Second Chances (7 page)

"I’ll ask Rose tonight, bro.  Tell her about the dreams, about what you want.  If she agrees, if she understands and is willing, you’ll get your chance.  No promises, but I’ll try." 

Ryan turned and started walking back toward the lodge.  After a couple of steps he spun around to face the spot where he’d been standing.

"Merry Christmas, Terry." 

D
estiny’s Desire was a magical place.  Outdoor lights glistened on the new snow.  A dusting of fresh powder began falling as they drove up earlier that afternoon.  It now painted a scene in pale shades of white on the Aspen pines. The full moon overhead cast a warm glow, painting a water-colored portrait of enchantment.  The night sky lightened, illuminating a white panorama reflected off the snow-covered ground, a tapestry highlighting mother nature’s winter wonderland. 

Ryan pulled Rose closer against his chest, swaying to the soft music playing in the background, courtesy of the musicians in the corner.  They danced by the rows of French doors and huge multi-paned windows surrounding the dining room.  An enormous fireplace sat across from the bank of glass, turning the space into a romantic couples enchanted getaway. 

I can do this.  She’ll understand—and she’ll say yes.  I know it.
 

He twirled her around the dance floor.  Her laughter filled his ears.  The joyous sound was infectious and he bit back the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.  Just then the music ended and he hugged her close against his side, hip-to-hip with her head snuggled against his shoulder as they walked back to their table, near enough to the fireplace to watch the flickering flames dance about without being uncomfortably warm. 

A bottle of champagne chilled in the ice bucket beside the table, and he grabbed it to fill their glasses.  This night was special.  A magical night.  It had to be tonight—or never.  That’s what Terry had said.  In
The Dream
. 

Ryan reached across the table and picked up his wife’s hand, running his thumb across the back of her soft skin before it came to rest on her wedding ring.  He stared into her eyes, read the love in her unguarded gaze.  

"Ryan, what’s going on?  You’ve been antsy since we got here."

"I . . .I need to tell you something."  He took a deep breath, exhaled long and slow.

"Are you leaving me?"  Rose’s whispered question startled him and he jerked back in the chair, nearly knocking over his water glass.

"What?"

"Are you going to leave me?  Is there someone else?"

"No!  Absolutely not!" 

"Then what is it, Ryan?"  Rose leaned forward in her chair.  She looked so forlorn, confused, he knew he had to tell her everything now.  About Terry.  About The Dream.  About Terry’s unorthodox impossible request.

"Rosie, I don’t even know where to start.  About three months ago, a couple of weeks before Halloween, I dreamed about Terry." 

"Oh, Ryan."

"It wasn’t a bad dream or anything like that, honey.  It was actually kinda nice.  I’ve missed him so much and seeing him again, talking to him even though I knew it was a dream—it felt so good—right.  He looked the same as always, same dark brown hair, same brown eyes.  He looked like. . .like Terry."  He stopped and picked up his glass, taking a sip of the icy champagne before continuing.

"I know he’s dead.  Even in the dream I recognized that.  He told me how much he’d missed me, missed us.  We were in Crandall Park, over by the old house where we grew up.   Its twilight, just starting to turn dark and the park lights turn on.  Sharon’s not in the dream but I can feel her close by, as if she’s a part of it, but separate, waiting." 

"That doesn’t sound too bad so far."

"It’s not.  Like I said, it’s not a bad dream or a nightmare.  I’ve just been having the dream a lot recently.  Nearly every night.

"The same dream?"  Rose voiced the question softly.

"Pretty much it’s the same. Little tweaks here and there, but the message is always the same.  Terry wants something—something I can’t give him."   Regret and sadness filled Ryan’s voice. 

"Can’t?"

"What he wants is impossible."

"Terry wasn’t the kind of man who’d ask for something if it was impossible.  He always found a way to make the impossible not only possible but probable.  Never took no for an answer."

Ryan laughed.  "Yeah, you knew him pretty well, didn’t you?  Terry always found a way to get what he wanted.  Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead."

"What does he want?"

"He wants to come back."

He watched Rose’s eyes widen at his words, heard her sharply indrawn gasp, but she remained silent studying him intently. 
What is she thinking?  Does she think I’ve lost my mind? 

"Terry wants to spend one more night with Sharon.  Here at the lodge where they spent the first and only night of their honeymoon together."

"Ryan, you know that can’t happen."  A hint of sadness filled Rose’s whispered reply. 

"Of course I know it."  Ryan’s voice hissed out in a strangled whisper.  "I miss my brother, but I’m not crazy.  He and Sharon are dead.  There’s no coming back from that.  It’s just . . ."

Ryan’s hand speared through his hair, before he rubbed his sweating palm across his trouser leg, wicking away the dampness, the nervous gesture incongruous with his outwardly calm exterior. 
Damn it, I’m blowing this.  Just calm down, talk it through.

"In the dream, Terry says they have one chance to come back, to be together."

"Tell me, honey."  Rose’s quiet tone was filled with love, no condemnation, and it touched him to the depths of his soul.  He knew she loved him, he never questioned that fact.  They’d been together for three years before they’d gotten married, had been married for five years.  It never got old, but it had gotten—comfortable.  He couldn’t imagine a life without her, didn’t think he’d ever loved her more than he did at that moment. 

"In
The Dream
, Terry says the veil between our world and his, our reality, is at its thinnest on the anniversary of their deaths.  They could come through on that night if they have a host.  Bodies they can occupy so they can be together. "

Ryan saw the moment everything clicked and she realized exactly what he was saying.  Saw the slight tremor in her hand as she picked up her crystal glass and drained the water in one gulp.  Watched her place the empty glass carefully and precisely back onto the tabletop and fold her hands in her lap, fingers entwined.

"You want us to be their hosts?"

"Am I insane, Rosie, to even consider something like this?  I’d do anything for Terry and Sharon if I could, but this, it’s so out there."

"In your heart do you believe they can come back, even for the one night?"

Ryan stared at his wife, searched her face for a clue to her thoughts, what she felt.  He knew this moment marked a make it or break it point in their relationship.  They’d never lied to each other or tried to hide the truth of any situation, big or small, and he wasn’t going to start now.  Not when this was so important. 

"Yes, I believe."

Smiling, Rose reached across the table and took his hand in hers.  He stared down at their linked fingers before looking back at her.  Her blue eyes sparkled in the glow of the candlelight, a twinkle in their depths. 

"It’s crazy.  Then again, you and I have always been a little crazy, haven’t we Ryan?"  Pushing back her chair, Rose stood and Ryan did the same.  She walked around the table and wrapped her arms around him, leaning her length against his and placed her head on his shoulder.  Ryan’s heartbeat raced. 
Would she do it?  Was she saying yes?
 

"Crazy or not, if you believe, then I’ll believe.  Let’s go upstairs and let the honeymooners have their special night together." 

Ryan couldn’t contain his joyous laughter when Rose grabbed his hand and they raced toward the elevator.  Together.  

S
tepping through the unlocked hotel door, Ryan grasped his wife’s hand, tugged her through spinning her around to face him.  He reached blindly behind him, pushed the door shut and fumbled with the lock, his eyes never leaving her face.   Her tongue slid out, gliding along her bottom lip, wetting it in a seductive move that sent heat rippling through him. 

Without conscious thought his hand rose, cupping her cheek.  His thumb caressed the soft flesh of her lower lip, smiled as her teeth nipped at him playfully.  There was no sign of fear or hesitation in her eyes.  The scent of her perfume filled his senses as he leaned in closer, pulling her pliant body against his.  

She’d agreed without a moment’s pause to his outrageous suggestion.  It hadn’t really surprised him; she was usually game for anything.  Just one of the many things he loved about her. 

"How did I get so lucky?  I’m married to the most beautiful woman in the world."  He whispered the tender words in her ear.  She rolled her eyes at the compliment.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly and deliberately, clearing all thoughts and preconceived notions from his mind.  He wanted—no he needed—to do this right.  They didn’t need to rush; they had all night long.  Leaning in, he brushed his lips along her jaw line, spreading soft kisses across her skin, breathing in the scent of her.  Mine, he thought, forever mine. 

An odd sense of tranquility settled over him, even as he felt a quiet sense of urgency he’d never felt before grip him. 

Eyes wide open now, he pulled her body snug against his, rocking his hips against hers.  He wanted her closer than skin-to-skin, needed her more than his next breath.  His erection throbbed, rock hard as if it had a mind of its own and knew what lay ahead.  Lowering his head, he tilted her face up slightly to brush an open-mouthed kiss against her pliant lips.  Felt her faint tremor before her lips parted for his seeking tongue.  He pulled back to nip playfully at her lower lip while his hand skimmed across her shoulder and down her front to mold her breast, plump and the perfect size to fill his hands.  She’d always complained she was too small, but he found her perfect.  A sharp intake of breath and the dilation of her pupils showed him how much she relished his hands on her, though not as much as he wanted them on her, touching, kneading and stroking her boldly.

"Ryan."  His name spilled from her, followed by a sigh. 

Need rose in him, pushing aside all thoughts of going slow.  He needed her.  Felt an undeniable unquenchable urgency to be inside her. 

Taking one step back, his hands tugged at her pale pink blouse, carefully opening the first few buttons before he spread the cloth back to reveal the bounty of her breasts.  Cupped lovingly in a dusty pink-and-beige lace-edged bra, her nipples stood at peaked attention, puckered beneath the lacy fabric.  They begged for his lips and tongue.  
Who am I to deny her?

He couldn’t contain the grin spreading across his face as he moved to the curve of her neck spreading kisses, licking and sucking his way downward.  He paused at the nape of her neck, tugged lightly on the skin, the suction of his mouth firm.  She arched her hips into him with a groan, her hands clutching at him, clinging to his shoulders.  Smiling, he noted the reddened skin, knew she’d wear his mark for the next few days and the thought had him swelling harder.

With a touch soft as gossamer, his hands continued their own downward trek, each button undone with gentle care.  Fingertips explored the flat skin of her abdomen, the well-defined muscles leading to her concave stomach.  Faithful about keeping her body in shape, she’d told him often enough how she did it for him. 

His hands cupped her ass and squeezed, his actions eliciting another moan, though her eyes never opened at his wicked touch, her head thrown back as her wild red-gold hair shimmered past her shoulders.  For a moment, the blink of an eye, the colors blurred and swirled together and he thought he saw a faint shimmer of blonde overlap the red before it faded away. 

The zipper on her black skirt slid silently lower under his unwavering fingers before it fell to the ground.  He pushed the blouse completely off her shoulders, watched it slide sinuously over her arms before it joined the skirt on the hotel room floor. 

Taking another step back, he stared at the beauty displayed before him.  Clad only in a lacy concoction of pink and beige, a matching thong barely covered her, revealing the solitary dark pink rose tattoo on her right hip, just above the edge of lace. 

"Are you sure?"  His gravel-voiced question lodged in his throat but he forced the words out.  His heart filled with so much love for her it nearly choked him, but he needed her to know she had options.  She could stop this any time she wanted.  The knot twisting around his heart loosened with the certainty that even if they didn’t go through with it, never gave Terry and Sharon this last chance, he’d never ever stop loving her. 

"I’m sure."  Such confidence and love in her tone, he heard it, felt it.  It flooded inside him, warming the cold dark place walled off since Terry’s death.  He never questioned her love, but what he’d asked of her went beyond the normal conventions of what society considered acceptable behavior. 

All mine
, he thought again as he reached for his tie.  The knot tugged free.  Delicate fingers impatiently pushed his hands aside and he grinned, allowing her free access.
Impatient.  I like it
.  His striped tie joined her discarded clothing on the floor, followed by his dinner jacket. 

The front of his shirt was ripped wide as she held it in both hands and pulled, the sound of buttons popping broke the silence of the room.  They flew in several directions and he didn’t care.  She loved tearing his shirts open and he’d planned accordingly, packed extras to replace the tuxedo shirt with its pearlized buttons.  She yanked the shirt free from his slacks. 

French-manicured nails threaded through the spear of black hair across his chest, flitted from one nipple to the other, rolled and pinched until they stood at aroused attention before skimming downward, to follow the line of hair over his abdomen to where it disappeared beneath his waistband.