Once We Were Starlight
I stopped in the bathroom to wash up and then undressed, crawling under the covers, wrapping my arm around her, cupping her breast in my palm. She sighed, turning her head, her voice sleepy as she said, “You’re home.”
I kissed her shoulder. “I got an earlier flight.” I had planned to be back in the morning, but had managed to find a late-night ticket home. I’d be tired tomorrow, but the idea of sleeping in a hotel room, when I could instead be holding my wife in my arms, seemed miserably unbearable.
Karys turned over, running her palm over my cheek. I turned my head and kissed it and then brought my lips to hers. “I missed you,” I said.
“I missed you too. How were the houses?”
“They were great. Homey. Comfortable. Safe.”
“And the staff?”
“Even better.”
I’d used the Madsens’ business plan to get my own foundation up and running, homes in six states so far that housed those rescued from sex trafficking. As Karys and I well knew, victims who had been rescued from trafficking and would live in the homes run by our foundation, had very specific needs. They’d be surrounded by others who had experienced what they had, and live-in counselors there to help them adapt and work through the trauma they’d faced. Something that might have made all the difference for myself, and Karys too. Of course, Cody and the people who had rescued us had done the very best they could in helping us face a new and different life, but there was a lack of services, and a lack of understanding about the very specific needs of people like us once the literal part of the rescue had been accomplished. And in all honesty, we were the lucky ones. We’d known love within Sundara, had a family who’d cared for us, giving us more than many of the victims we’d helped thus far.
In addition to the Madsens, who were like family to us now, I’d also been working with a team in Vegas, where we’d moved. The ex-Navy team had been rescuing trafficking victims—both internationally and abroad—for years, and putting them up in a hotel run by one of the members. But they faced the challenge of longer-term housing for those they rescued, and the services necessary to help them thrive, get an education, or learn a skill, find work, a permanent home, and access to psychological services, for as long as they wanted them.
That’s where I stepped in. Because we lived here now and due to my connection to the team in Vegas and the work they did, our foundation had opened the greatest number of homes in Nevada—three so far. We had separate housing for men and women of different age brackets, and matched those best suited to help each other begin new lives, including victims who’d had similar experiences and those who spoke the same languages of others in the home. Many of the counselors in the residences had once been trafficked themselves and had moved on to successful lives. Like me, it healed them more fully to help those who had once been where they were.
The work fulfilled me. It made me proud. It added to my faith in the goodness of others and the resilience of the human spirit.
Karys smiled. “You sound tired. And happy.”
“I am,” I whispered, kissing her again and then pulling back. “You met your deadline, I assume?”
She grinned. “Don’t I always? Yes. I turned in my manuscript. It’s done and now I have a small breather before I have to dive into editing. Although . . .”
“What?”
“Well, there’s a bit of a plot twist.”
My brow knitted. “In your story?”
“No, in our life. I’m pregnant.”
Surprise made me pull back slightly so I could see the entirety of her expression better. “Seriously?”
She laughed. “Very seriously.”
Joy spiraled through me and I rose to my knees. “When did you find out?”
“This morning. I took three tests. I wanted to tell you in person.”
I leaned over her, taking her face in my hands, and planting my lips on hers, not able to help the grin that spread across my mouth. “Damn, I do good work,” I said between kisses.
She laughed, punching me softly on my arm. “You get the easy part. Now my work begins.”
My smile grew. “True. When is this hellion arriving?”
“December.”
I flopped down on my back, smiling at the ceiling as Karys laid her head on my chest, yawning. “I’ll have to start stocking up on red licorice,” I whispered and felt her lips tip into a smile. I stroked her arm, her velvety skin warm and familiar under my fingertips. After a few moments her breath evened and I could tell she’d fallen back to sleep.
The gentle hum of the air conditioner kicked on, the curtain above the vent swaying slightly in the breeze. Outside the window, the moon was full and round as only a desert moon can be, the dry, stifling heat kept at bay by the modern conveniences we now enjoyed. Vegas was a different kind of desert, but Karys and I had decided we wanted a desert to be our home. We loved the blazing sun and the wavering light. We loved the way night fell as suddenly as our hearts had that moment so long ago when we were only children. We loved being surrounded by miles of empty, open space, that felt like a kind of infinity all our own. And though we’d found the seasons interesting, we did not miss the snow.