I grabbed my phone, debating whether to call Laurel. Maybe I was overdoing it. I had called her so often in the few days she had been gone. She must sense my calls weren’t about the girls, but I missed her being around. I missed hearing her talking and playing with them. They missed her too. Although they were more receptive towards me, they were a little more restrained than when Laurel was around. They needed her. I needed her.

Now that the truth was out, I felt like scum for trying to hide our marriage by removing my wedding band. Even if our wedding was only on paper, I had gone so far as to insist we share the same bedroom. And I was the one who wanted more, while she seemed content to fulfill her duties as a mother only, and not as a wife as well.

Laurel confused me. I wasn’t looking for love and attachment. Neither was I looking for commitment, and she wasn’t either. She went to bed at night as though it didn’t even bother her being in the same bed as me. If only I could get the last night of Jamaica off my mind. Each time I remembered, I wanted her again.

The phone in my hand lit up a second before the vibration began. Laurel. I had to school myself into not answering the phone on the first ring. I couldn’t decide what it was about this woman that gave her a hold on me. Was it the way she handled my kids? Or the way she handled me? She wasn’t afraid to disagree with me or rope me into activities with them. She was a natural born caregiver.

“Good mor—”

I didn’t get to greet her properly as loud sobbing and babbling cut me off from the other end of the line. She was incoherent as she gasped for breath, trying to talk while crying. I couldn’t make out a word.

“Laurel,” I said, trying to get her attention. “Laurel, honey, I can’t understand what you’re saying.” She was freaking me out the way she was carrying on. I couldn’t tell if she was hurt or what had gone wrong.

Blubbering followed more blubbering before she dragged in a deep breath. “It’s my mother—she’s gone.”

“Gone?” I asked in confusion. “Gone where? Isn’t she at the hospital?”

“Oh, God, Jarrod, she died!” she cried, the sobs starting again. “Mom d-d-died this mo-mo-morning.”

“What?” I exclaimed in shock. “What happened? I thought she was recuperating well.”

“So-so did I.” That set her off into another wailing that broke my heart. And she was alone. But she didn’t have to be.

“Where are you now?” I asked her. “Is there anyone with you?”

“At the house,” she responded. “I’m alone.”

“Can you give me the address?”

“You-you don’t have to come,” she hiccupped.

“I’m coming, so give me the address already.” I retrieved the pen on my desk and scribbled down the address she gave me in Taylor.

“Don’t bring the kids,” she pleaded with me. “I don’t want them to see me this way. It may trigger a response over losing their mother.”

“Okay, I’ll come alone,” I assured her. “I’ll get Mrs. Philpott to look after them.”

“Bu-but we can’t both leave them,” she argued, sniffling.

I was touched that she worried about the twins when she was going through her own grief. No wonder I had feelings for this woman. She was selfless.

“They’ll be fine,” I told her. “Right now, you need me.”

When she didn’t contradict my statement, I knew she really needed a friend. After assuring her once more that I’d be there in a few hours, I informed Mrs. Philpott that I’d be away and asked if she could stay with the girls for a few days. She affirmed she would.

Explaining to the children that I had to go away for a couple days to check on Laurel was a bit difficult.

“Why can’t we come with you?” Anabelle asked, her face sad and disappointed.

“I need some time to talk to Laurel,” I answered, squeezing her shoulder gently. “She’s not feeling too well right now and needs a friend.”

“But we’re her friends too,” Anabelle pointed out logically. “We should go with you. We miss Laurel.”

“I know you do, but she’ll be home soon.” On second thought, I planted a kiss on their foreheads. “Be good girls for Mrs. Philpott, okay? Laurel and I will call you before you go to bed tonight.”

I packed an overnight bag quickly and decided to drive myself to Taylor. On the way, I called Laurel several times, but she wouldn’t answer. I burned rubber getting there, fretting and cursing that she had to go through this now. I had never heard her speak about any other relative or even a friend. Only her mom. And to lose her… Well, she wasn’t much different from me now. No family as far as I could see, no siblings, no friends. I was a loner, and Laurel and my daughters were the closest I’d been with people since the death of my parents and brother.

I found the house with little difficulty, identifying the modest one-story structure as the right place by Laurel’s car parked at the front on the lawn. I pulled up beside hers and clambered up the steps to the porch. I knocked on the door since there wasn’t a doorbell, shuffling from side to side. When there was no answer, I tried the knob and the door was unlocked. I pushed it open.

“Laurel,” I called, loud enough to be heard but not to frighten her.

I followed the sound of sniffling to the living room where she sat on the floor, her back pressed against the sofa. She had an album on her lap and flipped through it slowly. Her complexion was pasty, and her slumped shoulders spoke of defeat.

Without a word, I approached her. She didn’t look up, even when I lowered myself to sit on the floor next to her. Words weren’t necessary. Sometimes, words made it worse. I remembered that from losing my own family in one blow. She needed to grieve and have someone with her. I didn’t have anyone to rescue me from myself then, which was one of the reasons I’d turned to the twins’ mother even though she had been slowly self-destructing too.

I wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and she turned into me. She threw her arms around my neck and buried her face in my chest, crying hard. I let her and didn’t count the minutes impatiently. I waited for her to express herself in a natural healing process. Soon, she was exhausted and leaned heavily against me, sniffling. I reached for the tissue on the center table and handed it to her to mop up her face and wipe away her tears.

“How are the kids?” was the first thing she asked.

I sighed. “They’re fine, Laurel. More importantly, how are you?”

She gulped loudly. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like it’s a shock. Like she’s not really gone, just somewhere about, but then it sinks in and it’s so hard.”

“I know. I know it hurts like hell losing the people you care about.”

“How did you handle it?” she asked. “I don’t know how I’m going to handle this. She was my only family after my dad died. She wasn’t just my mother. She was my friend. We were very close.”

I held her face between my hands and lifted her head so she could look at me. “That’s where you’re wrong, Laurel,” I contradicted her. “You do have family. You have us. Me. Ana. Isa.”

Tears pooled in her eyes again and her bottom lip trembled. “Thank you,” she said and turned her head slightly so she could kiss my palm.

The heat of her kiss traveled from my palm and settled in my groin. That kiss was the closest we’d been to sharing intimacy since our honeymoon. I tried to ignore my state of arousal at a time like this, when she was grieving, but she closed the gap between us and kissed me.

Her kiss was soft, a whisper of breath against my lips, before hers claimed mine. She rubbed the plumpness of hers over mine softly, as though she was noting the differences. Her tongue peeked out, and with a groan, I sucked it into my mouth. The tone of the kiss changed to desperate and needy as she slung one leg over me and straddled me on the floor. I could taste the saltiness of her tears on her lips as I deepened the kiss, running my hands over her back and cupping her bottom through the shorts. Her mouth was a cavern of sweetness that drugged my senses with a sugar rush that left me craving more.

But I had to stop her. I wanted to do nothing more than to pull her clothes from her body and sink my cock into her. I wanted to watch her face contort with pleasure as I thrust my thickness into her tightness. But not like this. Not after she had expressed her desire that she and I not be involved in a sexual relationship. I would be taking advantage of her in her weakness.

Besides, the next time I made love to her, I wanted it to be with both our senses intact, conscious of what we were doing. The first time had taken both of us by surprise, and we’d plunged beneath the flow of a romantic moment. I wanted no doubt afterwards about what had taken place between us. The next time I drove my sword into the sheath of her body, she would want it as much as I did for what it was and not simply to the relieve her pain.

“Laurel,” I said, drawing back from her and pressing her head to my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. I’m here for you, and so are the girls.”