A predatory look flashed across his face as his hips pressed into mine until I was wedged between the counter ledge and him. “And all I want is you.”
He slid my wet hair over my shoulder to kiss the back of my neck as I felt him move inside me. My cry echoed in the bathroom as he moved deeper, lifting me off of my feet. My hands curled into fists, clasping onto anything, thin air included, to hang on.
Grant’s arm slid in front of me, his other staying braced around my hips. His hand dropped open between mine. “Hold on to me, Ryan,” he rasped. “Hold on and don’t let go. Ever.”
When my trembling hands found his, he folded them in his strong grasp. His wet chest pressed into my back as he moved in slow, deep thrusts. His grunts tangled with my cries, until I knew neither of us would be able to last much longer.
“Ryan?” His fingers tangled tighter around mine as he seated himself as far as he could. “With me?”
My head bobbed as I felt the first wave of my orgasm come over me. “Always.”
Grant’s head fell beside mine, his breath coming hard as he thrust inside of me one last time, coming with me. “And forever.”
AFTER GRANT LEFT, I couldn’t have slept if I wanted to, so I reassembled the room we’d managed to make creative use of. Who would have thought a chaise could be used in so many ways? Who would have thought so many lamps could topple over and not break?
Charlie was still asleep at seven, so after checking on her, I went downstairs for a little coffee and a lot of reflection. I felt like every facet of my life required some careful deliberation, from my relationship with my daughter, to my relationship with Grant, to my health. So much had changed in less than a month, and it seemed that as soon as I came to terms with one thing, five more were thrown at me.
I’d have to explain to Charlie what was wrong with me. I’d managed to skirt her questions last night after the game, but I wouldn’t be able to keep that up for much longer. The talk would have to come soon. I’d had a year to prepare for it, but I still felt totally at a loss. How did a parent tell their child something like this? How did they explain it in a clear and concise way when it came with so many implications?
Prepared or not, it was essential. Charlie needed to know. That was all I’d worked out by the time I’d finished my first cup of coffee outside, overlooking the grounds as the sun lit up the world around me.
Next, I let my mind hover on the subject Grant had brought up last night. I knew we needed more information and there’d be no easy decision, but despite my attempts to keep hope buried, some seedlings of it had burst through the surface. I wanted to hope that one of these experimental drugs would deliver that miracle Grant had mentioned. I’d take a fraction of a miracle. As a mother, I needed to hope.
So measured hope. That’s what I could allow myself. That’s what I could afford. Not the blind variety I’d clung to at first. I could hold on to the hope that some European experimental drug might be up to the task of giving me more time, giving me more days with fewer symptoms. At this point, I’d be thrilled to still feel “present” on Charlie’s tenth birthday.
So talk with Charlie—sooner rather than later.
Renewed hope for some drug to be up to tackling some of this disease—measured and careful.
That left Grant.
For all of my determination and efforts to keep a distance between us, it had only taken him two weeks to prove just how pointless it was to try to keep any measure of distance between us.
That wasn’t so much what I was worried about. Being close to him came with its complications, and I hated the thought of him hurting again when I left him, this time, due to no choice of my own.
It was clear to me after last night that, whatever circumstance we found ourselves in, Grant and I were meant to be together. In whatever way life allowed. Trying to deny that was like trying to deny a person’s thirst for water. It was in my very makeup—he was in my very makeup. I’d love Grant until my last breath, and I knew he’d love me until his last, despite mine likely coming decades before his.
My worries stemmed not from what I knew for certain, but what remained unsaid between us.
I hadn’t told him everything. Not yet. Not because I was scared of telling him, but because saying it out loud would make it real. There’d be no pretending that it was just some nightmare I’d wake up from at any moment.
There’d be no pretending that while my life might be ruined by this disease, at least my loved ones would be immune to it.
I was surprised he hadn’t figured it out on his own yet, but it wasn’t as though he hadn’t had a lack of stuff to process without the conclusion he had yet to arrive at. I had to tell him soon.