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“Shewasmy wife for less than a day before she passed away.”
“Oh… I’m so sorry, Tucker. That must have been a devastating time for you.” She draws me into an embrace, but there is so much more to explain, but I melt into her, holding on, accepting her comfort for something she can’t begin to understand.
I reluctantly unfold myself from her embrace. “Ophelia, I need you to hear me out.” It is a serious conversation, so nicknames don’t seem appropriate. “I have never talked about this with anybody other than Teagan and Shamus, but I want you to understand.”
“I’m here for you.”
I take in a deep, steadying breath before releasing it. “Ten years ago, Jillian, my high school sweetheart, died from cancer. We met when we were fourteen, and she was new to my high school.
“She was in the system—a foster care kid. Jillian had worked her way through many foster families because she was a wild child. I thought I could tame her, and for a while, she listened and settled down. The families weren’t the problem; they didn’t know how to tame her free spirit. Her no-fucks-to-give attitude attracted me to her because I was somewhat of a bad boy at school.”
“I can see that.” Ophelia tries to lighten the mood.
“I gravitated toward Jillian, the same as my friends, Shamus and Hudson. I was clever, so I didn’t have to study much to make good grades. I found out very young that I was somewhat gifted musically. Shamus and Hudson were part of my best friends’ posse. We used to play about in high school, pretending to be a band, something Hudson Raine—now ex-gazillionaire rock star—pursued to incredible highs and lows, but that is another story.
“Not long after Jillian arrived, I took it upon myself to become her music tutor. I wanted to give her something that was hers to own, taming some of her rebellion and channeling it into music. She had a talent for drums, but she was also a talented guitarist.
“Over a short time, our friendship developed into boyfriend/girlfriend status. Things were going great for Jillian; she was getting better grades. She wasn’t looking to rebel all the time. She had a sense of purpose and became a part of our boy posse.
“Teagan gave her some clothes to help her fit in at school because teen girls can be judgy. My sister helped her with finding her style. Nobody hassled her, and she began to blossom.
“Things settled down in her home life, but her foster parents were only in it for the money. My family banded together and picked up the slack in her home life. We kept her grounded.
“School was all about hierarchy, but at home, Alice was a gentle reminder not to be a dickhead around my family—to be a good son.” I run my hand through my hair. “Shit, it is hard talking about Jillian.”
“You are doing great.” Ophelia takes my hands, holding them in her lap, letting her thumbs rub soothing circles against them, waiting for me to continue.
“By the time Jillian turned eighteen, she had formed her own band, but then she also aged out of the system. And that’s when her wild-child nature came back with a vengeance. Between the bar scene, playing gigs, earning her own money, sharing accommodation with her bandmates, she started making friends with the wrong crowd. She wanted to impress them; she got mixed up in drugs. Not the hard stuff, but it was enough to cause us problems.
“Jillian wanted to be loved and not lonely, but she rebelled all the time. I eventually pulled her out of that crowd, but we argued a lot. We both knew we weren’t going to last. Jillian had too much freedom on her hands and never understood boundaries and was beginning to think I was no fun—when I can assure you, I do know how to have fun. I just don’t need to be wasted to have it.
“I got accepted into The Juilliard School as a pianist, but then tragedy struck. Jillian hadn’t been feeling well for a few months. She discovered she was terminal when she was nineteen and pregnant with another guy’s child. The baby didn’t stand a chance of survival before cancer killed Jillian.
“I married Jillian in the hospital to give her a sense of peace and belonging. It was a comfort to her knowing she had the support of my family surrounding her. We were no longer in love, but I hung onto the friendship I once loved. I wanted to look after her until the end. My family was great. They gave her support and kindness, treating her as though she was one of their children so she didn’t die lonely.
“Jillian’s death hit me harder than I could imagine because I felt responsible for her losing her way. Juilliard seemed no longer a satisfying path for me. I was in a dark place. Hudson offered me a spot in his band Blue Monday as lead guitarist before they hit the big time. I turned Hudson down to hide inside a war at the age of nineteen, the guilt and shame for not loving Jillian when she died, as a man should love a woman he weds in sickness and health. I cut myself off from everybody by joining the military. It was the way I coped with the loss of my friend—my wife.
“I’m so sorry, Tucker,” she whispers. All pretense of being mad at me evaporates.
“Sshh…” I place a finger on her lips. “It was a long time ago, and now I am ready to make peace with the burden I’ve carried around. It’s what I was doing in here earlier. You’re right. I don’t need to dredge anymore of it up. My family has wanted me to make peace with Jillian for a long time. I am in that place now. All I can think about is you.”
I can’t feel guilty for wanting this woman after telling her about Jillian. I have permitted myself to wipe the slate clean.
Jillian told me moments before she died; I would know when I met the woman who would be my great love. I would feel it through to my bones. I had to trust Jillian’s words that she would be happy for me when the time came, which was beginning to feel like a sexy spitfire with raven hair.
We have a long way to go, but I know Ophelia’s meant for me. It just took nearly eleven years for our paths to cross.
“So, Hamlet, are we good to continue where we left off?”
“I should be asking you that question,” she says softly. Embers are flickering back to life in her eyes.
“Couldn’t think of anything more I want to be doing right now than making you orgasm.”
My cock is steel, seeking freedom from the confines of my boxer shorts, but we both carry on pretending I don’t have a prominent bulge parked front and center.
“We need to play ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors.’”
“What did you say?” My brow furrows with amusement.
