5. Ginger

CHAPTER 5

ginger

Even though I'd just seen Jules beat the crap out of those two jerks, the vulnerability floating around her was palpable. I was absolutely certain that it had to do with me and whether things had changed in terms of my ability to handle intimacy.

We crossed the street in silence and chose a picnic table under a winding oak tree. After an awkward beat, I decided that there was too much to be said to keep quiet.

"When I said I was a lesbian, I hope you didn't think I wasn't including you."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. "What?"

"Ugh." I leaned forward to bang my head on the weathered wood. "Sorry, that came out weird."

"Little bit," she said, hiding a grin behind her beautifully manicured hand.

I looked down at my nails. I tried to keep them somewhat neat, but nail polish was, frankly, a step too far for me. It kept chipping, making the nails look worse than they did bare.

What was I rambling about? Oh. Yeah.

"We once talked about the fact that I wasn't sure how to label myself because so much of my sexuality was influenced by trauma. It was my therapist who told me I didn't have to have all the answers right away and that I'd figure it out when I was ready."

"So, calling yourself a lesbian…"

"What I landed on is that how I have sex is, of course, affected by my history, but sexuality is innate. And frankly, I'd never had dreams, sexual or otherwise, about men or male-presenting people."

Her eyes widened at my words. "So… Female—and female-presenting?—people are in your wheelhouse, then?"

I couldn't help but smile as I lowered my chin. "You could say that."

"Even if they…" Jules let her words trail off. We had leaned toward each other, but she pulled back, and I saw it in her expression: the same hopeful fear that was drumming through my chest.

I paused, gathering my thoughts. "I think, with some guardrails, yes. Especially if that someone is safe and, you know, willing to beat the crap out of anyone who would harm me."

When I glanced up to see Jules's reaction, I was surprised to find her eyes wet.

"Sorry," she said, trying to wipe away the tears as they fell.

"No, I'm sorry," I said, wishing I could pull her into my arms. "Unbelievably, incredibly sorry that I wasn't ready back then."

She gave up on trying to stop the flood and stared at the table. "You have to know that I would never have wanted you to do anything before you were ready."

"Of course I do. I always did." I reached into my bag to fish out my travel-sized tissue pack. Peeling back the cover, I tugged one free and handed it to her. She took it with a sniff and delicately patted under her eyes.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

I searched for the words to explain what had happened to me on that day. "I don't know if this helps," I began, "but that day surprised me, too. You'd made me feel so good, and then, out of nowhere, I was reminded of something… awful . The shame from that sense memory took my breath away, and I suddenly couldn't stand the thought of being touched."

"Shame?" she asked, shaking her head. "Whatever do you have to be ashamed of?"

A question like that would've brought me to my knees back then, but now I understood myself better.

"When you're someone's property, it's not just about what they do to you. It's also about what they can make you do. I was forced to do a lot of things that I would never choose to do in a million years. I mean, I had a choice, but the choice was to do something awful or die. Something awful or watch as they sold off one of my friends. Something awful or any number of things so much worse than death."

Jules's eyes filled with compassion. "And do you understand now how that wasn't a choice at all?"

I nodded. "Still, when someone calls me a hero"—she grimaced at the reminder of her words—"I'm haunted by the number of ways in which I thought I'd been a coward."

"So it wasn't about my physical reaction?"

"That did play into it, but no. It was mostly the everything of my previous life crashing down on me, the way a house on fire collapses in on itself."

"And therapy has helped?" I could hear her trying to keep any expectation out of her voice.

"I still don't know where all the bear traps are," I admitted. "But yes. Therapy has helped and continues to help." I took a deep breath. "This last year especially."

She fidgeted with an imaginary hangnail, then sent me a look that warmed my entire body. "So… you think you're ready to try now?" she asked, her expression a kaleidoscope of emotions. Hope, pain, fear. Love, maybe.

This was not how I'd thought this night would go. But… maybe it was how it needed to go.

I nodded, emotions welling up in my throat, rendering me speechless. She reached out to squeeze my hand. The contact sent a jolt to my heart, something I hadn't felt since that moment in the kitchen.

I placed my hand over hers. "I would understand you not wanting to have to deal with all of that."

She huffed out a dry laugh, more tears spilling down her cheeks. "Having been married to someone who had all the answers—which mostly meant reminding me I'd never be a real woman —I can tell you that a little truthful uncertainty would be a relief."

" Wait ." I clenched my jaw, unable to believe my ears. "She actually said that to you?"

Jules raised her narrow shoulders, then let them drop. "She said that if I truly wanted to be a woman, I'd have gotten bottom surgery and some tits."

That fucking bitch.

"Don't you believe that for a second, Jules. Not for one single, solitary second." I cursed under my breath. "Yes, you could have had everything done by top-notch surgeons—but that wasn't the right choice for you. Instead, you adjusted the things that gave you dysphoria and kept the things that felt like you. Society says that a woman is one thing, and you and your beautifully manicured nails tell society—and that fucking bitch—to go screw themselves. That takes balls, if you don't mind me saying so."

She snorted into the tissue, shaking her head. "I can't believe you just said that to me."

I grimaced, which made her laugh even harder. God, I'd missed that sound. "Please tell me I'm allowed to say things like that to you. I've got, like, fifty jokes exactly like that in my pocket, and I'd hate to have them go to waste."

Shoulders still trembling, she leaned forward until her forehead touched the back of my hand where it rested on hers. "Only if they're funny," she eventually choked out.

I leaned in, grinning. "This is me we're talking about. I'm hilarious."

"You are. You really, really are," she said, her eyes a shimmering chocolate brown in the fading light of dusk. She opened her mouth to say something else, but then Hendrix and his band started a familiar song.

"Is this the ballad he wrote for Sawyer?" she asked.

I tilted my ear toward the hall. "Yep, that's ‘Agnes.'"

"Why does he call him Agnes?"

"From what I've heard, it was an old high school nickname. Sawyer was always fastidious and followed all the rules, and Hendrix thought it was hilarious. And the entire time, Sawyer had been in love with him. From the moment he saw him."

Jules slipped her hand from mine to touch her chest. "I'm familiar with that emotion."

We locked eyes as Hen sang his heart out. She bit her lower lip, unable to hide the turmoil in her eyes.

Before, I'd been the one who was hurt and afraid, so easily brought back to that awful place that it had shocked and horrified me. Now, though, with time and safety and supportive friendships under my belt, I was the one standing on stable ground, and she was the one recovering.

Knowing that I could take her in my arms and make it all better killed off my last bit of hesitation. Nerves and angst were replaced by certainty.

I stood, and her eyes followed the movement.

"Would you like to dance?" I asked, holding out my hand.

She stared at it for a beat, then looked up at me, a small, hopeful smile spilling across her lips. "I'd love to," she said, sliding her elegant fingers into my palm.

The old-fashioned lights in the surrounding oak trees blinked on as I helped her to stand. It felt like a sign.

"Do you mind taking the lead?" she asked as we positioned ourselves under a particularly picturesque string of lights.

"Not at all."

Jules was maybe two inches shorter than me, and when I pulled her closer, I was reminded of how perfectly her trim body fit to mine. We wrapped our arms around each other, silently swaying to the music, and I couldn't go another moment without telling her how I felt.

"I've hated being away from you," I whispered into her hair.

She melted against me. "Me, too."

Those two words were so powerful that my heart, which had been battering my ribs from the moment I first saw her tonight, settled. Relief flooded my chest, and a tear slipped down my cheek as I held her close.

I took a deep breath. I'd been honest, but now it was time to be brave. I needed to say the thing I wished I'd said sooner.

Focusing on the winding oaks and twinkle lights, I whispered, "Can we please stop pretending that we don't love each other?"

A strangled gasp escaped her lips.

"I'm sorry," I said, mentally smacking my head against a wall. "That was way too much, way too soon."

Her rich brown eyes transformed into deep pools of emotion, and the tip of her nose was pink. She blinked. "No. That was…" She sighed softly. "That was exactly what I've needed to hear."

"Yeah?" I asked, not quite believing my ears.

She let out a watery laugh. "Yeah." She paused, kissing my chin. "I'd rather take apart a rifle with a fresh manicure than pretend that I haven't ached for you every day that we've been apart." She smiled and tilted up her face, a request.

God, she was beautiful. How many nights had I cried myself to sleep, wishing for this exact moment?

I touched my lips to hers, and everything fell away. Within the space of a single kiss, years of uncertainty, pining, and regret disappeared as I inhaled her sweetness.

We continued kissing under the emerging night sky. She wrapped her hand around my neck, deepening the contact. Fucking… magic.

"So," I said, pausing to kiss her forehead. "There's been aching?"

"Shut up," she grumbled, nosing my jawline.

"Mm," I said, lazily turning with her under the trees. "Naked aching?"

She sent me an arched glare, then kissed my chin. "Stop using jokes to cover up your nerves about intimacy."

" Ouch ," I retorted, still smiling.

She lifted her brows.

"Okay, fine." I laid kisses across the bridge of her nose. "I am nervous about the unknown."

"Seems reasonable," she said softly, "but don't forget that sex and intimacy can look like whatever we want them to."

I stepped back to twirl her and give myself a moment to catch my breath. She laughed as she spun, then took over and twirled me. It felt so freeing to just… be. With her.

"So we're already talking about sex, are we?" I asked, coming out of the spin a little dizzy.

We drifted back into each other's arms, and Jules answered with a question of her own. "Is it too soon?" Worry darkened her expression. "Am I going too fast? I honestly don't have any timelines or expectations."

"So I could take a year working up to that level of intimacy, and you'd wait?"

Her answering look nearly sent me to my knees. "When I think about how much time I wasted making the most awful decisions and missing you, I could kick my own ass," she said, then kissed me like she meant it. "It would be no loss to be in your life for however long it takes for you to feel comfortable."

I pressed my cheek to hers. "I needed to hear that. And I'm so sorry that things have been bad for you. All I'll say is that anybody who would treat you that way is a jerk and deserves room temperature coffee for the rest of their life."

"Yes." Jules laughed. "Lukewarm coffee and weak orgasms."

I kissed her as the band transitioned to the next song, and we tightened our hold on each other. It didn't matter that the music was up-tempo and punk-driven—we swayed as if it were the sweetest melody. A little of that same old shame started to flicker inside me, but it was a weak flame at best.

With years of volunteer work, then a career at Lupe, I'd helped dozens of kids who had backgrounds like mine to find their place in this world. The second I had a real choice, I chose to do good. I chose a life of service, and now I was choosing love.

After a moment, Jules pulled back, her cheeks flushed. "The reason I brought up sex is because if I keep kissing you, my body is going to start to respond, and…"

"You want to make sure I'm okay with it."

She nodded. "I'll never forget the look on your face the last time we were together. So, as much as I want to keep going, I'd rather hold off until we're in a private space where we both feel safe."

"Thank you." I touched my forehead to hers, then felt a grin take over my face. I was done waiting to be ready.

"What?" she asked, tickling me. "Why do you look so mischievous?"

I lifted a shoulder. "You live, like, what? Thirty minutes from here?"

She laughed and kissed me again. "Oh, so you want privacy now ? What about maybe needing a year to?—"

I cut her off with another kiss. "It's not going to take a year," I said as I grabbed her hand and started toward the hall. "We should probably tell someone before we head out."

She gestured at the venue's back door, where Roly and Leo were hanging on the doorframe, jaws on the ground, happy tears in their eyes.

" Menaces, " I shouted. "Both of you!"

"Yeah, but we're your menaces," Leo said, putting his hands to his cheeks as his grin broadened.

Roly lifted his chin at his cousin. "Can I assume you won't be needing a ride home after the show?"

Jules looked up at me, her eyes sparkling. "No, primo. I think I've got a ride all squared away."