Goodbye to You Page 19

  “Like this?”

  Shay holds my face between his hands and kisses me deeply in the middle of a residential street, in plain view of anyone peering from their windows.

  “Please tell me, as soon as you get those drains out, you’ll ask Dr. J. how much longer you have to wait to have sex? Because you are rockin’ that hoodie, and I can’t wait any more. I’m about to explode.” His sweet, impish smile melts my insides.

  Yeah. Silly. Exactly like that.

  I never want those silly, beautiful things to stop.

  ***

  Shay

  Who thinks getting medical devices removed from your body could amount to one of the most exciting days ever?

  My girlfriend is such a weirdo.

  I guess I’d probably feel the same, though.

  She had those things in for over two weeks. She’s been quite the trooper. The fluid output needed to be below thirty ccs in a twenty-four hour period, but it kept fluctuating. Then some clumps started draining, and we had to wait a couple more days for those to dissipate.

  Despite her frustration, though, she’s kept a positive attitude, trying to be as self-sufficient as possible but not afraid to ask for help. Finally.

  She’s on the table in her cloth exam gown waiting for Dr. Jacoby and she keeps giggling. So not like her. I’m not sure if it’s the diazepam, which she takes before each doctor’s visit because she may get the drains out and she’s a bit squeamish, or the giddiness from finally losing the tubes, that’s making her silly.

  Probably both.

  Dr. J comes in and goes over the log with me. Everything looks in order, so those bad boys are coming out.

  She slides her exam gown down, takes a deep breath and waits. Dr. J pulls the first tube out, a slight squishing sound echoing through the small exam room.

  “Ahhhhhhhcchh.” She shudders, and I don’t blame her. I’m used to the weird noises after having emptied the bulbs for the past couple weeks, but the sound bothers her a bit, and she doesn’t have her ear buds in today. Bandage on, one side done.

  Other side, same reaction. Done.

  “That’s it?”

  “For the tubes, yes. You’ll still need to come in two weeks from now to get the expanders filled, and again every week to ten days. In a few months, we’ll do the exchange surgery.”

  She starts to cry. Dr. J’s probably seen patients cry dozens, maybe hundreds, of times.

  But Thea’s not my patient, and I hate to see her cry for any reason. I pull her gown around her and hold her tight. Over her head I mouth “Thank you” to Dr. J. He nods and leaves the room to give us some privacy.

  She holds on to me, and a fierce protectiveness settles in my chest. “You did it babe. You saw the cancer coming, and you went all ninja on it.”

  “I’m never going to get breast cancer,” she mumbles into my chest.

  I shake my head. We both know there is a minuscule chance it could happen, but less than one percent is better than average. Phenomenal compared to the eighty percent chance she had before the mastectomy.

  She pulls away, sits up straight, and her smile widens.

  “I’m never getting breast cancer.” She practically sings the words.

  “Not a chance.” I grin like a fool.

  “I’m never getting breast cancer!” she shouts.

  The joy in her voice makes me shout right along with her. “You’re never getting breast cancer!”

  The staff outside the door must think we’re crazy, but delirious is more like it.

  “You know what this means?” I ask in all seriousness.

  She sobers. “No. What?”

  “You’re stuck with me.”

  She frowns. “Seriously? I was thinking once I get my new implants I’d go trolling for hot guys in Florida. You know, upgrade. Is Liam still single?”

  She shines her silly, lopsided grin on me.

  My heart skips a beat. “I’m not letting him anywhere near you. And admit it, you can’t do better than me. I am a drainage bulb-emptying rock star. My brother won’t do that for you.”

  “I don’t think anyone would. Thank you for getting in my way, for not taking no for an answer, and for being a general pain in my ass the last couple months.”

  I lean down and press my forehead to hers. “You’re welcome. You’ve been quite a pain in the ass, too. You know what that makes us?

  “What?”

  “Perfect. For each other.”

  Chapter 21

  Thea

  The plastic fuchsia bag crinkles as I reach inside and the silky garments slither through my fingers as I pull the short red nightie and matching robe out of the bag. I hope the nightie fits. Leesh picked the lingerie up at her second job and dropped it off this afternoon.

  I slide the gown over my head and glance down.

  I swipe a towel across the foggy mirror and analyze my reflection.

  Not good.

  The beautiful fabric flatters my nipped-in waist and flared hips.

  My gaze travels to the top and my heart sinks to my toes.

  My barely A-cups are lost in the folds of the voluminous bodice.

  I miss my boobs.

  I thought I’d cried out all of this wretched, feeling-sorry-for-myselfness.

  Nope. Still there.

  A sob shakes my shoulders.

  Stupid tears flow again, and I bang my fist on the wall, bottles from my make-up shelf clattering on the floor. I collapse to the cool vinyl, unable to look at myself.

  “Thea? What’s wrong?” Shay rattles the door handle. If I don’t open it, he’ll pop the lock and come in anyway.

  I pull myself up, quickly throw on the matching robe, and turn the knob.

  “Oh.” He wasn’t expecting the sexy lingerie. Sexy being a relative term. “Baby, you’ve never been more beautiful.”

  I whack him on the chest. “Don’t patronize me!”

  His voice is low. “I mean it.”

  “I’m hideous!” I push past him and run to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Another futile effort because I didn’t lock the door.

  He follows. I turn my back to him.

  “Thea, look at me.”

  I turn around, but don’t look up. His toes curl into the worn tan carpet at the end of the bed. Heat creeps into my face.

  “I can’t.” My throat is so dry my voice cracks.

  “You can’t what?”

  “Look at you. Have sex. Anything!”

  “That’s okay. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready to do.” His fingertips graze my jaw, turning my face up to his.

  The thing is, I do want him. It’s been six weeks, and he’s been nothing but good to me, even when I screamed and cried and threw tantrums. The physical pain was at times overwhelming, and despite the weeks and weeks of therapy sessions, the emotional trauma is worse than I expected. I’m haunted by the strange body the mirror reflects back to me, and I itch to find the body I belong in. Because it’s not this flat-chested one.

  I do crave his touch, however, and think it might make me feel normal somehow.

  I don’t want to reward him for taking care of me. I just want him. My body says yes. Then my brain shuts down.

  “Shay, I’m sorry.” I attempt to turn my head away, but his hands hold my face firmly in place.

  “Do not apologize. I get it, but I won’t deny that I miss this.” He kisses my forehead gently, and I inhale deeply. The fresh scent of his shaving cream lingers. I close my eyes and wait for more.

  “Or this.” His lips whisper across my eyelids.

  “Mmmmmmm.” My own toes flex into the carpet.

  “Do you want me to stop?” His warm breath tickles my ear.

  I shake my head.

  “How about this? I won’t do anything you don’t agree to.”

  I nod.

  “May I kiss you?”

  “Y-yes,” I squeak.

  He dips his head, his lips and mine separated by a breath.

 
; My heart hammers against my ribs. “Please. Yes. Kiss me.”

  His lips press against mine in a soft caress. He keeps his mouth closed until I slip my tongue between his lips, inviting him to do the same. One of his hands slides to the back of my head, pulling me closer.

  He tastes like sweet tea with a hint of tart lemon. I clutch at his tee shirt, balling the worn fabric in my hands.

  He tastes like more. Like I need more.

  He pulls away. I whimper.

  “Do you want to lay down?” His hands smooth the sleeves of the red robe, his palms hot through the cool, thin silk. “Just lay together?”

  “Please,” I croak out.

  He kisses the tip of my nose, and we move to the bed. He folds the comforter down and steps back for me to pass.

  I climb in and fully clothed, he slides in next to me.

  “Sweetheart, can I take my shirt off? I want to feel you against my skin.”

  My stomach flutters. The only bared skin on me right now is on my legs. I hope he doesn’t want me to take anything off. I want to see him, though, drink in his beauty. “Yes.”

  Shay tugs the tee shirt over his head, revealing the hard planes of his chest and abs.

  My fingers itch and twist in the sheets.

  He lies down, reaching his arm underneath my shoulders. I tuck my head into his shoulder, and I shudder at the twinge of discomfort that radiates from my armpit to collar bone.

  “Hey. You okay? Do you need me to move?”

  The pain fades quickly. “No. This is perfect.”

  And it is. I reach up and run one hand across his chest, the light dusting of dark hair crisp under my fingers.

  I draw in a ragged breath. Another.

  “Can I touch you?” His voice catches and he sucks in a breath as I trace my fingers down his hard stomach.

  “Yes.” I hesitate. First robe, then nightgown? Can I do this?

  I want the heat of his hands on my bare skin, though. I sit up and shrug off the robe. He reaches up to smooth the silky fabric off of my shoulders, his tender touch making me shiver.

  I lie down again and bite back a groan as I try to get comfortable.

  The only thing separating me from him is this flimsy nightgown. I swear heat is shimmering off his body. I need that warmth in my hands. I press my palm into his chest and skim down to the button on his pants.

  More.

  His hand circles my wrist. “Don’t.”

  “But I want…”

  “Do you want to, or do you want to for me?”

  I bite my lip. “Both.”

  His fingers loosen. “Only if you want to.”

  His eyes burn with need, the cords in his neck straining. Sweat beads his upper lip.

  I fumble with the button on his jeans, and he brushes my hands aside to finish the task. He stands up and sheds his pants.

  I gulp. I haven’t seen him like this since before…I nod. I can do this.

  I want this.

  He sits back on the bed and leans against the headboard.

  A small pool of moisture stains the gray knit of his boxers. I crawl onto his lap, straddle him, his cock heavy and hard and straining against my wet panties.

  I try to read his eyes, but his heavy-lidded gaze disguises any hint of emotion.

  Is he staring at my chest? Or the relative lack thereof, compared to two months ago?

  My heart stops. He’s disgusted. He’s seen them, the smaller breasts and the scars the whole time he’s been caring for me. But now instead of being a patient, I’m his girlfriend and I finally want to have sex, and he’s repulsed. I drag a leg up to move away.

  His large hand cups my knee. “Wait.”

  He wasn’t staring at my chest. Wasn’t disgusted.

  He was trying to hide the tears shining brightly in his eyes.

  “Thank you,” he whispers.

  I shake my head, scrunching my eyebrows together. “For what?”

  “For living. I can’t imagine losing you to cancer. Now I won’t have to.”

  Tears burn my eyes now. “Shay?”

  “Yes?”

  “Please kiss me.”

  He obliges, this time with no restraint. His fingers curl into my hair as my tongue darts out and rubs against his. The spark kindled by his soft kisses and feathery touches erupts into a five-alarm fire in my belly.

  I’m so hungry, thirsty, and need more. I kiss him harder than ever before. He is just as famished, too. No more controlled, delicate kisses. He grinds his mouth into mine, the pressure bruising, almost brutal.

  It’s wet and sloppy, teeth knocking together. He yelps when I bite his lip a little too hard, and our noses bump when we pull back and dive into the kiss again. Minutes go by, and more.

  Time stops. We may have been kissing for hours.

  His hands leave my hair, and goose bumps pop up along my arms as he skims his hands down. The fabric of my nightgown flutters against my thighs, and his long fingers hover over the strap resting against my collarbone.

  “Thea, may I see you?”

  I stiffen my spine. I gulp for air.

  No. No. No.

  I thought I was ready. Not yet.

  I bury my face in his neck, my tears even hotter than his skin. “I can’t. I don’t want you to see me!”

  My words are lost in my sobs.

  “Shhhhh.” He strokes my hair. “It’s okay. I said before, we do nothing you’re not comfortable with.”

  I think he misunderstands.

  I pull back and sniff, wiping my nose with my arm.

  “Shay. I want to…make love with you. Just with this,” I flick the red silk bodice, “on.”

  His eyes widen. “Are you—”

  “Sure? God yes. I need you, Shay Kelly, like I’ve never needed anyone before. Please.”

  He moves me gently to his side and yanks off his boxers. He grabs a condom from the nightstand before returning to me. He sits on the bed and waits, searching my face for reassurance one more time.

  I take the condom from his hand and tear it open. He arches his pelvis as I roll the latex on.

  I lie down, but he gently eases me back up and plants me on his thighs, his rough hair a delicious tickle on my bottom.

  “Like this. You’re in control. Go as far as you want. Take as much as you want. Or nothing at all. Don’t worry about me.”

  My heart skips a beat. I do want this. No more being afraid. I hike up the skirt of my nightie an inch, two inches. His hands glide over my thighs, making promises of the pleasure he wants to give me.

  I’m so wet, and I ease on to him, wrapping my arms around his neck as he fills me up, stretching me as he moves oh-so slightly. His hazel eyes, shining gold with passion, never break contact with mine. He watches my face, as though searching for a sign of reticence.

  He’s not going to find one.

  I hate how my breasts feel. I can’t let him touch yet.

  But this? The warmth of his arms wrapped around me, his tender gaze? His powerful body underneath mine? Beyond extraordinary. Exciting, but soothing at the same time.

  I rock bath and forth on him only a few times before his shoulders bunch under my hands and his legs stiffen beneath me.

  “Thea, I’m sorry.” He throws his head back and grunts, his eyes rolling up. His fingers slip between my legs, almost in apology, but I know it’s not going to happen, not tonight.

  A laugh explodes from my throat.

  He collapses against the headboard and pulls me to his sweaty chest, the pungent odor of semen and latex clinging to him. He laughs too, a warm chuckle that turns into a deep boom. I shake with giggles and tears stream down my face. I blurt out, “Oh my God, what was that?”

  Honestly, some of the best and worst sex I’ve ever had, rolled into one.

  It wasn’t perfect, but important.

  It will only get better from here.

  Chapter 22

  Thea

  I’d met his parents and uncle in the summer, and so this Christm
as trip to Key West is sort of a homecoming.

  The best thing of all: I hadn’t thought about breast cancer for days. For the first time in nearly a year, not a single thought till now.

  Christmas in Key West is a magical thing, but nearly eighty degrees in December is weird.

  We’re down at the seaport. Da (he insists I call him that), Liam, and Paddy are on the catamaran, which we all spent the day decorating with lights. Instead of a regular parade, Key West hosts a boat parade.

  A local school band kicked off the festivities about an hour ago, and the boats float by now that the sun’s set.

  The creativity of the boats amazes me. Every possible Christmas theme—and island theme, too—is represented. Icicle lights drape over the sides of boats, animatronic reindeer sit on the deck. There’s a giant Snoopy and Woodstock snow globe, and multicolored lights strung in all sorts of shapes: seashells, other animals, anchors, and palm trees.

  Boaters throw candy and prizes at the docks, delighting all of the children scurrying around underfoot.

  Even though the temperature is warm, I sip on hot apple cider to create a Christmas mood.

  Shay presses against me from behind, nuzzling my hair.

  Not even five months ago, I thought no one would ever love me, would only be disgusted by the way I looked after surgery.

  I never imagined this.

  Not only did I fall in love with an amazing man, but he loves me back.

  I also expanded my family. That’s how the Kelly family is. We came back a couple days ago, me with a nearly flat chest while I wait for my exchange surgery, but no one did a double-take. I went from a thirty-six double-D bra down to my current A cup, so a huge change.

  Not a single word, beyond “How are you feeling?”

  They are amazing people, and I love them all so much.

  Shay? He’s incredible. We haven’t made love yet completely naked—I still don’t want to take my shirt off—but he asked to touch my chest, and I finally let him, last night. He asked if he could kiss me there, too. He dropped his head and kissed the hint of cleavage peeking out from the tank top, kissed where the tissue expanders make my chest hard and lumpy to the touch. So different from the soft, rounded breasts I lost.