To Hold and to Heal (BWWM Interracial Romance) (10 page)

             
Her thoughts raced, but his kisses stilled her, cleared her head. She sighed, his lips running over her cheeks, her neck. He groaned as she shifted underneath him, wrapping her legs around his back. “Don't leave me,” she whispered softly.

             
And then he was inside of her. He gasped at her tightness, her wetness. She pressed her lips against his, his body rocking inside of her, his heat chasing away her doubt, fear. She felt the mounting waves of pleasure in her body pulling him closer. He looked down at her, watching as she climaxed against him. He slowed inside of her. “I have to stop,” he mumbled, gasping against her mouth. She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, forcing him deeper inside of herself.

             
“Never,” he whispered, “I'll never leave you.” His hips moved in quick movements, deeper. “I can’t hold out,” he moaned. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck as he met his own climax, deep in her folds. He lifted his face from her neck and traced her lips with his thumb. She sighed as he looked at her.

             
She kissed him gently, still feeling him inside of her, the weight of his body heavy on her.

             
He smiled. “I can't lay like this anymore.”

             
She rolled her eyes and playfully pushed him away.

             
She smiled at him as he stood and stretched his leg. The same pleasant feelings of sleepiness were washing over her. She wanted to lie down, forget the world, believe in his words. She yawned as he sprawled out next to her. He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I mean it.”

             
She settled into the blankets next to him, letting him pull her into his grasp. His heat filled the space around her. He kissed her forehead.

             
“We should talk about this,” she said softly, already falling asleep.

             
“No,” he pushed her hair back from her face. “There's nothing to talk about. I'm yours.”

             
She smiled. “Don't say anything else, just let this be.”

             
“Then don't disappear again,” he said, reaching over her and switching off the light. The room was cast into darkness. Nice settled into the hollow of his arms, drifting into sleep.

Chapter Six

             
Nice looked through the piles of bills and receipts spilled out on the desk. She flipped through them quickly looking for anything that she could have missed. Any sort of collateral that she could use to stave off the bank for just a little bit longer. Until she could figure something else out. She knew she wouldn't find anything. She’d been running the place on hard work and hope for months. Any sort of property her father had owned had already been liquidated. 

             
It was late in the afternoon but in the windowless back office of the bar it might as well have been midnight. She was out of time.

             
“I'm really sorry, Bernice, but really, there's nothing more we can do here,” the loan officer, Matt, had said over the phone. She had started making phone calls as soon as Alden had dropped her off at the bar. “You don't have anything to back up any kind of loans or extensions at this point. Excuse me for being blunt, but your father is dead broke.”

             
Matt had sighed and continued, “Look, at this point there's really nothing to do. You have a little less than 90 days. If you want my advice, sell it and be done with the whole thing.”

             
Nice had thanked him and hung up the phone. Now she was sitting in front of the pile of bills. She gathered them up and stuffed them into a rusty filing cabinet. It didn't matter anymore. She’d been fighting a losing battle for a long time.

             
She picked up her cell and dialed Peggy.

             
Peggy answered on the third ring. “Where have you been?”

             
“Hey,” Nice replied. “With Alden.”

             
“What? Really? Oh my god! Do you like him? Is he still here?”

             
“I don't know. It's weird.”

             
“That a nice guy likes you? Yeah, that's super strange,” Peggy said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

             
She thought about Alden that morning, refusing to leave. His heat, his kiss. She shook the memories away. “I'm sure he's trying to get something.”

             
“I'm sure he's trying to get something too. . .” Peggy replied with a laugh, the meaning not lost on Nice.

             
“He's already gotten that, multiple times so I really don't think that’s what he's sticking around for.”

             
“Oh!” Peggy's shock was evident and Nice regretted telling her immediately. “He's staying?” Peggy asked. “Oh my, this is serious! Well as long as you're safe. Wait! You have been safe, haven't you?”

             
“Well. . . most of the time?” Nice felt her face turning red.

             
There was silence on the line and then, “Oh. My. God! I can't believe you! Nice! This is so not you! Oh wow! I don't even know what to say!”

             
“I know! I know! This is so stupid! I just, he's just,” she growled in aggravation. “I called the bank today,” she said, forcing the subject to change.

             
Peggy caught on. “Don't think that you can just drop it like that! You haven't had a boyfriend in forever.”

             
Sighing, Nice dismissed the idea. “He's not my boyfriend, Peg. He's just some guy. I have bigger issues.”

             
Peggy snorted. “Some guy? You don't just let some guy sleep with you let alone do it without protection. This Alden is not just some guy. He might be the guy.”

             
“Peg, I don't want to talk about it. Everything is weird enough right now.  I've got real problems. I don’t have time to be all worked up about a boy.”

             
“Ain't nothing 'boy' about him. From what I saw, he's all man. Doesn't that cane make him look distinguished? Oh my god! We should all go somewhere for dinner! I want to check him out, get to know him.”

             
“Peg, stop it! I'm losing the bar. For real this time.”

             
The words hung in the air. It was the first time she had said them out loud. Admitted to herself or anyone one what was coming down the line. “Well,” Peg finally said, breaking the silence. “Is that really a bad thing? I mean, the place is a hole.”

             
Nice pulled herself out of the desk chair and laid down on the cot. “I know, but it's all I got. Besides, Dad put everything he had into this place. If I lose it. . .”

             
“Who gives a shit about that?”

Nice was surprised at the venom in her friend's voice. Peggy was nothing if not blunt.

“If he cared about the bar and you, he wouldn't be literally drowning in booze. Fuck him and fuck that place. You've given enough. You’ve spent your whole life taking care of him and that damn bar. You need to think about yourself for a change.”

             
“Peggy! You know I can't do that! I have employees and someone has to be here for Dad. I'm all he's got left.”

             
Peggy's tone stayed serious. “Nice, I don't get on you often but listen, this is a miracle. Let that place sink. Your employees suck. They’re the worst. And your Dad is a grown ass man. You have to live your life. Stop living for everyone else and start living for you.”

             
“Oh god, Peggy, what did you get that off of? A Lifetime movie somewhere? This is real life. I have responsibilities!”

             
“And it's your life! That you can finally start living! I've watched you breaking your back for that place since you were twenty years old. The last six years! Just walk away from it. And don’t look back. Ever.”

             
She started to argue, but then stopped. She closed her eyes.

Would losing this place really be that bad?

“Look, I've still got a little time. I'll think about it. Okay?”

             
“Fine. And while you’re at it, go by the drugstore and pick up some Plan B.”

             
“Peggy!”

             
“What? I'm just being practical. Alden seems like a nice enough guy, but we've known him for five minutes.”

             
“I will take care of my own reproductive health, thank you.”

             
“I gotta go, Nice. It's almost five. I have to pack up so I can get home. I'll call you back tonight.”

             
“Oh shit! You're still at work. I'm sorry!”

             
Peggy made a dismissive sound. “Whatever. You know I don't give a shit about this job.”

             
Laughing softly, Nice said her goodbyes and hung up the phone. She looked around the office, thinking about Peggy and how carefree she was.
             
Wishing she could be like that.

             
Her eyes caught the package from Alden that she still had yet to open. Sighing, she reached over, pulling it off the desk and on to the cot with her.  A tug at one end of the ribbon caused the whole knot to come loose in a shower of silver and green. Nestled inside was a binder. Plain, black, nondescript. She pulled it away from its tissue paper confines and turned it over in her hands. No title, nothing to explain it.

             
She opened it to find a notebook page filled with tight slanted handwriting. She flipped quickly through and saw all the pages were the same. Page after page of letters in the same handwriting.

She turned back to the first page and started reading.
Dear Bernice,
it started. It was an apology. A very stark and formal apology. It ran through the details of her brother's death. What an upstanding man he had been. All the things Alden had said when he saw her on the first day. And then signed, very formally with his name and rank.

             
The next was much the same. And the next. But then something started to change. His handwriting was the same, but the letters were more personal. There were pictures attached to some of the letters. The first was of Alden in the hospital. He was smiling, but his green eyes held no light. He was covered in stitches still and his hair was starting to grow back.

             
Dear Bernice,
changed into
Dear Nice,
and then just
Nice.
She smiled as he detailed getting the puppy.
My parent's got me a dog. I guess they thought it would get me out of bed and not paralyzed? They meant well, but I thought about telling them that if they had gotten him when I was five maybe I would have never left for the Army. It's not true but it's hilarious when Mom starts feeling guilty. She does this full on fainting routine. Clutching at imaginary pearls and all. But still, the dog is nice. He's quiet. And it's someone else’s job to clean up after him. I think I'll name him Roscoe. He's such a little guy.

             
Attached to the letter was a picture of him with the dog. The scars on his face were still noticeable, but the stitches were all gone. The dog was small. A fluffy mutt, mostly gray with some white spots.

             
He detailed his physical therapy. Apologizing for how short the letters were but explaining that he was exhausted.
I wonder if it was like this when I learned to walk the first time? Probably not. It was all new then. Now I have to relearn everything. This all feels like a lost cause. It hurts and my body doesn't listen to me willingly anymore. It's like I'm fighting myself at every turn but everyone keeps saying I'm doing better and talking about hope. But I don't feel any different. It feels the same as it felt right after the accident. When I wasn't dead.

             
Nice squinted at the page. These were Alden's words. All of it. They were his thoughts and he had been writing her at least once a week for almost three years. And she understood how he felt because she felt like that now. All the time. The pictures were few and far between, but they showed him getting better. From bed, to wheelchair, to walker, to cane. His hair grew out into loose ringlets and a beard. The dog got bigger, from a tiny puppy into a massive hound with heavy paws and please forgive me eyes.

             
He talked about his work. Managing the family business. His parents passing off more and more duties in an effort to keep him occupied until finally he was in control of the whole business. He wrote about it, covering the basics in bits and snatches of information. Manufacturing soap of all things.