The First Rule by Nicole S. Goodin

10

Ryan

“Do they mean anything?Or did you just pick out things you liked?” Her finger traces lightly around the lion on my forearm, her touch so feather-light, she’s barely making contact, yet somehow it still gives me shivers.

I know she’s curious about my tattoos, my piercings... my drastic change in career and lifestyle, but she’s never pushed me too far for answers, which is just as well, given that explaining that, would mean revealing secrets I’ve kept buried for five years.

“Some of them have a story, some of them are just things I saw and impulsively had done. The lion means courage, dignity and strength to me. The sword on my leg was from when I got too pissed with the boys one night and one of them bet me I wouldn’t do it.”

She giggles and shakes her head at me. “I like them. They suit you. Even if I think you’re crazy for betting with tattoos.”

I think she’s right. This appearance does suit me. I may have gotten my first tattoo and piercing as an act of defiance against my father and brother and their perfectly groomed, immaculately presented, bullshit public front, but every bit of ink I’ve had etched into my body since has been for me, because I‘ve wanted to carry it on my skin forever – or on the rare occasion, because I’d been drunk enough to think it was a good idea.

This is who I am – who I was meant to be. Everything might have gone to shit for me over the years at times, but I can’t deny that I never would have found my way here, to the real me, if it hadn’t.

Everything happens for a reason – I learnt that the hard way, but I learnt... and look where I am now.

“I noticed you had a tattoo yourself...” I gently probe.

I remember that I mentioned it on that night, but I’ve never asked her about it until now. I’m dying to know if it means what I think it does.

I’m probably overthinking it. Her and her girlfriends probably had too many cocktails and all thought it would be cute to get matching moons and stars. It’s probably nothing to do with what she told me the night we first met at all. But it might be... and I have to know.

“I just have the one.”

She’s leaning against me now, and I can’t see her eyes, but I can hear the slight change in her tone.

“Any meaning behind it?”

She nods. “Yeah, just something sweet my parents used to say to one another. You probably think it’s silly... but they would tell each other they loved the other to the moon and all of the stars. They kind of gave me an unrealistic standard on love to live up to.”

“I like that story,” I tell her, even though it feels like a rock has formed in the pit of my stomach. I’m full of energy I don’t know how to channel. Elation... disappointment... fear... hope.

“Me too.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “I told it to Jacob once... it felt like an important moment for me. For us,” she shrugs, “but I guess I was romanticising things again, because he never even put two and two together with my tattoo.”

My heart is galloping in my chest. She got that tattoo not only for her parents, but for me. The reason Jacob doesn’t remember is because she told me that story, not him.

All these years, all this time... I’ve thought about that moment between us, and now I know for certain that she has too.

It’s fucked up – she doesn’t know the half of it, but I still feel ecstatic, almost giddy. It gives me hope that maybe one day she’ll know everything – and she’ll understand.

“Are you okay?” she asks suddenly, and I can’t blame her for being alarmed. My heart is going ape shit. It’s beating so fast it’s probably slamming into the side of her head.

“I’m good. Fine, really.” I cringe at my choice of phrase. I couldn’t be less ‘fine’ if I tried. “Tell me about your parents,” I say quickly to distract her from my obvious lie.

I know her parents aren’t alive, but I’ve never heard the full story of how or when they passed away.

She starts tracing patterns and lines on my arm again, I assume in an attempt to distract herself from the pain this story is bound to cause her.

“They were killed in a car accident when I was fifteen,” she says, her voice heavy. “A truck lost control, skidded through an intersection and ploughed right through their car. They never stood a chance.”

My skin chills.

I can’t even imagine how she must have felt when she heard that news. She was only a teenager.

I kiss her forehead. “I’m so sorry, Darce.”

“Me too.” She whispers her reply, “I was meant to be with them. We’d been to visit my gran, and I remember I begged and begged to stay behind with her. I don’t recall why I wanted to stay there so badly, but they eventually gave in and told me they’d go back into town, do their errands and come back for me in a few hours... only, they never came back.”

I feel goosebumps forming on my arms as I think about her or her gran receiving that phone call. It must have been the worst day of her life. The knowledge that she survived that time in her life goes a long way in explaining to me how she’s built so tough now. If she handled that, she can probably handle anything.

“Where did you live after that?” I question. I feel like I need to keep her talking. Even though what she’s telling me is horrible, I’m hanging on every word. It’s all more pieces to the puzzle of the woman I love, and I want to have every single last piece. I want to know it all.

“With my gran. She’s my mum’s, mum. I lived with her until I was about nineteen, then it was time for her to go into a rest home. I went to college and studied journalism. I visited her all the time. She passed away when I was twenty-six. Dad’s mother died before I was born, and his father lives so far away that I’ve never really known the man.” She shrugs. “I’ve got no siblings, so it’s just me now.”

Her friends... me. We really are all she’s got.

“You have a family now, Darce. It’ll never be just you again.”

Her hand instinctively goes to her stomach and rests on the tiny little bump that’s barely visible.

I lay my hand on top of hers – a show that not only will she have the company of our baby, but she’ll have me too. Forever.

I knew from that first night that I wanted forever. I never would have predicted it to go like this, but this is the hand I’ve been dealt, and I’ll take it. Hell, I’d take it one hundred times over if it meant the end result was her here with me.

I lean in as her eyes meet mine, and I know she registers my intention before our lips meet. A small, soft, satisfied sound escapes right before I kiss her.

She’s normally shy and timid, so when she grabs hold of my neck and twists her body to climb into my lap, it’s the absolute last thing I expect.

My body catches up long before my mind does, my hands weaving into her hair and tugging on the lengths as her plump lips meld to mine.

A deep growl works its way up my throat when she sinks her teeth into my bottom lip, tugging it roughly into her mouth.

I don’t know who the hell this fiery little woman is, but I like her a whole hell of a lot. Her hands are flat against my chest, her nails sinking into my t-shirt and through to my skin, just enough to drive me wild.

“Jesus, Darcy.” I moan as she shifts her mouth to my neck, kissing and nibbling.

She lifts her hips a fraction and then lowers herself again, her centre directly over my rock-hard dick.

I completely lose my cool when she grinds her hips against me.

She’s on her back before she can even register the action. I hover above her, unsure about the baby she’s growing inside her, but she takes care of that for me by dragging my full weight onto her body.

“I want you, Ryan.”

Words, for a time, I never thought I’d hear.

“You want me? Or you want this?” I ask as I thrust our lower halves together.

“You. This. Us. I want it all,” she says, a slight hint of desperation in her tone.

I already know I’ll give her whatever she wants. I’d give this woman anything. Literally anything within my power to give, is already hers. This is certainly within my power, but I’m not going to push it – not tonight. She might have lost all will power, but I still have some left.

“I’m already yours.”

She pauses, her grip softening. “I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?” I whisper, my voice dropping to match hers.

“Of feeling.”

I chuckle softly, my thumb tracing her jaw. “I think it’s a little bit late to be worrying about that.”

“It was the first rule, Ryan.”

My mind flashes to the torn page in my top drawer – our agreement.

If only she knew. I broke that rule the moment my pen touched the paper.

“Look at me, princess, do I strike you as someone who gives a fuck about rules? I’m wherever you are. It’s that simple.”

She doesn’t say another word, but she obviously believes me. She kisses me again, different than before – she lets go – finally.

“Sleep in my bed tonight,” I say between kisses.

She nods, pulling me in to kiss her again.

And when I finally pull back to suck in a deep breath, I see the rest of my life staring back at me.

* * *

I roll over,feeling around in my big bed for her, but coming up empty.

“Darce?” I mumble groggily, still reaching around blindly.

I find nothing but empty space. I roll over. I can smell the scent of her on my pillows, so I know I didn’t dream up last night – she’s been here, cradled in my arms.

“Princess?” I call out again.

My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I see the dim glow of light from down the hall.

I roll back over and climb out of bed, following the light. It’s coming from Darcy’s room – more specifically, under her bathroom door.

I’m just about to knock on the closed door and ask why she didn’t just use my bathroom when I hear her retch and then noisily throw up.

Fuck. I don’t bother knocking.

She’s wiping her mouth with the back of her hand when I lay eyes on her, wearing my t-shirt, curled up on the floor.

“Ryan,” she says in surprise, her voice embarrassed. “You don’t need to see this.”

I ignore her, coming farther into the room, worry filling me so deeply I can barely think straight.

“Are you okay?” I ask, crouching down next to her, my hand going straight to her forehead.

“I’m fine, it’s just morning sickness,” she replies. “Really, just go back to bed. I’m good.”

Like hell.I’m not going anywhere.

“It’s not morning,” I say dumbly.

She gives me a small smile. “Technically it is, but I don’t think the baby knows how to tell the time yet anyway.”

She reaches for a towel, and I grab it for her, helping her wipe her face.

I feel so powerless as she retches again.

She must see the fear and helplessness in my eyes. “It’s okay. Happens most nights. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“This happens all the time?” I reply in outrage. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I had no idea and I feel like shit about it. I’ve always been a deep sleeper, so it doesn’t surprise me that I wouldn’t hear her moving around in her bedroom, but the fact that she’s never said a word about her being up most nights, sick, isn’t okay. This is something I need to know.

She smiles at me, and this time it touches her eyes. She’s amused by my outrage – even though she’s sick. “Why? So you could see me all sick and disgusting and fuss over me like you are right now?”

“Yes,” I reply, exasperated.

“No.” She giggles.

“Well guess what, princess, I’m here now and I’ll be here holding back your hair or whatever the fuck you need, every damn night until this baby learns better behaviour.”

“Honestly, Ry, it’s fine. I’d rather you didn’t see me like this.”

“Not happening.”

She rolls her eyes. She’s going pale again, if I was a betting man, I’d be willing to put my money on the fact that she’s about to chunder.

I scoop her up under her arms and take her weight for her as she empties what must be the last of the contents of her stomach into the bowl.

There’s nothing glowing or magical about this part of pregnancy, that’s for damn sure, but I don’t care – I want to be by her side through all of it, the good and the bad.

“I think I’m done,” she says, her voice tired.

I help her stand and then wet a face cloth with warm water to wipe down her face.

She reaches for her toothbrush and cleans her teeth, all the while watching me through the mirror.

“What?” I finally ask.

She spits out the last of the foamy toothpaste and smiles at me. “You really are something else.”

“A shit boyfriend is what I am, sleeping like a baby in the next room while my woman gets sick every night.”

“Your woman?”

“Fuck yes, my woman.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” she muses, looking more and more amused by my caveman act.

“Doesn’t seem like enough, but I’m trying not to scare you off.” I chuckle as I pull her close and bury my face into the crook of her neck.

“I stink,” she mumbles, her neck arching of its own accord to allow my lips easier access.

“You don’t.”

“I’ve just been spewing my guts out. I stink.”

I chuckle, pulling away.

“I’m going to take a quick shower.”

I open the glass door and flick the water on for her. “Can I get you anything?”

She looks at me sheepishly but shakes her head.

I can read her like a fucking book. She wants something, but she doesn’t want to ask.

“Tell me,” I demand, twisting my lip ring with my tongue.

“I’m good.”

“Tell me now or I’m going to stand her and drive you crazy until you do.”

She debates it for a second. “I feel like fried chicken.”

“Home-made or that greasy takeout kind of stuff?” I reply, not missing a beat.

I couldn’t give a fuck what she wants – no matter how inconvenient or unreasonable. If my woman wants fried chicken at two in the morning, then she’ll get fried chicken at two in the morning.

“Home-made,” she replies shyly.

I lean in and kiss her lips, ignoring the fact that she thinks she smells bad, and then turn, leaving her to shower in peace.

“Where are you going?”

“To make the chicken,” I call over my shoulder with a grin.

“Unbelievable,” I hear her mutter.