THIRTY-FOUR

She’s the beginning of every new day.

Roar

“Are you awake?”

I gently rock my hips against Leelo’s ass, which has been teasing me for the past hour, since first sunlight came through the window.

“Mmmm.”

“Been too long,” I groan.

“The kids,” she protests.

“Gwen is back in Toronto and Matt is back across the lake. It’s just you and me, woman.”

“How is it fair that I have to deal with unwanted hair and hot flashes, and you don’t even have a hint of erectile dysfunction?” she complains, muttering with her face in the pillow.

“You don’t like my morning wood?” I bury my face in her hair at the back of her neck, giving my hips a little extra wiggle.

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” she says, turning her face, which now has half her hair plastered to it. I reach up and gently swipe it aside before kissing the corner of her mouth. “It’s that I haven’t shaved in over a week, and I’m pissed that you’re ready to play when I’m not,” she pouts, looking cute as fuck with her sleep flushed face.

I slip my hand between her belly and the mattress, inching slowly down until I feel the small curls at the apex of her thighs. Despite her protests, she spreads her legs slightly and I run my fingertips along the seam of her leg down to the warm heat of her, feeling the gentle abrasion of short hair.

“I don’t care about your stubble,” I mumble, my mouth slightly open as I drag it along the soft skin of her shoulder.

“Roar!” she scolds, blindly slapping at me with her free hand. The only thing she manages to hit is my ass, and I’m taking that as encouragement.

“Hush,” I order, grabbing her hand when she goes for another pass and stretching it over her head against the headboard. “Hold on tight, Sunshine. We’re gonna get this day started right.”

Surprisingly she doesn’t object any further when I coax her to her knees, and line up my angry red cock, teasing her slick folds.

“Tease,” she groans, her face once again buried in the pillows, followed by a loudly hissed “Yessss,” when I bury myself to the hilt inside her soft heat.

“I won’t last,” I warn her, slipping a hand between her legs to play with her clit as my hips helplessly pound inside her. The bed starts rocking, hitting the headboard against the wall.

“Harder, honey,” she pleads underneath me, one of her hands sliding over my fingers between her legs and pressing down.

“I go harder, we’ll be knocking this wall down,” I pant, ignoring the pain in my ribs.

“I need you harder.”

This was more of an order than a plea, but works equally well because now my hips are pistoning furiously. Skin slapping against skin, headboard against wall, and something...

“Fuuuck!” I can’t help yell when, without warning, I go off like the grand finale at the local Canada Day fireworks display.

“Don’t stop,” Leelo begs, and I have to power through a few more strokes, more involuntary muscle memory than coordinated effort, but I know she’s right there when I feel the first pulse rippling over my cock.

“What was that sound?” she asks when we both can breathe normal again.

“Like something rolling around? I heard it to.”

I swing my legs off the bed and duck my head down, reaching my hand as far as I can under the frame. I feel it wedged underneath the mattress up against the headboard; a smooth, cool cylindrical surface. I manage to get a grip, and pull it free.

“You tossed my jar under the bed?”

“What? No! Oh my God. I had that under my pillow when you gave it to me on my birthday. I was so tempted all day, but wanted to save it for bedtime. It must’ve slipped between the mattress and the wall.”

Poor Leelo looks near tears and I quickly kiss her hard on the mouth.

“Relax. I’m teasing you. You’ve been a little busy. We both have. I forgot about it myself.” 

I reach for the jeans I tossed on the floor last night and fish out my wallet from the back pocket. From the billfold I pull a handful of new scraps, unscrew the top of the jar and drop them in.

“More?” she says, smiling at me.

“Every day I write down one lingering thought. Every day since the moment we first met, the prevailing thought has been about you.”

Her hand comes out and strokes my beard, the smile still shining on her face.

“I love you,” she offers, looking me in the eye.

“I know,” I respond, taking my time to watch her happy flushed face on my pillow.

Finally, I lean closer and add, “Because I love you, too.”

Leelo

“You ready for this, Sunshine?”

Even sitting on his lap, I have a hard time hearing Roar’s voice over the engine noise, so I just give him a thumbs up.

Two days after Gwen left for Toronto, the building permits came through.

Bill had filled us in that the network Brian Dinker had set up with the backing of Northern Lights, and the help of Kline, Kline & McTavish, was impressive and had reached as deep as the municipal building and planning department. The law firm closed its doors the week after I found Henry Kline’s dead body, and soon thereafter, Ian McTavish was arrested as well.

Heads rolled at the building and planning department and the moment that happened, all the permits for the Whitefish Motel upgrades and additions were miraculously approved within twenty-four hours.

Bill also mentioned that Wawa was not the only town along the Trans-Canada Highway impacted by the criminal dealings of Northern Lights Development. Other places had been subject to coercion, intimidation, and blackmail to get Edwyn Laramy—owner of Northern Lights and son of software mogul, Walden Laramy—first dibs on the real estate market.

We were just the only town where it had led to murder.

It had taken us a few days to order supplies, set up a schedule, and rent some equipment, but today we break ground, as I’m told is the appropriate term.

First thing on the agenda this morning is to tear down that blasted laundry shed.

“Hand on the gear, baby,” Roar yells in my ear, covering my hand on the knob with his and shifting the gear forward. The large bucket, centered on the front of the bulldozer, jerks and bounces a little when the tracks start rolling, making this less than a smooth ride. It doesn’t diminish the huge grin on my face.

I wave at Matt, who is sitting on the roof of the motel, filming it all on his phone.

“Hands on the wheel,” Roar barks in my ear.

“Sorry!” I do as he asks, but I still feel like a kid on a carnival ride. “Can we go faster?”

I can’t see or hear him, but I can feel his laughter shaking his body behind me.

“Not a race, Leelo.”

The first crunch, when the teeth of the bucket hit the facade of the shed, is a sound I’ll never forget. A symbolic demolition and levelling of the old to make room for a new and better me.

I don’t even notice I’m crying until Roar shuts down the engine, when there’s nothing but rubble left, and turns me on his lap.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concerned right away.

“Nothing’s wrong. Not a single thing.” I smile through my tears and throw my arms around his neck, while the small crowd that showed up—Charlotte, Bill, Patti, and even Travis—starts to clap.

-

“Are you going to read them?”

Roar is lying next to me in bed on his side. Elbow in the mattress, head propped up on his hand, watching me.

We’ve had a good day. No—a great day.

Charlotte brought a cake from a bakery in town to celebrate. Once Roar helped me down off the bulldozer, she hustled us all inside, where we stood around the old kitchen counter, eating cake from paper plates with our hands, because according to Charlotte, Bill had forgotten the forks. A fact he strongly denied. He did bring the napkins, however, which helped.

What also helped was the bottle of champagne that magically appeared from Matt’s backpack, along with a stack of plastic cups.

It was the absolute best start to the day.

The next seven hours flew by, as the guys used the bulldozer to dig and level the beginnings of the foundation for the three cabins along the water’s edge. I volunteered to haul every scrap of roofing, wood, and brick from the rubble pile we left, into the wheelbarrow and up the makeshift ramp to dump in the big container in the parking lot.

It was cathartic. By the end of the day, my muscles were sore and heavy but my heart felt light and free.

We barely managed to wolf down a few sandwiches for dinner before we got ready for bed.

That’s where I am now, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, playing with the lid of the glass jar for the past five minutes. Clearly, I’m driving Roar nuts.

“What if I’m reading them in the wrong order?” I’m not sure why I’m delaying this. Is it because I’m afraid I’ll jinx the good thing we have going? Or maybe that something he wrote will hurt my feelings?

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, taking the jar from my hands. “But I’ll put them in order for you if that makes you feel better.”

“How could you possibly remember?” I question him, looking at the large number of scraps in the jar.

“I’ll remember when I read them.”

“Hand me the jar,” I say, taking it back, and immediately unscrewing the lid and turning it upside down in the middle of the bed.

I only hesitate for a moment when I pick up the first paper, and read it out loud; “Peaches & cream; every rich and succulent inch.”

“Easy,” Roar says. “That was the first time I saw you naked. Well, your naked reflection in the mirror of your bathroom. You had the door open a crack and had only covered your front.”

“In the blue of endless skies in her eyes, I see a raging storm.”

“That’s the day I hauled your ass off the roof. The first time I looked in those pretty eyes. You were pissed as hell that day.”

I chuckle at the memory, before grabbing one more.

“A careful touch has the power to wipe the battle from her eyes.”

“A yes,” he says, with a smile. “The first time we made love. You were so jumpy and I was nervous as fuck I’d make the wrong move.”

“How is it possible that feels like years ago, when it really was only a few months?” I want to know.

“Dog years,” he deadpans, earning him a slug on the arm with my fist. “Ouch. Keep going.”

For the next two hours, I read out every scrap of paper, and he tells me the context for his beautiful words. By then, I’m in tears, which shouldn’t be a surprise, I’m like a leaky faucet these days.

“You’re a poet. I love them.” I gently brush my hands over the pieces of paper littered around me. “Each one of them.”

“I’m glad,” Roar growls, shifting on the bed so he can drop his head in my lap and circle my waist with an arm. “Because I don’t think I could stop writing them if I tried.”

He lifts his closed hand in front of me, before turning it palm up and slowly opening his fingers, exposing one more piece of crumpled paper.

“Today’s thought.”

I pick up the scrap and carefully unfold it, silently reading what it says.

––––––––

She’s my fantasy, my fortune, my fate, and my future.