Jasmeen
The trees blocked the worst of it from us.
Gavin grabbed my hand beside me, and stared into the thicket of trees. It had been six months since the crash. It was spring in Upstate New York. It was beautiful. Green everywhere, a few wildflowers on the edge of the forest. My heart was in my throat.
Gavin’s grip was a stronghold on mine.
I refrained from telling him what I thought for the hundredth time. He needed this. Sometimes the hardest part of loving someone was letting them hurt. Gavin had to hurt in order for him to heal.
Coming back to the crash site was something he had to do. He had to know he got out alive. He woke up screaming less often, but he still screamed. His memories were stuck under the propellers. It was time we pulled him out from under them.
“Are you sure this is the right spot?” he asked.
I held up the map for proof. We’d gotten it from the police. There was no way we were wrong. “It’s through those trees. The crash site was in the trees. The report said the engine malfunctioned, and the only thing that saved you was crashing where you did. The trees were too high for the helicopter to hit as hard as if it had been on flat ground. Whatever’s through those trees saved you.”
He shook his head. “No, Jas. You saved me.”
I tightened my hold on his hand. Truth be told, Gavin saved me first.
“Let’s go. Together.” I tugged on his hand.
He didn’t fight me. We made our way through the forest, and then through the trees, walking carefully through the overgrowth and fallen branches from winter. The forest was alive. Animals rustled the leaves and birds fluttered their wings. The air was thick of the scent of flowers, but I couldn’t see them anywhere. All I saw were the trees. But I could practically taste the floral aroma.
I breathed it into my lungs.
When we broached the edge of the forest, we found out why.
There was a meadow nestled inside of the forest. He crashed into a meadow. In that meadow was a sea of wildflowers. The sun shone down on them, turning the pale purple petals into a color that matched my wedding ring.
Gavin had crashed right onto a meadow of aster flowers. Goosebumps broke out across my flesh and my heart felt too full.
I covered my mouth with my hand and looked up at him.
His mouth was open. His eyes were wide. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
“No way,” he breathed.
There was a shape in the middle of the meadow where the helicopter crash had damaged the earth. No aster flowers grew there.
In that moment, I felt this earthshattering confidence that Gavin lived for a reason. Gavin lived for us.
For me and my heart. For him and his.
The meadow looked incredible. Bright with color, thick with the scent of breathtaking aster flowers.
I led Gavin into the middle of them, and we stood there, our hands tangled; the sun shined down on us.
Together.
I could smell nothing but the flowers. Could see nothing but him. I was filled with so many emotions, I couldn’t discern them all. My throat felt like it would burst.
His eyes caught fire, and burned bright and hot. He felt the same way.
He came for me, ripping at my clothes as I ripped at his. It was spring, but it was still cold in the city; we were wearing too many clothes.
Prepared to devour my sweetest addiction.
He ripped the rest of his clothes off and then came for me, delving his silky hot tongue into my mouth. I succumbed to the taste of him, never growing tired—I’d always need this addiction sated.
And judging by the way he kissed me back, like I was air and he was gasping, I didn’t have to wonder who yearned more.
We both did.
A forever need.
His fingers worked on my bra. He broke our kiss to slide it down my arms. It disappeared into the flowers.
He fell to his knees and grabbed my hips, guiding me down with him. I sank onto my back. The scent of aster flowers was so thick, I could taste them. They were in my hair, sticking to my skin. He came to lay on top of me, sliding between my thighs.
He cradled my face between his hands as he kissed me deep. I trailed my fingers over his back, down to his ass, and up his spine. Gavin tried every day to be who he had been. But the nerve damage in his leg could only be lessened, not healed. I drug my toes over his right calf; I loved his leg the way it was. I loved him no matter if he played professionally, or not at all.
I’d just wanted my Superman to fly again.
And this time, I wanted to fly with him.
His cock pressed into my slick entrance, and he pushed himself fully inside with one deep, perfect stroke. I broke free of his lips to moan into the sunlight.
He buried his face in my neck and moved his hips into me, hitting every deep ache I harbored for him. My inner muscles began to clench around his length, taking him deeper. Wanting more.
He groaned into my neck and then his fingers snaked around the curve of my throat. The moment his thumb skimmed along my pulse, I was drunk.
I arched into his hold, meeting his hips. The higher I took him, the higher he took me. Our pleasure was reliant on the other. It was a part of us who was never greedy.
His thumb toyed with my pulse, pressing with just enough pressure to send a flood of my excitement over him. I coated him in my need, making it easier for him to work himself inside me. I wanted him to press harder. Take my breath and give me his.
One hand twisted above my head, fisting the petals. My other hand found his ass and urged him on. I could smell his cologne and I could smell the asters.
I could smell my life coming back into focus.
His thumb stroked my pulse, and then he pressed down, sending me into an intense, blinding orgasm. I screamed into the meadow, crying out his name in the same spot we had almost lost him.
Lost everything.
His hips increased their speed, and my air supply diminished. My orgasm intensified. His flesh met mine; the sound of our lovemaking filled the meadow.
He filled me with his end, groaning my name in my ear as his own orgasm gripped him. I couldn’t speak, even if I wanted to. The harder he came, the tighter his grip was; the harder I orgasmed.
It was a heady feeling to need air but to never want to breathe. I had to breathe to live, and I wanted to live, but I never wanted to take another breath in the midst of our connection either. But that’s how addictions work.
They make you want the wrong, make you love the right. They consumed and destroyed, but this addiction brought me so much life and love.
When he let my throat go, I gasped into his neck. Every breath I pulled in smelled like sex and asters.
I felt set free.
Wanted.
Loved.
The years spent apart were gone.
He collapsed on his back beside me. Our hard breathing was the only thing I heard over the roaring of my pulse recovering.
He sat up and looked around, pale purple petals stuck in his unruly, sexed hair. He got on his hands and knees, and crawled over to the patch of ruined earth.
I sat up and watched him.
His hand touched the ground and his fingers dug into the soil. “I survived,” he said, and I had feeling he was talking to himself. “Why does it feel like I didn’t until I look at you?” His eyes whipped to me. “I’m still on that helicopter until I look at you, talk to you, smell you, slip inside of you. Feel your pulse under my fingertips. Only then did I survive.”
I thought that his problem wasn’t that he survived, but that so many didn’t. He was stuck in what could have happened, instead of focusing on what didn’t.
I knew. I’d lived in that way of thinking after our marriage ended.
I looked down at my wedding ring.
We survived. So would he.
“Picture it from beginning to end. Right where it happened. With me here. I want you off that crash, Gavin. You’re done crashing.”
I wrapped my naked body around his, pressing a kiss to his neck as I whispered in his ear. His fingers continued to dig into the soil as he relayed the crash to me. The entire time he fell to earth, I fell with him.
***
I ran through the meadow like a naked nymph for his Mercedes parked in the woods. I returned with a blanket and a cooler packed with food. He’d fought me on having lunch here, but I won him out.
The aster flowers did the rest of the coaxing.
We ate lunch naked, making love one more time before we got dressed, and left the crash site behind.
Before we lost it through the trees, he turned back. His eyes narrowed as he studied the meadow, the ruined patch of earth.
I waited patiently.
“You think there’s a reason for everything?” he asked, his voice faraway.
“There has to be,” I responded, wondering where his head was. “Why?”
“It’s crazy, how it happened.”
“The crash?”
He turned to me, his eyes shiny. What little sun could penetrate the trees seemed to be shining directly onto him in that moment, turning his eyes into sticky toffee.
“No,” he said. “Us. We needed each other. Every time we came together. Think about our lives if we never met?”
I didn’t want to, and shook my head.
He continued, affixed on his musings. “We’re half a person on our own. I needed you as a kid, and I think I needed you so badly, I crashed right there.” He pointed at the ruined patch of earth. “I want to think that happened for a reason. How can I not, looking at you?”
He came for me, and his strong, warm hands moved to cradle my face. “How can I not, being able to touch you again?”
I exhaled, needing breath. He was looking right into my soul. But it wasn’t just mine. It was his too.
We shared a soul.
“How can I not, having your love back in my life?”
“Gav—” His suffering wasn’t worth me.
“I don’t want to come back here. I don’t need to. Every time I look into your eyes, I’ll know the reason for everything.” He kissed me until my fingers were fisted in his hair and my tongue was starving for his. He pulled back and his intense, love drunk eyes caught and held mine. “I’ll know the reason I lived.”
***
The first time Gavin stepped out into public as himself, it was like watching an animal at the zoo.
He was stared at, people took pictures, and everyone had something to say about the crash. How could he escape something when the world had been holding their breath for an answer?
And hold their breaths they did, throwing questions at him on the street. I’d managed to convince him to go to lunch. It went well until the restaurant was full, and we were seated outside. One person stopped, stared, and pointed.
“Gavin Cobalt?” they said, and that was all it took. People rushed him. We’d barely made it home in one piece, fighting the mob.
“How did it feel to be inside that chopper?”
“Are you suing the airline?”
“Did you watch your teammate’s last breath?”
“Do you feel guilty for surviving?”
“Are you ever going to play again?”
“Can you play?”
“Orson was a better player than you!”
“Sign my shirt!”
“You’re still hot!”
“Show me those Klein’s!”
“How does it feel to have your career ruined?”
He stormed off to the gym when we got into his penthouse. I didn’t see him again until dinner time. He got better physically, working his mental frustrations out in the gym, but he got worse emotionally. We made love every time he was upset, like he wasn’t okay unless we were connected.
That night, he came into the living room, dripping sweat and pain, and he’d ripped my clothes off, ignoring my half-hearted protests, flipped me onto my hands and knees, and buried himself inside me with his fingertips pressing into my throat.
“Orson was a better player than me,” he groaned, fucking me deep and hard from behind.
I tried to deny him, but he reached between my thighs and found my clit as his thumb pressed harder on my pulse. I forgot my ability to speak, but I didn’t forget what he said.
I knew one thing for certain. We needed to get out of New York. I waited until he’d calmed to bring it up. “We should move.”
“Already fucking accepted it,” he revealed, rubbing a circle on my temple with his index finger. “I want to go home.”
Seattle was where we started. Seattle was where we broke. Seattle was where we returned. His team was in Washington. It made sense to go back home.
“Can we bring Lance with us?” I’d grown fond of him over the past six months. He was sweet and helpful, always thinking of the things I forgot. He cared about Gavin.
He smiled, giving me an amused look. “Should I be worried?”
Excitement rushed through me. I just knew in my heart that going home would be the best thing for us. “Not sure yet. We’ll see after you lose those extra pounds.” I patted his abdomen. There was no pooch. Only lean, hard muscle. Sit-ups were one of the few exercises he could power through without stopping.
“I’ll talk to him. Not sure I’ll need a driver or an assistant anymore.” He looked down, speaking to my thighs. “I can’t deal with the public anymore. Maybe it isn’t horrible that my career’s over. I don’t need the whole world. I just need you, Jas. Only you.” His gaze rose to meet mine. “I can’t wait to go home with you.”
We drove home to Seattle together at the end of that week. I spent all night packing our things, and Lance stayed behind to get the penthouse ready for the market and to sale the Lykan. He would join us when he was ready.
Gav took over driving when I needed to sleep, making it back home in record time. The moment we made it back into Seattle, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders.
That weight was all the uncertainty, all the doubt.
In Seattle, Gavin and I existed once, and we could exist again.