Page 51 of Hearts to Mend

Dee wraps her arms around my neck, and she stares deep into my eyes, connecting us there too. Our gazes are steady, locked together as we start to move harder, faster. I grab her ass again and squeeze as I push deeper inside her. She rides me rougher, too, her hot breath warming my cheek as she takes everything I give her.

She moves her arms from my neck and presses her palms to the roof of her car, balancing above me as she fucks us both senseless. Good Lord, this view is heaven. She’s a goddess, Aphrodite fucking me so good in the back seat of her car.

Her pussy tightens, and she throws her head back to cry out as she comes. The feel of her, the sight of her, the sounds she makes; it all has me coming, too, instant and all-consuming.

I see stars, and for a moment I panic. After all, my last orgasm sent a clot crashing through my brain. This orgasm is even better. This one could kill me. But as I come down from ecstasy, I know I’m okay. I’m more than okay. I’m fan-fucking-tastic.

With a sexy, breathy sigh, she collapses against me, and I wrap my arms around her, savoring the feel of her as I kiss her forehead and stroke her hair behind her ear. When we’ve caught our breath, she pulls away enough to say, “Hi.”

I grin, because I completely understand. “Hi.”

She smiles, and it’s like the start of something new between us. We have so much history, all that baggage, but this moment between us—it’s different than every moment we’ve shared before. It’s calm and peaceful and nice in some strange sort of way. I like it. No, I love it.

Stroking my fingers across her cheek, I tell her, “I love you, more than I’ve ever loved you before.”

Her eyes dance over my face, like she’s looking for something to say, but she doesn’t find it, and that’s okay. She doesn’t have to say anything. Right now, more than anything, I need her to hear me and trust me, so I look deep into her eyes when I say, “I won’t fuck it up this time. I promise you. You possess my heart. You always have. You always will. Whatever you want or need from me, it’s yours.”

Her eyes sparkle in the dark with unshed tears. She presses her palms to my cheeks, and softly, sweetly, she kisses me.

* * *

When I slip back into the house, I expect everyone to be asleep. I’d said I was going to walk Dee out while my brothers tucked Matty in and read to him. Mamá is usually early to rise and early to bed too. So it surprises me when I find her in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a crossword from the paper in front of her.

“Did you have a nice time walking Dee to her car?”

Busted. “I did.”

I sit in the seat across from her as she says, “I’m happy.”

There’s no context to what she means, but I think I know. She has her whole family here, under her roof. Even if the reason for this reunion isn’t altogether good, it’s still good to be all together.

But when she explains, she surprises me. “I’m happy because I think you’re happy. You haven’t been happy in such a long time, but since you came back home, you’re a new man.”

I agree. “I think, for the first time in my life, I have my priorities straight.”

“Good.” She nods resolutely. “When are you going to marry her?”

“I… Uh… Wow, mamá… What?”

“You need her, mijo. Mateo needs her.”

I’m not inclined to disagree, but I’m too exhausted to keep this conversation going. I stand and kiss her cheek. “Right now, what I need is sleep. Buenas noches, mamá.”

I strip off my shirt as I walk down the hall, needing a shower to wash the long day and hot sex off me. As quietly as I can, I slip into my bedroom, grabbing a fresh pair of boxers, then go to the bathroom to clean up. When I come back, I make sure to keep the door cracked and the hall light on and dump my clothes into the hamper. But when I look to my son, I see his dark eyes looking back at me.

“Hey, buddy, you still awake?”

He nods, and I slide into the bed beside him, encouraging him to cuddle with me.

With a sniff of his hair and a kiss on his forehead, I ask him, “Everything okay?”

“Daddy, is your heart broken?”

Oh, what a question; so many layers to unpack. But I know what he means, and I’m wrecked with guilt about it. Joking at dinner was an insensitive coping mechanism, and now as I look into my son’s frightened eyes, I regret every word of it.

“I’m sorry I made that dumb joke at dinner. It wasn’t very funny, was it?” I shake my head, and he does too. I squeeze him a little tighter and say, “Daddy’s heart is just fine. You don’t need to worry about me, okay, big guy?” It’s not entirely true, of course, and I’m not sure what the protocol is for lying to your child in order to ease their mind, but I don’t see any need to worry him over something so completely out of his control, and mine. I pound a fist on my chest like Tarzan. “See? Healthy as an ox.”

“You won’t go away like Mommy did?”

---