Page 33
The last few weeks have been unbelievably good to me. Savannah read my manuscript and declared it a masterpiece. I read back through it two more times, making some revisions and tweaking a few plot points. During the day, I would work up in my office, and Savannah would work down in the kitchen, managing all of my author affairs. Sometimes she would take the day and drive throughout eastern North Carolina. She’d pack her camera bag, a sandwich, and her phone so I could text her occasionally. She would come home at night, upload her photos to the computer, and we’d go through them together while eating dinner.
At night… and I mean every f**king night, and more often than not during the day too… I would be inside of her, stroking and pumping my way to an even deeper connection with her, poured forth in orgasms and sweet, whispered words. I couldn’t get enough of her… can’t get enough of her. I keep asking myself, when will it ever be enough? Something always screams back at me… never!
With my manuscript finally turned into my editor and a few weeks’ time before I needed to start on my next one, I decided to go ahead and knock out a quick trip back to the homeland. My main goal was to see my parents and go through all the stuff my dad had packed up from the Turnbridge house. I planned to donate most of it, but I knew there would be a few things I wanted to keep. That goofy, blue octopus of Charlie’s and, of course, all the photos I had ever taken of him. If I’m going to make my home back in Duck, North Carolina, said home should be filled with pictures of my son. I realize that thinking about photos of Charlie doesn’t pain me as much as it used to.
Savannah isn’t here with me only because my timid, little wallflower apparently has never traveled out of the States before and never had a passport. So I left her with a sweet kiss and an order to get to work on her passport, because she sure as f**k was going to come with me on the next visit. With a direct flight from Raleigh to London, I figured we could make several trips a year to see my family and visit Charlie’s grave.
My flight leaves tomorrow at eleven in the morning and there’s nothing left to do but get a good night’s sleep. I declined my parents request to stay at their house in Turnbridge, preferring to get a hotel closer to the airport to save me some time in the morning.
I pull all the pillows from the bed and arrange them on one side propped against the headboard. Grabbing my laptop, I sit down with my back against the pillows and fire it up so I can start outlining my next novel.
All I can seem to think about is getting back to Savannah.
Savannah, Savannah, Savannah. So very sweet, Savannah.
God, I can’t believe how bad I f**king miss her. I feel almost weak and powerless to admit it, yet there’s no denying that my life is beginning again because of her. It worries me to no end how much I seem to need her… how desperate I am to be in her presence.
I grab my phone and turn it on. Tapping on the favorites button, I hit Savannah’s name. She’s the only number listed in my favorites.
After three rings, her voice mail picks up and even though I’m not going to leave her a message, I listen to it all the same just so I can hear her voice. It makes a pang of hurt stab in my chest with longing.
Hanging up, I open up a new document on my laptop and flex my fingers. I’m ready to write. Except… my mind drifts.
I wonder what Savannah is doing right now. It’s close to noon in the States but time has no bearing. Her schedule doesn’t necessarily follow the tick of the clock. She may be out shooting some photos or picking up my mail. Hell, maybe that f**king vacuum cleaner is running and that’s why she’s not answering the phone. There’s a good chance she may be over at The Haven right now, elbow deep in puppies and kittens.
I smile, because although I miss her terribly, I also love her devotion to the things that are important to her. She even has me going to The Haven with her to volunteer, and it’s not necessarily because of the altruistic blood running through my veins. It probably has everything to do with the fact that I want to be near her as much as possible.
I’m whipped. Fucking whipped, I tell you.
But how could I not be? I remember telling Savannah that I was fortunate to have just a ray of her light touch me, and truer words were never spoken now that her light isn’t here with me in dreary England. The shadows seem darker and my blood icier when she’s not around. I long for just a sliver of her brightness right now.
Great… now I’m f**king waxing poetic. I better purge this shit out of my system. I have a f**king erotic thriller I need to write, and there’s no room for romantic sentiments. I need to buckle down and write some scenes that involve some hardcore, dirty, f**king. Animalistic f**king.
Groaning, I realize that makes me think of Savannah too, and I can’t help the smile that comes to my face when I realize that there isn’t much that keeps her far from my thoughts.
I open the door to my house, about to jump out of my skin over the prospect of seeing Sweet in the next few seconds. I had texted her as soon as my plane landed, On NC soil. Be home in three hours. Be naked.
She texted back. K. See you soon.
I had expected a flirtier response but then I didn’t give it much thought because the mere thought of her waiting for me na**d had me pushing the Maserati a little too fast during the three-hour drive from Raleigh to the Outer Banks. By the time I got home, I was convinced she’d meet me at the door without a stitch of clothing on.
The house is quiet when I walk in, but I know she’s here because her car is out front. The fact she isn’t jumping na**d in my arms right now is bothersome.
“Savannah?” I call out.
There’s no answer, and I think perhaps she’s in the shower. I start for the stairwell, but then from the corner of my eye, I see her sitting on the back deck, huddled up under a blanket while she sits on one of the deck chairs, staring at the ocean.
When I open the back deck door, her head swivels to me, and I see something odd in her eyes. Anxiety maybe? Just as quickly, it’s gone and a sweet smile shines at me.
She stands from the chair and throws the blanket to the ground. In just a moment of time, she’s in my arms and hugging me tight, her face pressed into my chest. I lean down and put my nose to her hair, inhaling the flowery fragrance of my Sweet.
“Hey,” I say as I squeeze her and note that she clutches me almost desperately. “What are you doing out here?”
She doesn’t answer me at first, but then shrugs as she pulls back a bit. “Just enjoying the view. ”
Her eyes meet mine for a second, and then drop away, and I know without a doubt that something isn’t right. Releasing my hold on her, I grasp her chin with my fingers and raise her face to mine. “What’s wrong?”
“We need to talk,” she says nervously, and a hard knot forms in the middle of my stomach.
The cold, ocean wind gusts and catches Savannah’s hair for a moment, lifting it up so it billows around her head like it’s got a life of its own. But then the wind is but a moment of time, and her hair falls back down softly on her shoulders… almost as if it has died. It seems like an ominous premonition to me.
“What is it, Sweet?” I ask gently, although my own blood seems to be racing.
Stepping back from me and crossing her arms over her stomach, as if to give herself a hug, she says quietly, “I’m late. ”
“Late?”
“My period. ”
Apprehension and dread boil up hot, and my knees go weak. “Your period is late?”
“Yes,” she says quietly but still holds my gaze.
“Fuck,” I mutter and turn away from her. Running my hand through my hair, I look out at the ocean and try to think what to do. “We need to go buy a pregnancy test. No sense in getting worried—”
“I already took one. It’s positive. ”
My head snaps back to her. “Are you sure?”
She nods her head and finally averts her eyes from me.
I let
my eyes slide from her and back out to the Atlantic. “Fuck,” I say again, softly. Then again not so softly, “FUCK!”
White-hot rage lances through me and I don’t know where it’s coming from, but I’m powerless to stop it. All I see is Charlie’s little body facedown in a creek bed, and I know that is something I can never go through again. Spinning back on her, I snarl, “How the f**k did that happen? You said you were on the pill. Was that a lie?”
Savannah’s eyes go wide and fearful, and she takes a step backward. “I was… I am,” she stutters.
“Well, did you forget to take them?” I ask wildly. “Because please explain how you could be pregnant and on the pill. ”
With her hands wringing one another, she whispers, “Um… the antibiotics I took… I read they can reduce the effectiveness of the pill. ”
“Mother f**king Christ,” I yell at her, and to anyone else that might be willing to engage in my anger. “Did you know that when you were taking them?”
She nods hesitantly and says, “I think I remember reading that somewhere… but I guess I had forgotten. ”
“You forgot?” I ask incredulously. “How could you f**king forget something so f**king important?”
Anger fills Savannah’s eyes, and she throws her hands outward. “I don’t know,” she yells back at me. “I just forgot. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, but I just forgot. ”
Throwing my own arms out in frustration, I turn and walk a few paces from her. “Oh, that’s just f**king great, Savannah. Just f**king great. ” I spin around and stride right up to her, grabbing her by her shoulders. “Do you remember when we had our little talk about unprotected sex? Do you remember how I wasn’t all that worried about catching something from you, but I sure as shit was interested to make sure you couldn’t get pregnant?”
She nods at me, the anger now sapped out of her, and sadness prevalent in her eyes once again.
“Well, did it ever f**king occur to you that was maybe because I didn’t want any f**king kids?” I scream.
I’m absolutely out of control at this point, and the urge to destroy something is so strong that I immediately drop my hands away from her, afraid of what I might do. Every bit of tender feelings I ever held for Savannah seem to melt away, and nothing is left but rage at this moment… at her… at the unfairness of the situation.
“I’m sorry,” is all she says, and she sounds broken… utterly broken.
A tiny bit of sympathy stabs at my heart for her. I know she didn’t intend this, I know this was an accident, but I cannot put myself in that situation again. I take a deep breath and try to expel the anger out.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” I say softly. “I’m not ready for this to happen. I’ll never be ready for this to happen. ”
“I’m not ready for it either,” she says. “But it’s happening. ”
The finality of her words are like the clang of a prison door slamming shut on me, and panic starts to rise. I’m not worried about being shackled to Savannah forever, because just before I walked in that door, I had been thinking how lovely that would be. What I’m not ready for… what I don’t have the courage to face, is bringing another innocent life into this world, and then suffering the constant fear that it could be ripped away from me again. When I think of how scared Charlie must have been… when I think of how he suffered… No! I just can’t do it.
How can in one moment my life be so perfect, and the next it’s collapsing all around me? As I look at Savannah’s sweet face, a face I’ve memorized so I can see her in all my dreams, I realize that all of this was probably a sham anyway. Savannah is made for someone to cherish her completely. Someone that wants to share every bit of life with her. A life that includes children.