"And I let them."
"No, honey," she choked out. "You survived them. We both did."
Maybe if we were lucky, our generational trauma would be enough to send her into labor.
"They dictated the first twenty-seven years of your life, Clarke. That shit ends now. No matter what, you've got me." She rubbed a hand over her swollen belly. "You've got us."
My lips quivered. "Thanks, sissy."
We talked for a few more minutes before I cut our call short. There wasn't much to talk about, not when we were both blubbering messes. At least Viv could blame it on pregnancy hormones.
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there like that, curled up, bawling like a baby. It could have been ten minutes or two hours. But that was how Soren found me.
“Ugh, this is awful.”
“Do you want me to heat it up again?” Soren reached for my bowl of Tom Kha soup.
“No.” I gestured to the flat screen across from us. “I mean Phi Phi O’Hara. She already has it out for Willam, but Sharon Needles, too?”
He smiled weakly. It was safe to say this wasn’t how either of us had imagined our final night together, and yet, somehow it was perfect.RuPaul’s Drag Racemarathon, takeout Thai food, and all.
Viv and Ellie had taken me to my first drag show in Asheville a few years ago, and like a tween at a Billie Eilish concert, it was love at first sight. What wasn’t to love? The gowns, the pageantry, the performances. Plus, as far as I could tell, the queens were a lot less bitchy than the girls I’d grown up with on the pageant circuit.
Soren hadn’t given me much of a choice after I’d all but cried myself to sleep in his arms. It wasn’t exactly the sex fest either of us had envisioned, but romantic nonetheless. I hadn’t expected him to be as attentive as he’d turned out to be.
He’d held me for over an hour, stroking my back silently while I soaked his shirt with my tears. He didn't press me for details about what set off my crying jag. I offered a bare bones explanation, and he accepted it. I could have told him more. Maybe I should have. When I finally pulled myself together enough to blow my nose, he carried me to the soaker tub in the en suite. I promptly burst into tears once again after seeing that he had already drawn me a bath, complete with bubbles and lavender bath salts. The lengths this man was willing to go to, all to make sure I felt comfortable and safe. Even though he knew it wasn’t going to lead to sex.
Our relationship might have been unconventional, but one thing it wasn’t, was transactional.
When Soren helped me undress and get settled in the tub, he wasn’t doing it to seduce me. When he left me alone to wallow in my bubbles and feelings while he ordered us takeout, he wasn’t trying to talk me into sex. There wasn’t anything sexual about this.
This was care. This was respect. This was the side of Soren Sinclair that hardly anybody else had taken the time to see. And that was their loss because Soren Sinclair was a teddy bear.
A soft and squishy, kind-hearted, rubs your feet while you slurp your noodles teddy bear.
After my bath, he bundled me up into a fresh set of pajamas, tucked me into his outrageously large king-sized bed, and proceeded to force feed me Thai food while we watched old episodes of his favorite show. He’d even gone as far as spooning carrots out of my soup, since he knew I didn’t like the texture. What kind of person did that?
Someone who loves you, that’s who.
I nudged that thought out of my head and straight over a cliff. I’d been telling myself for weeks not to fall for Soren, a feat that was proving more difficult by the day.
I turned away from our show just as Phi Phi shouted something about likening Sharon to Party City and peeked over at the man in question. He’d kicked off his shoes hours ago and was now cozied up on the opposite end of the bed, stroking my feet with one hand and nursing a mug of tea with the other.
I guess he just can’t get enough of piping hot tea.
Just because there was a lot to love about Soren, didn’t mean that I wasin lovewith Soren. Sure, I loved how engrossed he was with the outrageous lives of celebrity drag queens. I loved the way he cared—about his family, his teammates. Me. I loved the way he was honest with me about his past.
After he opened up about Monica, the sharing didn't stop there. He told me about the bar fight in Detroit. The one that had started after he defended his batting coach from some jerks one night after a game. He told me about the teammate who made his life hell when he found out Soren had hooked up with his wife . . . years before they were married. Mostly, we talked about his first stint in the major league. The one that had gone terribly wrong.
"I just choked,"he had said me while we waited for our takeout to arrive."Two errors in my first game, three in my second. Two strikeouts, one ground out. I never even made it on base."
"You just weren't ready."
"I just wasn't focused."
And that was why I had to walk away. Even though I didn't want to. Even though I loved this sensual, confident side of myself that he had brought out of me. Even though I loved—
“What’s that look?” he asked, startling me out of my stupor.
