Remember When 3: The Finale Part 4

So, I knew Trip needed this. He needed to know he was still breathing. Needed to know that he'd kicked his habit-when his father couldn't-and that he wouldn't end up on a slab before the age of sixty. At least not from drinking, anyway. He needed to feel alive. He needed to feel loved. h.e.l.l, I needed it.

It was amazing, knowing this man loved me. That was a fact. Our timing may have sucked, but the feelings had already been confirmed. Years ago.

At least his were.

He didn't know that I had chosen to love him back. I needed to rectify that right now. I took a deep breath and said the words I thought I'd never get the chance to say to him, the words I'd never allowed myself to say. Well, not on purpose anyway.

"I love you."

He lifted his head and looked at me in disbelief. "What?"

Oh G.o.d. Too soon? Is this just supposed to be s.e.x right now?

I wanted to die. I wanted to stuff the words back into my mouth, wishing I'd never said them. Maybe I could laugh and play it off like a joke, like I didn't really mean it.

No. I immediately shook the negative thoughts aside. I would not go down this road again. I would never fail to put my heart on the line when it came to Trip ever again. We'd lost too much time because of my insecurities and our inability to communicate properly.

Never. Again.

I put my hands on either side of his neck, my thumbs brushing along his jaw. I was scared, but I looked directly into his eyes and said it again. "I'm in love with you, Trip. I love you. I always have."

It looked as though he'd been slapped in the face by my words. Pain drifted across his features as he dropped his head and shook it. "I know."

Not the words I was imagining, and the unexpectedness made me laugh.

"You know? Oh my G.o.d. Did you just Han Solo me?"

I felt him shaking with laughter against my body before any sound came out of his mouth. When it did, it sent us both into a fit of giggles, as I jokingly tried to shove the big galoot off of me.

"Okay. Where's my dress? This was a big mistake. I take it back. I meant to say 'Up yours, Chester'."

He pinned me to the mattress with his heavy body, settling himself between my legs again, explaining, "You didn't let me finish! I was trying to say I know you love me. I know, and it's incredible." He looked down at me, his eyes a shifting pool of blue, the corner of his lip quirked into a lopsided smile as he gently swiped my hair behind my ear. He buried his face against my neck, his breath tickling against my skin as he whispered softly, "Because I am completely in love with you right back."

It only took fifteen freaking years, but we managed to finally recite our lines properly. I love you. Well, I love you, too. Jesus. Isn't that how normal people do it?

He raised his head and smiled into my eyes as he requested, "Say it again."

"What? Han Solo? Does that turn you on, nerd? Should I Leia my hair and throw on a gold bikini?" G.o.d, he was so cute. Just look at that face.

His grin was infectious. "Yes. Eventually. But right now I just want to hear you say it. Say it again."

I stopped laughing and met his eyes. "I love y-"

My words were cut off with a gasp as he slid into me with a groan; proudly, confidently, holding himself still, letting my body get used to the feel of him inside me. Again.

It was as if he'd never left me, as if the two of us had always been joined together, as if we were always meant to be.

He didn't. We had. We were.

"Say it again."

"I love you."

He pulled out almost fully, then slid back in-slowly-full-length this time, which was almost my undoing. Oh G.o.d yes. I twined my fingers in his hair and arched toward him as he repeated the movement, his arm wrapped around my middle, holding me fixed to him, gliding in and out of me leisurely, as if we had all the time in the world. Each time he entered me, he plunged just a little harder, a little faster, picking up the pace ever so slightly until he was rocking against me in an unhurried, steady rhythm, a never-ending slow-dance that threatened to completely shatter my heart.

This man in my arms. This beautiful man who was capable of beautiful things, in as well as out of the bedroom. The exquisiteness of his touch, the weight of his words, the tender care he took to make me feel loved, cherished... unbelievably turned on. It was too much emotion. Bittersweet and wonderful, being in the bed of the man I loved deep down to my core; my heart, my soul. The man I had loved-and would continue to love-forever.

Trip's voice cracked on a rough whisper. "Open your eyes."

When I did, I saw him looking into my eyes, heavy-lidded, full of adoration and wanting. Making sure I knew he was with me. Only me.

"I love you, Lay."

His words brought the fresh sting of tears, and my eyes began to leak even as my heart swelled.

"Hey... hey, why are you crying?" He gave a little chuckle in understanding, swiping the moisture from my cheeks and saying, "It's okay, babe. We're okay now."

It was hard to believe, even though I knew he was right. It was just that we had a million unsaid things between us, a million hurts to heal. It was scary to think that our chance for happiness could be ruined again by misunderstandings. I didn't think I'd survive if things didn't work out for us this time.

Jeebus. I needed to turn my brain off. Why was I allowing myself to worry about tomorrow and the unlikely demise of us when I finally had him exactly where I wanted right then?

"Trip?" I said through tear-blurred eyes. "I'm just so happy right now."

That made him laugh. "You sure have a weird way of showing it, babe." He lowered his mouth toward mine again. "Luckily, I know the right way."

His kiss was sweet, but heated, his lips brushing against mine in waves. I felt the current stirring, this beautiful man holding my gaze locked to his, his incredible body rocking against mine, bringing me right to the edge of the cliff, willing me to fall.

I allowed the electric charges to overtake me, looking right into his face for as long as I could, until I came, unashamed, the tears slinking from my eyes and down my cheeks. It made a small smile appear across his gorgeous face as he quickened his pace to match the tremors cascading along my insides, finally growling into the air as his every muscle tensed and his movements stilled.

He collapsed on top of my body, still joined with me, and rolled us to our sides, the both of us breathless. I thought it would be nice to stay like that for a few days, just lounge around with him inside me indefinitely, but I guessed it would've been kinda hard to do stuff like drive a car or go to the bathroom. But for now, it was nice.

It was insane to think it had been so many years since we'd done this. At least I knew it wouldn't be another fourteen years before the next time. How did we survive without each other all that time? We were always meant to be together. Always would be.

Trip felt it, too. He was actually tearing up himself as he said, "My G.o.d, every time, it never fails. You happen to me all over again." He swiped a palm across my cheek and added, "I never stopped loving you, Lay. You were always with me. Everywhere."

We did a quick cleanup in his bathroom and got dressed again. My heart always broke a little whenever I had to watch Trip put his clothes back on. It was just such a crying shame.

He grabbed my hand and led me around the hall, pointing out the framed pictures from his life. I may have been biased, but Trip was absolutely the most adorable little boy you'd ever want to see in your life. His hair was a much lighter shade of blond, and he looked like a filthy mess in most of the shots. Too freaking cute.

I was laughing about that when I turned to see Trip staring at a framed portrait of his father. He had his hands jammed into his pockets and was shooting daggers at the image of the man whose life was being celebrated downstairs.

"Trip?" I asked warily. He was wound too tightly, a mousetrap that could snap with the slightest provocation. I didn't want to set him off.

Too late.

"a.s.shole!" he spat, throwing a fist at the wall next to his father's head, denting the sheetrock. It wasn't a satisfying jab, I guess, because he threw another punch, this one harder, cracking the wall. And then he took another. I stepped backwards as he continued thrashing the wall, eventually going for his real target, landing a punch against the man's smiling jaw, splintering the gla.s.s. "Son of a b.i.t.c.h!" He ripped the picture fully off the wall and threw it to the ground.

At that, his angry rage quickly turned to collapsed sobbing as he buried his face and elbows against the damaged wall, his arms wrapped over his head, his right hand a b.l.o.o.d.y mess. "I hate him so much."

I didn't know the right way to console him, and I was hesitant to do so when he was in the middle of such a tirade. I decided to try out a rational angle when I said, "Trip. You don't mean that."

He whirled on me then, his eyes chips of ice as he answered, "Yes, I do! He died a long time ago, Lay." He pointed to the ruined picture on the ground. "That man who was my father died years ago."

I am the poster child for stubbornness during my anger, so I decided to let Trip have his. I smoothed some hair off of his forehead and kissed him there, soothing the raging beast. I slipped a hand down his arm and gripped his wrist, saying, "Okay. But let's get you cleaned up, alright?"

He looked down at his hand in confusion, as if the appendage attached to his body wasn't his own, finally realizing that it was bleeding. I took him into the bathroom and ran his hand under the water, picking out the occasional shard of gla.s.s imbedded in his skin. I worked in silence, not knowing what to say. He was angry, and I wasn't used to seeing him like that.

But of course he was angry. He had every right to be.

I Bactined and Band-Aided his knuckles, then dug out a dustpan and broom from the same closet where I'd found the first-aid kit.

"You don't need to do that," Trip said as I ignored him.

I swept up the gla.s.s and drywall debris while he gathered the remains of the portrait, depositing it in a spare bedroom, a sheepish expression on his face. We worked in silence, Trip in no mood to talk and me not wanting to say the wrong thing. The mess had been taken care of, but there wasn't much we could do about the wall at that moment.

He pulled a new picture down from the spare room, and I used my heel to hammer its nail in the appropriate spot. That must have been enough to break the last of Trip's anguish, because he kind of laughed as he looked on.

I held the shoe up and gave it a wiggle. "Girl hammer."

When I was done, I slipped it back onto my foot, hung the picture over the hole, and dusted off my hands. "Well, that's that."

He had his hands jammed into his pockets as he nodded his head toward the wall. "Remind me to get someone over here to fix that tomorrow."

"Don't sweat it. I'll give Rymer a call in the morning."

"Rymer's a contractor?"

"Rymer's a little bit of everything these days."

Trip was silent at that, letting the new information sink in. He stood there for a beat, looking embarra.s.sed, his tail between his legs.

"Look. I'm sorry, Lay. I'm sorry you saw that."

I could have used the opportunity for some big psychoa.n.a.lytic development, some it-wasn't-your-fault, Good Will Hunting-type breakthrough. But it's not what he needed from me at that moment. I knew we'd get through it eventually; it just didn't have to be right then. So, instead of opening my big mouth, I shut up and slipped my arms around his waist for a hug.

He sighed, running the fingertips of his damaged hand along my back, lowering his lips to the top of my head. "I really am sorry."

It had been an emotional day. Nauseated to trepidatious, heart-swelling to heart-breaking. Sad to happy to silly to s.e.xy to contented to furious to remorseful.

What can I say? It was the Trip Wilmington roller coaster ride all over again. I wouldn't have had it any other way.

I squeezed his waist and gave him a shy smile. "I know."

Chapter 8.

YOURS, MINE AND OURS.

I took a break from the computer when I heard the troops heading up the stairs. I tended to get lost in a zone whenever I was writing and didn't even hear the doorbell ring. But nothing could ever distract me from the sound of Lisa in the vicinity.

My beautiful G.o.ddaughter reached my office first, however, rushing into the room with a squeal, so I spun around in my chair and scooped her up in a big hug. "How's my sunshine?" I asked, getting a giggle in answer. She tried squirming out of my grasp almost immediately, and I knew that snuggle time would be over almost as soon as it had begun. She was such a little perpetual motion machine. I held her tighter, though, my hand raised in The Claw, threatening a ma.s.sive tickle. "You know what I want to hear. Don't make me use this."

Julia's eyes opened wide and her mouth gaped open, pretending to recoil with fear.

Just then, her twin brother came bounding into the room, appraising the scene and saying, "Uh-oh, Jooya."

I gave Caleb a wink and flinched my hand at the stubborn little monkey on my lap, psyching her out. But it was enough to make her scream, "Auntie Layla is my favorite aunt!"

She squirmed again, so I released her from my clutches and opened my arms to Caleb for a hug. He was dirty and sticky-like all good little boys are supposed to be-and I buried my face at his shoulder to blow razzberries into his neck. He smelled like watermelon Jolly Ranchers.

"Did Grampa Kenny give you candy already?" I asked.

They both nodded their heads as Caleb said, "Are you gonna cwaw me now?"

I raised my hand in The Claw. "Do I need to?"

He giggled and yelled, "Auntie Waywa is my favewit aunt!"

Caleb could hit decibel levels that didn't exist on this planet. He'd totally inherited Lisa's loudness gene. Burn.

"I have trained you well, young patawan."

I set him back down as Lisa came into the room. "You have to stop teaching them to say that. They have another aunt besides you, you know."

I shrugged and said, "Yes, but Aunt Penny's not their favorite aunt," giving my two favorite tiny humans a conspiratorial look, which made them break into a new fit of giggles.

Lisa just shook her head and said, "You guys know that you should never ever say that in front of Aunt Penny, right?"

They both nodded their heads reverently before running off to destroy my bedroom.

Lisa plopped herself down on my old, padded futon across from my old, well-worn desk. I'd moved back home over four years before and used some of the stuff from my New York apartment to convert Bruce's room into an office.

I know it seems kind of pathetic that I was thirty-one and living in my father's house. Not only should I have wanted a bit more privacy for myself, but Dad had a girlfriend, so you'd think that he'd want a little privacy, too.

But we were used to living together. Heck, we'd done it for the first eighteen years of my life. And the fact was, he was spending a lot of his time at Sylvia's anyway. He actually liked the idea that I was there taking care of things while he was gone. Plus, he knew I was saving every penny for a down payment on a house of my own and didn't want me wasting my hard-earned cash by paying rent on some random place.

Hard-earned might be an exaggeration, however. I definitely put everything I had into my writing, but I could scarcely consider it "hard work" when it could be done in my PJs.

I was presently, officially, and blissfully a not-so-starving artist. I'd given up on a career in journalism to become an author. I wrote books for a living-mostly fiction-and I actually got paid to do so. It was awesome. I was living out a dream I never knew I always had.

Funny that it coincided with the only other dream I'd ever had (but I'm pretty sure I always knew I had that one).