I shake off her question. “When I was eighteen, I also learned that St. Aidan was an Irish Saint. Not that it was the only reason I changed my mindset, but it gave me some perspective. Things could seem one way and in actuality be quite the opposite. I understood that what my parents put me through didn’t have to define me, not on surface level.”
Magnolia clutches my calves in a death grip like I might disappear. Her mouth is open, and I fear she might ask something else.
“I became a SEAL. The manliest career path I could find. I could make a difference in the world, too. Thank God I hacked it and made it through training. I was really fucked up back then. I had single-minded focus and something to prove, except I resented my reasons for choosing this job. I grew to love it eventually and now I know there’s nothing else in the world that would make me happier.”
“Your mom didn’t stop it?” Magnolia asks wincing. “She’s your mother.” Her lips praise the last word. As they should.
I try to smile, but it reflects as a grimace. “All mothers aren’t as wonderful as you are. That’s a sad fact. Looking back, I think she honestly thought he was doing what was best for me. Turning me into a man.” I swallow hard, remembering all the times I went to my mother hoping for her warm arms of comfort and got turned away instead. “I have to believe she was misguided and feared him as well. The alternative is she had a child she didn’t love. That’s sadistic by anyone’s standards, right?”
A tear falls down her face as she shakes her head. “I can’t fathom someone not loving you.”
“Because you’re a good person,” I choke out.
“No, because you are so wonderful, smart, kind, selfless, perfect, and loveable. You are caring, Aidan. You would lay down your life to protect our country, for strangers you’ve never met. You are aSaint.”
I squeeze her foot. “I’m a little bit fire, too, though right?” My voice breaks.
“Only in the bedroom,” she agrees, choking on an exasperated sob.
“Deal,” I say. I sigh out a long breath and turn my face to the bubbles—away from her piercing gaze. “My father beat me when I slept in my bed. He told me real men sleep on floors. It hardens us, makes us strong instead of feeble. It’s irrational. Completely and utterly irrational. He slept in a bed. I never thought anything of it back then. I just assumed that he’d learned his lessons like I was doing and now he got to have comfort. He’d proved himself already. How fucked up is that?”
“You had a bed in your room but weren’t allowed to sleep in it?”
I nod. “I have a hard time sleeping because of the years I spent on the floor, or sleeping with one eye open when I wassupposedto be on the floor. I hate that it’s affected me, but it’s the one thing that lingers. The very last fucking remnant of Cosby Mixx that is left in my body. I’m sorry, Magnolia.”
“Why are you apologizing to me?” She leans up and straddles my legs. “Look at you,” she whispers, laying a bubbly hand on the side of my face. “Look at how magnificent you are despite the role model you had.” She shakes her head and pecks my lips gently. Leaning away, I realize her eyes are glassy. “Who cares if you have to sleep on the floor. Or a counter. Or a bed. Or on a cliff in Timbuktu? I don’t care, that’s for sure. Aidan, I’m here, hand on your heart, because I love you and all that encompasses. Never be ashamed of your past. It doesn’t determine your future. You do.” Her hand slides down the side of my neck and ends on top of the right side of my chest.
My throat clogs and I have to close my eyes against the onslaught of emotions brought forth. I pull her warm body against mine as close as I can get her, and she tucks her face into my neck. “You do,” I say, inhaling the mix of soap and skin.
She stiffens in my arms. “I do what?”
“You determine my future, Magnolia.”
Her neck works as she swallows. I speak before she can respond. “I’ve never told a woman about my past. Never thought I would, either. Not because I’m ashamed. Why would someone else care? What am I achieving by being honest? Nothing.” The magnitude of what I’ve just done hits me square in the chest and a pang of anger tinged relief waves over me. “It’s you. It’s all you,” I say, slamming my eyes closed.
“Why did you tell me?” Magnolia asks, breaths pushing against my skin, in cool contrast to the water surrounding us.
“I want you to know me,” I reply. “And having your hand on my heart feels right. The only thing that’s felt this right in my entire life.”
Magnolia clutches my pec muscle tighter and her breasts graze my body as she breathes in deeply, steadying her voice. She whispers praise— affirmations, things I’d be embarrassed about if anyone else heard, but things I crave to hear nonetheless, sentiments that mean more than she realizes because they are words that have never been spoken before. Not to me. I shake my head in disgust—for the fact I’ve waited my entire life for this kind of validation. Her voice is low, steady, punctuated with a fierce, loyal love I’ve never known from a woman, just from the SEAL brotherhood. Magnolia lists the things she loves about me and takes the pieces of the little boy hiding under the table and puts him back together. Maybe not perfectly, but there’s a sense of wholeness when she holds me and speaks like this. Shuddering, I let my whole body relax completely—all the tension of holding this in for my entire life. Magnolia puts her hands on either side of my face. “Do you want to see your parents again?”
I shake my head. “I can’t.” I don’t want to. Saying ‘can’t’ seems easier. There’s a finality in the word can’t. There’s a reason parents always tell their children not to say it.
Licking her lips, she casts her gaze sideways. “You can, Aidan. It might be what gives you closure, lets you move on completely. I’ll go with you if you want. Don’t you want him to know you aren’t broken?”
I’ve considered this for many years, thought what it might be like to face them both again. Over the years, they’ve tried to reach out to me, but after a bit of dodging them, they gave up. In a twisted way, I think my father will take credit for how I’ve turned out. That he alone is responsible for my successes. My stomach flips, and I hold my breath. “I don’t want them to get an ounce of satisfaction,” I say, trembling at the thought.
“You could tell him that you strived to become the opposite of him in every way. It’s not like you’re imagining,” Magnolia states, pressing her full lips into a firm line. For the first time during this whole conversation, my dick responds to the naked woman sitting on my lap.
She feels it and smiles. “Seriously. You should think about it.”
I agree. She asks where they live and what they do, and I tell her as much as I know about them, or rather what I last knew about them, and I can see the wheels spinning behind her crystal eyes. Telling her to stop formulating whatever plan she’s concocting is moot. I’ve come to realize once she sets her mind on something there’s little that will get in her way. I like that about her. Love it, in fact.
There are several silent seconds in which we regard each other with new, faultless eyes. That truthful moment when you discover a new layer of a person and love them a little more for it. She burrows deeper—seeping into the cracks between those detached pieces, repairing my soul, caulking the errors, and smoothing over the imperfections with a tender grace. Taking the side of her face into my wet hand, I bring her lips to mine. The kiss is a flutter of wet lips and breaths.
“Thank you,” she says, brushing her mouth against mine. “For being honest with me. It makes me feel a little better about showing you my dumpster fire.”
“Making this about you now?” I tease, nipping at her bottom lip.
