Note: This story and the stories that follow in the Lily in the Valley series are a continuation of my novel, Lily. Hope you enjoy...
Lily in the Valley
Chapter 1
Meet the Family
I opened the door, and standing in front of me was maybe the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. He stood about six-foot-two with olive skin, dark wavy hair, deep brown eyes, a perfectly symmetrical face, and a body that made me quiver in my core. I hadn't had that kind of reaction to a man since I saw Tom for the first time. Unlike Tom, however, the man in front of me was, by anyone's standards, gorgeous. Also in contrast to Tom, this man was impeccably dressed in designer jeans and a short-sleeved button-up. Everything fit perfectly and was completely devoid of wrinkles. The perfect man.
"Can I help you?" I asked, trying not to stare.
"Are you Lily Bradford?"
Even his voice was sexy.
"Yes," I answered, wondering why he would possibly be knocking on my door.
"My name is Noah Martin."
He paused briefly, looking nervous.
"I'm your brother."
"I'm sorry. I don't have a brother," I corrected. "You must be mistaken." Surely, this must be some new kind of scam, I thought.
"Your mother, Jane Watford Adams, was my mother. Your father, James Adams, was my father."
He handed me a tattered, yellowed document. As I unfolded it to examine, he continued.
"I was born two years to the day before you. I'm guessing from the look on your face that they never told you about me."
I stared at the birth certificate in my hand. He wasn't lying. I shook my head, trying to wrap my brain around what I was seeing and hearing.
"I don't understand," I mumbled to myself.
"I was put up for adoption. I never knew my biological parents - our parents. I was raised in Florida by the people who adopted me."
"I'm sorry. I just..." I stammered. I was in complete shock. For a moment, I thought I was going to lose my balance. My mother and father were the only blood relations I ever knew, and they were both dead. I had always assumed I was the only one left. And for good reason. To hear otherwise absolutely rattled my view of the world and my place in it.
"I know how you feel. I felt the same way when my parents told me I was adopted. That was a hell of a day."
I looked up at Noah, taking in his face again. He smiled.
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," he said. "I probably don't have most of the answers, but if you invite me in, maybe I can tell you what I do know. At the very least, I think you should probably sit down. You're looking a little wobbly."
I tried to gather my senses. "I'm sorry. Yes. Please...come in," I agreed, pointing Noah in the direction of the kitchen. He took a seat at the bar.
"Would you like something to drink?" I offered, making my way to the cabinet to retrieve a wine glass.
"Some water would be good."
"Are you sure I can't get you something else?"
I was hoping he'd drink with me so I could feel a little better about myself for wanting to take the edge off. I put my wine glass on the counter and reached for the bottle of red that I had opened the night before. I couldn't believe that my initial reaction to seeing my own brother was so visceral and so sexual. The last man that made me feel that way ended up looking down at me on my knees for him just a few hours later.
"Given the circumstances, I think I'm gonna have a little drink. It's gotta be five o'clock somewhere," I joked.
I was relieved to see Noah didn't seem to judge me. He smiled and let out a little chuckle.
"A glass of wine sounds good," he nodded.
As I filled our glasses, I noticed our neighbor, Bob, out the window. I quickly turned my attention back to pouring the wine. I didn't want to waste a second of my time thinking about the asshole across the street. He was retired and had nothing better to do than spy on everyone in the neighborhood and cause problems. He seemed to have a particular fascination with me. He stopped shy of catcalling, but his lingering stares and inappropriate comments were an almost daily bother. Had we known such an asshole was going to be across the street, Will and I would have bought a house somewhere else. I just knew that at some point in the future, the grapevine would be ripe with rumors about me welcoming a handsome stranger into my house while my husband was at work. No one there knew of my past. If they did, Noah's mere presence at my doorstep would have caused quite the kerfuffle.
Noah and I agreeing that we weren't going to get through the moment without alcohol settled my nerves a little bit, even before taking a sip. I wasn't worried about drinking so early in the day. Alcohol wasn't my problem. Sex was. Much like an alcoholic shouldn't hang out in bars, I normally wouldn't have allowed myself to be alone with such a beautiful man. However, considering that the gorgeous man in question was apparently my brother, I felt confident I wasn't going to relapse, even if I indulged in a little ethanol. My head was swimming, and I was still too befuddled to guide the conversation. I think Noah sensed that and took the lead.
"Why don't I start by telling you what I'm doing here?" he suggested.
"Okay," I agreed, already nearing the end of my glass, having gulped down most of it the first two sips. I went to top myself off. I gestured with the bottle to offer the same to Noah. He'd barely had a sip of his.
"Why not?" he answered.
We laughed at how little I could actually add to his glass, and I felt some more tension leave my body. Noah took an awkward sip of his wine to keep it from spilling before continuing his story.
"Obviously, I'd been curious about my birth parents ever since my mom and dad first told me I was adopted. But I was always too scared to actually do anything about it. What if they were awful? What if they refused to see me? I was terrified of being rejected. For years, there always seemed to be something holding me back. Some excuse. But a few months ago, I just decided, 'Screw it. I want to know. Good or bad.' Then, of course, I found out they were both gone. I saw your name in the obituaries, and here I am."
"Here you are," I smiled. The shock was wearing off, and incredulity was taking its place. "God, you're so beautiful," I beamed.
Noah smiled back. "So are you."
I made my way to the other side of the bar, reaching out with my arms to hug him. "I have a big brother!" I cried.
Noah stood up and embraced me. I'll never forget that moment, being wrapped in my brother's arms for the first time, for as long as I live. We spent the next few hours and the rest of that bottle of wine telling each other of our childhoods and marveling at how similar we were. We both loved wine but hated scotch. Comedies, not horror. Fish, but not seafood. Even our features were similar, right down to our toes. As the afternoon wore on and the wine continued to flow, the questions became more and more personal.
"Can I ask you something? It's none of my business, but I'm curious," Noah asked.
"Sure," I replied.
"When our dad died, you were Lily Bradford. When our mom died, you were Lily Adams. Now you're back to Bradford."
"Ah. I understand the confusion."
I felt a little embarrassed, but I had learned to deal with it. Normally, I only told my story to other people if it was in the interest of helping someone. I don't know if it was the wine or if it just felt like I was talking to a mirror, but I decided to tell Noah the unabridged version. I still carried some shame about my sex addiction, but I tried to challenge that shame when I could. I was glad I was drunk, though.
"So, yeah. Will and I got married right after college. We were married for right at six years - split up on our sixth anniversary, in fact. Then we were apart for several years. While we were apart, Will got sober. I got sexually sober. And then, by pure chance, fate, or divine intervention - whatever you want to call it - we wound up in the same bar in Nashville. I didn't even live there, and I had no idea that he did. I was there for a conference. I went for a drink with friends afterward, and Will was there in the corner. He was playing guitar, not drinking, by the way. We'd both been sober for a while by that point. We talked, and I ended up never leaving town. We've been back together ever since. It's been wonderful. We got married again a year ago. So, in true white trash fashion, I married the same man twice."
"Wow. So, what does that mean exactly? Sexually sober?"
"It means that I used sex just like an alcoholic uses alcohol."
Noah looked terribly concerned. "So, you can't have sex anymore?"
"No! God, no!" I laughed. "I just can't use it like a drug anymore. I only have sex in a committed, loving relationship, and I don't allow myself to use it to change the way I feel. I use it to express love, not hide from things."
"Oh, thank God," Noah sighed. "If I couldn't have sex, I don't think life would be worth living!"
We both laughed. I couldn't have agreed more.
"So, do you have to go to meetings and stuff?" Noah probed.
"I used to. I haven't been in a long time. I haven't had any issues with it in years, though." I knew that I should probably at least find out where a meeting was in my new hometown, just in case, but I wasn't worried. I'd relapsed once, after my mother died. I went to Myrtle Beach for a long weekend with friends and ended up falling off the wagon. I quickly got back in recovery and had been fine ever since.
"What about you? Ever married?" I asked.
"No," Noah replied. "I came close once or twice, but it never panned out. I don't know that I'm built for settling down."
"Kids?"
Noah cocked his head a little and confessed, "Uh...actually, I prefer men."
"Really?" I couldn't hide my surprise.
"Yup."
"I should have known," I joked. "There isn't a wrinkle anywhere on you. No straight man irons his jeans."
Noah laughed.
"I, myself, have taken a dip or two in the lady pool," I offered, making a blatant effort to signal that I wasn't homophobic.
"Let me guess...college?"
"You guessed wrong. Well, actually, I did kiss a girl in college one time, but I didn't have sex with a woman until things started going off the rails."
"Going off the rails?"
Drinking wine with a brother I never knew I had was the last thing I thought I would be doing that day. Telling him of my sexual exploits was the second to last thing I thought I would be doing that day.
