Chapter 3

I missed the two a.m. kisses that tasted like alcohol, the mistakes made in the darkness with such certainty, bodies and limbs tangled together, hearts beating in iron cages because we were not supposed to love each other; we did not belong to one another. We were a tornado of feelings, of clothes strewn over the apartment floor, of stolen kisses in shadowed parks, of gasps and moans, chests burning with the aching reminder that this was all temporary. We were stroking hands, fingertips drawing patterns across sensitive skin, a late-night drive home, fingers intertwined. We were everything terrible, everything wrong, and at the same time, we were everything beautiful, everything right, everything meant to be.

Because he’d said it himself. It’s always been me.

And for me, it’s always been him.

Even though he made me sick, even though he put me in this position.

Days after Cade was born, I couldn’t ignore the signs anymore; I was tired all of the time, everything made me nauseous, my breasts were sore as hell, and slowly, as if I’d always known it in the back of my mind, I’d stopped drinking. I couldn’t keep denying it; I was pregnant with Booker’s child. When I finally went to the doctor and later had my ultrasound, they told me that I was three months along. In the final hours of the last time Booker and I had made love, something had been created from it, something like a miracle.

Getting an abortion was unthinkable, and giving up the baby would destroy me. I knew the second I found out that I would keep this child, would raise it and love it and never let it go a day without feeling wanted—because I did not want my son or daughter to know what it felt like to be me, to love someone and not have it returned.

When I told Kansas, I never did tell her who the father was. A one night stand was the explanation. It was all I could say to keep her family together, because whether I liked it or not, the truth would only hurt everyone. If she found out she’d leave Booker, and if she did that, I couldn’t just be his back-up. I couldn’t just steal him from under her feet like that. I couldn’t destroy her family to complete mine.

Booker found out from Kansas. It was a cold, crisp evening when he knocked on my door.

“Go away,” I’d said when I saw him through the peephole.

“Let me in, June.”

I pressed my back against the door, holding back the tears. I wasn’t strong enough for this. I would never be strong enough to resist loving him and wanting him and needing him.

“June, please.”

I struggled. I resisted. I shut my eyes and tried to imagine Kansas’s face, her wide grin and the way she looked so happy with Cade, how Booker was the center of her universe. They were a family. A beautiful, perfect little family.

“June, I love you. I need you to know that.”

He was halfway down the steps when I threw the door open and went after him. I threw my arms around his neck and he kissed me, right on the mouth, his lips burning and hot. God, I sobbed. Pathetic and desperate, I kissed him hungrily, savoring every single second, my body begging to be taken, my heart begging to be wanted.

Booker picked me up and took me back into my apartment. We undressed, clothes on the bedroom floor, every single moment drawn out, soft deep sighs and echoes of moans, hands roaming, feeling all the feelings that we’d been bottling up inside for months. The sensations were ... indescribable. It felt like everything had caved in, like the fighting was over because we’d lost the battle; hell, we’d lost the war. We were fucked up. We couldn’t stop.

The window was open, the room chilly, but our bodies were feverishly hot, burning from the wild senses that overtook us. I was despairingly turned on, my pussy slick with my need for him. It had been months since I’d invited him into my body, and I hadn’t been able to fill the empty space in my bed with anyone else.

“June,” Booker said, gently laying me down on the bed. “God, June...”

“I love you,” I said in a low whimper. I didn’t even know I was crying until Booker was wiping the tears from the corners of my eyes.

“And I love you,” he said softly. “I always have.”

I spread my legs, tempting him to enter me. We both hissed in pleasure when his cock was finally lodged inside of my tight pussy walls. My body ached with demands, but I ignored them, letting him go at his pace: slow, sweet, each movement deliberate, lengthened and dragged out. I felt the heat building between my legs, the pit of my pussy blazing white-hot, throbbing with the aching need to be fucked. The lack of friction was making me delirious.

“Booker, please...”

“I know,” he said, gripping my hips. “I feel it too.”

A thousand fragmented thoughts shattered as he pounded into me, throwing my legs over his shoulders, finding an angle that had me whimpering desperately. My fingernails sank into his back, and I knew I shouldn’t, that I should be careful, but recklessly I left my mark. He pressed his lips to my throat, kissing and sucking, and bit down. I cried out, tears springing to my eyes from the pain, from the mind-numbing pleasure. He was setting my heart aflame, and nothing would ease the fire, nothing would stop my lungs from being filled with the smoke of this want, this need.

“I missed this,” he groaned, and the sound he made—fuck, it was sinful.

I pulled his face down, kissing him, tasting the rich desire on his tongue, and he ripped a cry from my throat as he fucked me fast, hard, deep. My pussy was fluttering from the way he tore it up, his naked skin slapping against mine, flesh to flesh, the smell of his body so heavenly that my eyes rolled back, forcing a whimper from my lips as my pussy clenched. His aftershave was intoxicating, and all I could do was taste it, to run my tongue along his jaw, kissing, inhaling. His golden eyes were nearly black when his hand reached down and brushed against my clit, first by accident and then on purpose, making my head spin, making my body stiff in surprise.

“Booker, please,” I begged, unsure of what I was even asking for. All that mattered was that he didn’t stop, that he kept fucking me until he quenched this thirst, until he put out the fire that he had ignited deep in my belly. Impatience boiled in my blood, and with every thrust, his calloused hands on my body, his finger rubbing my clit, I could do nothing but cry. He flipped me onto my stomach with no effort at all, gentle as if he remembered that I was carrying his child. I let out a moan, feeling him yank my hips upward, bringing my ass in the air. The change in movement sent the slick from my pussy gushing down my thighs. Booker let out a string of expletives, admiring me in the angriest of ways.

With a filthy moan, he made my whole body shake as he began to pound into me. Oh fuck. Oh my fucking god. He was filling every inch of me, even my mind, my heart, my soul. Fucking hell, it didn’t hurt a bit—not even when he bottomed out with a shudder, stuffing me with his thick length.

“Fuck,” he hissed, trying to catch his breath. Impatience boiled in my blood, burning fire in my veins. I needed him to move and to never ever fucking stop!

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, please,” I begged desperately. He didn’t respond, didn’t say anything at all that he couldn’t answer with the movements of his body. He began to pound into me again, thrusting with such vigor that my legs trembled from the all-encompassing bliss. My pussy clenched again, and I knew I was close. I was getting tighter, squeezing his cock in my tight heat.

“Fuck, “ he hissed. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

This time I was the one who couldn’t respond. All I could do was push my hips back, trying to meet his rhythm. He adjusted his speed, going faster, his fingertips digging into my hips, slamming me back on his cock, faster and faster. The sounds were filthy, our bodies slapping as he snapped his hips.

Oh, god!

“I-I’m coming,” I cried weakly. Heat bloomed inside of me, and my pussy clenched and unclenched and clenched again, over and over. I gripped the sheets, my body shaking uncontrollably as I came. I felt a jerk from deep at the base of his cock, and with a growl, Booker came too, spurting his thick seed into my fluttering pussy. The pulse alone sent me over the edge again, making me come hard. Just the thought of him filling me up was enough to usually make me explode, but with him here, actually doing it ... god, it was too much.

We panted, Booker gently pulling me into his arms, laying us both down on the bed. We were both breathing hard, trying to catch our breaths, and in that moment, in that singular photograph of time, I felt that we were boundlessly floating through the universe, our souls interlocked, drifting away from the rest of the world. If only that was real, if only that was our reality.

My heart was nearly shattered, and here was Booker, trying to fix me even though he was the one who was breaking me.

“We can’t do this again.”

It’s funny, I didn’t even realize I’d been the one to say it until I heard the sound of my own voice.

“I know,” Booker said disconsolately. The look of mournfulness in his honeyed eyes was enough to make me cry. He held me as I wept, grieving what could never be. He tried comforting me, stroking my back, kissing the top of my head, murmuring soft words that I couldn’t make out over my cries.

“We’re finished,” I whispered, wiping my tears. More tears replaced them almost immediately.

“You and I will always be unfinished business,” Booker said.

“It’s over,” I said, shaking my head, sniffling.

“It’s never over,” he responded, taking my face in his hands and pressing his burning lips against mine.

“But we can’t do this again.”

“We can’t,” he agreed. “But we will.”

How fucking selfish were we? Kansas was at home with his baby, and here I was, carrying his bastard, sleeping with him, a married man. It made me feel sick.

Sick.

My baby deserved better than this.

My baby deserved better than him.

I loved Booker, but for the first time in my life, I had something that I loved more.

“I think you should go, Booker.”

Six months later

When life closes a door, sometimes it’ll open a window.

My Window was four pounds and six ounces, the smallest baby in the hospital, a preemie who had been born without a cry. I’d been swallowing down my sobs, the room eerily quiet as the doctors and nurses worked diligently to bring some noise from my Window. After three of the scariest minutes of my life, a cry rang through the room. Air filled those tiny lungs, and that Window wailed.

It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

What I would’ve liked to have done was stare at him for hours and hours, but he was whisked away to be checked on, and I wouldn’t see him again until a few hours later when I was strong enough to be wheeled to the incubators. There he lay, his little hands and feet so pink that they were almost magenta, and his eyes closed shut. His breaths were shallow, and he was on a breathing tube. The doctors said he’d been born with a heart defect and told me that he would require surgery once he was stronger. I cried there in that room, praying to every power in the universe, begging them to make my Window whole, promising that I would devote my entire life to protecting him and loving him and giving him the most beautiful life I possibly could.

I named him Theodore, which meant “God’s gift” in Greek. Theo was the greatest gift I would ever receive. Every time I needed a miracle, I would look at him and remember that I’d already created one.

After two weeks, he underwent surgery, and for the first six months of his life, Theo lived his life in that hospital, enduring surgery after surgery, his little body still managing to pull through after every scary code pink. But he was my son, strong and resilient, bouncing back every single time, tougher than before.

My little wonder of the universe pulled through. It took months, but I was finally able to take him home. I remember standing there in front of the hospital with the carrier in my hand, Theo sleeping soundly, and I wondered if it should be illegal for me to take this baby home. He was much too fragile and perfect to be mine. I waited patiently for my ride, half afraid that any second hospital officials would come take my baby away.

“Hey.”

I still remembered the hesitancy in that deep voice, the way he’d looked at me as if I’d punched him in the gut. Booker had come to drive us home, and Kansas was at home with their own baby, Cade. They’d both visited countless times, helping me by taking shifts at the hospital along with Aspen. Because of those three, I’d been able to shower and eat meals. That was the only way I’d made it through the last six months.

“Hi,” I said, probably looking as exhausted as I felt.

Booker came and hugged me, then took the carrier from my hands. He buckled our son into the back seat of his car, careful and concentrated, making sure to be thorough. His gentleness made my heart hurt. Theo was his son too, but for his entire life, he’d only know Booker as a sort of uncle, a man who would be present in his life but not one he could call “Daddy.”

When we got to my apartment, Booker shut the engine off and we just sat there in his car. I was thinking about the last time he’d been in my apartment, fucking me and loving me and making me come, and something told me that he was thinking about the same thing.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, and opened the door and stepped out of his car. The cold autumn hair hit me like a train, making me shiver. My first thought was to take my jacket off. Why? Because I was going to drape it over my son’s carrier to protect him from the cold.

When I turned around, I saw Booker already shrugging out of his sweater. He opened the back door and draped his sweater over the carrier. His movements were all gentle and calculated as he unbuckled the carrier and lifted it out of the back seat. I watched as he carried our son halfway up the stairs before stopping and turning to me.

“You just gonna stand there?”

I made my feet move. What the fuck was wrong with me?

When we got inside the apartment, I went to get the heat going and Booker was ahead of me by warming up a bottle. It’s kind of impossible to breastfeed a sick baby, especially one who is at the hospital every single second, so Theo was a formula baby. I tried not to stare too much as Booker fed our baby.

So this was what it was like to be Kansas.

This was what it was like to have everything.

Theo drank his milk hungrily, and Booker gently rocked him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. These were things he’d only be able to do while Theo was still a baby. Once he got old enough to remember, Booker would have to stop. My son would have to be denied the affections of his own father so that everyone could be happy. It was the biggest sacrifice imaginable.

Booker burped Theo and then put him to sleep in his arms. He took a seat on a kitchen chair and looked up at me with his tired golden eyes.

“Is it exhausting being his father?” I asked for no good reason at all. I don’t know why I was so bitter; it had, after all, been my idea to keep this all a secret.

“No,” Booker said. “It’s exhausting pretending I’m not his father.”

I went and took Theo from his arms, carrying him into the bedroom. Booker followed right behind me, and I wished I could’ve told him to stop, that he didn’t belong in this room anymore, but I couldn’t ... it wasn’t true. He would always belong here, even when I didn’t want him to.

When Theo was safely in his crib, Booker suddenly took me into his arms. I sighed, giving in. God, it felt so good to be comforted by strong arms. The last six months had been hard on me. No mother should have to go through what I’d just gone through. To think that I could have lost Theo ... It was almost too much. By no surprise to anyone, I began to cry.

“Shh, s’okay,” Booker said, rubbing my back. “Everything will be okay.”

I looked up into his eyes. “Will it? How do you know, Booker?”

“I don’t know. I can only hope.”

There was such longing in his eyes, such yearning that I had to tear my gaze away. My cheeks were already starting to bloom pink, my hands clammy as I tried to forget about the fact that Booker was holding me—Booker, who I’d once been under; Booker, who’d once fucked me so hard that I’d seen stars; Booker, who had filled me with his seed and given me life’s greatest gift: motherhood.

“I love you, June,” he said softly, almost cautiously. “You’re not alone.”

“But I am,” I said, my voice thick. “I’m always going to be alone.”

“What are you talking about, June? I’m here. Kansas and Aspen and—”

“No, you don’t understand,” I croaked. “Your side of the bed will always be empty.”

Realization struck his features so beautifully, the way the burn in his honeyed eyes softened, his lips parting ever so slightly. He was so handsome, his dark wavy hair tousled, his long lashes fluttering like the elegant wings of a butterfly, and it was as if I’d sprinkled fairy dust over him when he looked into my eyes. His head leaned down, mine lifted, and we almost kissed.

Almost.

“Booker, no,” I said, pushing him away. “God, is it always going to be this way? We have to stop this!”

Booker inhaled sharply through his nose, frustrated. “It’ll be however you want it, June. It’s always been about how you want things.”

“What, you’re bitter now?”

“You haven’t really given me a choice. It’s only been you calling the shots.”

I gawked at him. “Are you fucking kidding me? I have to raise this baby all by myself, and I didn’t ask you for a damn thing. How dare you?”

Booker sighed, turning away from me. “I guess it doesn’t matter what I think or what I want. The ball’s always in your court. Make a shot when you fucking feel like it, I guess.”

“Don’t use that tone with me.”

“Which tone? The one where I’m fucking pissed that I have to treat my son like he’s nobody to me? Is that the tone you’re talking about?”

“Do you not give a fuck about Kansas and Cade?”

“Of course I do!” he said, incredulous. “But am I supposed to act like I don’t want you? That I don’t want Theo?”

“That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. You are going to do that and I don’t want to hear you fucking complain about it ever again, Booker. This is my life and my relationships we’re talking about here. I am not losing my best friend and my godson. You don’t just get to choose to fuck that up because you feel guilty about making a baby with some other woman.”

“You’re not some other woman,” Booker said angrily.

“Bullshit,” I snapped. “That’s absolute fucking bullshit! You’re married, you dick! And I’m just the slut you had on the side.”

“June—”

“I want you to go now, Booker.”

I’d had enough. What was his end game? Did he just want to tell the entire world that we’d done this awful fucking thing together? All of our friends, our family—fuck, everyone—would hate us. How could we put our entire lives at risk like that?

“June,” he said, pulling me back into his arms. “Don’t be like that. You’re not just some...”

“You can say it. Slut.”

“No. I won’t and you’re not.”

“What am I then?” I asked, looking up at him with tears in my eyes.

“You’re the love of my life.”

I held back a sob. Why did he have to make this so fucking hard? And why did it hurt so fucking bad?

“Please, Booker—”

“Don’t kick me out,” he said, taking my face in his hands. “Not yet.”

He kissed me and I slapped him before closing my fist around his shirt, yanking him back and kissing him. God, it was good. It was so fucking good, despite how fucking awful it really was. Booker’s hands roamed down my body, fisting my shirt in his hands, lifting it over my head. He was reaching back to unsnap my bra when there was a knock on the front door.

“Hello?” a voice called. “Guys, it’s me! Kansas!”

Booker didn’t even have the decency to look frightened. He looked like he could’ve almost been relieved to have been caught by his wife. I put my shirt back on and flew to the front door, undoing the locks and pulling it open. Kansas was standing there with Cade on her hip. He waved, grinning Kansas’s wide grin that he’d inherited.

“I made dinner,” Kansas said, handing me an insulated bag. “Everything’s ready to go except the rolls. Just need to warm them up a little. I made them hours ago.”

I stepped aside, making room for Kansas so she could step inside. She didn’t suspect a damn thing. She trusted us, and that’s what made everything so much worse. I’d almost slept with her husband again. What the fuck was wrong with me? I was a disgusting excuse for a human being.

“Where’s Booker?” Kansas asked, looking around.

“Right here,” Booker said, exiting my bedroom. For one terrifying moment, I was worried about how that might look, but Kansas had a smile on her face.

“How’s the little guy?” she asked him.

“Good. He’s sleeping soundly.”

We had a quiet dinner as Theo slept in the other room. Cade, who was now almost a year old, was babbling his usual baby nonsense, making us all laugh. Kansas fed him peas and pureed chicken that she’d blended at home. Booker kept staring at me, and I ended up kicking him under the table. He winced and looked away.

Did he really think he could have all of us? Me and Theo, and Cade and Kansas? It was good that I’d put him in a hard place, making it so he’d lose me if he tried to tell Kansas. He couldn’t have his cake and eat it too. At least he’d still have Theo in his life. What more could he possibly ask for at this point?

What more did he deserve?

“I can’t wait until Theo gets a little bigger,” Kansas said. “I just want to see the boys playing together. They already look like they could be brothers!”

I almost choked on my food. Theo had Booker’s dark wavy hair and lopsided smile, but otherwise, that baby was all me. He had my coloring, my eyes, my lips, my chin, my face. He looked like darker-haired Juno 2.0 in the male infant model.

But I suppose that if you looked closely, you could find a resemblance between Cade and Theo. They were, after all, half-brothers.

“Whoever the father is, he’s missing out,” Kansas said, chattering away. “Theo is such a sweet, sweet baby. He doesn’t even cry. Cade cried so much at that age!”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to listen anymore. I wanted them to go home. I wanted to be alone. Booker, thankfully, seemed to sense this. He helped clean up after dinner and convinced Kansas that it was time to go and let me and Theo rest. She looked a little torn, but she eventually gave in, promising to drop by the next day with lunch. I hugged her goodbye, and she took Cade with her.

Booker hung back by the door, but as soon as Kansas drove off, I pushed him out and shut the door.

Enough was enough.

Six Years Later

Theo saved me.

Before I had my son, I’d been looking for meaning in all the wrong places. I thought that if I helped Barbara at the hospital, it’d be like I was helping myself, but as a tech, I really didn’t have enough power to make a difference. I thought I’d be able to find myself at the bottom of a bottle, so I’d guzzle it down, searching for a way to make the hurt go away. And then there was Booker. I’d searched for so much in his eyes, his arms, his body. I’d let him take me, thinking he was filling my emptiness, but then he’d leave and I’d feel hollower than ever.

But then I found out about Theo, standing stunned in a hospital bathroom, holding a stick that showed those two lines distinctly, indicating that I was definitely pregnant. Almost instinctively, my hand had gone to my belly, and though I couldn’t feel anything besides a little swell, what I felt was all in my heart: and it was love unimaginable. Inside of me was the physical proof that for a few months, Booker had been mine.

And then he’d been born, my little preemie, the fighter who’d fought every second to breathe, to be alive. If he could make it, then so the fuck could I. My baby gave me purpose; my baby gave me hope.

Slowly he became everything I could’ve ever hoped for: he began to talk, to run, to laugh loudly and say “Mommy” and became big, so big that I’d always wonder where the time had gone. He sprouted up, and being a preemie became something of the distant past; he was tall for his age, just like his father and half-brother. He loved them, his “Uncle Bookie” and his best friend, Cade.

If you wonder if it ever gets lonely being me, I might’ve once answered with a “yes,” but with my son, I was never lonely. He’d done everything with me, even going to classes with me at the University of California, Long Beach when I’d started studying nursing. My professors had let me bring my baby to class, and some even held him while I’d taken my exams. Those people that had helped me along the way, the professors and T.A.s and counselors and patient college friends, I’d never forget because, without them, I would have never become a registered nurse.

I started working as a psychiatric nurse instead of a technician, and by the time my son started kindergarten, he finally had his own room in our new two-bedroom apartment. It still wasn’t in the nicest part of Fullerton, but it was big enough for the two of us. I couldn’t give my son everything that Cade had, and yes, sometimes that made me feel feelings I really shouldn’t be feeling, but we were happy, and that was more than enough.

The first year of Theo’s life was tough. He had a lot of surgeries to help him with his heart defect, and by age one, he’d undergone six. But after that year, the clouds finally began to clear. The doctors said he’d be fine.

For four beautiful years after that, I had a healthy baby boy. In the fifth, my happiness came crashing down.

“Is it the birth defect?” Kansas asked, her hand over her heart. Booker was sitting beside her, his face white as a sheet. He looked how I’d looked when I’d found out.

“It was the fucking common cold,” I said, my eyes red from crying. “He got this rare side effect, myocarditis. It’s fucking with his heart, which is already so weak. He needs ... he needs a heart transplant.”

Tears sprung to Kansas’s eyes, and Booker just sat there, fear gripping him so tightly that he couldn’t even speak. I understood. That was how I’d felt too.

“What can we do?” Kansas asked, wiping the corners of her eyes.

“You don’t have a spare heart lying around, do you?”

“You know if we had one, we’d give it to you,” Kansas said. “Cas, isn’t one of your coworker’s wife a cardiologist? Maybe we can call her and get some advice?”

It was absolutely quiet.

“Caspian?” Kansas shook Booker.

“Uh, yeah,” he finally said, still shocked. “I’ll make the call now. Excuse me.”

He got up and fled the room, his eyes bloodshot.

“How could this happen?” Kansas whispered, wiping her eyes again. It was no use; tears were streaming down her face.

“I-I don’t know,” I said. “It’s my fault. I failed him. It was my stupid body that couldn’t keep him in my womb long enough to fully develop his organs.”

“Jesus, Juno, no,” Kansas said sharply. “This is not your fault!”

“Whose fault is it then?” I asked with a sob.

“Mommy?” Hovering by the Bookers’ back door was Theo, his beautiful brown eyes wide. He never did like seeing me upset. I wiped my eyes quickly.

“Yes, honey,” I said, putting on a brave face for my son. He ran over, throwing his arms around me.

“Don’t cry, Mommy.”

“Mommy’s just got something stuck in her eye,” Kansas said. “Auntie Kansas does too, see? Better go find Cade before it gets in your eye too.”

Booker returned to the room, his phone in his hand. He gestured to me to come take the call, and I hugged my son to me, kissing the top of his head before letting him go.

Then I went and took the call.

Jamie came around a lot more than I expected of him. We’d always remained friends over the years, but somehow, once Theo got sick, really sick, he changed. It was like he’d finally grown up.

“Thought you could use a hand,” he said, holding a carry-out box of food from a local restaurant. He’d brought sandwiches, soups and salads—all healthy foods so we could eat in solidarity with Theo.

“Uncle Jamie!” Theo yelled from the couch, dropping the gaming controller to run over and wrap his arms around Jamie’s legs. I took the food boxes while Jamie picked up Theo, checking him for cooties.

“Are you contagious?” Jamie asked very seriously.

“Yes,” Theo giggled.

Jamie made horrible noises, pretending that he was transforming into a hideous monster. He made Theo laugh and laugh and laugh.