Hoops Limited Edition Box Set, page 43
“God, yes, baby.” My love combusts; bellows out of me, colliding with her cries. The scents of our bodies joined, tangle in the air. We cling, we clutch each other. There’s only us two, and it’s more than enough.
God, it’s almost too much, too good to be true, but it is true. We’re standing at the precipice of our future; of the rest of our lives. It’s more than I deserve. She’s more than I deserve, but I’ll never let her go.
We’re both falling asleep, sweaty and naked under the sheet, the duvet discarded on the floor. Iris, poor thing, is probably burning up because I’m wrapped around her like a furnace. She’s surrounded by my arms and legs. Her back is pressed into my chest, but she’s not complaining, so I just tighten my hold and bury my nose in her hair, running my palm along the taut plane of her stomach.
“You do that every time we make love,” she whispers, placing her hand on top of mine and linking our fingers.
“Do what?” I ask, fighting a yawn. Nothing like terrific sex to put you right out. I can barely keep my eyes open.
“Rub my belly like a genie’s lamp.” She laughs, but it’s a slurry sound. She’s as sleep-and-sex-drunk as I am. “What are you wishing for?”
Babies. Lots of babies.
I just grin into the curve of her neck and cup her breast. This is my favorite way to fall asleep. A chuckle rumbles into me through her slim back. She knows. The pretty little brat knows I want babies so bad, but don’t want to rush her. As much as she loves Sarai, her first pregnancy was unplanned. It was difficult, and she sacrificed a lot to bring Sarai into the world. Iris is just hitting her stride at Elevation. Jared’s trusting her with more responsibility, and she’s learning the ropes she should have when she first graduated from college. Her whole life is a second chance, and I wouldn’t take that away from her or disrupt it for anything. She’s enough for me. She and Sarai are my whole world.
I caress her finger and the ring I put there. She wears MiMi’s gris gris ring on the right hand. It makes me feel like there’s a bond, an agreement between her great-grandmother and me. Like, even from the other side, MiMi commissioned me to protect her girls now that she’s not here. I’d die for them. I’d kill for them. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do or give up to keep Iris and Sarai safe. To make them happy.
A thought niggles my consciousness.
“Any word on the papers?” I ask, feeling suddenly more alert.
“Hmmm?” Iris snuggles her back deeper into my chest. “What papers?”
“The adoption papers. Weren’t they supposed to be here by now?”
The day Iris accepted my proposal, I started the process of legally adopting Sarai. Iris knows how important this is to me. I think it’s important for Sarai, too. We explained to her that when we get married, it means Mommy and I will be together forever, and that I want to be together with her forever, too. That I want to be her Daddy. Any memories she associates with “Daddy,” her biological father, though she was so young, can’t be good. Caleb was a virus. I hope one day the memory of him fades altogether. If I could snap my fingers and none of us would remember he ever existed, I would. The greatest frustration of my life is that I can’t expunge the things he did to my girl. How he hurt her. How he could have hurt Sarai.
“The papers, Iris?” I give her shoulder a gentle shake.
“Huh?” She draws a startled breath, like I woke her. “Yeah, just a little delay.”
“Delay?”
What the hell?
“What kind of delay?” I demand, feeling more awake by the second. “We did everything right. The lawyer promised it would be done before the wedding.”
A slender, naked shoulder rises and falls from the sheet.
“I dunno.” Iris wiggles her bottom into the cradle of my hips. Predictably, my dick goes hard. “We’re not having sex again, August.”
“It’s reflex, babe. Focus. The papers. The lawyer promised.”
“Not promised.” She yawns and tucks the pillow between her head and shoulder. “Hoped. She hoped everything would be done before the wedding, but the wedding is—”
“Next week,” I cut in. “The wedding is next week.”
I wanted Sarai to be a West before the wedding, wanted her to be as officially mine as Iris will be when we get married, but I can’t complain. Not when I’m marrying the girl of my dreams; literally the one I used to dream about and thought might never be mine. I’m marrying Iris next week. With that the last thought in my head as I drift off to sleep, all feels right in the world.
How could it not be?
IRIS
I have been victimized.
I was in a fight that was not a fair fight
I did not ask for the fight. I lost.
There is no shame in losing such fights, only in winning.
I have reached the stage of Survivor and am no longer a slave of victim status.
I look back with sadness, rather than hate.
I look forward with hope rather than despair
I may never forget, but I need not constantly remember
I was a victim.
I am a survivor.
* * *
Most days I don’t need the words of the Survivor Psalm. I don’t have to remind myself of how worthy I am; of how proud I should be that I did actually win. Because when you’re caught in a trap of lies, in the snare of abuse, any way you survive is a victory. Living is winning. Losing . . . well, I’m one of the lucky ones who lost some time, but lived to tell my story. There are days when I don’t wrestle with regret or castigate myself for missteps and mistakes. For the stayed-too-longs, the would’ves, should’ves and what ifs. Days when I don’t replay the moments I could have done things differently.
Today is one of those days. I’m filled with hope and overwhelmed by promise. So I don’t say the psalm today to remind myself of any truth my past might tempt me to forget.
No, today those words are a declaration over the rest of my life. A prayer, not for a perfect life, but for wisdom to take care of my second chance. To learn from my mistakes, but not be a prisoner to them. To forgive the one who harmed me, not because he deserves it, but because he gets no part of my heart. I forgive him and I forgive myself. When you hold onto bitterness, it infects that part of your heart, and my heart is reserved for those who love me back and who love me most. For Lo and Sarai.
And today, my wedding day, most importantly, for my prince.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, and it’s almost surreal. The make-up is there to highlight my cheekbones, not hide a bruise. The concealer only camouflages any blemishes. How many mornings did I stare at myself in horror and wonder if there would ever be a way out; wonder who that battered woman was looking back at me? A day like today was a mirage, shimmering in the desert. Something to be imagined, but never grasped. But today is real. August’s ring on my finger – real. The people waiting in this small church on the coast of the Pacific – real.
“Alright, alright, everybody knows you’re beautiful,” Lo says from behind me, her eyes amused when they meet mine in the mirror. “If you can stop staring at yourself for five minutes, we can get you married off.”
A giggle pops out of my mouth like a bubble, light and floating and iridescent. I turn to face my cousin and best friend. She looks beautiful, too. She is my only attendant, my maid of honor. Her strapless dress is a palette of peacocks, a spread of rich blues and greens, spotted with gold. The lustrous fabric, shantung silk, lends her cinnamon-colored skin even more of a glow than usual. The braids are back again, platinum blond and piled in bohemian elegance at the crown of her head. Her eyeshadow borrows from the same palette of blue and green, vibrantly contrasting with a slick of gold over the wide, full bow of her mouth.
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I understate. “Trying to catch a man today?”
“Pfff.” Lo adjusts my hair, left in loose waves around my shoulders and down my back. “Wedding hook ups are overrated.”
“Sounds like you speak from personal experience,” I tease.
Reaching up to tweak the tiara she insisted I wear, she cocks one perfectly arched brow. “Enough experience to know I’ll pass.”
“Don’t speak so soon.” I suppress a grin. “All of August’s teammates are here, including Kenan.”
Lo’s arms drop altogether and she rolls her eyes.
“Why should I care if he’s here?” she asks, hands on her slim hips.
“I bet he’ll care that you are. He asks about you every time I see him.”
“Well he can stop asking.” Lo draws a deep breath. “He doesn’t even know me.”
“But he’d like to,” I offer tentatively. “He’s a great guy. Handsome and smart and—”
“Okay, let’s just shut this matchmaking shit down,” Lo says, her grin reappearing. “Just because you found Mr. Right does not mean I need to. I’m looking for Mr. Right Now.”
“Maybe Kenan’s Mr. Right Now.”
“He’s not.” Lo’s smile slips a little. Her expression shutters and then clears. “Enough about me. It’s your day. Let me see what we’re working with here.”
She steps back, eyeing me critically from head to toe. My dress is from her designer boss’ bridal collection. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was the one. Both simple and dramatic, it’s a champagne strapless ball gown with a sweetheart bow at the waist, and the flawless construction of the skirt bells without overpowering. The hem doesn’t quite touch the floor, and I modified it so there’s no train. Lo’s expression softens.
“Damn. That Jean Pierre can make a dress, can’t he?” Her voice is thick with emotion and a little humor. “You look like a princess, Bo. Who’da thought. Two girls from the Ninth Ward, huh? I wish MiMi could see you. She’d be so . . .”
She bites her lip and a single tear streaks through the bronzer dusting her cheek. Holding back my own tears, I clutch her fingers, and our gris gris rings interlock, glinting. I can almost feel MiMi’s presence. She’s in the sunlight pouring through the windows of the humble church dressing room. She whispers through the silk of our skirts. The words she shared that gave me strength when I needed it, I hear them again.
“You are pure. You are enough. You are strong.”
The litany washes over me in a pure stream. MiMi steered Lo and me when we were lost; when we were abandoned. Her spirit binds us as surely as the rings encircling our fingers. I tighten my grip on Lo’s hands and something surges in my belly, swells in my chest, drawing a startled breath. I glance up at Lo, wondering if she felt it, too. Her gaze, though rimmed with tears, is steady and knowing, more like MiMi’s than I’ve ever seen.
“You are more powerful than you know,” she says cryptically, a smile tipping one corner of her mouth. Before I can respond or even ask what she means, she redirects the conversation.
“Girl, we need to stop with the crying.” She drops my hand, blinks rapidly and fans her eyes. “These are my good lashes.”
We laugh, chasing away the last of our tears and our memories and all my questions about the mysticism that sometimes shrouds my cousin. The vestiges of grief and sadness, we store away. There’s only the joy of today right in front of us.
Wedding March reaches through heavy wooden doors as I wait in the tiny church foyer. Anticipation wraps my hand like a vice around the small bouquet of Louisiana irises August had delivered a few hours ago. I close my eyes and absorb these last moments as a single woman.
Sometimes, we stand at a juncture on which our path, our very life can turn. A fork in the road.
I’ve often thought of the first night August and I met as a missed opportunity, and wondered if I could ever make things right. Now I believe that no matter how many detours and wrong turns I took, I’d always end up here with him. I’d always end up his and he’d always end up mine. Our journey together started that night in a dive bar, a night that ended bittersweet, but our end, today, was inevitable. Our end was always this.
When the doors open, I fix my eyes on the floor, almost afraid to look up, like somehow this is a dream I’ve had before. A dream I awoke from and August wasn’t there.
But he is.
After a few tentative steps, I glance up and August is there waiting for me, towering and handsome. His heart is on his sleeve, blazing in his eyes, seeping from his pores. He’s covered in his love for me. It’s all over him. It fills this room and is inescapable and far reaching. It found me when I was lost in the dark, and I have no doubt it could find me again.
There are other people present, a roomful of faces blurring along the aisles, but my eyes are set on him, and his eyes are set on me. Everything else, everyone else, is faint and faded. He once told me there’s a thread that connects us, and I feel it now, tugging me toward him and tying us together so tightly I can almost feel his heartbeat from here.
By the time I reach him at the altar, I’m trembling so much, the flowers shake in my hand. I want to be that cool, elegant princess bride, but there’s nothing cool about me. Inside I’m on fire. A volcano of emotion erupting, running over. Lava races in my veins. Emotion burns through my body because I’m within inches of my happily ever after with the prince of my dreams. I’m standing in the middle of my mirage, but it’s materializing; becoming more real by the second. As real as August’s hand, so much larger than mine, drawing me forward. No one walked me down the aisle. No one gives me away.
I give myself to him.
Your body is yours. Yours to keep and yours to share.
I choose him.
The longer I stand here, the more details filter in. The preacher is reading from the Bible, saying love is patient. Love is kind. Love always protects, trusts, hopes, perseveres. August taught me those things; demonstrated those things when he pursued me. Wooed me. When he gave me space and when he took it slow.
“And now for the vows.”
Oh, God. Am I really doing this?
The vows are a promise of forever on this side of eternity. There was a time when I swore I’d never do it; never trust a man with my life, my money, my future. Never trust him with my child.
My eyes stray to Sarai, the most beautiful flower girl ever, standing in front of Lo. She’s beaming. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile as widely as she does today. I’m looking at her, but she’s not looking at me. Her eyes are as fixed on August as mine were. Her Gus.
Her father.
I haven’t allowed myself to think of August that way before because it’s too overwhelming. At one point, it was too painful; a reminder of the hurt I might have avoided if I’d walked away sooner. A reminder that it should have been August all along. I allow it now, though, the thought of him as the father my baby girl deserves, and tears prick my eyes, a sweet burn that spills and runs over my cheeks like the Mississippi overflows it banks.
August smiles at me tenderly, thumbing away some of the tears before he starts his vows. We promised to keep it short and true. I hope he sticks to it because words fail me, and I’m so close to losing it in front of everyone.
“Iris, you told me to keep it short and sweet,” August says, his deep voice rolling over me in waves. “I’ll try, but there’s so much to say. I’ve never believed in love at first sight, and I’m not sure that’s what we’d call it, but I knew the moment I met you, I didn’t want to let you go.”
There’s “awwwws” from the crowd, but I don’t acknowledge them. I don’t turn to the crowd and smile at how sweet this is, and neither does he. It’s like they’re not there. It’s just us; his eyes and mine. Only our hands, fingers intertwined. Our hearts beating loud enough for just the two of us to hear. They may as well be voyeurs witnessing this kind of intimacy in the open.
“I can’t tell you how many times I dreamed about today,” he continues, his eyes solemn and loving and intent. “About telling the whole world that I’m yours and you’re mine. I promise to spend the rest of my life loving you more than everything else, putting you and Sarai first, protecting you with my last breath, and doing everything in my power to keep you happy.”
He does smile then, just a wry quirk of his beautiful mouth, but enough to tell me I’ll love what he’s about to say as much as I love what he’s already said.
“I once told you that if you were mine, there’d be no doubt the place you’d hold in my life. You’d be center,” he says, placing our joined hands on his heart. “And I vow to prove to you that I meant it when I said I’d play you at the five.”
We’re the only ones in this whole place who really know what that means. We were the only ones in the gym that day, stealing moments together. I was foolhardy. Desperate for any light I could find, and August was the sun. I risked more than he realized to have any part of him I could; risked more than I even understood, but I don’t regret it. Every moment I’ve ever had with him I’ll treasure. Even the ones that cost me.
It’s my turn, but what can I say to make him know what this day means to me? I don’t have it in pretty phrases and well-rehearsed lines. My mind is too scattered for that; my heart, too full. For so long I lived under a cloud of lies, and this is my chance to speak the truth August deserves.
“I’m sorry I turned you down the first three times you asked me to marry you,” I say, my smile just a touch sad in the middle of all this joy. The crowd laughs nervously, but I don’t give a damn what they think. I’ve held back long enough. Now August gets it all.
“I was afraid of repeating my mistakes,” I say, my voice not above a whisper because these aren’t the things you say in front of an audience. These aren’t the things you say in your vows, but August doesn’t look away. “I was afraid . . .”
I pull in a breath to steady my nerves and settle the galloping of my heart.
“I was afraid of getting hurt again,” I continue, swallowing the emotion climbing my throat. “People don’t really think about what you risk when you fall in love; of what’s at stake when you share your life with someone. I was so . . .hurt before.”
