime and tension in a familiar silence. A passing of soaps, a trading of spots, a trailing of fingernails here and there. We dry off, change into clean clothes, and I follow Charlie back into our bedroom.
But he stops short, turning to face me.
“I’m really glad you’re home, Winnie,” he murmurs.
He takes my face in both his hands and crushes his mouth against mine, so urgent and hungry it makes my head spin.
I suck in a sharp breath and open to him, winding a hand around his neck as he kisses me deeply.
It’s the most complete I’ve felt in a long time.
But this is the first of many hard days ahead of us, and I’ve never been so grateful to fight for something.
Our marriage will be different. Changed. The fissured cracks molded back together with our imperfect work. But it will be something new and beautiful on its own. It will be ours.
Charlie told me earlier he’s fought like hell for me since we met.
But now, I’m getting in the ring with him.
Nails skimming his nape, I locate the clasp on the chain and open it, letting the gold band slide off in my hand.
Charlie pulls back. “What are—”
“Stay married to me, Charlie.” My hands shake as I pinch the metal between my thumb and finger, holding it between us.
He blinks a few times as he stares at it, like his brain’s still buffering. But then a smirk eases on his face, and I melt. “Married? Wait, wait. I thought we were friends?”
I widen my eyes at him in warning, holding back my amused grin. “Don’t you dare tease me, Flower Boy.”
“Yes, Winona,” he says, so tender and gooey. “I’ll stay married to you.”
He holds his left hand out.
“I promise to fight for this with you,” I say as I slide on the ring.
He holds me by the hips and murmurs against my temple, “We renewing our vows, Mrs. Rosnehoth?” With a breathy laugh, I nod. “I promise to support you and your brother however I can.”
My breath catches as he presses a soft, warm kiss beneath my ear.
“I promise to talk to you. Even when it’s hard.”
“Especially when it’s hard,” he corrects, teeth grazing my throat. “I promise to defend you. Against my mom. Against yourself. No one talks about my wife like that.”
My wife. A wild thrill races up my spine and I laugh. Yes I am. “I promise to stay.”
“I promise to take you dancing.” His tongue slides against my charged skin.
“We’re going to bust your stitches,” I huff.
I can hear the grin in his voice, mouth against the column of my throat, as he goads, “Is that a promise?”
“Your ribs are literally broken, Charlie.”
“Only two of them.” His kisses move to my jaw, working toward my mouth, as he pulls my body flush against his. “I can take a little pain.”
I lean sideways to drop the chain he won’t be needing anymore on the nightstand by my side of the bed.
I gasp.
The ribbon. Is it still here?
Half hanging onto Charlie’s waist, I yank the drawer open, relieved to see it’s exactly as I left it.
I dig through bobby pins, body lotion, scrunchies, expired tubes of Biofreeze, then sift through old programs from Colby Theater until I find the one for All That Jazz: Swan Lake.
Still pressed inside of it is the baby pink ribbon tied into a bow that Charlie proposed with six years ago.
Charlie huffs a disbelieving breath. “I didn’t realize you kept that.”
“Of course I did.” I smirk, lashes fluttering. “It’s my engagement ring.”
He takes it from me, brows drawn, studying it like it’s the latest run of a weather model and he’s making sense of the data. “Fiancé was a cheapskate, huh?”
Smiling, I curl my right hand back around his neck, hovering my left between us. “No. We were just young and in love and a little impulsive and very, very broke.”
Delicately, he slides the ribbon on my ring finger.
“Still fits like a glove, Mrs. Rosenhoth.” So does my husband’s last name, which sends a thrill up my spine.
He brings my hand to his mouth and lays a kiss between the two cascading tails.
Flipping it, he murmurs against my palm, “Now, where were we?”
“You were trying to justify your own bodily harm.” I delve my other hand into his damp hair.
“I’m fine.”
“You can’t even laugh fully.”
“Okay. Yes, I’m in a little pain.” Glaring at me, he nips my wrist. “But you’re here. You’re really here”—his voice falters with emotion—“And even breathing hurts. So, if I’m going to be in pain no matter what, I might as well do something worth suffering for.”
The deep ache that’s been etched in my bones for so long finds it hard to believe—that I am something worth suffering for. But my husband has always been an honest man.
I level Charlie with a critical stare, smoothing over how damn infatuated I am with him. “Little Shop of Horrors is only an hour and a half.”
“We can work fast.” He flashes a shit-eating grin I don’t trust for a second as his nose nudges mine and he drapes my arm over his shoulder. “You were a very cheap date earlier in the prison cafeteria.”
I scoff, cheeks flaming, but before I can hit back with a snarky reply, he interrupts me with a kiss.
Instantly—frustratingly—I yield to him and his warm, curious mouth without a fight.
His arms wind around me, gliding slowly over every peak and valley, like he’s remapping the planes of my body, revisiting all his favorite spots. He inches us toward the bed.
Pulling back, I cup his face and frown. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He drags his thumb over my bottom lip, tracing the shape of it. “So be gentle, sweetheart.”
My smirk curls as I tease, “Was the desk earlier not enough for—”
His thumb moves to quiet me, all his playfulness darkening on his face.
“I’ve been trying not to say this; I don’t want you to feel bad.
And I know you, Winnie. I know you will.
” His other hand slides up my spine, chasing right after the breath rising in my chest. “But it has been two very long years.” He twists my dripping hair around his fist. “This sharp pain in my chest from a few fractured bones is nothing compared to how much I fucking ached when you were gone.” He angles my head back, mouth moving to my throat.
“So no. What happened earlier wasn’t enough.
” His lips skim down to my collarbone. “You have no idea how badly I need this.” With a jerk against the small of my back, he crushes us together, and I draw in a sharp breath at the hard length of exactly how much he needs this straining through his shorts.
“Need to have you without thinking it’ll be the last time. ”
His confession leaves me breathless. He catches my chin with his fingers and rests his forehead against mine. Staring deep into my eyes, he takes my left hand and sets it on his chest, the yearning heartbeat stirring beneath.
“And all I want to do is fuck my beautiful wife while she’s wearing the ring I gave her and nothing else.”
My pulse careens at a dizzying pace as he kisses me with so much flourishing want. Hand tangling in my hair. Fingertips curling into the flesh at my hips. Tongue sliding against mine relentlessly as I whimper into his mouth. And god, I love it when he’s bossy.
“I need to feel her nails on my skin.” He catches my lower lip between his teeth and I oblige him of his request, sinking my claws into his shoulders until he groans.
“I need to smell her sweat on my skin.” Framing my waist with both hands, he walks us back toward the bed. As he sits on the edge of the mattress, the only sign of the pain I know he’s hiding for my sake is the knot straining between his brows.
“I need to see every fucking inch of her.” His touch slips beneath the hem of my T-shirt.
Just barely. It swoops around to my front as I brace one knee on the other side of his spread legs, careful not to rest any weight on his shoulders.
My stomach hollows as his palm slides up, so agonizingly slow, watching me with his rapt attention.
“I need to hear her moan my name.” He barely grazes my tightened nipple, but my entire body reacts, heating as a breath hitches in my chest. I exhale a whimper as he pinches it between his fingers, rolling it gently.
Desire thick in my throat, I swallow. “That’s quite the list of demands.”
“We have a lot of time to make up for.”
I peel my shirt over my head while he tugs off my shorts.
We work together, gently maneuvering fabric and limbs, as his clothes come off next.
It’s so deeply intimate, the way he lets me help him in such a vulnerable state—this is love, the way he trusts me.
I store this memory in my mind for safekeeping.
Once I’m wearing only the ribbon tied around my finger, as requested, I rake a hand through his hair, tipping his face up to mine. “Lie down, Flower boy.”
Wincing, he angles and shifts back against the pillows, legs swinging on the bed. His firm stomach, mottled with bruising and stitches, ripples with his ragged breathing. What I wouldn’t do to siphon all his pain away. I’d take it myself if it meant he didn’t have to suffer.
I crawl over to him and I’ve never felt more beautiful than right now, under his attentive gaze. The way his blown-out pupils consume every bit of me and still look hungry. Straddling him, I fold forward as he grips my hips and brace my hands on either side of him, holding up my own weight.
As our mouths collide, he jerks me closer, grinding me down against him.
I empty all of me into this kiss, and as Charlie groans into my mouth, I think he might be doing that too.
I give him my fear, my hope, my longing, my frustration, my self-hatred, my forgiveness.
And he takes it all, dishing it right back.
This is real and raw in a way we couldn’t have been earlier. When neither of us knew the ending—knew we’d fix what had split. I understand what he meant now, in saying he needed this.