Page 85 of Saving Ren
I knew first-hand itwaspossible to do both, to successfully juggle raising a family and a career, I’d done it. Being born at the very end of the sixties and leaving school and college in the eighties, my generation was probably one of the first where it was considered normal to return to work after having a baby. But, despite my career as an interior designer being successful, I still considered my kids my greatest achievement, and as grown up and independent as they now are, I really hope the breakdown of my marriage, and whatever it is I’ve started here with Gabe, doesn’t impact them too greatly.
On a tangent, I then wonder if there’s something wrong with me. I’m waking up after a night of the most mind-blowing sex of my life. I should be happy, ecstatic even. Instead, I’m feeling scared and a little sad.
Scared of what the future holds, sad for what I’ve left behind.
I need to find a job; I need an income. I genuinely believe Gabe when he says he’s happy to support me until I get my shit sorted, but I need to get that shit sorted sooner, not later. I can’t keep living on somebody else’s handouts, especially a man I’ve just met.
The fact that I’ve only just met him raises all sorts of other questions, the first being, what the fuck am I doing? Right now, I don’t have a definitive answer. We’ve been landed with a situation that we’re both trying to figure out and make the most of. The thing for me is, despite everything, Jason, my kids, my financial situation, my issues, despiteallof that, I like him. I like him a lot, and as sure as I know to never eat yellow snow, I already know Gabriel Wild has the ability to break my bruised, battered, and very fragile heart into a million tiny pieces, and it terrifies me.
Then there’s the end of my marriage to deal with. There’s no going back for me. I know that with absolute certainty, but still, the thought of what I once had, what Jay and I built together and worked so hard for, is over, done, and a divorce looming still makes me sad.
I don’t want him back. There will never be any kind of reconciliation. Right now, I’m happy never to see or speak to him again, and that in itself is sad. After almost twenty-seven years together, twenty-four of them married, just like that, it’s over, and I’m waking up in bed with another man after a night of wild sex. Wild sex, despite my sadness, I manage a little chuckle, which leads to a snort at my own joke.
Gabriel shifts. I’m lying in the recovery position, and he’s pressed in tight behind me—one of his legs over and between mine, his arm over me, his palm cupping my boob.
He’d fucked me into oblivion last night. After spa, shower, and bed sex I’d slept soundly the entire night. No dreams, good or bad, and despite the constant whir of emotions churning inside me, I actually feel rested.
I’m desperately in need of the bathroom but unsure if I’m yet ready to leave the warmth of the bed and the sensation of Gabe’s naked body pressed against mine.
Right on cue, his thumb brushes across my nipple before his hand moves slowly down my body. As he reaches my belly, I instinctively breathe in, hoping to make it flatter. Screwing my face up and squeezing my eyes tightly together, I cringe and hope that he didn’t notice, while feeling grateful that I’m lying mostly on my front, not my side.
His hand stills just below my belly button, his palm settling there as he takes in a deep breath while rubbing his nose into my hair.
I shift slightly, my eyes meeting his over my shoulder, and damn, he is so fucking pretty. Closing my eyes for a few seconds, I allow the swoon I’m hit with to wash over me and just enjoy the dizziness it causes. I blink a couple of times before focusing on the blue eyes focused on mine, and smile.
“Good morning.” His scratchy morning voice hits me right in the chest. A warmth moves through me. An appreciation of how lucky I am to be here, experiencing this. That after everything, I have this, I have him.
“You smell delicious,” he adds, his nose again brushing against my hair, his breath on my ear and neck. That sends warmth to other parts of me, and I smile through the urge to close my legs and squeeze everything between them tight.
“Good morning,” I respond. “I smell of you.”
The arm that’s not over me slides under me. He pulls my back into his front, and buries his face in the side of my neck.
“Yeah? Well, I like the smell of you smelling of me.” He gives me a squeeze as he talks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
I get a rush of something inside me. It leaves me with that Christmas morning feeling. The one you only get for a few years, in those years when you truly believe. My parents always told us if we didn’t go to sleep, we might see Father Christmas, and he’d know and wouldn’t leave us any presents. I used to squeeze my eyes so tightly shut Christmas Eve night that I’d end up with a headache. I’m one of four kids, and we’d all come down the stairs and approach the closed living room door nudging each other and whisper asking, ‘did you look?’ ‘Did you go to sleep in time?’ ‘Did you see him?’
Just to add to the tension, my dad would always pause at the door, turn and look at each of us and say,‘Hmm, not sure if he’s been. Are you sure you’ve all been good?’
Of course, there were always presents when we walked into the front room, way too many usually.
I’ve spent almost a year living every day feeling like I did before my dad opened that door. Sick with nerves, wondering if I’d been good enough for Jay to come home andnotwant to grab hold of me or hurl insults.
But that feeling, the way I would vibrate with excitement and anticipation when I saw all of the presents. My head feeling dizzy as I wondered what was inside them and which one I should open first. That’s what I’ve been experiencing since Gabe showed up at Jo’s, then brought me home with him.
“Ren?”
I’m so lost in my thoughts, despite being hyper-aware of his presence, I jump at the sound of Gabe’s voice.
“What?”
“Give it up.”
“What?” I turn my head fully towards him and ask in confusion. Moving me to my back, he rolls on top of me. Supporting his weight on his elbows, he uses his thumbs to brush my hair from my face, making me aware of what a mess it must be after spa, shower, bed sex, and finally sleep, all with wet hair.
“The overthinking; give it up. We did what we did, there’s no going back now.”
Not being able to resist the dark stubble covering his jaw, I raise my hand and scrape my fingernails over it.
