Hey guys!
I know this probably comes as a surprise given the last update I made announcing I was discontinuing the story. I was pretty torn about it. I felt guilty about leaving the story unfinished so close to the end, but at the same time, I was struggling to write more. Anyway, as conflicted as I was, when I found out someone nominated my stories for those fanfic awards, I realized I really should finish. I'm pretty surprised and appreciative that someone enjoyed my stories so much. Please consider this a thank you for being so thoughtful. Seriously, thank you for the recognition. :)
But I do have a small warning. This chapter is unedited. It is literally a rough draft, half of it written in the last 3 days, which means it's definitely not the best, lol. I hope you enjoy anyway
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It took Rick a few good seconds to realize he should push the doors open. He stood before them, only the faint clap of applause to be heard, with little to no memory as to how he got there. The compulsion prompted his hands to stretch, to push open those double doors so that he could walk through. The clapping grew louder, joined by the sweet, smile-inducing cheers from what sounded like children. He followed the noise, feeling quite unsteady in what seemed to be a warped sense of curiosity.
His endeavor led him into a room with many foldable chairs arranged in rows and columns. In these chairs were two dozen little boys, seated obediently but excitably in heavily starched tan buttoned shirts and olive-green shorts. Each boy wore his uniform sashed with many badges with utmost honor. On either side for most of the boy scouts were their parents, cameras poised and at the ready to snap away photos.
Rick didn't think. He didn't have to as his next move came out of natural instinct. He walked toward the front row, where he found an empty seat. It wasn't until the next bout of applause that he told to look to his right and recognize who sat beside him. His mother looked almost twenty years younger, hair teased in stereotypical1980's fashion. She beamed and clapped delicately with gray eyes shining toward the small stage. Rick's gaze followed hers, antsy for some clue as to what the hell was going on.
The Scout Leader Mr. Ramsey stood at the microphone grinning ear-to-ear as he waited for the small boy earning his badge to come forward. The boy did, with his messy brown curls and bow-legged knees, but it came after some hesitancy. After he glanced over his shoulder and his shocking blue eyes caught onto his mother's for reassurance. Dixie shooed him along, nodding her head encouragingly.
It crashed into Rick all at once, something he should've figured out as soon as he entered the familiar auditorium he'd been dozens of times before decades earlier. His breath stopped on its own accord as his eyes widened and he could feel the pieces fall into place. But he couldn't move. His feet were cemented to the ground. His entire body glued to the seat. He didn't blink. He only stared.
He stepped onto stage for the Scout Leader to pin on his latest merit, the courage badge. His hands clasped together, small fingers fidgety as his eyes scanned the crowd. He did a once over, then another to ensure he hadn't missed a single face. That's when the disappointment dawned in his eyes. He smiled emptily at the Scout Leader and accepted the applause from the crowd, though deep inside, little did anyone else in that room know, his heart sank to a new low.
But Rick knew. Sitting where he was, watching himself on stage, he remembered that heart-sinking low like it was yesterday. The promise his father made to be there when he earned his highest honor yet. The hope he'd felt for days going into the merit ceremony that for once it wasn't a lie. That he would be there as he'd sworn to. And then the crushing low that left him sucking up the tears that threatened to fall. The ones he hadn't let fall, because his father always said boys shouldn't cry.
He left the stage and his mother engulfed him in the best comforting hug possible. It didn't change the broken promise, but it helped some. As much as it could for a small boy with a heart pained with disappointment for an indiscriminately numbered time. The other families erupted into celebrations around them now that the ceremony ended.
Rick's feet were no longer glued to the spot. He stood from his seat yet he still otherwise found himself unable to move. He couldn't as he watched himself and his mother embrace. She ushered him slowly toward the door, for the eventual car outside waiting to whisk them away back to their large home where every grandeur imaginable was within their fingertips. And, yet, as they wandered toward the exit, shuffling amongst the happy families earnest in celebration, it was never clearer that the richest people in the room were the poorest…
It was a dream. He knew as much during but his sudden jerk to consciousness confirmed it. Last night trickled in immediately. After recent traumatic events, he and Michonne had sought a peaceful night. They'd fallen asleep after one of their many late-night talks. He'd closed his eyes with his lips on her temple, falling away into dreams that reenacted the past.
In a way, the artificial world he grew up in felt as unreal as his dreams. Nothing and no one was real. Everyone wore masks. They hid ulterior motives. They took on a role and played a game required in Georgia high-society. No one was exempt. Not his father or his mother. Not even himself, as that surely would've been his fate had he gone through with his marriage to Lori.
He resented it—all of it—the identity his father thrust upon him. He detested his father. Even so far as hated his guts for what he'd done. The damage he wreaked on the family. His failures as a father. His cheating ways in his marriage. How he possessed the uncanny ability to drain life out of everything and everyone he touched, leaving devastation in his wake without a care.
The grief counselor told him not to ignore these pent-up feelings. He said his unresolved feelings needed to be confronted head-on and eventually processed if he ever hoped to heal. His manifested dreams pushed him in that direction, serving as a reminder not to bury emotion. The anger and resentment and hatred for his father needed to be felt to be overcome. There was no other way out but through.
It weighed on him heavily. The fact that he was his father's heir. His prime flesh and blood groomed from childbirth to be just like him. That maybe one day he'd wake up, his toxic spinning image, without even realizing it. The idea that type of evil existed encoded in his DNA disturbed him deeply. He'd sooner walk away nameless and penniless before he let the vast fortune corrupt him and turn him into his father. Before he ever hurt the people he loved.
He turned his head so that his lips were back on Michonne's temple. He never checked the clock, but he pegged the time as somewhere around two or three in the morning. Many hours left for dreaming despite his trepidation to relive his poisonous past. His lids lowered in slow blinks until they closed completely, and he was fast asleep again…
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
In the mirror, Michonne walked behind him. She paused last second to give him a peck on the cheek. He smiled at the mirror, knowing she'd see his reflection. She did, her pretty face lit up as she walked over to drop clothes in the hamper. They hadn't spoken that much that morning, but the silence was comfortable. It matched the amicable weather outside, where whitish gray skies and low tides cast a lazy air over Tybee.
"I need to go into Savannah today," he said over the running faucet.
"To see your mom?"
He nodded, examining his thick stubble. "I told her I'd come by."
"How is she doing?"
"Not good. It's the first time I've ever seen her not put up a smiling face for everybody."
"I noticed that at the funeral. It looked like she couldn't hold it in anymore…"
"After 30 years, I get that. She's never known any other way," Rick said, picking up the can of shaving cream. He moved slowly, subconsciously dragging out the routine to prolong his time with Michonne and delay his trip to Grimes Manor. "But…but how much can I excuse? There's gotta be a limit."
Michonne appeared again in the mirror, coming up behind him. Her arms settled about his bare chest. Her face pressed somewhere between his shoulder blades. He closed his eyes without thought. Her presence and her touch always felt like magic. An instant calming effect transcended over him as she knew how to soothe him. It seemed to be an innate ability of hers. Her nimble fingers gliding across his skin as she embraced him with affectionate warmth. She could talk him into and out of anything in moments like this. They both knew it.
"Your mother loves you. Maybe you should talk to her."
"Yeah, I know." He sighed.
She stood on tip-toe, chin on his shoulder, and kissed him on the cheek again. "I'm proud of how you're dealing with this. I know it's not easy."
Rick set down the shaving cream and turning around to face her. Searching her gaze, he found slight bemusement, but he couldn't hold back another second. "You're what's helping me get through this. I would be lost if you weren't here—prolly still locked up in my bedroom with those photo albums."
"You've always been there for me—"
"This doesn't compare," said Rick adamantly. He pressed his forehead against hers, his hand at rest on her cheek. "You've stuck by me even when I tried pushing you away. Even after what my father did."
"Rick, it's okay—"
"No, it's not. It will never be okay that he treated you that way. That he said those things. That he even dared to grab you like that," said Rick, struggling to swallow. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there to stop him. I should've been."
"It's probably best you weren't. Things might've been worse," said Michonne. Her hand came over his, smiling up at him in a way that fluttered his heart. "But I've already told you. I'm here for you. I'm okay if you're okay. I want you to come back from this. And I'm going to help you through it."
Rick stared into her the earnest, deep brown pools of eyes, speechless. The unconditional way in which she loved him gave him hope his lineage meant nothing. His father and the terrible man he was meant nothing as he looked into her eyes and found he wanted to give her the kind of life she deserved. The one they both did, where they were together, in love and most of all, happy.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
In the aftermath of Richard Senior's funeral, the tabloid gossip was merciless. No Grimes was spared. The rags speculated everything under the sun about the prestigious family. Much of it fell into sensationalistic realms, but kernels of truth were sprinkled in, too. The buzz thrived throughout Savannah regardless.
Dixie's life hit new lows.
It wasn't that she was the first wife in Georgia high-society to be cheated on. More so that she was outed for it. Worst of all, her husband cheated on her with soon-to-be-daughter-in-law Lori Ackerman. The scandal left everyone foaming at the bit to speculate the scandal's every nitty gritty. The rumors were wild. Everything from the married couple invited Lori into their bedroom to Richard Senior was 'taken out' in fit of jaded jealousy.
After being chased down outside a boutique bombarded with questions and photos, Dixie decided to no longer leave Grimes Manor.
Rick showed up to his mother looking unrecognize. Her usually dyed and coifed hair was flat, lifeless and fried. She had bags under her eyes and not a stitch of makeup on her face. He walked in to find her in sleepwear half past noon, donning oversized monogramed pajamas he suspected were his father's. She stammered in step spotting him.
"Oh, Ricky. Almost didn't see you. Please let me know when you're coming by…"
"Why? So you can put an act on?"
His mother didn't answer. She drug her feet toward the gourmet kitchen. It didn't sparkle with its usual luster. Round the clock employees didn't fill the room on standby for a meal requested on a whim. The room was empty and unused in what looked like days.
"You fire everybody?" Rick asked.
Dixie didn't answer. She stopped at the pricey coffee machine and fumbled her way through making coffee.
"Why do you do this? Why are you like this?"
Again, no answer. Dixie turned to the cabinet to grab a mug.
"Why do you insist on covering for him?" Rick demanded, raising his voice. He never did with his mother, but she wouldn't let up. She refused to let go of the farce that was their lives. He crossed the wide kitchen, feeling his heartbeat in his ears. "Wake up, he's gone! Stop protecting him!"
"I'm not protecting him!" she shrieked. Color tinged her hollow cheeks and she slammed down the mug she held. "I was protecting myself—I was protecting you!"
Rick struggled with her response. Her voice alone confused him. It shook with heartache.
"It might not make sense to you, but I have dignity and I never wanted to be compromised like this—for any of us to be!"
"Keeping things hidden only made things worse!"
"Did they? What would've happened if you found out? Be honest with me. It wouldn't have been pretty. I know both of you and I know how that would've went. I was dealt a shit hand and I made the best decision I could at the time. That doesn't make it right, but I tried my best—I've always tried my best to protect you. I hoped with his diagnosis that maybe, just maybe, the secret would go with him. Then we could forget it ever happened," she sobbed.
"And what? I was supposed to raise a child that wasn't mine? My sister as my own?"
"It'd never come to that!"
"But it almost did!" Rick shouted. "Then what? What was the plan gonna be? Oh well?"
"I don't know!" She fell forth, hands clamping onto the kitchen counter for balance. Her chin quivered on pace with the tears streamed down her pallid face. She ignored the tears, for more would soon fall in their place. "I don't know what his plan was. I found out 'bout it after the wedding by accident. Lorelai had come by to confront him and I heard them arguing in his office. I was sick to my stomach. I didn't know where to go—what to do. I made the best decision I could out of a Catch-22. I'd always known he cheated. I learned to live with that like most of these wives in our circle. But…but I couldn't turn an eye to that."
"You should've told me," he said, deflating at once. He rubbed his eyes and sighed, no longer angry with his mother. The disappointment went nowhere, though, stronger than ever.
"I was too weak to—too scared for hell to break loose. Your father knew that. He counted on it. I was so upset when I found out. Cried for days. Jacqui couldn't get me out of bed. I told him I'd leave him and he laughed in my face. Said I was free to anytime I want, but if I wasn't nice 'bout it he'd make sure I regretted it. I didn't have to ask what being nice meant. I wish I could say I didn't backdown, but I did. I told myself at least I was getting the divorce—at least I wouldn't wind up penniless, name and reputation dragged through the mud."
"If you'd told me what he was doing I wouldn't have let that happen."
Dixie's headshake drew attention to her messy golden strands, where gray stood out at the roots. For once she'd stopped dying them. "I love you for even saying that. You've always been such a good son to me. But you know your father—nobody ever won against him. He was too powerful. You and I know what he was capable of. There wasn't anything you could do."
"He's lost this time," said Rick bluntly. "Everything he didn't want me to have is gonna be mine."
She grabbed a kitchen towel and dabbed at her eyes. The faintest smile possible crept onto her chapped lips. "I heard. You deserve it. Every damn cent. I know you'll use it right."
"I don't know if I will. If using it at all is the right thing to do. I want nothing to do with him—I don't want a thing from him."
"Don't!" his mother snapped. She spun on her heel and wagged a finger at him. "Don't you for a second feel guilty 'bout it. That fortune is yours. You take it and you put it to good use. Whatever that is. You do something good with it. Please, I need for you to. I need some good news right now. You're all I got left."
"You've got Bobby. Jacqui…"
"Bobby's already gone. He'll turn back up when he turns back up. Jacqui, bless her, has a family of her own. I'm counting on you to give me something to smile 'bout," she said, leaving the counter behind. She gave him the same slow motherly embrace he remembered from childhood. "Why don't you start over with that lovely lady of yours? You two be happy."
"We will be."
"I know. Tell her I said thank you for keeping my son in line."
Rick grinned slightly then said, "I'm gonna ask her to marry me."
Dixie gasped, stepping away from him with eyes wide and mouth open. She clasped her hands together and rocked on the balls of her feet. Rick laughed. Nothing delighted his mother quicker than talk about him settling down for marriage.
"What? When? Where? Why wasn't this the first thing outta your mouth?!"
"Mama, breathe. I haven't figured that part out yet. But you said you wanted good news."
"I want to know everything as soon as you do! I want y'all over here to tell me all 'bout it."
"Alright, alright. I promise."
"Oh, Ricky, I'm so happy for you! I really am."
Earlier distress eased on her features as she beamed wide, but it occurred to Rick she hadn't mentioned her plans going forward. From here on out he was done ignoring his mother's penchant for burying her problems. She didn't seem cognizant of the habit. Her need to distract herself from facing what she needed to.
"Have you thought about what you're gonna do?"
"For what?" she asked, looking puzzled.
"Going forward, mama. You're widowed now—officially on your own for the first time. What's next?"
"Well, I…I don't know…" she stammered, fidgeting. "I haven't really thought 'bout that. This place is yours now. I wasn't left with much and I don't have any skills. Guess it's a bit pathetic when I say it aloud. I went from being taken care of by my father to yours. I'll manage something."
"That's not what I'm asking. I'll always make sure you're taken care of. I mean, what are you gonna do for you?" he asked.
"For me?"
"For yourself. You can't rely on me to bring you good news every day. How are you gonna make yourself happy?"
"I…I guess I've never thought 'bout it. You boys and your father are all I've ever—"
"Figure it out, mama," he said, moving in to plant a quick kiss on her cheek. "It's not just time for me and Michonne to start over. It's time for you to, too."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
There was no right answer sometimes. Rick had learned that lesson many times both in his personal and professional lives. What came of his relationship with Lori was yet another example. His ex-fiancé disgusted him. Her infidelity and deceit were unforgivable, but worse was her inability to change. Motherhood had had little effect on Lori, as she proved to be selfish to the core. If it wasn't for Mr. and Mrs. Ackerman, baby Judith would be on her own.
Rick turned up outside their home. He gathered his thoughts and steadied his breath before he walked up and rang the bell. The blinds jiggled from the nearby window. Mrs. Ackerman's footsteps padded on the opposite side of the door. She opened regarding him with eyes shrunk into pinholes.
"Lorelai is not here," she said coldly.
"I know she's not. That's exactly why I am."
Her penciled brows pushed together. "You have made it explicitly clear you want nothing to do with—"
"We need to talk," interrupted Rick. "If Roger's here I'd like for him to listen too."
Tracey Ackerman guarded the door for another couple seconds. At first her scrutinizing gaze didn't let up. She eyed him with palpable suspicion then, finally, stepped aside. He thanked her and walked into the home he'd been inside dozens of times before. Not much had changed in the eight months since his last visit. The modest bungalow was as tidy but cramped as he remembered it.
The only marked difference was the distinct signs a baby now lived there. In the dining room a high-chair stood near the dinner table. A diaper bag sat on the sofa, half-opened but stuffed with necessities. He picked up a stuffed bunny off the floor and dropped it onto the sofa next to the diaper bag. Tracey closely followed, features sharpened tensely.
He'd never been close to Lori's parents, but things between them had always been amicable. They'd basked in having him over for dinner or for holidays. Mr. Ackerman had invited him to go fishing on more than one occasion. But with the dissolution of his relationship with Lori, the parents had turned ice cold. He couldn't say he'd been much better.
"What's going on here?" Roger Ackerman asked. He walked into the living room, clutching a fussy Judy in his arms. The infant was still tiny, looking heartbreakingly delicate when framed in her grandfather's burly arms.
"I think it's time we talk 'bout what's happened."
Tracey glanced at her husband. "What do you mean what's happened?"
"We're well aware," said Roger curtly. "We got the message loud and clear."
"What message?"
"That you'll have nothing to do with us—that the measly settlement was all we were going to be given to not pursue any support further. We've held up our end of the bargain. What more do you want? To harass us some more?"
"Roger, Judy. You'll upset her raising your voice like that," said Tracey. She gently took the cranky newborn from his arms, cradling her close, and then disappeared from the room.
"What settlement?"
Roger whirled around with a glare at the ready. "That's enough. I won't entertain this anymore. You and your father's threats—"
"I've never had a thing to do with any threats my father's made," said Rick firmly.
"You never wondered why everything was swept under the rug?"
"I didn't know what was going on 'til two weeks ago!"
Roger scoffed, shaking his head as he said, "I don't care to hear your excuses. We have enough on our plate looking after Judy and getting Lorelai help."
Rick paused for a deep breath. The inhalation served as a chance for him to keep his cool. The Ackerman's might be standoffish and downright hostile, but Richard Senior had proven time again throughout his life to be capable of anything. Threats and intimidation were both his father's M.O. He could hardly blame them for being wary.
"That's why I'm here. Judith is my sister. I have issues with my father. I have issues with Lori. But I can't let that be a punishment for her. It wouldn't be right…"
Looking antsier, Tracey returned sans Judith. "Roger, why is he still here?"
"Hold up, Trace," he said, eyes focused on Rick. "What's your point, Grimes? Where are you going with this?"
"I'm offering you support on behalf of my father—for Judith only. Lori has nothing to do with my decision. If I find out a penny is going to her, it stops. Is that fair?" he explained matter-of-factly. "I can't promise I'm gonna be a part of her life, but I want to make sure she's taken care of."
Mr. and Mrs. Ackerman's visible surprise lingered on their faces. They glanced at each other and then back to Rick, utterly at a loss for words. Neither had expected such an offer out of him and it showed. Rick left their home that late afternoon without regret. The right decision had been made.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"You gonna be alright?" Abraham asked, thumping Rick on the back.
The partners got out their cruiser and walked around the sides of the car to cross the street. It was midday, which meant A.C.'s everywhere worked double time to crank out as much cool air as possible to ward off the humid heat. But Rick had intentionally waited for noon to come to mainstreet, to park outside the Tybee Union Bank and go inside, cuffs clanging on his belt.
"Check in with me after thirty minutes when we've got the bastards in the back of our squad car," Rick retorted in his twanged tone. He strode a couple paces beyond the redhead, reaching the glass doors to the bank first. Pushing them open, he ignored the service representative that pounced on them with polite manners dialed up to a ten.
"Hello, welcome! Thanks for stopping by Tybee Union today. How may I assist you?" the woman asked cheerfully.
When she went ignored and the two deputies strode past her, she rushed after them.
"Excuse me, excuse me—how may I help—you can't go back there!"
Abraham stopped abruptly and turned on a dime. The woman jumped in alarm. He pointed at the silver star attached to his shirt and said, "lady, might not want to get involved right now—we ain't here to drink punch and eat free cookies—we're here 'cuz somebody's fucked up."
They didn't hear another peep out of her.
Rick banged his knuckles on the door with the plaque that read, "Gregory Wilkes". He heard scrambling and then a few expletives as the bank manager erupted into agitation. The door swung open a second later and a red-faced Gregory appeared, ready to chew out whatever employee had disturbed him. He did a doubletake, finding himself face-to-face with Rick and Abraham.
"Deputies, what can I—?"
"You can turn around and put your hands behind your back," ordered Rick. "You're under arrest, Mr. Wilkes."
"What?! This is insane! You have the wrong guy, deputies," Gregory panicked.
"Turn around or I will turn you around," Abraham said brusquely, mustache bristling.
"You have to explain—you have to tell me what's going on. Can't we talk about this?" He howled as Abraham gripped his shoulder and spun him around, pulling out his handcuffs to clip around his wrists. Beads of sweat formed on the bank manager's face. He began talking much faster. "Deputies, can't we talk about this? Please step into my office."
"For a bribe?" Rick asked.
"We don't want any of your shitty cookies," Abraham joked darkly. "Time's up, Wilkes. No more pocketing funds that aren't yours."
"We're not done yet—where's Ezekiel Carter," Rick said loudly. He turned around with his hands on his waist and looked about the bank. The tellers had stopped working behind their glass windows. Customers everywhere stared with jaws dropped. The loan officers craned their necks out their office doorways. Nobody answered him, as the small bank remained so quiet the next breath drawn could be heard distinctly.
The glass doors opened and the time couldn't have been better. Ezekiel entered with his shades and neat tie, whistling a tune as he strolled. Rick's lips twitched, gaze narrowed on the assistant manager. He left Wilkes with Abraham and headed straight for the man who still made his blood boil many months later.
"Ezekiel Carter," said Rick matter-of-factly. "You're under arrest for embezzlement. Please remove your shades, put your hands on your head, and turn around. You have the right to remain silent—"
"Grimes, a new low," Ezekiel scoffed. He didn't take off his shades and he didn't put his hands anywhere near his head. If anything, he seemed to think the moment was some kind of failed joke. He didn't scrimp on his condescension. His disdain for Rick was clear no matter how dark the tint on his sunglasses were. "Please, vacate the premises before I dial the Sheriff myself."
"Go ahead. He already knows we're here. Now turn 'round."
"This corrupt abuse of power—"
"The only one who's corrupt here is you. Last time I'm gonna tell you to turn 'round—next time I'm gonna make you. And you ain't gonna like it," Rick growled.
When Ezekiel still did not budge, Rick stepped toward him. In a move that didn't come across as natural for him, Ezekiel clenched his hands into a fist and swung. Rick easily dodged his clumsy swing, sidestepping the attempted hit. The miss sent Ezekiel staggering forward when he struck air. Rick didn't miss a beat, using the split second to his advantage. He positioned his body behind Ezekiel's and kicked his stance out from under him. The blow delivered to the back of Ezekiel's knees dropped him to the floor at once.
Rick shoved him the rest of the way, face first into the ground before he was on top of him. He twisted his arms behind his back and smacked the metal cuffs tightly onto his wrists. Ezekiel squirmed and shouted from below, his broken sunglasses somewhere feet away.
"Someone dial the Sheriff!" he yelled repeatedly to his coworkers. "This man is crazy and has attacked me—again!"
"Save it—nobody cares. You're coming with me. I'm gonna book you in and give you a nice little jailcell you're gonna call home for a while," Rick explained as he tugged the man unsteadily to his feet. "Doesn't that sound nice? Funny how things work out, huh?"
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
At the Sheriff's station, the Tybee Union arrest was the talk of the afternoon. Even Walsh and Porter joined in, joking about how Gregory Wilkes sobbed the instant he was shown his cell. Abraham suggested drinks after their shift ended, but Rick had other ideas.
He unclipped his badge from his shirt and held it tightly in his enclosed palm. He'd thought a lot about a way forward over the past few weeks. When his father passed away and he learned the contents of the will, the future never felt more limitless. He didn't know the answers to everything yet, but one thing he did know was that he'd fulfilled his dream as a Sheriff Deputy. It was time to move on.
"What are you doing—?" Abraham asked. He watched flabbergasted as his partner started for the Sheriff's office. "Rick, get back here a sec—we haven't even had a beer!"
Rick ignored the muscley redhead's calls and continued toward Sheriff Douglas' office. He didn't bother knocking as was protocol. He walked into his boss's office with a calm demeanor that confused even Sheriff Douglas. He tilted his chin up at Rick, leaning into his leather chair as far back as it'd go.
"Grimes, congrats on the Wilkes-Carter arrest."
"Thanks, Sheriff. But I'm done."
"For the day?" Douglas glanced at the clock and then shrugged. "You know what? I'll make an exception this once—I heard Wilkes blubbered all the way to his jail cell. This is gold for the Sheriff campaign. I'm going to spin it as we're protecting the community from two criminals thieving for citizens personal funds."
"No, I mean…I'm done. For good." Rick tossed his badge onto the desk, looking his boss defiantly in the eyes. "I've always been happy to serve the community. That's why I became a deputy when I could've just followed in my father's footsteps. But if there's anything this past year has taught me—it's sometimes what you least expect happens. I never thought I'd walk away from this job, but I don't want anything to do with the politics of it anymore. There are other ways I can help Tybee."
"Grimes, you sound ridiculous."
"You look ridiculous, wearing that hat everywhere you go—using every little thing on the island to warp for your campaign. How you treated me during the scandal with Lori showed me how much you care 'bout your people. You don't. All you care 'bout is your image," Rick scolded succinctly. He dug his hands in his pants pockets and shrugged. "So I'm done. Find yourself another lapdog. 'Cuz I ain't it."
"Grimes!"
He didn't turn back no matter how many times Sheriff Douglas called after him. He met Abraham's eyes on his way out, giving him a grin that conveyed everything left to say. The burden of his duty as a Sheriff Deputy lifted off him the moment he stepped outside. He felt free, liberated in a way he hadn't expected. Whistling quietly to himself, he set out for his truck, thoughts on one person only.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Mariah looked up the instant the door dinged. Flashing him a toothy smile, she forgot about the dishrag in hand. "Interesting hour to stop by—it's closing time."
"I know. Guess I'm here now on purpose," Rick chuckled.
"Forgot how many little late-night coffee dates you guys had here," Mariah said, tossing the dishrag over her shoulder. "She's in the back office. I'll go get her."
"Thanks."
"You can thank me with a tip." The barista's joke came with a wink as she turned and pushed the kitchen doors open.
Rick waited patiently at the counter on his usual stool. After a day spent working his last shift as a Sheriff Deputy, he felt conflictingly drained and excited. Drained due to the hard work it took to move on with his life. Excited for climbing over the hill and onto the other, brighter, happier side. The side where Michonne stood waiting for him…
She appeared then, the kitchen doors swinging back-and-forth. Her warm brown eyes doubled at the sight of him and her feet picked up pace into a little trot that made him chuckle. He stood from the stool and welcomed her with an affectionate embrace. Brushing a braid beyond the shell of her ear, he kissed her hello.
"I've been thinking 'bout you all day," he rasped, mouth hovering hers.
"I'm glad. Thanks for stopping by."
"Did you hear?"
"About Ezekiel? Yes." She paused, inhaling a deep breath that lowered her shoulders. Her big brown eyes met his blue ones, pouring warmth into them like always. "I can't say I feel bad for him. He deserves whatever comes to him after everything he's done."
"You'll never have to worry 'bout Sugarhouse again. It's yours," Rick said. He drew back slightly, dug into his pants pockets, and produced a folded sheet of paper. "If you want to sell it, sell it. If you want to put the place in your name, we'll do it. Whatever you want."
Michonne opened the unfolded the crinkled sheet and her brows rose. She looked up at him and said, "Rick, thank you so much…but…I don't want Sugarhouse."
"You don't?"
"No." She shook her head, throwing a glance around the empty coffeehouse. With closing shift complete, the chairs were stacked on the tables and the expensive coffee machines were powered off. Next was to dim the lights. "I'm not happy here—I've never been happy here. I want to pursue my art career."
"Then we'll sell it."
"I can't say that's what I want either," said Michonne, gnawing on her bottom lip. "Mariah and the others depend on this place. Tybee does…"
"You're right. Sugarhouse should keep going."
"But I don't want my father involved."
"Mariah and the others—they can run it," said Rick. "Consider the place paid off."
"Rick, you don't—"
"I want to," he interrupted then grinned crookedly. "I love the coffee."
Michonne laughed. "I hope so. You come here almost every day."
"Not anymore. Not after today," he said, gesturing to the right pocket on his tan shirt. His badge used to be pinned there. "I quit. I'm no longer a Deputy."
"Oh, Rick, are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?" Michonne stared intently into his eyes, fingers sifting through his thick strands.
"I'm alright. It's time. Looks like you're not the only one following your dream. I've got a couple things in mind myself."
Puzzlement crossed Michonne's features, but before she could ask aloud, the kitchen door flapped open. The couple looked up and fell silent at the sight of Murray hobbling out the kitchen. Rick returned his eyes to Michonne in a mute question.
"Mariah brought him by earlier," Michonne murmured so only he could hear. "He said he wanted to see the shop again."
"Deputy Grimes." Murray's froggy voice was low. His face was blank. He leaned on his cane and stared at the two of them for a long moment.
Rick focused on Michonne's father, replying, "I'm not Deputy Grimes anymore, Mr. Lawrence."
"Murray. Please." He used his cane to limp a couple steps closer. Looking between his middle daughter and Rick, he swallowed so thickly his apple could be seen bobbing in his throat. "I didn't mean to interrupt you two—before you say a thing, Michonne—I know it's not my place. But I just wanted to get a word in real quick."
"If this is about how wrong you think we—"
"Please," interrupted Mr. Lawrence again. "A couple seconds is all I ask. I was in the kitchen and I heard you two talking about the fate of Sugarhouse."
"It's not yours," Michonne snapped right away. "Not anymore—"
"I know. And I'm glad," he admitted. He sighed heavily and leaned some more on his cane, gaping at Rick with bleary, tired eyes. "Truth be told, Sugarhouse was always your mother's dream—that's why I made so many deals with the devil to make that happen for her. Rick, I thought you were your father. Soon as those letters started coming in and you were in my house punching Zeke in the face and breaking 'em up and then trying to weasel your way in her life. I got angry. I got protective 'cuz I was convinced Zeke was a man I could trust. You being your father's son, I was convinced you weren't. And…for that, I'm sorry. I was wrong."
The apology threw Rick for a loop. He certainly hadn't turned up to Sugarhouse that night expecting to not only come across Murray Lawrence, but to receive a full-fledged apology from him. The moment left him speechless for a while. He blinked and looked to Michonne and then Murray and back again. If he was utterly honest, he didn't know if he and Murray would ever be entirely close. That didn't matter, though, as the apology gave him hope they could at least be cordial.
"Thank you, Murray. I appreciate that," Rick said finally. He stepped forward and held out his hand for a shake Murray quickly accepted.
"I know it might sound like a nutty idea, but how 'bout some coffee?" Murray said. "It's been a while since I've had some here."
"Your medication doesn't mix with caffeine," Michonne pointed out.
"There's always decaf, Lovebug," Murray told his favorite daughter. He grinned at the couple and then beckoned them toward the stools. "C'mon, let's give it a shot. Lemme call Mariah right quick—she'll have to get the machines going. Mariah!"
Rick and Michonne couldn't fight off the short chuckle that escaped. They indulged Murray and claimed two stools. He hobbled up to the counter himself and accepted Rick's help onto one next to them.
"Thanks," he breathed. "So let me have it. Tell me all about how you took out that son-of-a-bitch at the bank."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Deeper into June, the murky cloud in Rick's head cleared. He made a habit of being honest with himself. Rather than fight whatever feeling plagued him, he sought to embrace it. He struggled and failed sometimes, but he also recognized that was par the course with these kind of things. Nobody handled such gravity easily. He shouldn't expect himself to.
As that expectation fell away, he began to consider what came after. It had already been a constant on his mind. He'd thought plenty about what he wanted—what he still wanted. His father's death may have posed as a distraction for several weeks on end, but that didn't change what he envisioned for his life. It didn't change how he wanted to help Tybee or how he wanted to solidify his love for Michonne.
"What are you smiling about?" she asked on the first evening into July.
They stood in his kitchen, smackdab in the middle of making dinner that night. He paused mid-cut and looked up from the chopping board covered with tomatoes. His grin traveled to his eyes, sparking there for Michonne to see. He answered her with a tone huskier than expected.
"Nothing," he answered. "Cutting these tomatoes."
"Uh huh. You sure that's all?"
"Yup. Why else would I be smiling?"
Michonne simpered for a second, leaving the pot on the stove. She slipped her arms low on his waist and gazed up at him with the kind of adoration that made him feel like he could do anything in the world. She said softly, "I don't know. You look like you have something on your mind."
It was in the moments like these that he almost gave up the jig. Ones that reminded him of the times where they'd only been best friends and he'd looked into her eyes and almost professed his feelings. He chuckled and kissed her nose, amused by his own fervor for a slip of the tongue. Surely he wouldn't last long.
Several nights later, this proved to be the truth. Fourth of July arrived redder, whiter and bluer than ever around Tybee. The annual celebrations were embraced by the entire island. No one was spared. Rick, Michonne, Mariah and the others decided it was fruitless to try and resist. They gathered like most others for a front row view of the festivities on the North Beach.
"Could today get any better?" Glenn Rhee asked the sky. He stood with a smile plastered on his face, arms opened wide, as he basked in the July sun.
"Yeah, if I get a couple more of them whatcha-ma-call-it's…" burly Abraham Ford answered. He snapped his fingers to help jog his memory. "Those fancy drinks that taste like fruit and come in those colorful little bottles?"
"Wine coolers?" Jessie Anderson offered a smile.
"That's them! Thanks, blondie."
Rick watched the exchange with low chuckles and subtle headshakes. He sat with arms leaned backward, legs sprawled straight out across the beach blanket. The hot sand warmed him even through the blanket thanks to the sun. Though dusk neared, its superpowered rays refused to call it quits.
The others had their blankets set out too in anticipation for the show soon to come. Most of Tybee did, scattered across the vast sand dunes that were the North Beach. He squinted and let his gaze wander away from his friends and across the crowds out for some celebratory fun. It was hard to believe, even then, that his life was so much different than last Fourth.
His lips stretched into a secret smile when he spotted Michonne out the crowd. She was with her nephews, holding both Mikel and Wesley's hands. Devon ran circles around them with a plastic bucket and a shovel. Distance kept him from the distinct notes of their airy laughter, but his heart burst elatedly anyway.
His imagination carried him far. Deep into the future where he sat on that blanket and looked toward the shore and saw his wife with their child. Then she'd catch him staring and the smile she'd gift him would leave him no choice but to get up and join them. Hands clasped in a three-person chain, their little one would be swinging between them. They'd brace for the wave to crash against the shore as all the while pure laughter filled their bellies.
Blinking between reality and the imaginary sight left him breathless. He'd never wanted anything more…
"Hot out, ain't it?"
Rick blinked a couple more times then looked to his left. Mariah plopped down on the blanket and wiped her brow.
"Glenn wants to play another game of volleyball, but I told him between him and the boys, I can't take no more," Mariah huffed tiredly. "How does a grown man have the same energy as a 5-year-old boy?"
"Looks like he's got Gareth, Sasha and Grady to distract him now."
"Mhmm…good. I need a break." Mariah followed his gaze, mouth setting knowingly. "What are you up to, huh? Looking like you're lost in space."
His cheeks colored pink from more than the July heat. He mumbled, "just watching the crowds. Good turn out this year. More than last."
"Something tells me you were watching one person in particular."
"Alright. You caught me. Force of habit when she's around."
Mariah's face softened. "Y'all are too damn adorable for words. Don't think I've ever seen two people more right for each other. So why don't you already?"
"Already what?"
"I might not be a genius on much, but if the past couple months have taught me anything—it's what to look for in a good relationship. You and my sister are crazy about each other. Time to put a ring on it," said Mariah breezily.
Rick cracked a grin and said, "who says I'm not?"
"Atta boy! I knew you weren't just my favorite regular cuz you tip the best. Here she comes!" Mariah hopped to her feet, dusting flecks of sand off her lower half.
Michonne arrived to their blanket with the boys balls of energy. Mikel now played with Grady. Wesley set straight to build a sandcastle nearby and Devon stuck his bucket on his head, beating his shovel with it. Mariah yanked the shovel out her oldest son's hands.
"Devon," she said. "What in the world? How many times do I have to—?"
"Enjoy your alone time?" Michonne teased Rick. She lowered herself next to him, but not before a soft kiss on the lips. Ever greedy, Rick captured her in his arms and sprawled flat onto the blanket alongside her. They broke out into low laughs as the material bunched beneath them. "Are you really trying to cuddle right now? Out here on the beach with half of Tybee around?"
"Yup."
"What about our friends—?"
"What 'bout 'em?"
"Rick. This is a family friendly event," she giggled, kissing his scruffy chin. She sat up and nudged him to do the same. "I'm starting to think you've had those wine coolers Abe keeps drinking."
"He is getting surprisingly drunk off those."
"I'd like one or two myself. But first I'm thinking food."
He released a chuckle and stood, holding out his arms to pull her to her feet. "I saw a burger guy over there."
Michonne flashed him a smile and quipped, "you read my mind."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
The sun finally settled beyond their sights and the sky shifted into deep blues and purples. If possible, come sundown, more citizens had arrived to the North Beach. The fireworks show started as soon as the clock struck 8 P.M.
Abraham had fallen asleep after wine cooler number six. Jessie covered him with a beach towel and scolded her sons when they tried to bury him with sand. Sasha, Gareth and Grady were in their own world, huddled together as a trio several feet away. Mariah, the boys and Glenn remained closest to Rick and Michonne. The boys had thankfully tuckered themselves out. Like Abe, they too were asleep wrapped up in beach blankets. That left Mariah and Glenn to catch their breaths.
And Rick and Michonne to bask in their comfortable seclusion. Michonne let her head rest on Rick's shoulder, nestled against him her back to his front as they stood and swayed on their feet. His arms swathed over her and he upturned his eyes in time for the first firework to explode into neon glisters across the sky. Under his touch, he could feel Michonne's awestricken inhale. He couldn't resist holding her tighter in his grasp as if she kept him afloat.
His heart jumped at the thought that struck him next. They were each other's anchors. The security net sometimes needed during difficult times or bad days. The unconditional cheerleader in the corner there to provide encouragement and uplift the spirit. Two lone pieces for so long, finally together they fit each other like the most perfect puzzle.
The stream of thoughts set off an unanticipated impatience in him. He wanted her to know—needed her to as the blasts of green and golds lit up the inky sky. He glanced over and watched her face glow with a sense of wonder, eyes glued on the fireworks. His hand slipped into his jean pockets and his thumb raked over the small box in his pocket. He'd taken to carrying it with him wherever he went since Forest Hills. He never became more grateful for it than in that moment.
Another explosion brightened the dark canvas that was the sky. Every beach-goer turned their gazes on the neon glisters speckling many miles above. Except for Rick. He let impulses seize control and drop him to bended knee.
"That's beautiful," an awestruck Michonne whispered. Neck craned upward, she didn't notice until she glanced over for his reaction to the festivities and found no one beside her. Then her eyes dipped and she jumped back in surprise at sight of him kneeling. Her voice wavered uncertainly, brow furrowed, as she said, "Rick, what are you—?"
He took her hand in his and pressed his lips to her soft skin. "I love you. More than I can explain. I want to do everything in life with you. That's what I think 'bout when I look at you—our future together. And I'm ready for it to begin."
Michonne looked like she stopped breathing. She stood rooted in place, though her hand in his shook. It seemed to take her a couple seconds to process what he was saying. Others around them began to take note, one by one nudging each other in endeared gasps.
"Make me the happiest man on earth," Rick finished, grinning handsomely. "Marry me."
The ever-growing crowd gasped some more. Michonne struggled for the air to speak, mutely coming to nod her head many times over. Then she unexpectedly broke out into a gleeful laugh.
"Yes," she choked out somewhere between. "Of course!"
He swept her up and spun them around into circles until they were both delirious and dizzy. The crowd around them broke out into heavy applause, chorused by 'ooh's' and 'awe's'. Not that Rick and Michonne heard them. They were too busy lost in each other, spinning around and around as if they were alone. Kissing and laughing and crying, they were in their own little world.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
The blissful high lasted all night. About an hour later, they stumbled home to the cottage by the sea. Bathed in shadows and hearts thundering in their chests, they couldn't keep their hands off each other. They fell onto Michonne's bed already half-dressed, pausing sporadically to giggle or share adoring gazes.
Michonne kissed him between smiles. She couldn't express her immense joy any other way. Her gentle nibbles on his bottom lip, her sweet and warm breath on his skin, her little moans uttered as she rocked in his lap, made him lose his wits. He swallowed the taste of her, yearning for more with each kiss.
His fingers deftly unhooked the claps on her bra. The cottony material fell away unnoticed. Her breasts brushed bare against his chest. His lids fluttered being skin-to-skin with her. The sensation only further aroused him, breaking away from her lips to adorn her elsewhere. He filled his hands with the soft weight of her breasts and let his lips explore the elegant curve of her neck.
Ready to continue his travels, he turned them over and brought her flush onto the bed. She looked like a godless there, lying in her innate radiance, heavy-lidded and breathless. He couldn't process how beautiful she was to him. In every way, from her pretty face and warm eyes that mesmerized him to the work of art that was her body, but far beyond that, more meaningfully as her beautiful mind, heart and soul had truly ensnared him for good.
"What are you doing?" she murmured breathlessly.
"I'm just…I'm looking at you."
"Rick…" Her head titled scantly while the corners to her lips curled.
"Guess I'm in shock. You said yes. You're gonna be my wife."
She laughed despite herself. Reaching up to caress the scratchy hairs that were his beard, she said, "I am. And I can't wait."
"How did I manage that?"
"Manage what?"
"Convincing you to say yes? Someone as amazing as you?"
"It wasn't hard. You're pretty amazing yourself."
Michonne kissed him before he could utter another word. Her lips were on his softly and tenderly serving as the perfect distraction. She let her hands explore his chest, traversing its solid expanse. Her fingertips stopped on the sensitive patch of raised flesh. She gently rubbed her thumb across his jagged scar. The sensation sent a tingle up his spine. His hunger intensified. He kissed her deeper, slipping his tongue past her lips.
Temptation rose too high in him and he couldn't stand it a second longer. She gasped in his mouth when his hand dipped to her moist panties and cupped her core hot to the touch. Her pussy throbbed in need, demanding his undivided attention. He gladly obliged with fingers rubbing through the wet fabric much to her moans. Until she began to gradually thrust into his palm and tighten her thighs to entrap him there.
He peeled her panties to the side, licking his lips at the delicious sight. Exposed to the air, she moaned again, louder and hoarser, head buried into the many pillows. Her arousal glistened on her dark skin and called for a taste. He ran a finger along the sticky nectar and savored the intoxicating scent natural to her. His eyes closed when he sucked his finger clean from her arousal.
"You're killing me…" Michonne breathed, lids heavy. She spread her legs wide, unabashed in her request.
Rick chuckled gruffly. He couldn't help thinking about the night months ago in his house, where he'd eaten her pussy for the first time. Though it'd been new for her, it'd quickly become a regular request. One which more than thrilled him to dutifully oblige.
Her panties were nothing but a memory as she lifted her legs and he slipped them over the soft curve of her feet. He hurried to rid the last bits of his own clothes, indifferent to his denim and boxers forming a heap on the floor. His brain almost short-circuited as he paused for another second and realized he wanted everything. At once.
Stroking himself as he wanted nothing more than to be feast on her until she forgot her name, he also craved the velvety warmth she provided him once inside. He resigned to patience, wanting to take his time and make her cry his name as many times as possible.
His beard scratched and tickled the smooth skin of her thighs as he dove in. Michonne released a sound that was something between a giggle and a gasp. His tongue soon turned both into a moan vibrating in her throat. He lapped at her as if for sustenance, spurred on by her every twist and squirm. Her fingers ended up where they always did, knotted in his hair to hold on for the pleasurable ride.
Rick groaned with the taste of her sweetness on his tongue. He caressed her with that tongue, in tiny flicks and slow massages. He slipped in two fingers, coating them again in her stickiness, drawing slow circles. Her breath caught and she bucked involuntarily against his hand. His name mixed in with some curse words filled the air as his mouth closed in on her clit. He sucked lightly, breath warm on her, tongue rolling over the swollen nub.
Michonne's response was a hard clench of her pussy. Her walls tightened around his digits, slicker and wetter than ever. He continued sucking, applying gentle pressure, edging her second to second. She could hold on no longer as her back arched and she gasped. Stolen by blissful rapture, she floated up millions of miles away from him for the moment as the pleasure consumed her. He finished licking her juices from his fingers by the time she returned to him.
Skin dewy and flushed, chest rising from pants, she looked elatedly up at him from beneath her long lashes. He chuckled, crawling up to shower her with more affection. She clutched his face and kissed him rather sloppily, tongue eagerly in his mouth. His cock twitched out of neglect, desperate for the warmth she had to give.
"I think there's still a few condoms left in the drawer," she breathed after another kiss.
"Maybe we should start practicing for that future we talked 'bout."
"Practicing? We've slipped up a couple times already." She quirked a brow, a faint smile on her face.
"Why stop now?" Rick murmured, nuzzling her neck.
She let out a small laugh and shook her head, reaching for his hard, aching length. He inhaled a sharp breath, the feel of her touch enough to bring him that much closer. In the next couple seconds, he slid inside her slowly. The welcoming embrace as he slipped into her curled his toes. He had to close his eyes for a second, overwhelmed by how wonderful and familiar she felt all at once.
Michonne's legs clung to his waist, offering an angle that allowed him to sink even deeper. Buried to her uttermost depth, they shared moans vibrated from their throats. He leaned in close to capture her lips, her arms wrapping around him until their hot skin melted into each other.
Rick's thrusts were slow, long enough for them both to savor. They fell into a rhythm together, exchanging kisses and holding gazes. Their senses skyrocketed so that every touch, scent, sight, sound and taste between them felt gloriously magnified. Their own self-created language, the intimacy left their hearts ready to burst from such elation.
Michonne gasped as he filled her again and again. His thrusts came steadily harder, going deeper but never unmatched. She matched him, meeting him in a panting cry for more. He could feel himself build. Higher and higher he climbed on his search for absolute pleasure. She moaned as he hit a new spot and he closed his eyes and she felt so good, beads of sweat feverishly formed.
In a swift move, he switched things up so that his back was to the headboard and Michonne was on top. She smiled lustily at the change in position, missing no beats. Arms around his neck, she lifted her hips and began to ride him. He helped her along, palms filled by her fleshy ass. Their mouths met again in another playful kiss where their tongues teased each other.
So close to another finish, her hands gripped his forearms. Nails dug into his skin. She rode him wildly as if he were a bull she could hardly contain. Rick let his face fall to her breasts. The beautiful mounds offered the most delightful cushioning. He latched on, licking, sucking, swirling his tongue along her areola to send her careening over the edge.
Michonne's eyes rolled back as she finally let go. Intense waves rocked her body, pussy fluttering around him in tight little quakes. He held her closer, kissing her neck and then her mouth, swallowing the scream that fell past her lips. Her gaze returned to his and a tingle shot up his spine as the intensity was not lost on him.
She clutched his scruffy face and pressed her forehead against his. Their heavy breaths puffed out of them and filled the room. Their own soundtrack, joined only by the distant waves outside. He gripped her ass hard enough to leave imprints, together the two in sync again. She bounced in his lap as he guided her. He inched closer and closer, her pussy wetter and wetter, the clench impossible to hold on a second longer. His tension, reaching the highest peak possible, snapped in half like a twig.
His cock jerked and his toes tingled and he choked out, "ohh, fuck…Michonne!"
He thrust into her and let go, spilling deep. His cum mixed with hers, creating a mess that soon trickled down her thighs and coated him. He relished in the mess as he sought to catch his breath. Michonne distracted him with many small kisses. The two sweaty and sated for the time being, they wanted nothing more than to sprawl out in each other's arms.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"When did you know?" Michonne asked, lying on her back with her head on his stomach.
Rick stared up at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head. "I've known for weeks."
"That's where you were the night at Tallulah's?"
"I told you I had a surprise."
"You were pretty casual about it. I assumed you meant something like—surprise, flowers! Or—surprise, I brought you cheesecake!" Michonne said with a soft laugh. She held out her hand and studied the gorgeous diamond which gleamed even in the low lights. "I did not think you meant a ring."
Rick chuckled along with her. "Guess I coulda picked up some cheesecake too…"
"Screw the cheesecake. All I want is you," she purred, shifting so that she curved into his side. "I feel like I'm dreaming. You have made me a very happy woman, Mr. Grimes."
"That's the plan. For the rest of our lives. You're stuck with me, Mrs. Grimes."
"I kind of like the sound of that—Michonne Grimes."
"I don't just kinda like it—I love it." He pulled her closer, smoothing his hand up and down her spine.
"Were you serious—what you said earlier," said Michonne. Her tone lowered, grew more serious. She glanced up at him then settled her gaze on the candlelit mantle.
"I was. I want it all with you. I'm tired of waiting. Aren't you?"
"Tell me about us—what you'd like. I want to picture it."
Rick's eyes crinkled and his mouth curled in a boyish grin. "I want us living somewhere peaceful—in our own little world with our family. Maybe I'll spend my time helping the communities nearby, doing some good with my father's money. And you, you'll be busy creating those masterpieces."
"Mhm. And how big of a family are we talking?"
"Eight sounds like a good number."
"I am not popping out eight kids!" she laughed.
"C'mon, you can handle eight," he teased good-naturedly. His fingers traced over the rim of her belly button. "Who knows? Maybe we've already got number one on the way…"
"Then you better hope it's octuplets."
They dissolved into laughs for the next few minutes, going back and forth in their teases. Finally, after Michonne thwacked him with a pillow, he held up his hands and conceded defeat.
"Alright, alright. Six."
"Rick!"
"Four?"
"We'll start with one," she humored, kissing his lips. "Someday."
"Alright, one. Someday soon."
Her brows arched and she shook her head incorrigibly, giving up with a light laugh. Their high spirits left them lazy in bed, too sluggish to get up but also too excited for winks of shuteye. They settled for more conversation, as they'd done so many nights before. First as keen acquaintances and then as good friends and eventually best friends in love, basking in each other until dawn.
It was and always would be a given.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
For a moment indiscriminate in time, Rick stood facing a door. The thought to push the door open didn't spring to mind until his hands did the work on their own accord. They stretched to nudge the double doors open. His legs took the cue and walked him through. Whoops, cheers and applause filled his ears at a distance.
The celebratory sounds were coming from the end of the hall. The auditorium where he stopped in the doorway and surveyed the many chairs. Parked in each one was a proud parent or enthusiastic child. The children wore uniforms he recognized at a glance. The tan buttoned shirts and olive-green shorts were hard to forget. The matchup was a uniform he'd worn many times before.
He searched the bevy for what he expected. The exact same outcome he'd experienced every other time he'd been stuck in this dream. He sought the disappointed little boy with corkscrew curls and skinny bowed knees. When that failed he looked for his mother's chemically teased hair and fashionable shoulder pads. He didn't find her. In fact, after another glance around, it dawned on him he didn't recognize any of the children or parents in the room.
Until his searching blue eyes landed on a woman that stirred heart palpitations even in his dreams. Michonne sat in the front row, and though he could only see her profile, he could tell she was smiling. Her gaze fixed itself to the stage. His eagerly followed and then he saw him. The little boy on the stage he was meant to see—with his wide eyes and brown skin and bow-legged shuffle across the stage.
The boy beamed as his courage badge was pinned onto his sash. His hand flapped back and forth in a frantic wave to not only Michonne, but…Rick?
Rick didn't know how he'd missed it before. The man seated next to Michonne, whose face coincidentally fell completely out of view from where he stood could only be one person. His shirt, the tuft of curls on the back of his head, his arm stretched across the back of Michonne's chair as he waved back at his son with the other. They were there supporting their son.
He wanted desperately to run over and drink in the sight close up. To linger in what was one of the most wonderfully vivid and pleasant dreams he'd ever had, because there was no telling if he'd remember the moment he woke. He broke into a light trot toward the front of the auditorium just as the boy came down the stairs and rushed into the arms of his parents.
His lips pulled wide into a grin and his legs carried him slightly faster. He was near, growing close enough so that their faces would finally be in view…
Michonne's soft sigh woke him. He instantly placed the sound. Her light breaths commonly fell from her lips while sleeping. He blinked sleepily a couple times, finding the room pitch-dark. Then he turned his head and glanced at his dozing fiancé. She lay on her side, hand tucked under her pillow, fast asleep.
Thinking about the brilliant dream he'd just had, he scooted closer. His front against her back, he slipped his arm over her waist, across her flat stomach, and kissed the tip of her shoulder. He let his eyes slowly close, grinning to himself as he couldn't help wondering if the dream would someday come true.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Author's Note: So that's the last real chapter. It can technically even be an end if you want it to be. I will try to wrap up the (short) epilogue in the next couple days so that I can get that officially uploaded before NANOWRIMO starts. Again, guys, thank you. Your continued support is neverendingly appreciated. I love hearing from you all so it's a real treat. Happy Friday