Chapter 18: Surly Romance: Chapter 18

“The governor couldn’t help?” Alistair asks, swooping the tail end of his necktie over the knot.

“No.” I hold still as the tailor fusses over the hem of my pants. He’s slanted me several dark looks already and the last time, he accompanied his glare with a slight jab of the pin. I’m not moving an inch until he’s finished with me.

“But he was friends with your family. Why wouldn’t he intervene?”

“He said it’s not a good look this close to elections. He doesn’t want any scandals, and intervening in a family court case is, apparently, ‘not the right message’.”

“Makes sense,” Alistair says, shrugging into his tuxedo jacket.

I scowl at him.

He sees me in the reflection of the mirror but doesn’t even blink. “It’s best if you know the truth. That’s the only way you can fight back.”

“I’m not the bad guy.”

“They called you that out loud?”

“They made it seem like I’d be perfect if I wasn’t male and single.”

“The nerve.”

“Is it that strange? Me taking in two kids?”

“A little.”

I frown at him.

“To be fair, they work with abused children and see jerks who hurt kids all day. I’m sure that messes with their heads.”

“I wouldn’t hurt the kids.” The thought makes me physically ill.

“I know. Your intentions are pure. But the world isn’t. It’s not fair that you have to suffer for that. I understand.” He fixes his collar so it’s lying flat. “Is there no other way?”

I run a frustrated hand through my hair. “I thought I could convince them with Ms. Jeans’s letter of intent, but she died before she could file the guardianship papers. The letter has no legal grounds. The most I can use it for is a character reference.”

Alistair makes a sympathetic sound in his throat.

“It feels like I’m not holding up my end of the deal.” My voice gets quiet as the memory washes over me. “On his deathbed, Professor Stein was only thinking about his family and how they’d carry on without him. I told him I’d protect them. I told him he could leave in peace.”

“What exactly did he do to make you so loyal to him?” Alistair pauses. “Does it have anything to do with why you quit working and went back to school to study psychology?”

“It did.” I rub the back of my neck. “I never told Claire because she didn’t like hearing any ill talk about dad, but the truth is I only worked in finance because dad told me to. He said if I wasn’t going into the army, I might as well learn to handle mom’s inheritance. I did what he wanted, but it suffocated me. I’ve always loved studying the brain and how it affects people, but I didn’t have the courage to pursue it. I felt trapped.”

“Is that when you met the professor?”

“It was by chance. One of his patients ran in front of my car. She was throwing herself into moving traffic because she wanted to end it all. I got out of my car to help her, but I didn’t know what to do. Then the professor showed up. He talked her through the darkness. I followed him back to his therapy center and he did the same to me. He took a personal interest in my life, checking up on me and encouraging me. When he found out I was interested in neuropsychology, he pushed me to go for it. He became my support system. He changed my life. I’d still be trapped if it wasn’t for him. I’d still be suffocating. And maybe it would have gotten so bad that I would have made a choice I regret. Instead, I get to do what I love every day. I owe him for that.” My fingers curl into fists. “Now Micheal and Bailey are about to be taken away from me. I’m letting him down.”

“They may find a good home somewhere else,” Alistair points out. “You don’t know.”

“Or they may end up getting separated and bouncing from one foster home to the next.”

He lifts both hands. “Darrel, I’m not saying you wouldn’t be great with those kids, but every door is shutting in your face. Maybe you should start to consider what keeping your promise to your professor looks like with the boys gone.”

“What if it were Belle?” I challenge him.

Alistair gets serious. He turns to me, his eyes narrowing. “What about Belle?”

“If you and Kenya passed on, and I wasn’t around, would you want some stranger taking care of Belle? Or would you want her to stay with Ezekiel, someone who considers her his granddaughter and would die for her.”

Alistair considers it. His eyebrows tighten. “But Ezekiel thinks of Belle as his granddaughter. It’s different.”

“Why the hell is it different?” I bark.

“Do you think of Micheal and Bailey as your sons?”

I freeze as my heart picks up speed.

“You consider them your responsibility, sure. And you think of them as a promise to your beloved professor. That’s great. But the last time we spoke, you couldn’t even call yourself their father.”

I breathe out slowly. He’s got a point, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. “I’m not going to lose them, Alistair.”

“You won’t.” He approaches me. “You know I love a challenge. I’ll make a few calls and see if we can get someone to intervene.”

“If you find yourself a wife, your problem will be solved,” a new voice whips through the air. The curtains in the changing room slide open and Max Stinton peers at us with crystal blue eyes.

He’s wearing a grey suit and a shiny Rolex. The steps he takes toward us are confident as if he knows he owns the room and wants the world to acknowledge it. He was dubbed ‘Ice King’ by all the broken-hearted girls at our college. I don’t see the appeal, but I’m clearly not a part of the demographic who thinks Stinton is worth the fuss.

“Stinton. You were there the whole time?”

He slides a hand into his pants pocket. “You two were deep in conversation. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Alistair frowns as Stinton walks closer.

I extend my hand to him. “I didn’t know you were in the city.”

Max accepts my handshake. “I’m here to out the fires that my brother set off.”

“I thought that was handled?”

“I wish. We bought over a chain of auto stores and planned on rebranding them with the Stinton name, but the bad press is hurting the bottom line. I’m here to beautify myself before the dog and pony show starts.”

“More interviews?”

“I have to remind them that Stinton Group is much bigger than Trevor’s nonsense.”

“I heard he still hasn’t been found yet.”

“Or maybe that’s what they want us to think,” Alistair adds darkly.

“He’s missing.” Max slants Alistair a hard look which my brother-in-law returns in full. “He’s probably hiding out on a private island in the Bahamas right now. It’ll take some time, but we’ll find him. When I get my hands around the little twat, we’ll settle this properly.”

“I hope you sort that out soon.”

“Same with you.” Max adjusts his cuff links. “Family court can be a headache. Find yourself a wife and this all looks a whole lot better to the judge. Trust me. Trevor had his share of pregnancy scares. I learned a lot about the court and the state guardianship laws because of it.” He strides past me. “Think about it, Hastings.”

Stinton must have put some kind of spell on me because I can’t stop mulling on his advice. I end up thinking about it for the rest of the fitting, on the way to Sunny’s apartment and as I walk up the stairs to her front door.

“Hi.” She throws the door open and steps back. “Come in.”

I give her a once-over before I move. She’s wearing a simple T-shirt with the words ‘Interior Designers Work Miracles’ tucked into a pair of loose shorts. Her feet are bare and the polish on her toes is a light blue.

I wouldn’t mind spending forever with this woman.

She’s my total opposite and we quarrel about silly things at least once a day, but I love disagreeing with her. I love agreeing with her. I love that she scrunches her nose when she knows I’m right but won’t admit it. I love her obsession with interior design, her dedication to her work, and her crazy stubbornness.

I stare at Sunny, and all the disappointment I felt today rolls down my back, disappearing with the wind. She’s that place I can run to that doesn’t have to make sense. It doesn’t all have to fit perfectly. I don’t need all the answers because I already made the best choice I could—loving her.

I stumble forward and wrap my arms around her.

Sunny returns my hug, squeezing me tight. “Any good news?”

“No.” I tilt her chin up and press my mouth to hers. “But I don’t want to talk about it.” I kick the door shut with my foot and pepper her mouth with kisses. “Let’s not talk at all.”

I’m frantic and it’s coming out in my sloppy caresses. My hands slide over her shirt, tugging it out of her shorts.

“Whoa, Darrel.” She pulls her face away, her eyes searching mine as if she’s trying to find the key to a lost city.

I want to smile, but it falls flat. I want to tell her that I’m okay and I’ll fix it and everything will be perfect, but those would be lies. And I really don’t like lying to Sunny Quetzal.

Would she say yes if I asked her to marry me?

Damn.

Would she?

The chaos flooding my veins is new. I don’t live in this place of irrational thoughts and impulsive feelings. This space, this chasm in my heart, only appeared when Sunny came and ripped the roof off my perfect, orderly life.

Rules. There are rules and steps to a proposal. A ring. Something romantic. Violins and flowers and a restaurant reserved just for us.

My brain runs through all the reasons proposing now would be a bad idea.

“Darrel?”

I meet Sunny’s concerned brown eyes and I realize that rules don’t matter. Not with her. It’s never mattered with her.

My hands cup her cheeks and I wrench her back to me, kissing her until that anxious look fades from her face and her mouth is too occupied with mine to frown at me.

Would she say yes?

I can’t process any other thought now. Every time I picture my future, she’s in it. She’s there. She’s standing at the door of the farmhouse in her T-shirt and shorts and her bare feet. She’s flitting around the kitchen, face dotted with flour as she makes fry jacks for me and the kids. She’s laughing in my office, cuddled in my lap while I record case notes and try to ignore her tantalizing sea breeze scent.

Was this falling—this insanity, what all those songs were about? The desperate lyrics that I could never relate to? That felt so overblown and needlessly dramatic? There was a grain of truth in them. They were probably written about me and Sunny.

I press her body to mine and devour her mouth, waiting for the noise in my head to subside and realizing that it’s only getting louder. Why would love come to torture me now when my life is in such upheaval?

Would you say yes, Sunny?

“Darrel,” she pants, “the stove is on.”

“Take it off.”

“My clothes?”

“The stove,” I growl. “There’s been a change of plans.”

Her eyes get dark and hazy. “The rice needs thirty minutes to simmer.”

“Thirty minutes won’t do. I’ve waited for you for years. I plan on taking my time with you.”

She presses her lips to mine again. I almost taste the surprise in it. The guilt. The shame that still clings to her because she can forgive others easily, but she finds it nearly impossible to forgive herself.

I don’t need her shame right now. The past is only a tiny piece in the tapestry of our lives together. I need her to see me now. To see the present and the life we could have.

My hands continue to tug at her shirt. The fabric slides up, revealing her stomach and then up over her head. It gets caught in her hair and we both pause, breathing hard to take stock of the problem.

Sunny wiggles her arms while I tug her head through the hole of the shirt. She’s free and I toss the shirt aside, marveling at her stunning body.

She’s freaking perfection.

I thought I could control myself. I thought I could shove everything that didn’t fit into a box and stuff it far away from me. But the box is out and it’s open. Chaos. Insanity. Fear that my world is unravelling at the seams. My need for her is about to split me in two.

Our bodies collide again. Her long arms wrap around my neck and I hoist her up, holding her by the thighs and digging my fingers into her legs each time she tilts her head to change the pace of our kiss.

She smells so good. Like Caribbean spices. Thyme and citrus and something uniquely Sunny. Familiar and smooth. Overwhelming. The way she tugs my hair makes me want to absorb her into myself until we both disappear.

I stumble to the kitchen while kissing her. I’m not looking at all, and I almost trip over a chair around the table. I catch my balance quickly, holding her tight to me just in case we hit the ground.

But we don’t.

I stabilize my feet and Sunny acts like the near-fall didn’t happen. She runs her fingers through my hair and breathes out, “The food will get cold.”

“Let it.” My smile is sharp. It’s distracted and smitten and drunk.

She smiles and slides her hands down my back, scratching me gently. “I’ve never seen you like this.” She grips my shoulders. Her lips are slightly parted and her eyes bore into me. “I’ve never seen you like…”

With every breath, her chest swells in my vision and it’s all I can do to keep myself from burying my head there. “Like what?”

“Like you’re throwing off restraint.”

That means something, doesn’t it? That means I’m changing. And maybe she’s changing too. Maybe she won’t be the Sunny that makes crazy, impulsive decisions with me today.

I need you to say yes to what I’m going to ask you, Sunny.

My hands don’t hold her—they grab. My open mouth runs trails across her body, tasting the wet and the dry places. Clawing at the parts of her that make her scream.

I inhale her sweet, sweet groans and it’s still not enough. Her mouth crashes into mine and the flames behind us have nothing to do with the heat flushing my skin. Heart frantic. Teeth clashing. I moan before I realize how much of her is filling my mouth.

I nip her and she arches her neck. She shudders. She scrapes my scalp like she wants to leave a scar of her initials beneath my hair.

From somewhere outside me, I smell something burning.

The stove.

“Which burner?” I growl, separating my mouth from Sunny’s chest only by an inch.

She trembles. “Uh…”

“Sunny,” I growl. “Which. Burner.”

“The rear one.”

I flick the right button and then I shove her against the counter. Wild and fast. My thoughts. My body. My blood pounding through my veins.

I’m jittery and nervous. Like the time I tried to guzzle a gallon of energy drinks to complete my thesis. It calmed me for a few hours then the side effects hit and I was so on edge that I decided I wouldn’t have another energy drink for the rest of my life.

I shove my fingers in the hem of her shorts and push them further down. I need her thighs opening wider and the pants are getting in the way.

Her shorts slide over her perfect brown skin and I let my hands follow suit, marking a trail from her upper legs to her ankles where she kicks what’s left of her clothes away.

My shirt is gone and it was her hands that did it, but I didn’t even notice because I was too busy drawing a line down her stomach with my mouth. Her hands move to my pants, but I smack them down.

Say yes when I ask, Sunny.

I go lower and lower, teasing her and kissing her until her fingers grip my hair and threaten to tear every follicle out of my scalp.

More.

She screams and the air leaves my body in a woosh.

I explode. I tear into a million little pieces, falling apart at her hands. At her sweet, sweet touch. At the way her body shudders and the tears run down her face when she falls apart.

She slumps against my body, her hand on my shoulder, her thighs spread and her hair falling into her face, the strands lifting slightly with every labored breath.

I pick her up, gather her to my chest and march to her bedroom.

“Darrel.”

“We’re not done yet,” I growl.

But when I am done with you, Sunny, you won’t have a choice but to say yes.

I didn’t spend every day at John Hearst pining after Sunny Quetzal so I could rush through the sight of her back arching off the bed, her thighs clamping around my ears, or her lips forming my name in urgent supplication as if I hold her life in my hands. As if I’m the only one standing between her and sanity.

She wants to feel guilt and I won’t encourage it. She’s precious. She’s beautiful. She’s everything. She’s not begging for mercy so I can scrape her conscience clean. I won’t allow that.

I teach her until she learns to call my name without the threads of shame. I caress her until her lips slacken and my name shifts to garbled moans of pleasure. I move with her until the stars that are bursting behind her eyes are exploding behind mine too.

I have her.

She’s mine.

It’s different. It’s more.

Because I love her.

My eyes open wide and she’s there on the pillow next to me, sunshine falling over bruised lips and brown skin reddening where I bit her. Her hair sticks out over her head and her mascara dried in a river of tears down to her chin.

She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

We breathe together. Take in a huge gulp of air that’s meant to calm our hearts and the desires that roar to life again at just the slightest touch or smile or word.

I’ve pushed her to the very limits of her strength. I can feel it in the leg that’s thrown over mine. It’s still shaking a little, still limp and heavy. Her pulse is racing, the hand I have over her heart tells me she burned calories equal to running a marathon.

I kiss the top of her head to help her recover, but it only makes me crave her more. Not just physically. In every way that I possibly can have her. I want her in my bed every morning and again before I go to sleep at night. I want her tomorrow and a year after that and a hundred years after that.

I raise my arms to pull her body into me, pushing her stomach until she’s curling into herself. Until I can curl my legs under her so we fit together like organized spoons.

My heart is bursting. I can feel all the terror, the uncertainty, the desperation mixed in with my need for her. It hits me all at once.

Sunny snuggles against my chest. Her hair tickles my chin and the sweat sliding against her body mingles with the sweat on mine.

“I’m so tired,” she murmurs, her lips barely forming the words.

“Oxytocin.”

She mumbles. “What?”

“It’s a hormone produced by the hypothalamus. It causes excitement, but after it subsides, it can leave you feeling exhausted. It’s also known as the ‘cuddle hormone’ because it lends itself to snuggling against your partner.”

She laughs and looks up at me with sparkling eyes. “Are you trying to start me up again?”

“Can you handle that?” I ask, grazing my tongue across her neck.

“Not so fast. Let me catch my breath first.” She puts her head back on my chest. “Darrel, your heart is beating so fast.”

“Adrenaline and dopamine.”

“I know that one.” She lifts a finger. “Dopamine hits when we do things that feel good.”

“Right. Which perfectly describes what happened here.”

She laughs.

I want to smile too, but time is slipping away. She’ll want to get up and find food. She’ll want to talk about what I discussed with the lawyer. She’ll leave behind the haze of satisfaction to return to the real world and I’ll miss my window.

Sunny interlocks our fingers. She pulls my hand towards her lips then kisses my knuckles all the way up to my elbow. “What are you thinking, you curmudgeon.”

“Curmudgeon?”

“I can practically hear the gears in your brain turning, Hastings. We should be sleeping or flirting or… I don’t know. But you’re thinking as hard as possible and spouting brain science at me. So this is either how you are post-intimacy or something’s on your mind.” She peers over her shoulder to make eye contact. “Spill it.”

“I…” I slide my hands over her side. Over the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips. Over her stomach. Over her chest.

She moans softly. “Don’t distract me, Hastings. Use your words.”

“Sunny.”

She sighs softly. “No growling allowed. I’m trying to focus.”

I lick my lips, bury my head in the crook of her neck and whisper, “Marry me.”

She goes stiff.

My arms tighten around her. She smells like me. Like us. Like every dirty thing I did to her on the counter and against the walls and on this bed.

I can’t see her face. Did she hear me? Am I being rejected? Was this a big mistake?

My analytical mind barges into the spotlight, beating me down and trying to suck the words back. I stubbornly resist it and cling to my Sunny-brain, the part of me that doesn’t need something to make sense before I give into it.

“Sunny,” I push myself up on my elbow and look down at her, pulling her body slightly so I can see her face, “do you hear me? I want you… to be my wife.”

“This is sudden, Darrel.”

“I’ve thought about it. If we get married, we can keep the boys.”

Her face goes blank.

“Sunny?”

Her lips tremble.

I start to panic. Did I break her? “Sunny, say something?”

“Are you serious right now?” She scrambles to a sitting position.

I blink. “I can get you a ring later.”

“A ring?” Her mouth opens and a humorless laugh drops out. “You think this is about a ring?”

Alarm bells go off in my head. I try to usher my analytical brain back in the driver’s seat, but it’s gone missing. In fact, everything in my head has gone into silent panic mode.

“Was that proposal your idea or was it your lawyer’s?”

“Actually, Max Stinton suggested—”

Sunny curses and scrambles out of bed. She reaches for her clothes on the ground, remembers that I tore them off her in the kitchen and then stomps to the closet.

“Sunny.” I spring out of bed. Thankfully, my clothes are in the bedroom.

Stepping into my pants, I follow her to the closet. She pulls on a cherry-red silk robe. It falls against her skin like a waterfall and I want her again, even though my plan to propose is crashing and burning in real time.

“Sunny.”

“Don’t call my freaking name.” She hauls the ties of the robe and cinches it tight. The movement only accentuates her waist.

I force my gaze to meet her eyes. “Why are you upset?”

“Do you seriously not understand why I’m upset right now? You? The man who knows the answer for everything? The man who thinks he’s right about everything? Why don’t you tell me how you screwed up, Darrel?”

I stare at her, my mouth falling slightly open.

She scoffs and barges past me, hitting my shoulder in the process.

I capture her hand. “Sunny, I can’t fix it until you tell me what I did wrong.”

She whips her hand out of mine. “Don’t touch me again.”

“Sunny. Wait.”

Her footsteps thump as she stomps out of the bedroom and heads into the kitchen. I follow her desperately, scrambling to make it right.

Pots clank as Sunny violently hauls the food on the stove, pops her trash can open and dumps it inside. I watch savory rice and beans fall like rain into the garbage and my heart balloons in horror.

“What are you doing?” I snatch her wrist. “Sunny, what the hell? If you don’t want to marry me just say that.”

“I don’t want to marry you!” she yells in my face.

My heart shatters and my world goes dark at the edges. I stiffen. I grind my teeth together. I clench and unclench my hands as a popping sound goes off in my ears.

“Fine.” I spit the word out and it bounces against the walls.

She laughs. I’ve never heard a more shrill, unhinged sound in my life. “Yeah, it’s fine for you, isn’t it, Darrel? Now that you know I’m not going to marry you, you can just skip off to the next woman willing to open her legs for you. I’m sure that’ll go down better.”

“Why are you talking about other women, right now? You’re the one who rejected me. I said it was fine. What do you want from me?”

“I want you to not propose to me while we’re in bed, Darrel.”

“You’re telling me that if I’d asked you in a restaurant with your mom and dad around, you would have said yes?” I don’t believe that for a second. She’s getting pissed off at me for no reason. “Well, I’m sorry for thinking that I’d love to spend the rest of my life with you, Sunny.” My voice climbs with the weight of my annoyance. “Next time, I’ll be sure to keep that thought to myself.”

“Oh, screw you.”

“What is your problem?”

“Don’t use that condescending tone with me! You act like you’re the most mature person in the room but, deep down, you’re the one who needs to grow up!”

“Me? Who’s the one throwing food away and yelling?”

“Don’t you dare try and blame this on me when you’re the one at fault.”

I throw my hands wide. “How? How exactly did I offend you, woman?”

She purses her lips. Black eyes, that had softened as I licked her into a puddle right there against the counter, now harden with anger. “I can’t do this.”

My eyes widen. Panic sets in, pushing out the annoyance and the blood oozing from my bruised pride.

“Sunny.”

“Don’t say my name.” Her voice is shaking. She takes a breath and it’s so deep that her entire body balloons with it. She lets it out slow and steady. “I don’t want to hear you say my name right now, Darrel. You’ve said enough—done enough… today.”

My cheeks flush. My eyes shift to the ground.

“I don’t think there’s anything more that we need to discuss.” Her throat bobs as she swallows. “I have work to do.”

“Sunny.” I step forward.

She recoils against the counter. “Go.”

I hear the pain leaking out of her voice and I wonder how I hurt her. I wonder what put that shattered, frightened look in her eyes. That wasn’t my intention at all. She’s the first girl I’ve ever loved. The only woman that’s occupied my heart. I didn’t come here to bring her pain.

I take a step back. “When you’re calm, we can talk about this—”

“No, you don’t dictate when I’m calm and when we’ll talk. I’ll do that. When I’m ready to speak to you, I’ll call you. Don’t—” she lifts a hand, her eyes squeezing shut, “stay away from me until then.”

If she slapped me, it would have hurt less. If she drove a knife through my gut, I wouldn’t have bled this much. If she’d told me to give her every red cent in my bank account and hand over the keys to my farmhouse, it would have been easier than that frightening trek out of her apartment.

She follows me, keeping five paces away. Her arm is slung over her waist and her eyes are on the ground.

I want to run to her. I want to drag her into my lap and kiss her forehead and tell her that I’ll propose again. Properly this time. Or better yet, I want to go back in time before I asked her to marry me. I’d hold her close and inhale her scent and let that be enough.

But she doesn’t look at me. Her body is stiff and her jaw is clenched and her fingers wrap around the door knob. She slams the door in my face when I turn back to look at her.

I feel the absence of her keenly. Like I left a part of myself in her apartment. My heart or my lungs or both kidneys. The vital organs that I need to survive. How am I expected to walk away without them?

The drive to my farmhouse is quiet. Quieter still when I get my keys to pick the boys up from school and then stop when I remember that they’re going on a trip with Ms. Bennet to meet another foster family.

My lawyer advised me not to interrupt, so I force myself to stay seated and release them to the system—a big, overworked machine that has no clue Micheal likes to sneak Oreos into his room, sit by the window and sketch. Or that Bailey jumps on his bed with his socks on, but only after setting all his pillows and stuffed animals on the floor in case he falls.

They’ll both be confused when they come home. They’ll have questions. I can’t be focused on my heartbreak when the boys need me more than I need to sulk about Sunny.

Bennet’s car swings into my driveway after seven. The boys trudge past me without a word. Bailey looks like he’s been crying. Micheal looks at me like I betrayed him.

My heart tightens. “Boys.” I scramble from my chair. “How did it—”

“Save it.” Micheal scowls. He takes his brother’s hand. “Come on, Bailey. Let’s go upstairs and enjoy our rooms until we’re kicked out of them.”

I swallow hard.

The boys trudge up the stairs and the silence gets louder.

They’re kids. They don’t understand.

I pace the living room. I order pizza. The boys don’t come down.

I pace some more.

Sunny said she would call. I wait for it. I need to talk to her. I need to make it all better.

Logic isn’t swooping in to save me this time.

Night comes.

Morning comes.

My phone stays silent.

Sunny doesn’t call.