chapter nineteen
I sit and stare at the urn on the table. The urn that has been entrusted in part to me, in the house that has been given in part to me. What the hell did she do this for?
I curse her for the millionth time since Baylor read Griffin and me the letter with Erin’s final wishes. It was only yesterday, the day before her funeral. The letter stated that her body was to be cremated, not buried. We knew this, but it went on to say her ashes were to be given to Griffin and me. That we were to decide together when and where to spread them. She was explicit about it being a place of happiness and life. That when the time was right, we would know what to do.
The letter also went on to explain that the townhouse, which was solely in her name—a wedding gift from Griffin—was deeded to both Griffin and myself. We know what she’s doing, of course. She’s made it perfectly clear she wants us to keep, and live together in, the townhouse.
Along with Erin’s parents, I’ve stayed here the few days since she died. At first, I was too exhausted to do anything else. Then, her family asked me to help with the reception being held here today, just hours after her funeral. The funeral that was adorned with what I’m sure was every last white lily in the city. I loved it. Nobody else would understand. Nobody else had that connection. When I walked into the service to see every available space draped with Erin’s favorite flower, I saw life, not death. I saw life and boy babies and long pistols. I saw Erin’s smiling face. For one very brief second, I may have even seen hope for the future.
Other than making an appearance at the reading of Erin’s letter and the funeral, Griffin has been holed up in his bedroom. I don’t know how to console him. If I touch him, he may think I’m trying to take Erin’s place. If I don’t, he may think I’m not interested. I desperately want to honor Erin’s dying wish. Even if I wasn’t already in love with him, I’d want to. But I’m just not sure what the proper amount of time is to grieve your best friend before shacking up with her husband.
Maybe we need some space. Some time to grieve separately before we try to be together. I decide to pack up my suitcases and head home tonight. It’s the right thing to do. Erin’s family will be leaving and heading back to White Plains after the reception. I don’t want it to be awkward with only Griffin and me in the house.
The Mitchell’s catering van arrives, followed by Baylor’s clan. Friends and family trickle in all afternoon. We do our best to make it a celebration of Erin’s life, so I take it upon myself to bring up pictures from Griffin’s studio. Pictures that depict Erin at her happiest moments during her last weeks.
Baylor hands little Jordan to me. She’s barely a month old. I know what Baylor is doing. She’s trying to get me comfortable with babies. But babies don’t like me. Jordan squirms and cries and looks freakishly uncomfortable in my arms. Knowing this doesn’t come naturally to me just feeds my anxiety.
Griffin comes downstairs, making small talk with whoever engages with him, but he has closed himself off. He sits in the corner of the living room watching me with his pensive slate-gray eyes. Is he wondering how he’s going to do this? Or maybe he’s wondering how he’s going to let me down. I try to ignore his punishing stares as I mingle with Erin’s loved ones.
The setting sun has most of the mourners leaving. Erin’s parents pack up their car as her sisters and nieces help clean up, sealing the leftover food in freezer containers that will feed Griffin for a month. Everyone says a tearful goodbye as we promise to get together soon. Even though the bean is not their blood relative, it has never crossed their minds not to treat him as such. They’ve taken me on as a daughter, an aunt, a sister. They’ve become my second family and one more support system for Aaron.
I close the front door after the last of her family leave. Suddenly, the house feels huge. I have no idea where Griffin is. Back in his bedroom I presume. Being here by myself feels wrong. I’ve never needed another person as much as I do now. I’ve never felt so utterly alone in my entire life. I touch my growing belly and remind myself that I’m not.
I make my way up to my bedroom and pack up my belongings. I put my suitcases by the front door and go in search of Griffin to tell him I’m leaving. His bedroom door is cracked open. “Griffin?” I gently push the door open wider. I let my eyes wander over the room. The suit he had on at the funeral is crumpled in a pile on the floor. There are pillows and a blanket on the couch in their sitting area and I realize that’s where he’s probably been sleeping as my eyes find the perfectly-made bed. He couldn’t get himself to sleep there without her. I wonder if he’s slept on the couch since she moved downstairs. Maybe now that everyone is gone, he can sleep in a guest room instead. Part of me hopes he chooses the room I was in. Part of me hopes he will lie on the same pillow I did and inhale my scent. All of me hopes Erin isn’t damning me from heaven for wanting these things.
I pass by the nursery and wonder for the hundredth time if this is where Aaron will grow up. Erin didn’t leave out a single detail. She had a mural painted on the wall. A baseball mural. She hated baseball. Another selfless move on her part. Knowing the sport is very near and dear to Griffin and me, she probably hoped that we would share our love of it with Aaron. She conspicuously left any specific team names out of the decorating and it’s obvious to me Griffin doesn’t visit this room or he’d have noticed the array of tiny Yankees outfits I had already purchased.
I descend the stairs and look out on the back porch to find it empty. I sadly think how maybe Griffin won’t frequent Erin’s favorite spot anymore. There’s only one other place he could be. I make my way down to his studio. He doesn’t notice me standing in the doorway so I silently watch him. He’s holding a picture in one hand. And a bottle of Jack in the other.
He stares at a picture of Erin on the display board. He yells, “What the fuck do you want from me?”
I turn to walk away, but my heel catches the doorway and he turns, seeing me before I can escape. “I wasn’t yelling at you, Skylar.”
“I know. I’ll leave you alone. I just wanted to say goodbye. I’m moving back to my apartment.” I walk away.
“Wait,” he calls after me. “You have every right to stay here. It’s your house, too.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what she was thinking.”
“Yes you do.” He walks towards me. “We both do. But what I want to know is how the hell she left us that generic letter. A fucking business deal. Did she have no parting words for us?” He takes a swig of Jack and I’m pleased to see the bottle is still mostly full. He paces around the room. The tension rolling off him is palpable. “Split my fucking ashes. Split my fucking house. That’s it?”
I’ve never seen him so mad before. Except maybe the time he hit that guy at the baseball game. No, this is worse. He’s mad at Erin and she’s not here to defend herself. “That’s not fair, Griffin. She spent the last month giving us her parting words. You know how much she loved you. You know what you meant to her. Did you really need to see it spelled out in some letter rather than remember the words that came directly from her lips?”
“Yes!” he shouts. He points his fingers between us. “You and me, we poured our hearts out to her that last day. We didn’t want her to leave without knowing everything we felt.” He takes another drink. “What if she changed her mind? How am I supposed to know what to do? Where the hell do we go from here? Why the fuck did she think it was okay to leave us without telling us what she wanted? How could she be so selfish?”
I walk over and slap his face. For the second time in my life, I slap him. How dare he?
The picture he was holding flutters to the ground when his hand comes up to feel the reddened flesh of his cheek. I follow the picture to where it settles on the floor only to see it’s a picture of me. The one from Central Park. The one he said was his favorite.
“Selfish?” I shout at him. “You think she was selfish? I’ve never met a less selfish person in my entire life. She gave me her baby. She gave me her fucking husband. Who does that? She’s a goddamn saint. I swear to God if you ever call her selfish again, I will knock a hole in your fucking teeth.”
I’ve never been so mad and upset at the same time. Tears run down my cheeks, yet I’m too pissed off to wipe them. Through my blurry vision, I’m positive I see him experiencing the same two emotions.
He throws the bottle against the wall, shattering it and sending liquid spreading across the tiled floor. “Goddammit, Sky. Quit saying fuck!”
“Why, Griffin?” I draw my eyebrows at him. “Why do you always have such an issue with me saying fuck? What’s your problem?”
He blows out a long breath. “My problem is that it makes me want you, okay? When you talk like that, all I want to do is throw you down and screw the hell out of you.”
My jaw drops. I’m stunned into silence. We stare at each other for about two seconds before our feet propel us forward and our bodies crash into each other right before our lips do.
When our lips meet, I could swear we both cry out in pain. Pain because we hurt that Erin is gone. Pain because we worry that we are hurting her. We pull back slightly and our glistening eyes meet. I can tell he needs this. I need this. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to happen. Rip off the bandage.
He cups my face in his hands and brings his mouth back to mine. Our lips mold together in a perfect, albeit hesitant, sensual dance. But once we allow our tongues to mingle, I lose myself in him. I know our mutual grief is driving this. I know the alcohol he consumed is allowing this. I know my heart craves this. I permit myself, in this moment, to let go of the pain and I hand myself over to him completely.
He picks me up and wraps my legs around him. With our lips still together, he carries me up the two flights of stairs to my bedroom. When he sets me down, we tear at each other’s clothing as if the world is about to end and we have one last chance at being together.
He pulls my shirt up and over my head. His large hands cup my breasts and I moan at the feel of a man’s hands on my body after all this time. Did it ever feel this good to have a man’s hands on my bare flesh? I tremble as he removes my bra and stares at my breasts as his fingers work over each of my nipples. Oh, God. They are so sensitive. I can’t keep my pleasurable groans to myself as I feel my entire body respond to his touch.
I tug on the button of his jeans and he removes his hands from my body only long enough for us to rid ourselves of our remaining clothes.
We stand naked, our eyes wandering over each other. His heated gaze goes cold when it stops on my belly. He briefly closes his eyes when he sees my bump that is now protruding enough to let the world know our secret. Did he forget about it, I wonder? Is he about to stop whatever it is that we’re doing?
Almost immediately he resumes the assault on my nipples, only with his mouth this time. He walks me backward towards the bed and lowers me down, never breaking contact with my breast. At the same time, a hand finds its way to my throbbing clit and I cry out, “Oh, God, yes!”
My pleas make him work harder. His tongue swirls around my nipple. He licks, sucks and nips at it. He inserts a finger inside me and murmurs something about how wet I am. The sensation of his fingers inside me drives me higher. His hot breath against my breast as he speaks deliciously dirty words, telling me what he wants to do to me, makes my insides start to quiver as I ride his fingers, his mouth, his words to an earth-shattering orgasm.
When my eyes are capable of focusing again, I find him staring at me in complete awe. “Shit, Sky. I have to see that again.”
I smile and then find my way to his hard-as-steel length. How can something so soft be so incredibly rigid at the same time? I yearn to put my mouth on him. It’s something I’ve never been a fan of, but the thought of tasting him makes me burn with desire. I rub my hand up and down, taking time to pay attention to his tightening balls as his fingers resume exploration of my well-pronounced curves. I climb down his taut body, making my intention clear while enjoying my tactile perusal of each ripple on his torso. When I glance up at him, I see that his eyes are lidded and full of carnal need.
I take him in my mouth and he shouts my name. My nickname. As I pleasure him he shifts me around so he can fondle my heavy breasts. I work my tongue around the tip of him, then I sink my mouth over him and take him in as far as I can without gagging. My fingers play with his balls and the silky-soft skin of his perineum. He lets out the hottest groan I’ve ever heard. “I’m gonna come in your mouth if you don’t stop.”
His words incent me to work harder. I pump my mouth around him. And in a bold move, I allow my fingertip to press against the pucker of his ass. He bucks his hips, shouting out as powerful shots of semen flood my throat.
I lay my head down on his thigh, watching him recover. His chest rises and falls with such intensity you’d think he’d just run a marathon. He throws his arm over his head and takes some deep breaths. Then he locks eyes with me, his rough voice strained and taut with need. “My turn,” he says.
My insides quiver at his proclamation. He plants his mouth on my breast and I revel in the sensation radiating from my over-sensitive nipple. Every flick of his tongue sends a shot of electricity to my needy clit. He works his way down my body, kissing along my protruding belly as he goes.
When his mouth meets my pulsating bundle of nerves, my body shudders. I feel him smile against me. His tongue finds my opening and he tastes me before returning to the very spot I need him most. His fingers slide effortlessly in and out of my slick walls. My insides are coiled so tight, I feel I will explode if I don’t orgasm this very second. As if hearing my silent plea, he brings his free hand up to pinch my nipple, sending me over the cliff and falling into a fit of spasms as I pulsate around his fingers. “Griffin! Oh, yes!” A stream of tangled, incoherent words come out of me as I try to express what he’s doing to my body.
“Holy fuck, Sky. I have to be inside you. Now.” Before my body has even recovered, he’s pushing his cock inside me, filling me up so completely. When he hits the end of me, we both gasp. He stills. “Don’t move. I need a minute.”
I press my lips together and try not to laugh. He doesn’t want to come yet. I bask in the knowledge that he is so turned on that he has to will himself to stop. That even after coming not ten minutes ago, he’s almost there again. After a long pause, I can’t help but move my hands over him. I explore the ridges of his back with my fingers. I take the globes of his ass into my hands and knead the soft skin over the strong muscles underneath. I work my way up and over his shoulders and finally into his glorious hair.
God, I love his hair. It’s so inherently Griffin. It speaks to everything about him. Unruly, yet in a perfectly kept way. I never realized until now how much I love his hair. I wonder if I could orgasm again merely by running my fingers through it.
“You’re killing me, Skylar,” he breathes into the crook of my neck as he begins to move his hips up and down, back and forth in a slow and controlled motion that has me slowly building up yet again.
I can feel beads of sweat trickle down his back. He’s doing his best not to put his weight on me and squish my tummy. His thrusts become more demanding and he grabs my wandering hands, putting them beside my head as he takes control of me completely. I look into his eyes and we share a moment. A moment of pain. A moment of sadness. A moment of pure unadulterated elation. A moment of emotions so mixed I’m not sure we can fully understand them.
“I’m gonna come,” he says, squeezing a tear from his now-closed eyes. He puts his weight on one elbow and reaches a hand between us to stroke my clit. “I need you. You feel so damn good. Come with me. I need this. God, Sky, I need you.”
His words push me over the edge once again as he stakes claim on my third orgasm. I milk him with my pulsations as we groan into each other’s shoulders. Our groans turn into mutual sobs and we grip each other as if we will slip away if we part. I don’t even know how long we cry in each other’s arms before we both fall asleep out of exhaustion.
~ ~ ~
Light dancing through a seam in the curtains wakes me. Not ready to get up yet, I roll over and bury my head into the pillow. When I take a breath, I immediately stiffen. The undeniable smell of sex permeates the pillow, sending flashbacks of last night through my sleepy head. I had sex with Griffin last night. I had earth-shattering, no-holds-barred, life-altering sex with my best friend’s husband.
On the day of her funeral.
My heart sinks into my stomach and I wonder if I will need to run to the toilet. Nothing has changed. I haven’t changed. I took the first opportunity I saw to jump into bed with him. I cry into my pillow that still smells of him as I silently beg my friend for forgiveness.
I lie in bed for hours, listening for any noises coming from outside my room. What must Griffin think of me now? He’d been drinking. He was clearly upset. He was grieving. I took advantage of that. I became the exact person I was trying to leave in the past.
I get up and throw on my robe, going in search of him so we can fix this. I open my bedroom door and almost trip over my suitcases. I could have sworn I put these by the front door last night. Upon further inspection, I see a key and a note perched on top of them. As my heart races, I open the folded paper and read it.
Skylar,
I’m sorry I took advantage of you. It was a mistake. Stay here—the place is yours. I can’t do this.
Griffin