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All my love.
We had just gotten out of the shower.
I barely remembered how we got there in the first place. I did know we damn near had sex in the middle of that field in the rain, in the mud. I’d wanted to. The urge to do it in the dirt, under that moody, angry sky was almost primal.
Duke had wanted to as well. But it seemed the alpha macho-man had more control over the animal inside him than I did, since he carried me all the way back to the house.
Well, not all the way.
First, we made it to the verandah.
The wicker furniture left welts on my thighs.
Duke left scars on my soul.
The transition from wild, violent, and urgent fucking to silence, stillness in the bed, was jarring and uncomfortable.
Too many things had happened in this day. Too much hurt. It had spilled over my happiness like acid, dissolving it, melting it, disfiguring it, ensuring it would never be the same again.
The next morning, I woke to an empty bed.
It seemed Duke had forgotten our rule as to the way we woke each other up. Then again, he probably thought sleep was a gift to me right now.
As it was more often than not, he was right.
Waking up without him was jarring, confusing, and exactly what I needed. I needed to breathe in his scent, be comforted by it, but also learn how to be on my own. Learn how to breathe around the pain.
It wasn’t easy.
I’d never let myself feel loss before.
My father had died before I could really remember him. There was no point in crying about a stranger, was there? Plenty of people lost parents. Plenty of people entered the foster system, got fucked up by it. Plenty of women had to use their bodies to survive—but not many of them managed to claw themselves out of that life.
I was luckier than most, so it seemed in poor taste to feel sorry for myself.
However, last night changed everything, forced me to feel it all, even when I really didn’t want to.
Life happened whether you wanted it to or not.
Voices trickled in from behind the closed door, along with the smell of coffee. As much as I wanted to sink into these sheets that smelled of Duke and denial, I wanted to drink coffee with the man himself, with whatever member of his family was out there. I wanted to look at the mountains and live in this present moment. Who knew how much longer I’d have it for?
Duke had said a lot of things last night, however three important words were missing. He was not a man to say them out of a sense of duty or politeness. If he felt them, he would’ve said them. It was that simple. And it hurt. It really hurt, no matter how selfish that was in the midst of grieving my only friend. But it wasn’t going to force me back into my shell, as my first instincts urged me to.
I was going to lean in. More than that, I was going to jump in. I wasn’t going to hold back, wasn’t going to pretend that I didn’t feel the way I did just to protect myself from hurt. I was already hurting. It wasn’t going to change, so I’d hold on to this for as long as it was in my grasp.
After brushing my teeth, performing my skincare routine, and throwing on a robe over my nightie—as liberal as Duke’s parents were, I didn’t think they’d appreciate seeing my nipples while drinking coffee—I tentatively walked down the hallway to the kitchen.
Harriet sat at the breakfast bar, leaning on her elbows and talking to Duke as he manned the stove.
This gave me pause.
Even in my zombie, grief-ridden state, it hit me—that man at the stove.
I’d never really thought of cooking as something that could be sexy. Duke showed me that it definitely could be. He was already dressed, wearing jeans and a long Henley. It was tight enough so I could see his muscles move fluidly under the fabric.
My mouth watered, and it had nothing to do with the bacon he was frying.
Harriet saw me first, a knowing grin on her face. “They say a woman should be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen,” she said. “But I think it should be the other way around. Although, if men had the ability to get pregnant, get periods, the human race would’ve died out long ago.” Her voice was easy. Warm. It wasn’t practiced, wasn’t hesitant, trying to probe around my grief. She was acting like it was any other morning.
I loved her for that—and the fact she made me smile. I hadn’t thought such a thing would be possible this close to yesterday’s events.
As always, Harriet proved me wrong.
Duke turned with his grandmother’s words, eyes finding me immediately. He fiddled with the stove, put down his spatula, and moved.
