Page 21 of Bae

Instead of setting me aside, he adjusted and hugged me close for long moments, then pushed up out of the chair, taking me with him. On his way to the bathroom, I was deposited on the end of our luxurious bed. After pressing a kiss to my forehead, he disappeared into the other room to clean himself up.

Alone, my previous haunting thoughts returned. How ironic that I sat in the center of this beautiful room, during a beautiful moment of my beautiful life. I had more than I ever dreamed possible, more than I ever thought to ask for…

Yet still…

Still I sat here and wished for something I didn’t have.

It seemed such a shameful waste. How much longer was I going to do this? How much longer would Romeo continue to ask what I wanted before he gave up completely and just stopped asking?

I thought I was getting better. Actually, getting better was a crappy way of putting it. I wasn’t sick. I didn’t have an illness like strep throat or an infection some pill would chase away.

What I had was a chronic condition for which there was no cure. A gaping hole where part of me used to be. I didn’t want that hole to close up, because it was all I had left. So even though I tried to “move on,” part of me still clung to that place, because the second I let go, I would have nothing.

So yeah, every single day, I put one foot in front of the other. I combed my hair (okay, not always), put on a smile, and dressed up my pain so no one else could see it.

What was that saying, though? One step forward, two steps back? Something like that. It seemed every time I felt a little stronger, there was always something there to challenge my strength.

I wanted to be strong. Iwasstrong. I even wanted to move on.

There was a problem with moving on, though. In order to move on, you had to leave something behind.

How would I do that when that something was mydaughter?

Romeo appeared in the doorway, and my heart squeezed. His blond hair needed a trim, which was the way it always seemed to look. I loved the way it curled up and stuck out a bit at his neck. His jaw was shadowed with light-colored stubble, as if he couldn’t be bothered to shave, so that coupled with the unruly hair gave him a roguish air this morning.

The long length of his muscled body drew my eyes. Watching his muscles work beneath his skin was fascinating. Everything about him was fierce but graceful. A few years of playing pro football had only honed his physique, making him more confident in his own skin (as if he needed additional help with that!), and in some sense, he seemed more mature.

Age, even just a few years, looked so good on Romeo. It was almost unfair the way he became more of who he already was.

Before coming to my side of the room, he flipped on the double-sided fireplace in the corner of the room (you could also see it from the bathroom), and flames flickered to life. The wall of windows was uncovered; the view of our property stretched before us, and morning light spilled into the room. Multicolored leaves floated from the trees as the fall breeze blew, and the sky was crowded with clouds, which meant the sun wasn’t blindingly bright.

Romeo started flinging pillows all over the room, and I sighed. “I just made the bed.”

“You knew I was coming home,” he pointed out like I should have known better.

I did.

I just liked watching him sling them around.

When all the throw pillows were gone, he flung back the covers and slid between them. His long arm reached out and grabbed the corner of a furry blanket draped across the foot of our bed and pulled.

Since I was sitting in the center of its softness, I went with it… right into his arms. Our bodies sank into the mattress. Cool sheets and blankets cocooned us together, and Romeo’s muscular leg wedged between mine.

I lay on my back, staring up at him as he gazed down at me. We were pressed together, completely naked. His scent, masculine and clean, mingled around, so I inhaled deep.

“So what’s new around here? You know, besides R?”

“R?” I puzzled, feeling my forehead wrinkle.

“I can’t do it, Smalls.” He shook his head sadly. “I can’t call that poor dog Ralph.”

I reached up and squeezed his nipple.

“Ow!” he said dramatically, even though I knew for a fact it didn’t hurt.

“R is the name of a zombie,” I told him.

“Well, Ralph is the name of a serial killer cab driver in Brooklyn.”

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