Surrender to You (13 page)

Having Carlie all to myself was something I never thought I could experience. Revealing what had happened to my mother was something I never told anyone.

For the Pereira family, my mother's death was like she had simply left the family and never come back.

“O que acontece na família Pereira fica na família,”
Aunt Lucia always said.

What happens in the Pereira family stays in the family.

Getting lost in my thoughts was easy while I waited for Carlie on a bench outside the hospital. Visiting hours would be over soon. As much as she grumbled about me showing up randomly, being there for her was something I wanted to do, but hospitals like this one still reminded me of the one Saul snuck me into over fifteen years ago.

The London Clinic, just like this hospital, was surrounded by busy streets and nestled deep in the heart of a metropolitan city. On that particular day though, the London paparazzi wanted a picture of a grieving Goodfellow family member after their tragic loss.

Hospitals were not only for the living, but the dead, as well. I walked in without a mother and I was in the same condition when I left the next morning. My aunts were in transit from overseas and I had no one. Not even my father.

Carlie deserved to have
someone
waiting for her.

I'd waited to see if any of her friends showed up, but they didn't. I shouldn't have been surprised, though. Carlie's independent streak was one of the reasons I loved her. I had a driving need to possess and protect a woman who didn't need me.

I sucked in a deep breath. Did she think of me that way? The one frustrating thing about her was how I always felt like she drew me into her world, chewed me up, and then spit me out.

But I was just as guilty. At first, life had pulled us apart, but now that we were older, we ran away until we were free again.

I waited quietly on the bench until she walked up to me. She didn't say much, merely stood there with her blond hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and work jacket slung over one arm.

Just like the day before, my Maserati pulled up to the curb to give us a ride to her place, but she paused before getting in.

“You okay?” I asked.

“I don't want to go home,” she murmured. “Just take me to your place.”

Did she need comfort, or was tonight another meet and fuck?

There wasn't lust shining in her olive green eyes this time, but something else. Fatigue touched the corners of her mouth. “Just for tonight, Tomas.”

I nodded and gave in because I wanted to be with her. When Carlie asked me, I had trouble refusing her, but this was a road we'd been down before. All the fucking led to one place: someone's bed.

Instead of eating the dinner I offered, she went straight to my bedroom. Naturally, I followed. Once past the double doors, her heels were silent on the carpeted floor. The room was dim—the only light filtered through the opened curtains along the floor-to-ceiling windows. Shadows enveloped her curves. Her clothes whispered as they were shrugged off her shoulders. I watched her place her jacket and skirt in a neat pile on the nightstand.

Just walk out, Tomas. Let her rest.

Moonlight hit her back as she unsnapped her black bra and discarded her lacy panties.

Tension descended from my stomach to my groin. Did she know how easily she threw me off kilter?

She slipped into bed and pushed back the covers on the other side of the king-sized bed: her invitation. She didn't want to sleep.

I crossed the room in a few strides. My clothes came off soon after.

Now we were in bed together again, lying face-to-face, and she waited. I cupped her cheek and enjoyed the smoothness of her skin. Her gaze was cast downward, a slight smile to her lips. She was waiting for me to act. For me to do as I pleased. What I wanted most though, I couldn't have.

We tortured ourselves every time we did this, and yet, we gravitated to face each other as if we trusted ourselves. Damn, I wanted to brush my lips against hers. To feel her tremble underneath me as I kissed her. She blinked, her eyes searching mine. Her breath had quickened and her pulse thrummed against my palm.

“Carlie…” My voice had a dark edge.

Kiss me right now.
The command lingered on my tongue, but I refused to say it.

She turned away from me. I pulled her back against my chest and inhaled the scent of her hair. That delicate pear scent drew me in every single time. The curve of our bodies fit together perfectly. All my hard lines against her soft ones. I couldn't resist the pulse of my hips toward her ass. I hungered for her and she responded in kind, grinding her ass against my hardening length.

If she wouldn't let me kiss her lips, I'd kiss her elsewhere.

I kissed her shoulder first. A lingering brush of my lips along her shoulder blade. From there, I traveled down her back. A lick here, a feather-like tongue trail there. She shivered with each stroke.

I'd lay claim to the places that belonged to me. She was mine to sample. Mine to taste. I licked her hips and turned her over to touch the places I'd been aching to caress: her long legs to the curve of her ass. She tried to reach for me.

“Do I have to tie you up?” I warned her with a growl.

“Yes.” My little treasure was still defiant.

“Yes,
what
?” My bed. My rules.

“Yes, sir.” She sucked in a breath. “I need you.”

“No.”
She wasn't getting her way tonight. In a drawer beside my bed, I had enough bondage hemp to tie her up until she couldn't so much as twitch. If I wanted, I could punish her until she climaxed from my hand alone.

But tonight I was getting what I wanted: to give her pleasure in the manner I saw fit.

With one hand, I held her wrists above her head, and with the other I gripped her hip as my tongue traced a circle around her pink areola.
“Bela.”

I sucked and nipped, drawing her deep into my mouth. Every moan and soft sound she made drove me crazy. The need to bury myself inside of her grew painful.

“I want to hear you come over and over again,” I told her in Portuguese as I descended along her stomach. I let go of her hands. “Stay still. I want to feel you tremble while I fuck you with my mouth.”

She quivered as my nose brushed against her belly button. I settled between her legs, eager to sample her swollen flesh. All it took was a long lick of my tongue from her clit to her pussy and she bucked hard. I came at her again, latching onto her sweet bud. This was the place where I wanted to be, feeling her squirm while my tongue darted incessantly into her wet heat.

“Tomas!” she gasped.

As expected, Carlie didn't behave for very long. As much as I enjoyed feeling her hands caress me, I wasn't bending to her whims tonight.

So I froze and then I got up. She watched me the whole time. In the silence of the bedroom, the only sound was of her contracted breaths and finally her groan of frustration. The need to punish her filled my senses, but spanking her or using the flogger wouldn't get my point across.

I stared at her beautiful body. Her legs were still parted and her pert nipples begged me to touch them, but I didn't move until she looked away. A small surrender on her part.

Now that she was complacent, I returned to the bed and settled my face between her legs.

“What are you going to do,
Coraçao
?” I finally asked.

She shuddered from each exhale I made along her clit.

Her hands hovered over my head, then she slowly placed them above hers. “I'm going to do as you please.”

“That's my girl.” Relentless, I sampled every part of her until she screamed my name again and again. Tonight was about the pleasure I wanted to give her.

Now that she was sated and running her fingers along my chest, I still hungered for something more. And it wasn't just kissing her. Every single time I waited for her outside of the hospital, I hoped she'd want more. Perhaps we'd find that bliss we had before I left for Europe all those years ago.

I hoped she'd stay, but the moment she drifted off, she was ready to leave.

If I kept doing this to myself, I'd never be able to let her go without hurting both of us.

All these years, I wondered where my stubborn streak came from.

“Ms. Hall, do you have arrangements for aftercare?” the discharge nurse asked.

“I don't need—”

“Yes, she does.” I stepped forward.

Over the past two weeks, my birth mom had managed to progress from the point where they removed her feeding tube up until she could eat. Now that she was ready to go home, I was here to make sure she got there safely.
Whether she wants my help or not.

“Why do you keep doing this?” she implored.

“Because you're my mother.” I wheeled her out of the hospital and helped her into my rental car.

“I don't have any money,” she grumbled as she got into the Camry's front seat.

“That's apparent. I already paid for the car for the week.”

“Don't expect much,” she finally said. And that was when I knew she'd at least be quiet for a while.

Until I'd gotten her address from Tomas this morning, I had no idea where she lived or if she had a place to stay. All I knew was that I had time off and I planned to use it…for her.

The ride toward the southwest was silent for over forty minutes until we pulled up to a quiet west Boston neighborhood. I'd never been to this area before. We were quite far from downtown—beyond the skyscrapers and busy sidewalks. This neighborhood seemed more countryside than cityscape.

All the houses along this street were smaller cottages, most of them no more than tiny boxes with brick and wood façades. I spotted my mom's home right away: the lawn, with patches of brown dirt intermingled with overgrown grass, hadn't been mowed in months.

“Here we are. Wayland,” I said.

We weren't technically in Boston anymore.

Mom stayed in the front seat since she didn't have any suitcases. She'd apparently worn her clothes to the procedure so she now wore them home.

At first, I thought she'd walk right up to the house and leave me behind to lock her door, but instead, she leaned against the door with a painful grimace.

“Here.” I offered my hand since I knew she hated anyone touching her torso.

Slowly, she got out of the car. A sheen of sweat lined her brow already. She'd pushed herself to reach this far. Her feet took each step one at a time up to the house. I stood close behind her, ready to catch her. By the time we reached the door, I wished I had rented a wheelchair.

Her face was ashen by the time we got to the front door. She reached into her purse and I waited patiently. The need to ask her for the keys kicked me hard, but if she was as stubborn as I was, she didn't want any help.

And then she dropped the keys.

“Well, fuck,”
she grunted.

As deftly as I could without seeming helpful, I bent over and picked them up. I placed them on my palm as if she was picking them up from the ground.

She didn't say thanks either, merely unlocked the door and ambled inside.

Since the outside wasn't that big, I wasn't expecting a mansion, but this place felt cramped and stuffy. We walked into an open living room and kitchen. To my left, the living room's two windows were drawn shut with yellow, pink, and black curtains. Dust blanketed the air. Her furniture was nondescript, like the kind you'd find at a garage sale.

Patty ambled to the nearest spot to sit, her dining room table. The table was covered in papers, a box of cereal, and various VHS tapes. A bunch of John Hughes movies sat on the top.

At least she had good taste in movies.

“Need some water?” I asked her.

She was breathing pretty hard. According to the nurse though, she wouldn't be due for another dose of pain meds until this afternoon. She'd have to hold out for a while.

“Yeah.” She pointed to her right toward the kitchenette.

I left my purse on the couch and headed into the dim kitchen. Finding a light switch turned into a game of hunt and peck until I spotted it behind a dusty bread box with a stack of small boxes on top. There were papers all over the counters and the dirty dishes overflowed in the sink.

I frowned and my stomach sank. She'd lived by herself in this mess while going to chemotherapy every week.

“There might not be any clean cups,” she admitted. “Just rinse one out.”

She tried not to sound embarrassed, but behind her gruff manner, even I could see it.

“These two don't look too bad.” I held the only two glasses that didn't have food crusted on them or matter growing along the edges. I filled a cup with cold water and gave it to her.

She took a long drink. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

“Sure thing.” I hadn't called her “Mom” since we'd left the hospital. Calling her that only pissed her off. Since we'd come to a bit of a truce, I didn't want to be the first one to open fire.

For a moment I stood in the middle of the room, unsure what to do next. Of course, my apartment wasn't the most perfect of spaces, but I had housekeeping service and they vacuumed and dusted once a week.

My eyes scanned from the old food containers on the coffee table to the mountain of papers under the kitchen table.
Damn, this is bad.
What about the places I hadn't checked yet, like the bathroom or the fridge?

One step at a time.

I shrugged off my running shoes and left them near the door.

First things first, I needed to get her comfortable.

Initially, she didn't want to move, but finally, with my help, I walked with her through the hallway to her bedroom. I ignored the mess in that room, too. We walked over dirty clothes, past a few piles of cozy mystery novels, and then to the queen-sized bed.

Her covers didn't smell clean.

All this time, my mom hadn't lived in a mansion like in my fantasies or a quiet house with my dad where she baked cookies like Betty Crocker.

She'd lived like this battling cancer.

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my head before I lost it.

“Get some sleep, Mo— Patty,” I began. “I'll see about some warm soup for lunch.”

Mom mumbled a bit, but she drifted off not long after hitting the sheets.

I glanced around the room before forcing myself to leave. I had so much work to do. I tried to close the door after myself and failed—there was too much stuff. I gave up and left. Down the hall from her bedroom was the bathroom. That room wasn't too bad. The sink was covered in old toothpaste and soap scum. Towels had been used over and over again and smelled musty.

At the far end of the hallway was a pretty big storage room with the furnace and water heater. Boxes and such had been crammed into every space available.

So that was it. The place where my mom had lived all this time.

Reality dropped into my lap with a heavy thud.

Not long after Mom fell asleep, I was left alone in a house that threatened to suffocate me.

I missed Tomas, too.

Since it was evening in the U.K., I placed a phone call to check on my business there. Everything was running smoothly. Of course, I smiled and nodded, not really wanting to hear about the parties I'd missed or the networking opportunities that had slipped through my fingers.

This was the place I was needed the most.

Standing around wouldn't fix the current situation, so I took things one step at a time over the afternoon. I opened every window that could be opened—most were painted shut. I grabbed a trash bag and threw away TV dinner containers. She didn't have dish soap or a dishwasher so I made a trip to the local discount store and foraged for supplies. Goods in hand, I managed to do the dishes and clear space on the stove so I could warm up some beef broth.

When I opened the door to her fridge, I was prepared for a mess, but what I didn't expect to find was a bunch of boxed meals with the words “gluten-free” on the sides. Her loaf of bread, which wasn't recognizable as bread at this point, was also gluten-free.

I scanned what little food she had in the cabinets and found more of the same.

Oh fuck.

I shouldn't have been surprised, and yet I was. All of the gluten-free food had expired, though. She hadn't eaten any of it. I cleared out the old food and put in the food I bought.

Fresh food is good for the soul,
Tomas had said.
Especially after a long day.
He was right.

A bit of sunshine streamed into the house and revealed the cobwebs in the corners, but the cozy home came alive a bit. I wished Tomas could see how much I'd accomplished.

I was about to check on Mom when the man on my mind texted me:
You're not home, are you all right?

Had he stopped by my hotel again with a meal? I grinned briefly, but my smile faded away as I poured some of Mom's soup into a bowl. The food he'd brought me last time…I tried to recall every single thing he'd pulled out of that bag. That night I'd craved normalcy and he'd presented a miracle, but none of the food he'd given me had gluten in it.

My throat stuck mid-swallow.
Does he know?

He couldn't. That wasn't Tomas. He would've confronted me about it.

I texted back:
I'm at Mom's house. It's a mess. I will drive back tonight.

Need me?
he replied.

I gripped the cellphone tighter.

Just type
“yes,” I thought.

I bit my lower lip.

Oh, how I wanted to type back “yes,” but I typed,
I'm good,
instead.

I had to handle this on my own. If Tomas got involved, I'd be deeper in his debt.

I drove back to Mom's place every day after work for the rest of the week. After that, we settled into a rhythm for the next two weeks. When she wasn't complaining, she was actually calmer.

“Where did you put my medication?” she asked from the bathroom.

“It's in the
medicine
cabinet—where it belongs.”

“I leave everything on the counter so I
see
it in the morning.”

“The bottles were covered in toothpaste.” I was busy making her dinner. It seemed like she was doing well with the broth. So far the bowls were empty when I came the next day.

“This is where I brush my teeth, you know,” she griped.

I laughed. “Are you having a toothbrush party?” I left the food on the now cleared kitchen table and went to check on her.

She was standing in front of the mirror, clad in a ratty bathrobe, and her scarf was off. A bit of reddish peach fuzz covered the top of her head. My heart lurched at the sight. She'd lost so much to cancer. I kept my gaze on her face.

My throat grew dry as my stomach hollowed out.
Why couldn't I have met her before she was like this?
As I took in the lines next to her eyes, and the moles along her neck, I tried to imagine what she'd looked like when she was younger. Had she looked like me? My birth mom's eyes still flashed with a spark of rebellion, but time sure had made her grumpy.

“Leave my medicine alone.” She pointed at the meager counter space. “You're messing everything up.”

“No problem. Come eat.”

“I'll come when I'm good and ready.”

“Then get ready faster or the broth will be cold.”

She could throw any barbs she liked. I was far better.

“Who was the lady who knocked on my door yesterday?” Mom asked when she sat down at the table.

“Did she come around one?”

“I dunno. She kept babbling about how she was here to tidy up the place.”

“Oh, that was from the maid service I called. She was supposed to pick up and make you some lunch.”

Mom tsked. “I don't need any strangers coming in here and messing up my things. You already do a bang-up job of that.”

“Of course I do. Like when I killed that massive spider creeping around your bathroom.”

“Now that was a mercy killing. I'll give you kudos for that one.”

I snorted. “Thanks?”

A hint of a devilish grin touched her lips, and I couldn't resist smiling in return while I watched her eat the broth. Every time she bent over though, she cringed a bit.

“Have you taken your pain meds yet?” I asked.

“Yeah, I took some this morning, but I need—”

I slipped her another dose. The label on the bottle said she could have at least six today.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“When do you need to see the doctor for a follow-up?”

“I don't remember,” she admitted. Fatigue pressed into her features.

“I'll call Dr. Craft and find out.”

She only nodded.

I washed the dishes and touched a small landscape painting on the wall. “When did you move into this house? This is a nice neighborhood.”

She slurped her soup. “After Frank died, I traveled like I used to do when I was younger. After he passed, I ended up here. The area had fewer properties back then. Now a bunch of liberals are taking over.”

I had to laugh at that remark. She did get a bunch of mail from the local Democrats. She was probably hiding a liberal inside of her. She was far from conservative.

“Where did you go when you were younger?” Prying was hard not to do, and bit by bit I tried to draw things out of her.

“All over the place. Mostly small towns with the band.”

I turned to look at her. “You
played
in a band?”

“Oh, no! I was a groupie who sort of graduated into becoming the band manager. That's how I met Frank.”

I held my tongue and waited for her to keep going.

“Back in the late eighties, traveling was so much more fun compared to today. Of course, when our truck died, we couldn't perform, but we had a blast seeing the countryside. Now folks get on a computer and they can see shit that used to be a speck on a map.”

“That's true.” I wanted to ask so badly why there weren't any photos of her or my dad around the house. I wished I could've seen what she looked like when she was younger. Even more questions swam around my head: What about my grandparents? Did my mom have a good childhood?