Page 88 of Never Say Never

It’s late, and he must have snuck into the hospital.

He starts to talk. “I want to talk about us.” He’s blushing in the dim yellow light of the hall. “I want you.”

“I want you,” I tell him. “I miss you, Travis.”

“Music to my fucking ears, baby.” And to my delight, he peels back the sheets and slides into the bed, kissing me while he presses his body to mine.

My lips, throat, little sweet kisses that nip and he pushes down the gown as his hand travels up my thigh and I throb hard, a thrill like an orgasm slicing through me as his fingers touch my pussy the moment his hot mouth closes over a nipple.

He’s hard against me and he’s finger fucking me into a big orgasm and I reach for him.

“No,” he whispers, “you first.”

The slow rhythm pushes me high, up toward that huge release waiting in the wings and I’m almost there, I’m panting, whimpering his name and the first wave hits—

I gasp, sitting upright in the cold bed, the sheet and blanket tangled, my hand on my sex and I pull it away, squeezing my eyes shut as I ease myself onto my side.

Just a dream, I think as I will sleep to come. Just a damn dream.

When the door opens a few hours later, I’m not shocked it’s Travis. The ready smile doesn’t bother to hide the concern.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, pulling up his seat and placing a pile of romances next to the bed for me. I have an e-reader, but I think it’s sweet he’s into paper books over digital.

He sits, then rises again, and kisses me. I don’t know how it happens, but the touch of his lips on mine unfurls something in me. And it’s like a spark’s been ignited. My lips part and his tongue touches mine and the kiss changes, melts into passion so sweet I might burst.

But he breaks it, dropping his head onto our clasped hands.

“I’m sorry,” I say. The memory of my sex dream sloshing over me in heat and shame. Shame because no matter where my sex-starved brain took me last night, that one kiss is worth a million sex dreams. And that’s all I have of him. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop. Now.” He takes a breath, sits up, looks at me. “We’re back to that? I thought we were beyond that, Brandi.”

“I’ll give you the divorce. I’m sure you’re worried about where I’m going after this.” The tenants have moved in. Maya told me that yesterday and that knowledge with the worry in his eyes, the kiss he broke, the sex dream are all too much suddenly and I… I need something. And I need to do something.

So I make myself look at him, and I make myself say, “If that’s what you want.”

He sucks in air. Sits back. Releases my hand and my heart plummets.

“There’s a lot of stuff we haven’t talked about. Things that I need to say before any decision is made. Before you walk away and leave me. Before you try to just put it at my feet to make a choice. We’re going to talk.”

“Okay,” I manage to whisper.

“It hurt me too when we lost the pregnancy, but if you ever thought I didn’t want him, you’re wrong, just like you’re wrong about me asking you to marry me. Yes, I asked because of the pregnancy test, but I wanted to. I just moved it up because I didn’t want to lose you. And in doing that, I ended up losing you anyway.”

I nod. “You looked at me with relief when we got the news.”

Anger—real anger surges on his face. “What the actual fuck? Yes, There was relief. Not over you losing our baby. Not over my loss of being a dad, but because you were all right.Youweren’t harmed. I don’t give a shit, Brandi, about having kids if you can’t, or don’t want to try or anything like that. I give a shit aboutyou. We can adopt, try again, whatever you want. As long as you are okay. That’s what you saw. Relief that I wasn’t losingyou.”

He stands now and glares at me.

“This isn’t going how I hoped.”

“No shit,” I mutter. “You treat me like I’m going to break. I’m not. I grew up on the streets. I’ve seen worse things than you could imagine. I’m okay. This? A knife to the chest? It’s a scratch compared to what I’ve faced.”

His fury dissolves. “You nearly died. I couldn’t do a thing and it nearly killed me.” He pulls something from his pocket and hands it to me. “I found this. Of her, with you. I know you love her still. It’s yours. That’s why I wasn’t there. I found this, and I was going to come to you. To fight for you.”

“Mom took me and fell into her rabbit hole of drugs and prostitution and when she died I kept up the game of hiding from the authorities. I stole, took shit paying jobs, like cash in hand, to make do. I finally used a friend’s address to set things up in the hopes of a steady job and my grandparents found me. No one ever fought for me. I had to fight for myself.”

He’s smiling at me, while I gently touch the photo in my hand. “I prefer you calling me out on shit than going meek. You’re not a little kitten. You’re my fire. The storm in my life.”

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