"Yes, please," she said.
I stood and Kira sat up, moving back against the pillows at the headboard. I took a moment to drink her in: her mahogany hair splayed out all around her, her green eyes lazy and half closed, the expression on her face one of pure satisfaction, her naked beauty fully on display—that beautiful body I’d just been inside. Before I forgot the water and returned to bed to enjoy her again, I turned and headed for the bathroom. When I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I was surprised to see the smile I hadn't even realized I was wearing.
**********
"Will you tell me about it?" she asked softly, leaning up and kissing my neck. We'd just made love for the second time and were lying against the pillows, Kira's head resting on my chest.
I paused, confused for a second about what she might be talking about. "You mean going to prison?"
She nodded, her lips still on my skin, the scent of her hair drifting up to me and making me feel peaceful and content.
I sighed. I wanted her to know everything about me. I wanted to share things with her I had never shared with anyone, but forcing the words out was difficult and not something I had any practice with.
I smoothed my hand down her silken hair, grasping a handful of it. "I had just gotten back from New York where I had gone to see my mother."
"You went to see your mother?" she asked, surprised.
I nodded. "The trip virtually ended before it had even begun. I've tried to put it out of my mind. But back then, I . . . well, I had graduated college, and I thought if she saw me, saw the man I'd become, that she'd, I don't know, fall to her knees and beg me for forgiveness. I envisioned just that very thing as stupid as that sounds." I made a small scoffing sound. "I flew to New York and looked her up, went to her door with no invitation." I was silent for a moment remembering the hope I'd carried so close to the surface as I'd stood in front of her apartment. "She was married, had a family—two young sons."
"She must have been glad you came to see her," she said softly.
I made a sound that would have been a laugh if there were any amusement in it. "No. She was so bitter—told me I ruined her life, told me she had been on the verge of a huge career when I put an end to that. She said she was glad she didn't have to look at me every day and be reminded of all she could have had. Then she asked me to leave. The worst part, though, was the way she looked at her two other boys while I was there. And I realized that it wasn't that she was incapable of love—it was just she was incapable of loving me." I delivered the words as casually as I could, but I felt the slight flush on my own cheekbones. The memory of that moment still burned like a red-hot brand.
"Gray," she said, a whole world of compassion in her eyes as she reached up and stroked my cheek. I leaned in to it.
"I flew into San Francisco and decided to go to a bar. I needed a drink, or ten."
"You were hurting," she said.
"I . . . yes. God, if I had just gotten on the road and come home," I admitted. My voice cracked on the final word, regret filling me. Kira wrapped her arms around my body and hugged me to her.
"I had been at the bar for about an hour when I ran into Brent Riley, a rich kid I'd known through acquaintances, and had gone to some parties with over the years. His family lives in a town about half an hour from here. He was in San Francisco for his bachelor party—there was a whole group of them there. I hung with them for a while. Brent and I had never gotten along, though. He was a real douche—the type of person who looks perfect and upstanding to the outside world, but behind the scenes is creepy and self-serving."