"Thanks, Taz," I said with a smile, giving him a kiss on his cheek.
Eli pulled up in his car, honking his horn.
"Take care of her Maddox," Taz said gruffly, "Or you'll have me to face."
Cain remained solemn, but I could see the corners of his mouth twitching, so I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he totally understood where my big brother was coming from.
"No worries, Taz. We will. Paige is very important to the both of us."
And with that, Taz was off.
Cain helped me into the car. "You okay, babe?"
"I'm totally fine. But you know what? There was no birthday cake today. No candles for me to blow out with my birthday wish."
"We can take care of that, right Eli?"
"Consider it done," Eli said, pulling away from the curb.
Later that evening, when we were all stretched out on top of our bed, Cain and I shared with Eli the conversation that I'd had with Taz. I then shared the conversation that I'd had with Darcy, which was pretty much a moot point now, since Darin Murphy had seen to it that my brother had been clued in.
"There's still the matter of your parents," Eli pointed out. "And I'm sure there will be scores of others that want to put their fucking two cents in."
"I know," I replied, not wanting to feel any melancholy at the moment. I just wanted to finish my birthday out with the traditional birthday wish.
Cain had stuck a candle in the fancy cupcake that we'd stopped to buy at a bakery on our way home to represent my official birthday cake.
"I don't understand, guys," I said. "Is this something that we're supposed to be ashamed of? Because, if it is, I have to tell you that I'm not. But, at the same time, I just don't want the grief that I know I'll get from my parents. I feel like such a freakin' hypocrite about it. I guess I've grown comfortable in this private little cocoon that we've created here for ourselves. I don't want it spoiled by any ugliness."
"Hey," Cain said, turning on his other side to face me. "We'll figure it out, sweetie. We've got plenty of time to figure it all out, okay?"
I nodded, biting my lower lip and wondering about that. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was simply a matter of time before everything came together and people accepted what we were about.
"Because," Eli piped up, "We are all in this together—for the long haul, right?"
"Right," Cain and I answered together.
"I feel so lucky," I sighed, plucking at the comforter. "A year ago, I never would've guessed how happy I'd be right now. Right here."
"Tell us what makes you feel so lucky," Cain challenged softly, as he flicked a match and lit the candle on the cupcake.
"Well, I have an awesome new career as a forensic technician with the F.B.I," I started. "And then there are these men you see—two of them that I love so fucking hard. They make me so happy and they love me right back and it's seriously the best feeling in the world for me. And for now, I have my brother's approval, which isn't easily given, mind you—at least to me, and it kind of rocks. My life is damn near perfect I guess."
"What would make it perfect?" Cain whispered, leaning over me so that his lips grazed my jawline with slow, soft kisses.
"Yes," Eli chimed in quietly, his fingertips tracing a trail along my cheek, his warm breath caressing my ear as I felt his tongue lightly trace the outer edge.
I shivered with anticipation because I knew that these men were going to make love to me tonight. And it would be slow, and it would be sensual, and it would be so very sweet. And for whatever reason, I knew that it would be different with them tonight. Because more than anything else going on in my life, there was one thing that I was sure of: I had the love of these men, and it was more precious to me than any other gift I had received…ever!
I reflected on how Darcy had looked tonight. She was glowing and happy and I loved when she let everyone feel her tummy when Carson kicked during dinner. I had been totally mesmerized by it.
"A baby," I finally sighed. "Having our baby would make it perfect. It's what I want."
I sat up for a moment and leaned back on my elbows. "So, it’s official—for my next birthday, my wish is to have a baby in my belly."
I leaned over and blew out the single candle on my cupcake, and as I watched the smoke curl and snake its way up to the ceiling, I smiled.
The End
Still
by
Alessandra Torre
Dedicated to the incredible women of Torreville. You guys make each and every day a joy, bringing me support and laughter. You are the community of women I have never had, and I appreciate you immensely.
Here’s to your wicked and open minds, I love you all.
Chapter 1
I don’t belong here—not in a loud casino, smoke curling up the walls, disappearing into discreet vents. Flip flops sharing space with sequins and diamonds. The crowd a mix of sandy tourists and high rollers, eighteen year old spring breakers polka-dotting the mix with their wide eyes and slurred steps, the available alcohol hitting their virgin systems hard. We’re at a craps table, a game that none of us understand, yet the Asians to our right are grinning and gesturing like we are hitting the mother load, so we blow on dice and move markers and our chip stack continues to grow.
Chelsea. She’s the reason we are all here. Six of us split between three rooms, the four hundred dollar nightly rate generously taken care of by Mr. McCrory, Chelsea’s father and the king of the Atlanta carwash market. Chelsea’s big day is two weeks away, so here we are, in Nassau, bachelorette-partying our country asses off.
I don’t belong here. I belong on my front porch, sunning my toes on the railing of the porch, a sweet tea next to me, a magazine on my lap, Sugarland on the radio. That’s what I’d spend a weekend off doing. Not here, in this loud place, with Tammy’s hand digging into my shoulders, her fresh manicure biting imprints into my sunburned skin. There is a bump of bodies behind me, and the curve of the table cuts into my still-gorged-on-seafood stomach. Ouch. I gaze longingly at the stool holding up the cigarette-smoking female to my right. My feet are on fire, four hours in a-size-too-small-but-they-were-on-sale heels taking their toll in the most painful way possible.
I gather my chips and turn to Megan Gallt, the bit of a girl to my left, her platinum curls bouncing excitedly at some aspect of this gamble that we don’t understand. “I’m gonna head upstairs,” I yell, my mouth as close to her ear as I can manage without swallowing her chandelier earrings.
“What?” She glances down at her wrist, the fake Rolex we all—with the exception of Chelsea—had gobbled up from the first roadside stand the taxi driver had stopped at. It glitters impressively at me, and I fight a glimpse downward to see if my own looks as good. “It’s only ten.”
“My feet are killing me.”
She looks down. “You got a long way to walk to the room.”
She isn’t kidding. My brain groans at the trek before me. Through the casino, through the shops, down a flight of stairs, through a second lobby, up twelve floors via elevator, and then down a thousand feet of hallway. “I know. That’s why I’m leaving while my soles still have a little bit of life left in them.”
She leans in, lowering her voice slightly. “Chelsea will be pissed.”