Nothing matters.
Nothing but me and her, and her and me, and finishing the final period in this place on the best note possible.
It’s what Mom would want.
It’s what Gramps would want.
And I know for a fact that it’s what Grams wanted considering her last words were to leave nothing behind here except a soul song.
Which is what Gillybean brings out of me.
Especially when we’re connected like this.
“J…” gets caught in her throat pushing her to feverishly rock forward as if trying to fuck the rest of my name free. “Ju…”
“Such a beautiful sound, Slayer,” I huff, other arm possessively winding around her frame. “My favorite sound.” Additional moans precede white hot pulsations that have eyes screwing shut. “Better than any crowded barn.” The wobbling in my knees convinces them to grow in numbers and intensity. “Better than any sold out concert.” Yanks of my shirt abruptly begin in tandem with hot huffs against my lips and torrid thrums around my shaft. “You’re better than anything.” Breathless screeches start swirling throughout the thick air. “You are my everything…”
“Give me everything, thirty-five…” One last solid tug of my tee paired with those words breaks whatever resolve I had left. “Make it our dub…”
Sloppy smacks to the cabinet are timed to sweltering surge after surge searing her orgasm and sparking an unexpected second. Both of Gilly’s hands latch onto my pecks as my fingers dig into her ribcage, fingers playing the notes recently tatted into her beautiful skin, notes I got on on mine, on the same side, wanting the whole world to know we’re on the same team.
Same song.
Same fucking note.
Low, feral groans rattle around my throat, luring her to continuously sway towards them, coating my cock in toe-curling slickness that I know I’ll never get tired of singing praises over.
Despite being sweaty and sticky and finished, neither of us rushes to move or disconnect.
Not now.
Not when our panting is practically one last outro to the life I once knew.
Being granted a leave of absence from the team wasn’t hard.
And unfortunately, it wasn’ttoolong.
Once Grams was stable enough to get out of the hospital, she was home for about a week and then passed – in her sleep – the day after Christmas.
Yellow Heart Road truly lived up to what they had promised.
Everything from getting her removed to cremated to what happens to the house and when was handled.
The only thing we had to do was convey what we wanted in terms of a memorial.
Truthskies?
It was a glove save made by Grams that I didn’t even know I was gonna need.
Not having to think or make tough decisions in a moment where I could barely lift my own head up was amazin’.
And so was havin’ Gillybean here for every step of the process.
She was like gospel bells on a Sunday.
Well-timed.
She also did most of the communicating with the company and caring for Bronny when it was clear I couldn’t, when I needed a moment on the bench to simply, let go.
