Back to You (15 page)

Well, yes that feels divine, but I want more. “Uh uh,” I disagree with a soft moan.

He takes that as his cue to insert another finger, plunging deeper and eliciting another, more profound moan from me. “How about like this?”

Mmm, even better. But still not enough. “More,” I whimper against his neck as I lean into him and allow my body to turn to jelly underneath his expert touch.

With one sharp thrust and his thumb circling my most sensitive spot, he takes my earlobe between his teeth and growls, “What about this, baby?”

I grip his hand between my legs and urge his hand to move faster, as my legs start to weaken and my insides tighten. I feel my release building with each stroke against my center, letting the ecstasy spiral throughout my blood stream and force its way to my nerve endings. When my body can take no more and I’m about to explode, I wrap my arms around my husband’s body and ride the delicious wave of pleasure until it overflows completely.

“Oh, Declan,” I cry. “I love you so much.”

Panting and breathless, I can’t help thinking that I never imagined sparks would still fly or that our connection would be so intense after two kids and five years of marriage. And that was just a little taste—I’m suddenly hungry for so much more.

Pushing off Declan’s strong muscular chest, I collapse on the bed and curl my finger, motioning for my handsome husband to join me. I’m naked except for my lacey white panties, so I lift up on my elbows and arch forward, bending my legs to make my body form a seductive curve.

“Shit, you’re going to kill me tonight, aren’t you?” Declan asks, lunging at me.

“Don’t die on me now,” I laugh, as his tongue tickles the sensitive spot between my breasts. “I’m just getting started and we have two whole days left in this big lonely house—but I hope you like this room best because I don’t intend on leaving this bed.”

And we don’t.

We spend the rest of our time in Newport wrapped in each other’s arms and making love. We never redress or remove my wedding dress from its place on the floor until we pack up our belongings an hour before we leave for home.

Sometime right before it hits midnight on our wedding night, I walk over to the closet where I stashed Declan’s gifts from the antique shop.

When I give him the plaque his eyes go wide. “This is our song,” he says, fingering the words that some very wise person sewed onto a piece of art. In many ways it
was
our song. I intended on loving him
way
past the age of sixty-four—I’d need him (and feed him, according to the lyrics) no matter how old we got. But that was our
new
Beatles song. The original meant even more.

“No,” I say pulling the 45 from behind my back. “
This
is our song.”

He carefully takes the record from my hand, reading the titles of the songs out loud. “
And I Love Her
&
If I Fell
. Mia, where the hell did you find this?”

Declan was the one to pick our wedding song five years ago. I’d begged him to choose something more modern, more meaningful to our relationship at the time; Matchbox Twenty, Edwin McCain, Bon Jovi—nope! It had to be the Beatles. At first I wasn’t too happy about it, but when I’d heard Declan sing me his own version of
If I Fell—
I fell even harder in love than I ever could have imagined.

“Isn’t it perfect?” I boast, overjoyed by the excitement in his eyes.

“
Insanely
perfect. I wish we had a record player around here somewhere,” he says, looking around the room as if one might appear out of nowhere.

“You can always sing it to me,” I suggest, sweeping my fingers through his tousled, rolling-around-in-the-bed-all-day, hair.

Without the slightest objection, Declan rests his head against my chest and begins to hum the melody. As I trace hearts on his back and hum along with him, he starts to serenade me with the words we danced to the night I first married the man of my dreams.

“As much as I miss them I don’t want it to end,” I whine, grabbing Declan’s hand over the console. We’re about two miles from home and I have a pit in my stomach. Not because I don’t miss the hell out of my kids and not because I’m afraid to face reality, but because I’ll truly miss having my man all to myself.

“Did you have fun?” Declan says, eyes still focused on the road.

“No!” I mock him, obviously joking. “Dec, it was the best week of my life. Hands down.”

“I agree. Best. Week. Ever.” he says darting a quick glance my way. His eyes sparkle as he smiles—I missed that when it was gone. When I’d taken it away from him for a while. But I can honestly say and believe wholeheartedly that all of that is finally behind us—for good. No more guilt, no more remorse, no more second-guessing. I haven’t felt so at peace in a long time.

When we pull into the driveway, I notice the curtains swaying. Within seconds, the front door swings open to reveal our two little monsters. Chocolate-smudged smiles, and knotted hair-dos, too, I can’t wait to smother them in kisses.

“Mommmmmyyyyyy!” Cara shrieks as she runs out, barefoot, to greet us.

“Baby,” I say, flinging my arms around her and scooping her up off the ground. “I missed you, doll.”

“We missed you, too, but we did have fun,” she smirks, looking over at my mom who’s toting an even messier Charlie.

“Mama,” she croons, nearly jumping out of my mother’s arms.

I take her in my free arm and kiss them both atop their curly heads.

“Hey,” Declan pouts as he walks around the car. “No Daddy love?”

“Don’t let them fool you, Declan,” my mother says. “They’ve been asking about
you
all week.”

“Huh, is that so?” I know how much they love their dad, but it surprises me that they were more vocal about missing him over me.

“Well, we get to see you all the time, Mom. Daddy’s gone a lot.” She says it so innocently, but I can tell from the expression on Declan’s face that it still feels like an unexpected jab in the gut.

Declan snatches Cara out of my arms and gives her a squeeze along with a rough Eskimo kiss that makes her squeal. “Well, Daddy’s gonna be around a lot more. No more trips for a while so don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. Deal?”

“Deal,” she giggles. “Come on. Can we go inside and show you what we made you?”

I look to my mother who gives me a sympathetic shrug. “Please tell me it doesn’t involve re-spackling the walls or peeling Play-doh off the ceiling?”

“Not that bad, hun. Don’t worry.”

Together, we all walk back toward the house. Charlie shimmies down my body and runs over to my mom, gripping her hand as they walk through the door. Cara follows suit, running into the house, excited to show us our surprise.

I reach for Declan’s hand and pause before stepping over the threshold. “Ready for part two? Reality is going to make it a lot more difficult to enjoy all the romance.”

“Reality can suck it!” He jokes, leaning in for a quick kiss. “We’ve got this covered, Mrs. Murphy, I have no doubt about it.”

That night, after everyone’s asleep, all the toys are back in their rightful places, the luggage is unpacked and a few loads of laundry have been done, I rush down to the studio. Shit, I’ve been dying to get down here and start working on the words that won’t stop swimming in my head. Forget my head, they’re swimming in my veins and they need to get out and become more than just some poem.

I start out by scribbling the random verses that played out during our time apart and continued to create themselves while we were rekindling our love in Newport. As a whole, yes, the song might bring back some memories we wish to forget, but as I’ve said over and over to Mia, all of this made us who we are today. And what I learned from Mia is that purging it helps heal the wounds.

I play around with a couple of chords for the verses and then pluck a tune that works really nicely for the chorus. It’s a little darker, more angsty then the stuff I usually write, but dark and angsty fit the bill for what these words express.

When I’m happy—more like fucking thrilled—with what I’ve come up with, I start to poke and prod at the recording equipment. I’ve worked with something like this before back when I used to mess around and record with a few of my band buddies, but damn, this shit really
is
state of the art. I finally get a handle on what does what and sit down with my Martin to record what I’m calling
Back to You.

I kiss her neck, squeezing my arm underneath her warm, sleeping body. “Wake up, baby,” I whisper in her ear.

“Mmmm,” she groans groggily. “Why? Are the kids up?”

“No and shhhh, don’t wake them either. I have something I want to show you.”

She curls back onto her side, hugging her pillow. “A few more minutes. Please, what’s the rush?”

I hate waking her up, but I can’t wait a second longer to let her hear the song. “Fine. Stay in bed. I’ll bring it to you.”

“Good,” she yawns, pulling the covers up over her shoulders.

I tip toe down to the studio to grab the disc I recorded the song on last night. Shit, I hope I did this right. I’d hate to have woken her up for no reason.

When I return to the bedroom, I quietly shut the door behind me and head over to the tiny boom box by Mia’s little reading nook at the window.

Mia rustles in the bed and starts to stretch. “Okay, what’s this urgent business that requires me to be awake before my kids?”

I place the disc in the stereo and bring the remote with me over to the bed. “Just listen. You’ll be happy I woke you for this.”

She eyes me suspiciously, making herself comfortable against the headboard.

I hit play and watch Mia’s eyes light up as she listens to the first few chords of her song. “This is you, babe?”

“Shhhh, just listen…”

It’s easy to take for granted, let it all slip away

When you said, “Here’s my heart, it’s all up to you.”

It’s easy to be so tempted and forgetting all the things you said

When I think I won’t be caught or hurt you

Dreams remain, but we resent

Forevers change, with one regret

I’ll do what I have to do