Every Rose (14 page)

“Hmm,” he appears thoughtful and runs his hand through his hair as if bewildered. “I don’t know that it’s twisted, but it completely changes how that certain memory has been playing in my head over the last several years.”

I still don’t feel as if I was as clear as I could’ve been. I don’t want to leave any room for interpretation so I continue more succinctly, “I was angry with myself because I loved the fact that you had branded me on your body.” My gaze flies to the floor. There, I’ve said it.
Chips, fall where you may.

“That’s incredibly possessive of you and, might I add, passive-aggressive.”

I frown and stare holes in the floor. “I know, right?”

“And very hot,” he murmurs.

My gaze flies up to his face to find a flirty little smile waiting there. He grabs me by my hips, pulls my hips to rest on his, and rubs his nose to mine. “Really?”

“Really.”

………………………………………………………

I feel his calloused fingertips making their way up and down my arm. I’ve never stayed the night with a guy before, and I’m glad that he was my first. I grin as I remember how incredibly tender he was, talking to me about mundane details as if they were the most important things he’d ever discussed. Then, finally singing me to sleep in his beautiful baritone.

“Mmm…good morning.”

“Good morning,” he replies. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did. How ‘bout you?” I peek at him over my folded elbow.

“I slept well. Are you ready to see my routine?”

“Already? What time is it?”

“It’s about six,” he puts a finger under my chin and tilts my head up for kiss. “It’s passed time for you to get up.” He takes my hand and pulls me into a sitting position. “Come on sleepy head.”

He told me to bring comfortable clothes and tennis shoes, so I make my way to the bathroom to get changed. I glance in the mirror at my reflection and have to look again at myself. I look…happy. It takes my breath away for a moment. That’s pathetic to be that shocked over my own happiness. I try to remember the last time I looked in a mirror and anything other than determination, denial, and defiance in my expression looking back at me. I shake my head and thank God for the way I’m feeling. That’s a sentiment I haven’t had in a while either.

When I return, I find him spinning his keys on his finger. “Ready?” He’s wearing a tight black muscle shirt, black running pants, and well-worn black Nike’s. As usual, he looks incredibly sexy.

I take a deep breath. “Yep, ready.”

Chapter Nineteen

Ten Years in the Making

As we ride through town, I glance around at all of the changes my hometown has gone through. It’s funny how, even though I’m all grown up, being here makes me feel almost childlike. Being with him, makes me feel like I’m a teenager again. It’s a euphoric feeling really.

“So where are we going anyway?” I inquire. I steal a glance at him. He’s wearing his Top Gun shades and looking completely at ease with himself. I envy him.

“Oh, here and there,” he teases and shoots me a lopsided smile.

“Ah…you know you’re torturing me and my control-freak self, right?”

He laughs and raises his brow at me, “Oh, yes. I’m very much aware of what the unknown does to you.”

We ride in silence for a few minutes before coming to stop at St. Michael Catholic Church. I raise my eyebrows at him, “A church? What are we doing here?” I ask suspiciously.

“Funny thing about churches. They have services where anyone can go in and worship, etcetera, etcetera,” he jokes.

There’s no way I’m stepping foot inside. I try to hide my panic, “Michael, I’m not Catholic, and I’m not dressed for church.” I grasp at my most inoffensive excuses.

“Oh, well, you don’t have to be Catholic, and it’s not a formal service. It’s daily Mass, so you’re fine. More than fine actually. Beautiful.”

“Flattery will go you nowhere, sir. I’ll just wait for you here,” I offer.

“Come on,” he cajoles me. I think you’ll enjoy it, and it will offer insight into my lifestyle, which is what you wanted to know about, right? It helps me build my faith, stay strong, stay sober,” he shrugs and looks over at me. “It’s only thirty minutes or so.”

“No, Michael. I’d really rather not.” I turn a beseeching look on him.

“Ya know I’ll help you with the rituals and all if that’s what it is,” he counters.

“No, that’s not it. I don’t want to get in the way of your time here, though; so please just let me wait here.”

He sighs and I can tell I’ve disappointed him. “OK,” he relents and kisses my hand, “I won’t be long.”

I watch his retreating back as he shrugs on his hoodie. I wish I could join him. It’s seems very important to him, but I haven’t been in a church since I graduated high school. Too much judgment. Partially self-induced.

I journal while I wait for him. I frown as I realize it’s mostly about my dad. This relationship has plagued me most of my life. When I was really young, we were very close. We share a lot of the same personality traits: creative, analytical, vocal. He was amazing with our horses, and he passed that love on to me. The similarities are abundant; however, he’s an addict. Unfortunately, that dulls everything positive about him and amplifies everything evil about him.

I look towards the church as I see movement. I see Michael speaking to the priest. They talk for a couple of minutes and Michael turns to make his way over to the Jeep. Much to my surprise so does the priest.

Oh, no you don’t, Michael. Don’t bring him over here, I will him.
Too late. They’re practically upon me. I panic but try to maintain a cool exterior.

“Lorraina,” he avoids meeting my eyes. Like he knows I’m staring daggers at him, “this is Father Patty. Father Patty, this is Lorraina Dabney.”

“Hello, Lorraina,” he says with an Irish lilt. “It’s nice to make your acquaintance. Michael has told me much about you.”

“Hello…Father.”  I’m pretty sure that’s what I am supposed to call him. I watch Michael move off to the side of the Jeep, and I lose sight of him.
Now who’s the coward?

“So, Michael tells me you were reluctant to come inside for Mass,” he doesn’t mince words.

I’m going to kill him. This is so embarrassing. “Yes, sir. I…I’m not Catholic. I just didn’t feel comfortable.”

“Let me assure you that you are most welcome. I’ve known Michael for quite a while now, ya know? He’s quite adamant about you being comfortable here, so I’ve offered my help in that area. Whatever is holding you back I can try to help you with, my dear.”

I hesitate for a moment, “I haven’t been in a church in many years. I’m…I’m a terrible sinner in so many ways.”

“Aren’t we all, dear?” He says on a wink. “I’ll tell you what, though. How about we go into my office for a few moments so that we can speak privately?”

“Um…OK.” I get out of the Jeep to follow Father Patty and see Michael sitting on the back bumper. I give him a tentative smile, and he returns it with a grand one. My entire attitude changes. If this is all it takes to make him happy, I’m all for it.

Once I’m in Father Patty’s office, he makes me feel quite at home. He makes small talk, asking about my family, my religion, my schooling. He explains different artifacts and paintings that adorn his office.

As he wraps up a description of his miniature desktop edition of
La Pieta
, I realize it’s now or never. “Father Patty, I have greatly sinned,” I assert. I know how this part goes. I’ve seen
The Godfather
many times.

“No sin is too great for God to bear, and God’s forgiveness knows no bounds, my child. The real question is have you forgiven yourself?”

He’s hit the nail on the head. Wow. He’s good. “No, no,” I shake my head and clear my throat, “I…could never do that. What I’ve done is unforgiveable. I’m irresponsible, selfish, traitorous. In a word—evil.”

“Dear, the very fact that you believe you are evil proves that you’re not. You need to be reconciled to God. I can help you. It doesn’t
matter that you’re not Catholic.”

“Really?” he nods his head in assurance. “Thank you, Father Patty. I’ll consider it.”

………………………………………………………

The next part of his routine has me reeling even more than the first. I find myself jogging along a three point five mile bridge that runs over the gulf. I’m proud of myself; I haven’t collapsed, and I don’t quite sound like a bronchitis patient just yet either. “Promise you’re not too mad at me,” Michael implores me.

“I promise I’m not mad,” I assure him for the third time in between shallow breaths.

“I knew you were ready for a shove.”

“Oh, really?” My caustic comment has teeth. I try to temper myself. “You know this is what you’ve been doing our whole lives? Pushing me. Shoving me. Making me better.”

“So, it sounds like a thank you is in order,” he replies sweetly.

“I’m not thanking you yet, especially not for showing me this little part of your routine,” I kid.

“Ah…it’s good for you.”

“Let me show you what I think is good for you,” I turn and tackle him against the side of the bridge walkway. He grunts as I back him against the concrete. I bring his face down to mine and pull him in for a long, searing kiss. I pull back slightly and giggle. “Oh, what are you doing to me? I abhor public displays of affection. Sorry about that. I just couldn’t seem to help myself.”

He runs his hands over my head and pulls my ponytail back to tilt my head back. He takes the lead this time, leaving me even more breathless than when I was jogging. “The feeling is mutual,” he breathes.

We finish our jog in silence. He’s right. It does feel amazing even though my shins are burning, and I’m pretty sure I’m going into cardiac arrest.

“So what now?” I ask as I drop my hands on my knees and peer up at him.

“I think we’ll head to the store so that I can get some groceries for our dinner tonight.” He stretches his muscles in a practical and precise manner. I imitate him.

“Oh, you’re cooking?” I can’t hide my surprise.

“It’s one of my many skills,” he brags.

“Oh, really? Is there anything that you’re not good at, Mr. Humble?”

“Um…nothing comes to mind. I’ll let you know if I think of anything, though.”

“Please do.” I laugh.

At the grocery store, he very methodically goes through selecting his vegetables and his pasta and his bread. It looks like it will be a veritable feast. As we make our way to the checkout, I hear someone call out for Michael. I turn and it’s a guy I recognize from high school with a cart full of beer and chips.

“Hey bro! What’s going on?” he asks, giving me the once over. Michael releases my hand as they pull each other into a typical guy embrace.

“Hey brother! Nothing much.” He introduces us, and they spend a couple of minutes catching up while I ogle Michael. I’m jerked from fantasizing when I hear Michael declining an invitation to a party later on that night.

“Don’t let me hold you back,” I offer.

“No, no. That’s not it,” he says to me. To his friend, “We’ll try to make it over,” he replies noncommittally.

I thrill at his use of that little pronoun.

………………………………………………………

“I can’t believe you don’t have a Harley yet,” I call out as I glimpse yet some more Harley paraphernalia scattered throughout his studio.

“I know. Me either. I’ve been saving, of course. But essentials always seem to come up. I’m getting pretty close, though.”

“You’re gonna look so good on a bike,” I utter as the image of Michael riding his future Harley consume me. I’m so entranced by it that I don’t hear him come up behind me until I feel his hot breath and warm lips on my neck.

“You’re gonna look so good on the back of my bike, babe,” he murmurs against my skin.

I actually groan out loud. I feel him chuckle against me, and then he is gone back behind the divider to the kitchen. The smells wafting from his kitchen are making my stomach rumble.

I’ve been exploring his studio while he has been cooking. My Michael is a genuine renaissance man. His art is inspiring, detailed, intense. The colors are subdued, lending them an otherworldly essence. His brushstrokes are heavy and rounded, reminding somewhat of Van Gogh. He has several Choctaw rituals painted to perfection. After I analyze his art, I begin leafing through his sketch books. His sketchbooks contain many different art forms: landscapes, still life, music, poetry.
Wow! I think. He’s so amazing.

I saunter up behind him and wrap my arms around him, squeezing him to me. This feels so right. I release a shaky breath and take a deep, reassuring one. “I love you, Michael.”

He stills and I hear his throat catch. I loosen my arms as he turns slowly to pierce me with his look. Is my confession too much? I worry and drop my eyes to his chest. “Ah…Lorraina, you have no idea what those words do to me. I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear them.” He takes my chin between his thumb and finger and forces me to meet his gaze. “I loved you yesterday. I love you today. I’ll love you tomorrow…forever,” he seals his declaration with a kiss. “I’ve been dying to tell you that I love you since the moment I saw you sitting at Mona’s. I had to put the ball in your court, though. I was afraid to push you too much.”