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Shoving my face into her neck, so she wouldn’t see my tears, I increased my speed, pulling her ass against my cock, over and over, until she clenched around me and began crying out my name.
I released inside her, panting with every pump, until I was spent.
We waited there, both of us panting while she drew words into my skin. Then she sealed what we did by saying, “Only yours.” She slowed her breathing, while staring at me with those big blue eyes, and smiled. “I’ve only ever been yours.”
* * *
Rae was standingin our kitchen, barefoot, with just one of my shirts on, when I decided I was done waiting. Three days had passed since I came back, and nearly every waking moment had been spent inside each other.
It seemed to be the only way I could effectively communicate my feelings. I wasn’t ready to talk, and while Rae hadn’t pushed me to, I knew we couldn’t just keep having sex every time the pain of losing my brother began to surface. It seemed every time my chest felt like it was about to cave in, I’d just grab Rae, spread her legs, and slip inside. She seemed desperate to help me get past the pain too, so she was more willing than ever to do anything and everything I wanted.
Which included quite a few kinky nights in the truck. We’d go driving, in hopes that it would help me talk, but every single time, I’d just grab Rae by the hair and pull her mouth to mine, and suddenly she was naked again, straddling me until the windows fogged and we had nothing left in us but to drive back and eat dinner, or go to sleep.
I knew we couldn’t keep it up, especially because Rae had to get back to work at city hall and meet with the businesses regarding everything from when she was away.
But seeing her now, in our home, the place I wanted to start a life with her, it finally happened. The words came out.
“I was waiting for you…or at least, I was trying to. The town, for once, had embraced my help with fixing up the outside of their shops, and several guys even offered to help whenever I needed it. Colson jumped in too, offering materials and labor…” I trailed off, taking a sip of water while Rae carefully watched me in silence. Moments passed, then she finished her sandwich and moved to the barstool next to mine.
“I was feeling good, and like I wanted to keep improving, so I decided I’d call my mom and dad for the first time.” Shaking my head, I scoffed in disgust. “I actually thought you’d be proud of me for calling them.”
“Davis…” Rae whispered, her voice cracking as her hand came out to grip my arm.
“My mom acted like she didn’t know what to say. Apparently my brother passed away six weeks ago from medical complications and pneumonia, but they never even—” My throat burned as I tried to push the rest of the words out. “They didn’t tell me.”
Rae was there, pushing her way into my arms as she cradled my face in her hands, swiping at the goddamn tears that had started.
I rested my head against her shoulder as she held me, and I broke all over again. This time without alcohol to curb the pain, and this time without the fear of never getting her back.
She was here, and while I was still splitting in half, I knew she would make me whole.
40
RAE
TWO MONTHS LATER
The hens were happy,even in the winter—they seemed to thrive. I knew there was some life lesson in there, something about nature being able to teach us all we needed to know, but I was too exhausted to catch it.
My life, since returning to this place—since returning to Davis—has been a bit of melancholy intermixed with bliss. It was difficult to be truly happy when Davis still carried such sadness, but we worked through it.
Most days, he just needed to sit in the silence and allow it to swallow up his pain. On those days, I tried to hike and give him space. The dogs loved going with me, and I found that I enjoyed Mount Macon more than any other mountain or summit. Even in the winter, as snow covered the ground, it was a form of therapy I knew that I would always need.
A few times, I had tried to get Davis to come with me, but he’d choose to go on a drive all alone. He did that for a few weeks, until I asked where he was going.
That’s when he finally took me.
He drove thirteen miles north, and down a long winding road, until we found it.
His old house.
It was empty, and Davis only stared at it. He never once wanted to look inside or break in to visit his old home. I didn’t blame him.
But then we’d walk, and he’d take me to the tree fort he and Tim would use, back before his brother became too old for it, or too moody. Davis said that during a short period of their lives, Tim would play in the woods with him, in that tree house, and they’d pretend they were pirates, sailing the vast sea of whatever world they had created at the time.
So, for months, Davis had been driving out here, trying to say goodbye to his brother. He’d yet to find the words, and I wasn’t about to pressure him to try. Instead, I would sit with him, hold his hand, and let him process.
Sometimes I would bring flowers, or vodka. Other times, I’d play with his hair as he laid his head in my lap and we just sat in nature, and secretly, I would pray to whoever was listening that it would heal the man I loved.
