Walk with Me (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream) (27 page)

The sobs and tears continue freely while I lay in his arms. Donovan says nothing. He doesn’t try to calm me or shush my tears. He just strokes my back and lets me pour it all out. Eventually, the tears stop and the sobbing subsides and we’re just lying there quietly.

That wasn’t a cry of sadness, but more of a cry of mourning and healing. I’m mourning the love I was never given and what I could never have. But it’s also a cry of healing to my soul because I have unconditional love right here with Donovan. He just wants to provide me with pleasure, make me happy. He wants to protect and serve me and cherish my body and soul, and for once, I realize I want to do the same. I want to make him happy and give him what he needs, to support and encourage him in whatever he chooses to do, to love him for all that he is and all that he stands for. I do love him.
This
is true love. Giving of ourselves to each other without expecting anything in return, and when we are both giving at the same time it creates a cycle that spins around and around giving and receiving what we both need.
This
is what is written about in books and shown in movies and I’m living it, feeling it right now.

I’m first to break the silence. “Donovan?”

“Yes, baby?” he asks with trepidation in his voice.

“Why do you love me?” I think I know the answer, but I want to hear him say it himself. I want the sound of his voice echoing the words into my ears.

Not expecting that question, Donovan stills his stroking hands and exhales. “I love you because of who you are. I love you because you are smart and strong and beautiful. You’re strong willed and stubborn at times, but I like that you stand up for yourself. I love how you look at life—like it’s an adventure to you, not something to just survive. I love that you are innocent and naive at times, but somehow sage and worldly. And I definitely love this,” he says as he grabs a handful of my ass and squeezes tightly.

It makes me giggle. That’s my man—one minute so sweet and tender and the very next cracking jokes.

Donovan releases the handful of my ass and strokes my back again when he asks the same question. “Why do you love me?”

I, too, freeze in place, hitching my breath. I’ve never said the words to him, but now I’m ready. “I love you because you’re such an amazing person. You put the well-being of others first. I know that you would stand in front of a bullet for me, if it came to that. I love that you are strong and shielding at times but also tender and caring. I love that you are so levelheaded and focused. I love that you have goals and are driven to succeed at them. You are my rock and I love that I can lean on you for support. And I love that you can make me laugh.”

“That’s all?” Donovan quips. “And here I thought you loved me for my money.” Then he squeezes me tightly with his left arm and rolls me over onto my back. Propping his weight up on his elbow, he wipes the hair away from my face. “I love you, Kenna Sloane, with all my heart,” he declares with piercing eyes.

Smiling with confidence from the words, I declare the same. “I love you, Donovan Alexander, with all my heart and soul.” I pull his face to mine and crush my lips against his, pouring all my passion and emotion into this one urgent kiss. He matches my kiss with his own power until we both slow and break free. But Donovan continues with soft, tender pecks to my lips, the side of my mouth and neck. This moment is perfect, he is perfect, we are perfect.

We lie quietly for a few minutes, basking in the warm light of our declarations before three loud bangs sound at the door. “You guys in there? You’re holding up dinner. We’re going to wait ten more minutes and then start without you.” It’s Sarah’s husband yelling outside the door, and then he’s gone.

With his footsteps marching back to the main house, I exhale a huge breath. Donovan starts to laugh which, in turn, makes me chuckle. He gives me one final kiss. “I guess we better get going before they send out a search party.”

I love Sunday dinners at Donovan’s house. His family is so open and warm, and with all the talking, joking, and laughter, the energy in the house is fun. They never make me feel like an outsider—that I don’t belong.

After dinner today, Mark, who is more like the activities director of a cruise ship, has us all playing Family Feud on Wii—boys versus girls. It’s me, Sarah, Tanya, and Connie against Donovan, Paul, Mark and Joseph. Nick is sitting this one out to watch their daughter, Marie. We are kicking the guys’ butts. Girl power rules. We decide to take a short refreshment break before round two.

Mark comes back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer and offers me one. I hesitate at first because I don’t drink but decide what the hell. I’m at a party, I’m not driving, and I’m only walking all of thirty feet to Donovan’s bedroom. A nice cold beer kind of sounds good right now. Plus, the offer seems like a sign of acceptance from Donovan’s family.

I take the bottle of beer with a smile. “Thanks, Mark.”

“You’re welcome, Kenna. I’m hoping with a little booze in you, you’ll lose that killer focus that’s murdering our team.” Mark gives me a smirk and clinks the neck of my bottle. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” I tip my head back and take a small sip of the chilled beer, while Mark returns to his seat. It’s icy, bubbly, and refreshing. I take my seat next to Sarah, waiting for everyone to return and restart the game.

“So how’s school going?” Sarah asks, turning in her seat to face me.

“It’s going well. I’m finishing up a lot of my core sciences before I transfer and I hear they’re actually better to do in the smaller classes at SMC than the giant lab classes at UCLA.”

Sarah nods. “Yeah, some of the lecture classes at UCLA can be huge. You’re making the right decision to finish most of your lower division courses at SMC.”

“If I had a choice, for cost alone, I would stay at SMC. But I don’t know if they would still guarantee my acceptance at UCLA, if I push it off a year.”

“Expenses can add up quickly. There are books, lab fees, parking.” Sarah counts out on her fingers. “It all adds to the cost of the tuition.”

“I’m thinking of looking for a new job, too. I like working at the health food store, but it may be time for me to get an office job that pays more money.”

Sarah’s face lights up like she has an idea. “I have a friend who is working on a large class-action lawsuit and is actually looking for help with document management. It’s usually offered to law students, but I’m sure you could do the job. It would be a temporary job, just for the case, but sometimes these cases can last a couple years. And if the law firm likes you, they may offer you a permanent job after it’s done. I could give her a call and see if she still needs someone?”

“Oh, that would be great. But where’s the law firm, downtown?” Because that’s the last thing I need, to add a long drive and big gas expense to my already small budget.

“She’s at a firm in Century City. Not far from UCLA or where you’re already working in Westwood. I’ll give her a call on Monday.”

“Thanks, Sarah. I’d appreciate that.”

Tanya and Connie both settle back into their seats with glasses of wine, and the four of us turn to the guys, waiting to start the game. Donovan gives me a wink, which makes me blush.

At this moment the entire situation seems unreal—like I’m an observer of everyone and everything playing out in front of me. I’m sitting with a fun-loving family playing a game. Everyone gets along with each other, acting polite and courteous. No one is yelling or threatening to kick the shit out of another or bash their face in because they misplaced the remote control to the TV. Paul already helped me buy a car and another one of Donovan’s cousins is going to help me get a job. How did I get here? I think I’m falling in love with Donovan’s family, too. I’ve somehow scored on this deal—an amazing boyfriend and his wonderful family.

Mark and Paul wander back into the room and make some snide joke about girls being stupid and take their seats next to Joseph.

Tanya snaps back. “If we’re so stupid, then why all y’all losin’ to a bunch of dumb girls?” Tanya doesn’t take crap from anyone, obviously, a result of privilege from a young age.

“We were just being nice during the first round. We’re showing no mercy now,” Paul challenges.

I catch Donovan’s eyes watching me from across the room and I stick out my tongue at him. I’m feeling more comfortable to be my silly self, to let down my mask that I’m in control at all times. He chuckles at me.

I take a sip from my beer and the expression on Donovan’s face goes from playful to downright disgust. At first I don’t realize what could have caused such a change and I look around to see if someone did something next to me. Then realization dawns on me—it’s the beer, and the disgusted look was toward me.
Uh-oh. I’m in trouble now
.
I don’t want Donovan mad at me, thinking less of me, losing respect for me
. All of a sudden I feel like a little child caught misbehaving, like I’m a spoiled child that did something wrong and needs to be punished. I don’t want Donovan upset with me, but more importantly I don’t like how he is treating me. I lived that way for too many years under my parents’ roof, and I’ll be damned if he thinks
he
is going to treat me that way.

I pick up the bottle of beer with purpose in my actions and look him coolly in the eyes from across the room. I tilt my head back and take a giant swig of beer before wiping the liquid from my lips with the back of my hand. I set the bottle back down on the table and cut him a taunting grin, jutting my jaw toward him. I’ve just challenged him, thrown down the gantlet.
He wants to treat me like a child? I don’t think so.
I dare him to say something to me, because this is not his place, and I refuse to let a man treat me that way ever again.

No one else seems to be aware of the silent discussion occurring across the room between Donovan and me. We’re in our own tunnel, communicating more than words. My independent, defiant ego is rearing her autonomous head, and my heels are digging into the carpet, holding my position. My lips are set in a firm line and my eyes narrow, shooting cutting glances toward Donovan.

“Okay, everyone ready for round two?” Mark interrupts our wordless dialogue. I relieve Donovan of my fiery stares, turning my attention back, focusing on the game. Mark uses the controller to start the game. Sarah is up first for the girls.

I use my determination and drive to battle Donovan, unleashing my fury on the boys, collectively. I pull on all my resources to win this campaign. After about twenty more minutes of jabs and verbal barbs, the girls kick the boys’ butts once again. We handed them their asses on a platter, since they did so poorly. The others may think this was a battle of the sexes—girls against boys, but to me, this was a battle of the wills.

I take my empty beer bottle into the kitchen to throw it away. I don’t hear Mark come into the kitchen behind me until he opens the refrigerator door.

“Do you want another beer, Kenna? I guess my plan to alter your thinking with booze didn’t work after all,” he jokes.

“No, thanks, Mark. I’m kind of a lightweight. One is usually my limit. Plus, I don’t think I can take any more dirty looks from Donovan.”

“Oh. You shouldn’t let him get to you.” Mark opens his beer and leans back against the kitchen counter. “Donovan can be a little bit of a stick-in-the-mud with it comes to that.”

I rest back against the opposite counter facing Mark. “Why is he like that? I bet he had a drink before he was twenty-one.”

Mark places his beer on the counter, crossing his arms in front of him. “I’m sure Donovan has told you about Dillon by now.”

I nod, settling in for Mark’s explanation.

“After Dillon’s accidental overdose, Donovan was lost for a long time. He was only fifteen and both his parents weren’t handling his brother’s death very well, either. Donovan was left on his own to deal with his pain. My parents tried to help him but he shut himself off to everyone.”

Mark runs his hands through his hair and sighs. “Donovan started getting into trouble at school, acting out his emotions. He was fighting a lot and failing his classes, angry at the world. No one could reason with him, calm the pain consuming his heart. Eventually, the school called during his junior year and informed his parents that he missed over two months of classes. He was intercepting the calls and e-mails from the school, so his parents never found out. We all later learned that he was hanging out with the furniture maker down on Main Street. He started hanging out at his shop, watching him work and then slowly started helping him with some of his pieces. That’s how he got to be so good at building furniture.”

I can feel my mouth gaping open at this news. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Donovan seems so levelheaded, so focused. I would have never thought he was like the person Mark is describing. My heart aches for his pain, a knife twisting and turning in my chest. I remember the look of despair he held on his face when he told me about Dillon and how he found him. I know the reason for his pain. I’m the only one privy to his secret burden—he thinks he is responsible for his death. He thinks Dillon would have been alive today, if he wasn’t too selfish to check on him.

“How’d he finish school?” I ask, because I know Donovan went on to college and got a degree, but how did he manage that without finishing high school?