Deciding Tomorrow (18 page)

The peace offering is huge and unexpected. It’s completely out of character for Cody.

Brent pauses for a moment, allowing Cody’s hand to hang in the stillness, and then he shakes it once. “No hard feelings.”

“I’m gonna go and talk with Shauna’s family,” Cody says, pointing his thumb into the waiting room. “I think they want to meet the new addition.”

“Sounds good,” I say, wiping away the tears. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah, congratulations,” Brent adds.

“Thanks,” Cody says. “It was pretty scary there for a while. I’m just glad everything worked out.”

“Us, too,” I say.

Cody cocks his head and nods somewhat approvingly. Then, he enters the waiting room, leaving me in Brent’s arms.

I’m befuddled by Cody’s sudden change. It’s not a total acceptance, but it’s not denial either. Maybe it’s the birth of Scarlet, seeing something so precious and delicate come to life between he and Shauna. And somewhere deep inside of him, he can finally understand what our pain truly entailed, not only mine but Brent’s as well. I’ve been told becoming a parent changes people in an instant, where a veil of ignorance is a lifted and life comes into a different perspective. Possibly he’s too tired to fight, or he’s come to realize it’s not his fight anymore.

My hope is that Cody finally sees that Brent loves me and that I love him.

More so, I hope Cody realizes that Brent has me in every way, and that’s never going to change.

TWENTY

An hour later, Brent and I say our good-byes to Shauna’s family, and we head over to the hotel. It’s late, and we’re both tired. The idea of driving back to Chicago isn’t appealing to either one of us. Also, Cody’s overture of amends is one that can’t be ignored. We plan to stop by the hospital in the morning to check in on Shauna and Scarlet and say farewell before driving back to the city.

In the beige hotel hallway, Brent slips the key card into the door, unlocking it. I enter first and flip on the light switch on the wall, illuminating the basic room with two queen beds, a television, and a desk near the large window. The drapes are drawn wide open, giving us a view of the night sky. At the closet, just past the bathroom, I toe off my shoes and hang my jacket.

“I got us each toothbrushes when I checked in,” Brent says, joining me from the bathroom. “If you need anything else, just call the front desk. I’m sure they’ll be able to provide it for you.”

“Thanks.” I step back, allowing Brent to hang his coat. “You spend a lot of time in hotels, don’t you?”

“Enough.” He closes the closet door. “Occupational hazard.”

“Or a perk.”

“Some might say that. I do know my way to the ice machine.”

Brent’s hand runs down the length of my arm before he passes me and enters the main part of the room. He draws the curtains and then takes a seat on one of the beds. As he empties his pockets, I sit on the bed across from him and set my purse in the small cubby under the center nightstand.

“You hungry?” he asks, settling back on the mattress. “We can order something.”

“No, I’m good.”

“It’s been a long day.”

“It sure has.”

Brent slaps his thighs and pushes off the bed. Stopping in front of the dresser, he picks up the television remote and tosses it onto the mattress next to me. Bending down, he opens the minibar and grabs a bottle of water before setting in on the bureau.

Brent unbuttons his shirt, glides it off his arms, and then proceeds to hang it in the closet. He slips out of his pants, folds them neatly, and places them on the luggage rack. I still haven’t moved as I watch him take over the room with extreme ease, effortlessly claiming the strange environment as his own. He’s making himself right at home, like he’s done this a million times. The same is not true for me. The newness of being in a hotel still surrounds me.

Down to his boxers and a T-shirt, Brent turns off the light, pulls back the comforter of the bed I’m sitting on, and crawls under the covers. He takes the remote in his hand and turns on the TV, settling in for the evening.

“C’mon,” he encourages. “Nothing to do now other than sleep.”

Following his lead, I undress until I’m wearing only a tank top and panties and put my clothes aside on the other bed. I slip under the covers, and without any hesitation, I scoot into the crook of Brent’s arm, placing my palm on his chest. I relax to the beat of his heart.

Under the hazy television light, Brent traces the long scar from my shoulder down to where it ends just at my bicep. His movement is deliberate and intentional. The pads of his fingers, for the first time, find the small jagged imperfections surrounding the larger one. Tapping them like letters on a keyboard, finding the remnants of the event with his touch. I hold still, allowing him to explore in the way he needs to, now knowing the series of events that took place in Florida that caused the permanent markings.

I’m drained from the day and ready for it to be over. My lids shut as Brent watches a show I have no interest in.

“Do they hurt?” he faintly questions, referring to the scars.

“Not anymore,” I reply, stiffening a little. “They used to, but they’ve healed. I don’t even notice them until I look in the mirror.”

The television clicks off, and the darkness thickens. Brent reaches over me, sets the remote on the nightstand between the two beds, and then scoots farther under the covers, leading me down with him.

“How are you doing?” he asks, tentative.

“Tired.” I snake my arm around his ribs. “How about you?”

“A lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Pissed for starters.”

I lean back, resting my head on the pillow. “What are you pissed about?”

“You.” He lets out a heavy breath. “You and this.” His palm grips my arm. “Everything that happened to you.”

“Brent—”

“I’m. So. Sorry,” he says in a hard whisper. “Cody’s right. I left you on your own. I don’t know what I was thinking. Why couldn’t I see that you needed me?”

“We talked about this.”

“No, we didn’t. We didn’t talk about the damage.” He cups my cheek. “I can’t even begin to tell you how…” He grunts. “How can you not be angry? How can you…even give me this second chance?”

“It’s called forgiveness,” I mumble. “And I’ve done a lot of it.”

“But how can you forgive me?”

“I don’t…I never blamed you for any of it.”

“You should.” He strokes his hand down the side of my face. “I really don’t deserve you.” His voice is dangerously steady. “You know that, right?”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m sorry.” He kisses me gently. “So sorry.” His lips skate across my jawline, landing in the tender space near my ear. “Please know how sorry I am.”

“I do know.” I palm the side of his face. “I’m sorry, too…for everything.”

“Don’t.” His lips move against my skin. “Don’t be sorry.” He exhales. “Because this pain,” he continues in a whisper as his hand lands directly on my bicep, “is mine.” Tracing down farther, he stops directly on my abdomen, curling his palm around the space. “All of it…all of it is mine.” His fingers drift to my hip, flirting with my own fingers hanging heavy at my side. “Everything about you is mine.” Brent lifts my hand, placing it directly on his heart. “And this is undeniably yours in every way.” His mouth drifts to the space behind my ear. “I love you so much, and I would do anything to take away every ounce of hurt I’ve caused, even those I didn’t. I want to take those, too. I want to erase them—their scars, their memories, their tears, and their nightmares—from existence.” He nips my earlobe. “Give them to me. Let me take them.”

Flipping my palm, I nudge his to the space where my heart beats solidly for him.

“They’re yours,” I say in surrender, opening my blanket of wounds. “Take them all.”

“I’ll take every last one.”

Brent grips the fabric at my chest beneath his palm, and he places featherlight kisses down the length of my neck, along my collarbone to my shoulder. His mouth caresses the scars along my arm, carefully attempting to heal and stitch every imperfection. These are more than kisses. Every moist embrace of his lips is filled with care and love, drawing out the hidden torment the marks conceal. There are many, and I have worn them on my own for years, but now, they are his. With every touch of his lips, tears pool in my eyes, creating a silent stream across the bridge of my nose before falling onto the pillowcase.

Satisfied, Brent adjusts to his knees and gently nudges my shoulder toward the bed until I’m lying on my back. His hands never leave my body, massaging every cell they meet. Slowly and deliberately, he slides his hand under the hem of my tank, lifting it to just below my breasts. Planting his lips on the exposed flesh, Brent tightens his grip around my hips and extracts the pain placed in my womb so long ago. He wants it, and I give him what is left of it. The echo of what we made transfers to him, releasing me of its bonds.

Crawling over my body riddled in scars, seen and unseen, Brent kisses away the wetness on my cheeks. “I’ll take these, too,” he states compassionately. “Let them all go.”

And I do. I feel it all, all of it, all over again—the love we had, the loss of our baby, the pain of watching someone else carry a child, the dark abyss, the tortuous nightmares, the loneliness, the emptiness, the sadness, and the farewells to the man now holding me in his arms.

They’re all gone into the air, into nothing.

All that’s left is him.

Him and me.

He took away the armor, the crutches of my life. Until this moment, I never realized I was holding on to the pain of the past like a comforting blanket, and only this man could remove it. I couldn’t do it on my own, no matter how hard I might have tried to expel the agony or thought I already did. Some things were meant for Brent. Some things were meant for him to take. Freedom wasn’t possible without him.

Worn and spent, I welcome Brent’s tender hands along my body. Even his touch feels new, but maybe that’s because I’m anew. I am fresh clay, raw and pliable, without a mold. I sense him for the first time, really feeling him.

“Brent,” I say, cupping his face in my hands, “I’m yours.”

In the dark room, a sliver of light pierces through the curtains, and Brent
sees
me. I let him see all of me. He doesn’t have to dig or search because I’m handing myself—everything I really am and didn’t know I was or will be—completely over to him.

He knows.

“I knew you were in there,” he says, relieved.

“Waiting for you.”

Leaning down, Brent softly kisses my sensitive lips, exploring them timidly with his own. My hands skim down his chest. Moving to the hem of my tank, I tug it over my head. I toss it to the floor and then reach for his shirt.

“I can’t,” he admits as my fingers pull at the bottom of his shirt. “We can’t tonight.”

“Why?” I ask, the weight of denial sinking in.

“I want to.” He encircles his hand around mine. “But I don’t have anything.”

Without any words, I roll away underneath his body to the side of the bed and reach down toward my purse.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a pleading tone, sweeping the hair off my shoulder. He kisses my bare shoulder, making a line of love, as he caresses up the length of my neck. “You know I can’t go through that again. We can…”

Releasing my head to the side, I give his mouth easier access to the delicate skin. My hands blindly search through my bag until I find the condom as Brent apologizes with his lips along my throat.

I hand the item of concern over my shoulder. “Here,” I say, breathless. “Take it.”

His mouth pauses for a mere second as my intention registers, and the contraceptive leaves my fingers, transferring to his. Brent continues to kiss my neck, my shoulder, and the curve of my hip. He removes his clothes, puts on the condom, and then frees me of my panties. His mouth commences to worship my body, every inch, up and down. Still on my side, I reach behind me and tug on Brent’s hair. I arch my back against his erection, wanting him to touch the rest of me.

“Hang on,” he murmurs next to my ear. “I’ve got you.”

Brent opens my body for the taking and glides his hand through my slippery folds, flirting and tempting my desire. I shiver from his evocative touch. Freeing my mound, he tauntingly guides his erection into me. Then, he grabs the space under my knee and pulls it toward my chest, spreading me further. I drive my hips backward, hungry for more of him inside me. Twisting my torso, I find his lips with my own and open my mouth, rubbing our tongues together, as our bodies work in rhythm. The heat of his body consumes my every cell.

“All of you, every fucking piece,” he pants. “I want it all.”

“I want you, too.”

“I was yours from the moment you looked at me.”

He releases my leg and shifts our weight so that my stomach is pressed firmly against the sheets. Brent palms my hips, pulls them to the sky, and then encases my entire body with his. His teeth gently nibble at one shoulder as he circles his arm over the other and kneads my breast. I push toward Brent as I open my legs wide, allowing him to enter me fully and possess my body and soul. He’s filling the clean slate of my life that was once weighed down by persistent dark memories.

His fingers cradle my jaw, lifting it to his mouth. He seduces my tongue, consuming all that I am.

“I love you,” I breathe in the moment of passion. “I need you.”

“You have me.” His fingers thread into my hair. “Fuck! You fucking own me.” He powers into me harder. “I’m nothing without you.”

His lips feverishly press to mine, joining us inside and out. Our breaths labor as he thrusts into me harder, softer, and then harder again. Pleasure is mounting for both of us.

With our mouths still connected, Brent slides his hand under my belly and between my legs where his cock is gliding in and out of me. My open body seeks his fingers and clenches around his length while his moist breath skims across my neck. He’s breaking me down even further to the bare bones.

“More,” I beg on a breath.

Brent sucks on my ear, slips his hand beneath my arm, and finds my lips while the other continues to circle between my legs. He offers a digit to my mouth, and I suck it passionately. He’s all over me, in me, on top of me, and surrounding me. There’s no place he isn’t touching, taking, and claiming.