In Sync

Row

Riley is up to something.

He's sitting far down the table from me at our traditional Christmas Luau dinner. He says it's because it's too much torture to sit close, and he needs the distance to be able to get through the dinner.

That's a lie. He's been on the phone all afternoon and evening—ever since the open mic sing-off. So has Marley. Bodie and Adam have both disappeared this afternoon, at separate times. Bodie only discreetly arrived at the luau, scarfing a place beside Bodie and filling his plate full of laulau tamales and poki with a big grin on his face as he spoke rapidly to Riley in a low voice, while Marley and Madam leaned in close to listen. I could tell just by the way Mac smirked at me down the table that they all know something I don't.

Riley gives me the occasional burning glance as he sips a gin and tonic and laughs with the Soundcrushers.

Street nudges me. "Eat. Looks like you are going to need your strength tonight. Can you take the sex outside? My room is next to yours..."

"Shut-up. At least I have someone." I elbow him in the ribs and delicately bite teriyaki chicken off the skewer. "When are you ever gonna a get a girl?"

He laughs. I appreciate that. Street is such a player now, my joke isn't funny.

"Honestly, I've been asking myself that, lately." He looks at our parents, sharing a seat on one pillow at the head of this ridiculously long low table set on the beach. My mother is feeding my dad from the plate they are sharing, and they are also sharing lots of words and smiles. They seem like a couple in the first rush of love, not people that have been together for over twenty-five years.

Street is still watching our parents. "Girls for fun are no problem, but that? What Mom and Dad have? Have you ever thought they make it really fucking hard on us, by being so much in love? I mean, what the hell are they talking about with so much enthusiasm? After all this time?"

I roll my eyes. "All of us. Their brand new grandbabies. How great Riley's sing-off turned out. The perfect painting you gave them for Christmas. The fact that Lane had his first kiss with that local girl he's been flirting with all week. They've built a life, Street. It's really full of all us. That's what they are talking about. How fucking awesome it is. If you would get a life beyond painting and partying, you would know."

My big brother looks at me with a weird expression. "When did you get so grown-up?"

"When I fucked up my life really bad, and had to fix all my mistakes, I guess."

He nods, and stuffs pork in his mouth. Chewing manfully, he gestures around with his fork. "You want all this, don't you?" He swallows heavily. "A big, crazy rock star family? I always thought it would be Bridge, but it's you, huh?"

I give Riley a long glance. I feel the ache of my eyes filling with tears. What Riley said earlier this week, about a Von Trapp brood? It's not quite that simple. I blink back the ache. I shrug. "We don't always get what we want, do we?"

Street follows my gaze. "What's that mean?"

I need to tell someone. It's information I've been sitting with for a while, but this week, it's been on my mind more. I look around the table, making sure no one else is listening to our conversation. They aren't. I turn into Street's shoulder and say, "It means...even if someday, I did want a big family like ours...with Riley...it won't...be easy." I say. "Because of his accident."

Street's face goes carefully blank. "Oh. He...can't?"

"I didn't say that..." I hiss almost violently. Of course he can. I mean, I'm almost sure he can...perform. He's given every indication in the last couple of months that he can. "I'm pretty sure that's not going to be a problem. It's more of an...internal issue. All the intricate little tubes and muscles and valves and everything. Hardly any men with spinal cord injures...he's not likely to be..." I feel my face flame. Street and I are super close but this is a weird conversation to have with one's big brother. "The sperm is probably not going to go where it needs to go naturally." I take another big swallow of wine.

"What are you saying? He can't finish, or he can fully perform but he's infertile?" Street inquires way too casually. Oh my god, when did we actually grow up enough to have a conversation like this?

"It's complicated," I murmur. "Maybe even variable. We're not one hundred percent sure how it will be in the long run. But the doctor seems to think if Riley's ever going to father a child, it will require...extraction procedures."

Street looks interested. "What kind of procedures?"

"Oh my fucking god, Street!" I take a big gulp of crisp Sauvignon Blanc trying to cool my face.

"Sorry, sorry," he chuckles. "I can Google it."

"Do me a favor and don't, okay? I mean...why are we even talking about this?"

"Because you and Riley have been babysitting a lot this week and looking all googly-eyed at one another," he says mildly, pouring us both more wine.

"And we've probably been looking at the babies and each other like that because you always crave what's out of reach," I say bluntly. "We're no where near ready for that. It's just...on our minds, I guess, because of what the doctor told him."

Street is giving Riley a pitying look. "How did he take it?"

"Stop looking at him like that," I hiss. "It's Riley. How do you think it took it?"

Street looks down at his plate—or maybe he's looking at his lap. "Better than almost any dude would take news like that?"

"Exactly."

Riley had simply nodded, wiped his glasses clean, replaced them and asked the doctor, "So, if I ever do want children, what precisely will the family planning look like?"

I push delicious food around my plate and give up entirely, between the curious gazes Riley is giving us and Street's radiating empathy. As I reach for my wine glass again, Street reaches for my hand under the table. The one that I once could barely feel, but now is fully functional except for the pinky. "Modern medicine is miraculous. We already know that. If you guys go down that road one day, you'll get where you want to be."

I squeeze back. Hard. "Yeah, I know."

#

As people start to rise from the beach and leave the dinner tent, Street and I have lightened our conversation and included Bridge at Dev. I feel Riley's eyes upon me. I look toward him, smile. He gives me a gentle head jerk and praying hands, indicating he'd like me to join in whatever conversation he's having with Adam.

I make my way to him and swoon at the way he tucks me under his arm so naturally, stopping his words to give me a three-stage peck on the lips.

Everything between us feels righter than its almost ever been. In the early years of us, he would never have shown this kind of easy affection, because we were secret. Even when we had my dad's blessing, that first year of our marriage was filled with either frantic energy or fatigue, because of my hand injury, Strut's demise, Bodie's incarceration, Soundcrush's struggles and Riley's tremendous hustle for both Soundcrush's flagging career and my reboot as an actress. Then came the distance New Zealand fermented between us.

That's all gone. Riley is super affectionate now. He touches me constantly. Right now he gently works a thumb along my shoulder muscles. Automatically I wrap an arm around him back, giving him just a little extra support, and he sighs in relief. "Thank you, darlin."

I shake my head. "Are you doing that on purpose?" I tease with a breathy whisper in his ear.

"Doing what?" he replies, pulling me into his lap sideways, between his legs, wrapping his arms around my waist, arresting Adam mid-sentence as he focuses all his attention on me.

He's looking at me with such intensity. As if my question is more important than the business he and Adam are discussing. It's new, this priority he places on our private relationship in public. "Tell you later," I murmur. "Adam, what were you saying?"

Riley gives me a crooked grin and presses his lips to my temple as we listen to Adam.

"Muscle Shoals, man. It's where you should look for support. I'm happy to call in favors for shows in Nashville, but that Southern Gothic sound you guys have? It will turn a lot of heads in Muscle Shoals. You should work hard on your sound first, then break big in Nashville. Isbell, White, Godchaux, Randolph. Any of the Muscle Shoals heavy-hitters might help with your development."

"We don't need songwriters," I bristle.

"No, but a good songwriter can sometimes make for an excellent producer," Riley murmurs in my ear.

He's right. That's true. I smile up at him. "You're already thinking of an album? Not just a demo?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not thinking of anything without your input. I'm just fact-finding. What do you think?"

I push small circles into his lower back muscles. "I think maybe an exploratory trip to Muscle Shoals Alabama is in order?"

"I'll put us together some meetings, as soon as your Girl Band exit shoot is complete."

"Great."

I smile at him; he smiles at me. He presses his forehead to mine and sighs. "Let's get out of here, yeah?"

"Where?" I ask, nearly breathless.

"Somewhere real nice," Adam promises, unfolding from his beach cushion. "Need a hand, man?" Adam asks lightly. We've been sitting crosslegged on cushions for hours.

Riley shakes his head. "Row's all the help I need."

"You guys are so disgusting, you know that?" Adam laughs. "I thought me and Mac had it bad. Enjoy your evening." He swats a hand at us and takes off to a trot, where Mac and Leed and Ashlynn are cavorting with the kids, supervising their pyrotechnic play with sparklers.

Adam tosses Lennon up on his shoulders. Cash throws down his sparkler and leaps eagerly to be picked up. Adam wraps Lennon's arms tight around his head, and grabs Cash by the forearms, swinging him in a rapid circle as Cash squeals.

Riley and I watch them. He kisses my temple again. "It's a good thing you're such a bad-ass. You might have to do a good bit of the horseplay, when we have little ones. I'm pleased with my progress, but I don't think I'll ever get back my full measure of balance."

I press my face to his neck, breathing him in to avoid bursting into tears. It breaks my heart to think he may never chase his own children in the surf like Leed is chasing around Ollie, Lyra, and Lucy right now.

He reads my emotions anyway.

"Darlin—please don't cry. I only meant—"

"I know what you meant. I'm glad you can make such stoic observations. I'm just not there yet. I want one hundred freedom. Not for me, but for you. I don't care if you don't get back there for me. I swear, I don't care at all, Riley. You, me, where we are right now, it's enough."

"It's not nearly enough," he says with a tender growl. He pats my bottom. "Help me up, my love. It's time we find our own private paradise."

#

Riley believes he has enough feeling to drive without hand controls now, even though he's not medically cleared. I don't protest as he slides in the driver's side of an open top Jeep and navigates us several miles up the beach. By the time we get there, I have a pretty good idea where we are going—a private cove that no one but landowners on this stretch of beach can access. I hop down from the Jeep and punch in the access code. Riley surprises me by offroading a bit into the undergrowth, taking us a little north to an even more private beachfront.

"Oh wow," I say, as he pulls to a stop some yards from a hale—an authentic Hawaiian thatched hut. It's a simple A-line structure; its roof extends to the ground on two sides. The remaining "gables" are open on both ends—one to the jungle and one to the ocean. Inside the structure there is a bed, with fairy lights strung above it, and a large silver tin filled with ice and drinks.

As Riley cuts off the Jeep and we sit in silence, admiring our love hut, the night descends. The moon is high and hazy, and the whitetips in the distance flash silver. The quiet sound of the low-tide surf scrubs away the energies of the big family day. The jungle scents invade my senses. I feel my muscles loosening in that sensual way that only dark and desire of the one you love allows.

We slide from the Jeep, him embracing me for balance in the dry, deep sand. He holds my shoulders as I laugh as we stumble a bit, knocking our feet on one of the hale poles before we cross over onto the giant grass mat beneath the all white bed.

"You are amazing," I proclaim. "Did you do all this since the sing-off?"

"Well, I had help. The structure was already here," he adds as we lower to the edge of the mattress to watch the moon dancing on the ocean. Within minutes, Riley has abandoned the scenery and is seriously engaged in devouring my neck.

"God, you taste so good. Salty and sweet. You smell like plumeria," he whispers.

"That's the jungle," I protest.

"No, you always smell like plumeria to me. It's your secret scent. So delicate. So sweet..." he murmurs, sucking hard on my neck.

I sigh heavily. I don't know how delicate most of me is, but my skin is very thin. He knows well he's leaving marks, but he also knows I love the way it feels on my neck. He's never done this before—not cared that they would show. Only  when I could cover up with jackets and scarves.

"Riley," I say his name in encouragement, and he lowers me to bed, me schooching up, him following eagerly.

"Rowan, my god, I want you," he echoes. His voice is absolutely hoarse with desire. His kisses are the perfect pressure between thorough and frantic.

"This is perfect," I tell him as he tugs away my bikini, leaving me naked on the mattress. "I'm glad it's here, now. I'm glad it took us this long to get here."

"I love you, Rowan. Everything you've done for me, everything we've struggled through, every day we've been healing—everything has changed. It's all new. I'm glad for all the hurts, because I would have never known the depth of my love for you without them."

We are in perfect emotional sync, and all the physical problems we've had before fall away. When I help him push his clothes off, there's no question about that. I'm eager, but he wants to take our time. We kiss and touch and revel in each other, but I can't keep my hands off his rock hard cock. I'm dying for it. He groans as I palm him.

"Darlin, you're not making it easy for me to romance you," he whispers roughly.

"I think this is the most romance I've ever experienced," I gasp as he slides both hands around my breasts and down my sides, down my ass, gently drawing a hand through my crack, teasing apart my folds, finding my wetness. "Riley, please..."

"Please what?" he teases.

"Please fill me up. I've never felt so empty."

"You'll never feel that way again," he growls, rising over me, bending one leg out, and sliding in slowly, inch by pleasurable inch.

"Oh my god, I missed this," I whimper.

"Have you missed this?" He hoists my leg up his shoulder, and adjusting me into our best position, the one that allows him to slowly pressure the place inside that will drive me to the highest heights. He's the only one whose ever found it, who knows have to make perfect, mindblowing love to me.

"Oh God," I moan.

"Yes ?" he smiles.

I slap his pec at his joke, but he lowers, claiming my mouth as he keeps rocking me into more and more pleasure. It shocks me, how easily he breaks me apart into a panting, pleading mess, begging for release. There are no walls anymore, just him and me and insane, primal pleasure. I probably sound like one of the jungle animals as I cling to him and come completely undone.

He continues to love me through my orgasm. He keeps going and going. When I can form words again, I manage to ask him, "you okay?" as I press my palms tenderly to his lower back.

"Do you really need to ask that?" as he rolls into me once again. "It's bloody fantastic."

I have no idea how he can last this long. Then I remember that the doctor said orgasm may or may not happen.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask again. "We can do or not do whatever you need."

"I need more. Of this. Of you." he assures me. "It's better. Less...acute but...building to something... better."

I hadn't thought of that, but now I can see he's right. He's so hard but his own pleasure is slower to build, but longer lasting. Soon I feel the euphoria tightening in my belly again. "I want more, too. Make me come again," I plead.

"Of course. New position?" He smiles at me with so much love as he rolls us carefully over so that I'm straddling him. That's when I know his pleasure is warring with the strain its putting on his back, but I am eager—needy— to do my part. I ride him slowly, undulating my spine, thrusting my breasts, giving him every bit of sensual, visual, frictional pleasure I can. I vary the pace, now slower, then harder. I'm nearly there myself when he grasps my waist hard and begins to thrust more with me.

"You're perfect. Love you so much... fuck...come with me... now..." he tells me. He groans, thrusting over and over. The mere idea of him climaxing sends me over the edge again. I am sparking all over and raining on the inside and clenching tight around him. We feel exquisite, joined like this.

Riley is always so sexy in the moment he comes. His jaw tightens and his lips flare as he clenches his teeth and his eyes go dark as indigo but his focus is fixed on me at like no other time. He's gorgeous. I'm glad I came just slightly ahead of him, so that I get to watch the ecstasy flare over his face.

Then he closes his eyes, his Adam's apple jerking as he drops his head back and gasps for air. I collapse on his chest, refusing to give up our connection. I lie atop him a long, long time—a sweating, panting puddle— while he slips his fingers down my slick spine.

I love him so much I feel like weeping from the overload. I've always loved him, but it's different now. Our love is tempered, like steel, but molten, too. Strong, but flexible. There's nothing I'm afraid to tell him, nor ask of him. Which makes me wonder...

"Riley?" I whisper. "Did you actually come? Like before?"

The doctor said a high percentage of spinal injury patients only have the sensation of orgasm, but they don't actually ejaculate. We've known for a while that it may not be like it once was.

He chuckles. He's so relaxed, so blissful as he strokes my back. "It felt so bloody wonderful, I honestly don't know or care."

I care. I mean, for the future, I care. If he can come normally, maybe the doctors are wrong about him being infertile. I don't say that. I simply slide off him to check. He watches me explore down below with my own fingers and then bring them to my mouth. I smile as I taste, then moan, "You did, and it's so good. Missed your taste, baby."

"I missed your wild, earthy ways," he pulls my fingers from my mouth and replaces them with his tongue, his arms tightening around me, pressing us hard together.

"I'm so happy," I sigh, trailing my fingers over his half-hard, sticky cock, which twitches slightly ahead of Riley's whole body jerking. He clasps his hand firmly over mine. He's always a bit sensitive right after. I think it's cute; he thinks it's terrifying to be tickled like that.

"I'm so pleased my spunk enthralls you, but don't torture me for another taste," he says, in his sardonic British way.

I can't help the peel of laughter that escapes me. Suddenly he's laughing too. In the way I've rarely heard. True uninhibited belly laughing.

"Let's do this all again in the morning, shall we? Now that we've gotten over this hurdle of uncertainty, I remember how much fun fucking you is," he murmurs into my hair.

"We're back," I sigh happily, laying my head on his chest.

"We're back for good," he promises. "Want to get married again? I do. I want new vows with you."

Even though I suspected as much, my heart sings to hear that. "I'm so glad, because I want that more than anything. But I want to wait awhile. Build up to it. Make it a big deal, this time. Because we deserve it, but also... it would be good to wait until R&R is up for a Grammy nomination, don't you think?"

He groans. "Bloody hell. Already manipulating our love story for the best R&R PR."

I squint at him. "Don't act like you're not proud—"

"Oh, I'm ecstatically proud of your ruthlessness," he grins. "Now, we have to get on earning that nomination..."

"Let's wait til after New Year's. In the meantime, do you think we can stay here in this hut? Naked and in love?"

"We might have to put our clothes back on to have food brought out to the beach."

I shake my head and draw the covers up over us. "We'll just cover up and tell them to toss it to us."

"Whatever you like, darlin'."

"You are doing that on purpose, aren't you? Dropping the g?"

He chuckles. "You aren't the only ruthless one. I'm trying to cultivate an accent that matches our brand."

"It's very sexy."

"You're very sexy."

"We're sexy. So sexy."

Riley grabs up his stray shirt from beside the bed, and slings it like a lasso over his head, singing. "I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts...I'm too sexy for your party, too sexy for your party, there's no way I'm disco dancing... " while I pepper his chest with more laughter and insist that I'm Too Sexy in the style of Right Said Fred is definitely not our brand. He pretends to disbelieve me, and we bicker just for fun for a little while.

The teasing fades, and we both grow still, listening to the ocean. "It won't always be like this," he murmurs. "We've grown, but at our core, we're still the same willful people we used to be. There will be battles and wounds, sometimes."

"I know. But I'll never be so reckless with us again. I'll treat our love like the sacred thing it is. I swear."

He makes a tender sound of approval. "And I'll never grip you as tightly as I used to, but I will also never give up on us again. I promise you that."

"Until death do us part?" I smile.

He makes a small sound that I can't discern. "No, I don't think even then, darlin'. You're my love for all time. The one I would brave oblivion to stay with."

I'm not quite sure why he chose those words or the emphasis he placed on them, but I believe he means it. I feel the same. "It will be easy to find one another, if we are ever parted. Just sing out to me, and I swear, my soul will answer."

"Those are beautiful vows to be going on with," he says softly.

"Until we get that Grammy nomination, you mean."

"Of course."

He holds me loosely but soundly, and then we sleep.