Page 42 of Every Good Thing
“Promise me, you’ll drive the speed limit from now on. Please. I don’t mean it as a judgment, just a request. I see too many accidents, Lena.”
“Yes, okay. Promise.” She tucks her bottom lip under her teeth, practically forcing me to kiss it free.
My lips drag over her determined chin and that place on her neck that makes her breath hitch every time. Her body melts against mine the more I kiss and touch her. Relaxed Lena—it’s been too long.
“Pain level?” I whisper between us.
“I’ll hurt tomorrow,” she says breathlessly before easing me inside her. “Promise me… no more lies.”
A low rumble rises through me at how good she feels. She could’ve asked me anything, and I would’ve said yes. I only hope she never asks the wrong questions. “Yes, I promise.”
Water sloshes between us as she rides me, her leg muscles squeezing me into her. She cries out when I grab her ass and bring myself deeper.
Sex with Lena isn’t just a highlight, but a need that five years together hasn’t stifled. The closer we are, the longer we’re together, the better it gets.
But our closeness proves elusive most days. It’s a fluid thing that slips through our fingers and evaporates with every missed opportunity. The more times we ignore it, the fewer times it appears.
It’s here now, though, and not to be wasted. Tonight’s about her healing and ours.
My fingers graze her stomach and then go lower, touching her exactly the way she likes. Her back arcs, her eyes roll before they close, and she nibbles her bottom lip—I love turning her on. Watching her, feeling her, delighting in her little trembles, I can tell she’s as starved as I am.
Our distance lately isn’t that she doesn’t want me. It’s never that. Just like my secrecy isn’t because I don’t love her—it’s the opposite, really. Her breathless smile and her dilated eyes, bright blue and seeking, prove her devotion. She looks almost giddy, laughing over the rough waves of the tub water and taking me like a rediscovered treasure.
Lena loves me. Almost securing the thought in place so I won’t forget it, she leans over me, kissing the scar on my forehead, my cheek, my lips, and slides her good hand around the back of my neck, pulling me closer. She keeps her eyes on mine, smiling, with her climax like it’s a journey she wants to take me on. I soon follow, deep and full.
Later, in bed, holding her to my chest, I know I have to trust her with everything. She’s the heart of me, and she deserves the truth.
Tomorrow.
Ten
LENA
Ruthie giggles when my eyes flutter open. She lays against my pillow, our noses nearly touching. She smells like syrup and apple juice—her typical perfume—and grins like she knows a secret.
“Tell me what I was like as a baby again,” she requests, her green eyes giddy-wide.
A groggy second passes before my usual spiel emerges—she likes this question. “You were born on a rainy Tuesday in the middle of the night—you’ve always been a night owl. You didn’t take naps or sleep through the night like other babies. You were too afraid of missing anything, like we were having parties when you were asleep—we weren’t. We were sleeping when you were asleep, silly goose, but FOMO was real for you. Books have always been your favorite toys. You used to stack them and make book teepees. Once you made a book tower that reached higher than you.”
She giggles again with a low tummy rumble. “Book Jenga.”
“From day one, you’ve loved animals, even the squiggly, buggy kinds, and rap music—for the beats, not the bad words. Late at night, it’s the only thing that soothed you. Your first audible words were “Dada” and “Dot,” though I try not to take that personally. Then, you said “taste” when helping me in the kitchen. But you were signing before that. You’ve always been smart and sweet and a handful of sunshine.”
I tickle her belly with my working fingers, and she laughs, writhing in the bed covers. The bed moves, and pain rips up my hand and arm like the slip of a sharp knife. Shit. Ben’s right—I hurt like hell. Every muscle aches like I spent yesterday doing advanced CrossFit.
Confusion hits me next. Bright sunlight streams in the sliding glass doors leading to the back deck.
Groaning, I reach for my phone, careful not to jostle my slung arm. Instead, I find a glass of water and a pill vial with a sticky note attached. Take two immediately is scrawled in Ben’s handwriting. I obey quickly.
“Daddy tricked you,” she reveals, laughing.
“What time is it? Are you late for preschool?”
“I’m playing hooky.”
A glance at the wall clock near the door has me whipping back the covers and popping painfully from bed. “Fucking hell! It’s after nine? Shit, don’t say Momma’s bad words.”
I breathe, trying not to freak out. I find clean jeans in a pile in the closet. Pulling them on one-handed is an awkward, clumsy dance that makes Ruthie laugh again.
