Authors: S Jackson Rivera
“Reliving the past,” he said. “The old Paul took what he wanted and didn’t care about anything, or anyone else. I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have happened, and it won’t happen again—until you’re ready. This needs to be about you, and getting you better, not about me and my selfish problems.” He glanced down, ashamed.
“It’s not about you or me anymore. It’s about us,” Rhees said, bursting into tears, no warning.
“What did I say?” He raced around the table and knelt at her side. “Rhees.
Please!
Don’t cry.”
“It took twenty years last time,” she blubbered. She knew how ugly she looked when she tried to talk while crying so hard. She looked down, trying to hide her face from him but he wouldn’t have it. He held her face between his hands, forcing her to face him, but she did her best to avert her eyes.
“I’ll wait fifty, if that’s what it takes.” The concern on his face made her feel bad, which only fueled her sudden sob-fest. He leaned in close, watching her for a second before a mischievous grin played on his mouth. “But you’re wrong. It only took six months last time.”
“No,” she wailed. “I was only five, it took twenty years.” She thought about Keene. He’d recommended they annul the marriage because they hadn’t consummated it yet. “I don’t want to wait fifty years to finally know we’re really married.”
“Look at me,” Paul said. Rhees reluctantly complied. “For twenty years you knew you didn’t want anyone else.” He paused for effect. “But it only took six months for you to realize you couldn’t live without
this
.” He waved his hands over his body with one raised eyebrow and a cocky grin.
Laughter sputtered out between the few sobs she still had left and she covered her mouth with her hand. She looked so dang cute.
“That does make sense, actually.”
“Of course it does. This face, this body—just look at all my V’s.” His hands waved around himself, from his shoulders to his waist, and then lifted his shirt and pushed the waistband of his pants down a bit to point out his hip muscles. “I need new jeans. These hotel dress pants suck, and I haven’t had a lot of exercise in a while. I’m not in my best, tip-top, stud-muffin shape right now, but I have V’s everywhere, I swear. You’ll be drooling over me in no time.”
“I do
nawt
drool.” She teasingly repeated his own words from that morning before she laughed again.
“Sometimes being an arrogant ass comes in handy.” He smiled warmly.
She playfully slapped his shoulder. He winced—not in a teasing manner, and grabbed the shoulder she’d just slapped.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I totally forgot you were shot.” She pushed his hand out of the way and tried to slide the sleeve up, but his golf shirt fit snuggly around his muscular arm. She grew frustrated, needing to see it for herself so she grabbed the hem of his shirt. He didn’t want her to see it and tried to stop her, but she met his eyes with a hard warning in her own. He gave in, reluctantly, and lifted his shirt off.
He’d thrown the sling away by the end of the first day. It’d become an inconvenience when he found himself trying to fight his way to Rhees at the police station and again at the hospital. The gash had sealed so he’d removed the bandages, but the scar still looked red and sore.
“I’m the worst wife in the world. This morning . . . I can’t believe I didn’t notice it—why haven’t you said anything?” she scolded.
“Real men don’t let a little ole bullet hole slow ‘em down.” Paul grinned, hoping to put her mind at rest. Rhees scowled at his attempt to play it off.
“To be honest, I’ve been too worried about you to even notice it.”
Her face twisted with a little skepticism and a lot of remorse. She slipped her arms around his waist and groaned pitifully into his chest. “Yeah, you completely forget how a searing hot bullet tore through your flesh . . . because of me. You saved my life again.”
“Don’t forget, you saved mine. I’ve been fanboying all over my very own little Annie Oakley.”
Rhees placed her lips on the wound, so softly and with so much tenderness, his breath caught, bringing him back to the present. She looked up at him through her lashes and then kissed it again.
“It’s just a scratch,” Paul assured, enjoying her sudden bedside manner, a little too much. “The paramedics cleaned it out and bandaged it up—I didn’t even need stitches.” He lied. They’d insisted he needed stitches, but he’d refused, thinking only of getting back to Rhees, his beautiful bride, and on to their honeymoon suite before his testicles exploded. That was just before all hell broke loose at the police station. “See? It’s already better. A few more days and it’ll be good as new.”
“That’s why you just jumped out of your skin when I touched it.” She accentuated a pout, showing her disappointment with him. “It makes me very unhappy you’d ignore your own wounds because of mine.”
She slipped her hands up and around his neck and didn’t break eye contact until she nuzzled her nose against his neck. It felt good. He absentmindedly lifted his chin, encouraging her to do it again. He shouldn’t have done that. She lifted up on her toes to skim her lips over his Adam’s apple. The movement made the front of her robe fall open and they met, hard muscle to soft skin . . . and breasts, but it didn’t stop her from peppering his neck and chin with kisses.
“Let’s dance,” he said, closing her robe again, uncomfortable with the level of intimacy she’d sparked in him. He hadn’t had a
swim
since before the wedding. The music wasn’t very good, but he thought a little slow dancing would give them both some needed touching time—safe touching. It worked. His body calmed to a manageable level.
oOo
“Paul, I don’t want to wait fifty years. I don’t want to wait six months,” she said after they’d slow danced a while.
“Aw jeez, can we not talk about this again—not tonight?”
“Okay, when?”
“I don’t know. Next year?” He didn’t want to sound so annoyed but his nerves had been through the wringer. He felt bad when he saw her expression fall. “Three days?” No better. “Tomorrow? I’m sorry, Rhees. I suck at this stuff. You know that. I wish I knew exactly what you need me to say. I’m tired, frustrated . . . and the truth is, I’m scared.”
“
You’re
scared?” she sobbed. “You’re the one who wants to annul our marriage, and
you’re
scared? I heard you and Keene talking about it. I can’t bear the thought—the idea that some judge somewhere can just erase our marriage, as if it never really happened—that you’d want to do that.”
Paul stood, too stunned to speak. He watched, helpless and staggered as she melted away and sat on the end of the chaise, covered her face with her hands, and cried again.
“No one’s annulling anything,” he finally whispered, kneeling in front of her. He tried to pull her hands from her face but she resisted. “Rhees? Yes, Keene mentioned he thought it might be a good idea. But I told him to go to hell!”
She let out a relieved sob. “But what if I’m never ready? What if we never get to be together because I’m too screwed up? That’s not fair to you. I know you wanted to this morning. You’re not as patient as you say. You’re not a patient man. How much longer can you wait for me? And don’t tell me you’ll wait fifty years because I know that’s not true.”
Paul pinched the bridge of his nose while he seemed to be counting to ten or some other exercise aimed at tempering his reflex response. “What do you expect me to do?”
She hesitated before admitting her idea and had to look down as she suggested it. “Let’s order up some alcohol—get me drunk. Let’s just get it over with. I really believe once it’s over—the first time—I’ll be better. I’ll be able to wrap my head around it easier, once I know what to expect. It’s just the fear, and you know the only way I get over my fears is to force myself to push through them.”
“No! Jesus!” Paul jerked back to his feet and stomped to the sliding glass door, his practiced response. He stood, looking out—he always looked out the window when he felt stressed. It was dark and he stared out at the lights of the city.
“But you like it forceful,” she said quietly, tentatively.
His head snapped around and he bore his,
I-can’t-believe-you-just-said-that
, eyes into her before he shook his head at the incredulity of her proposal.
“But you do.”
“No!”
he barked. “I’m not that man anymore. I’m not so angry at the world anymore.” He paused with a long sigh because he was angry right then. He looked like a liar.
“
Mostly
. So no, I’m not being that way with you,
ever
.”
She still didn’t respond but her silence screamed volumes.
“Rhees, it doesn’t have to be that way.” He moved back to stand in front of her on the chaise. “It can be better than, ‘
getting it over with
’. Remember what I said on the bus, before all this happened? I told you it would be my first time too? I want to make love to you. That’s worth waiting for.”
“Okay, make love to me. You won’t have to use force. I promise I won’t fight you. You can be tender and sweet. Show me there’s nothing to be afraid of. I just have to get it over—” She paused abruptly, catching herself. “I know I’ll be better once I see. I’m positive. Being with you, this . . . black hole—this
thing
that has always overshadowed my whole life, this
thing
that is sucking all the life out of us—it’s the only reference I have. I’m ready to start making new references, with you.”
“Unbelievable.” He turned to stare out the glass door again with his hands on his hips. “We’ve been here before.”
“What?”
“On the deck, the last time you begged me to,
get it over with
. That didn’t work out then any better than this morning, and it wouldn’t now either, even if I actually felt
up
for what you’re asking, for all your talk, you’re
not
ready.”
“You don’t know that.” She stood up and nearly stomped her foot like a little girl throwing a tantrum. “You can’t possibly know that. Ask me how badly I want this—on a scale of one to ten. Ask me!”
“That’s not funny.” He smiled, almost laughed, contradicting himself. He couldn’t help it. She was so cute. She amused him without trying, but too soon, the gravity of the conversation weighed on his shoulders again and he blew out a tired sigh.
“Yes, Rhees, I do know. This morning, I came
so
close. You think this is easy for me, don’t you? Like I have some switch I can turn on and off on a whim.” He paused out of frustration. They shouldn’t need to be having this conversation, again. “Our sleeping in the same room, the same bed all this time, practically living together—it hasn’t been easy for me,
at all
.
“The only reason I’ve been able to do it is because I see how you are. You’re so good, and I’m so . . . not.”
“Stop saying that!” she yelled. “I’m not good. You know that now. And you’re not—”
“Yes, you are.” He cut her off. “My opinion of you hasn’t changed one bit, and yes, I needed to change, and you helped me do it. I don’t hate myself anymore . . . sometimes. That’s huge for me.
“But even if I’d managed sainthood, it would
never
be easy to keep my hands off you. So stop pushing this. Stop pushing me.”
They both took a short intermission, Paul stared out the window, Rhees stared at the floor.
“Paul spoke first, his voice soft. “You’ve always treated me so . . . You make me feel like you actually love me just the way I am, no expectations I’m supposed to live up to first.”
“I do.”
“I know,” he said, gratefully. “I see you look at me, the way your eyes light up—like you think I’m perfect—and not because I’m Laird & Caroline Weaver’s son, or because I have money, or because you feel the need to sleep with me because somehow your self-esteem is linked to how good-looking the man you can get into your bed happens to be. You’ve changed me. I want to be changed—for you.”
“You’re right. I don’t care about any of that. I love
you
, but that doesn’t help with the problem at hand. I want our marriage to be real. We need to—”
“It
is
real! Gaw!” He rattled his head in frustration. “You’re
not
ready! This morning proved it. I realized you weren’t ready and still, it was next to impossible to stop. There
is
a point of no return, Rhees. On the deck, I had no intention of deflowering you that night, but . . . I
almost did
. Do you hear me? This morning I stopped, somehow, but if you keep pushing this, I may wind up giving what you say you want but aren’t ready for. Do you understand how much worse that could be? It could be irreparable. I can’t live with those consequences, so can we drop it?”
“If it was so hard, why
did
you stop?”
Paul’s body language stuttered. He didn’t want to answer. The argument wore on his patience and he didn’t know how to explain it to her without making her feel stupid. She wasn’t stupid, just so ignorant on the subject. Her naiveté ordinarily endeared her to him all the more, but right now . . . he wished he could hit the pause button and talk to Claire.
“I stopped because you had tears streaming down your face,” he mumbled.
“Why did you automatically assume they were bad tears and not good tears? Maybe I was overcome with love and emotion.”
“Okay. That might have been possible,” he huffed out sarcastically. “But if your eyes were able to get that wet from the sheer ecstasy of the experience, you should have been wet
down there,
too.”
Rhees’ expression went blank. She didn’t understand and he sighed, feeling bad for being so abrasive with her.
“If you were ready
,
you’d be wet. It needs to be wet down there for all this to work. It would be unpleasant, even painful, for both of us.”
“I did do it wrong then.” She turned away from him.
“Aw, for crying out loud,” he groaned with exasperation. So much for patience and understanding. “Stawp it. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong, or that there’s anything wrong with you. It could be me. Maybe I rushed it, didn’t give you enough time. It was my fault, or more likely, it has more to do with it being too soon after—”
“Have you ever had this problem before?”
He glanced at the floor and shifted his weight nervously, giving away the answer.
“You haven’t. And don’t forget. Your groupies discuss everything, loud and openly. None of the other girls have ever complained. I’m sure I’d have heard about it if you tended to
rush
the experience
.”
It hurt she’d bring that up again after all the time that had passed—when he’d been abstaining because of her—for her. “You’ve obviously forgotten. I go for experienced girls,” he jabbed back. “They’re less effort, always ready to go.”
“So I’m not worth the effort?”
“Oh my God.” He paced away from her. It was harder than it should be to keep from letting her insecurities push his buttons. He hated that she had to live with such a life-altering event, and he felt inadequate to deal with it at the moment, but it felt like she didn’t give him any credit for anything he’d done. It was almost March. He’d been good for nearly a year. It had become such a habit to hate himself, he’d started to doubt he deserved any credit, after all.
“That’s not what I meant.” He closed his eyes and tried to calm down. “You just . . . you’re not relaxed enough—and understandably so. That’s how I know you’re not ready. That’s why I say it’s too soon, and that’s why I say we need to wait a little longer.”