What Comes Next

by Desni Dantone

  “You haven’t exactly broken up with her either,” I point out.

  His lips twitch again. “You want me to?”

  “That’s not—you said you were going to, and you didn’t. It doesn’t matter whether I want you to or not.”

  “You want me to,” he concludes confidently.

  “That’s not what I said,” I counter. “You said you were going to.”

  He shrugs lazily. “She wasn’t home.”

  My mouth snaps open to make another argument. The fight rushes out of me when my eyes meet his, and suddenly I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be upset about.

  “Ana?” His breath dances across my face as a whisper. “I’ve waited a year for you to come back. Don’t go now.”

  “You’ve hardly waited, Ben,” I fire at him.

  His head lowers fractionally. “You’re right. I was weak. I should have been stronger. I shouldn’t have given up hope that you’d come back, but for a period of time, I did. I’ll admit that. I’ve done a lot that I’m not proud of lately, but I want to make it all right again. For me to do that, you can’t go anywhere.”

  I shake my head at the ground, and he pushes closer to me.

  “It’s always been you, Ana. You’re the one that has my heart. I gave it to you a long time ago, and you’ll always have it.” His lips curve into a crooked smile. “Hell, I don’t even want it back.”

  “Ben, I—”

  “I never stopped loving you, Ana. Don’t leave,” he pleads. “Give me the chance to remind you that you can still love me, too.”

  His lips barely brush mine, and my pulse jumps at the soft touch. It’s easy to forget everything else around me, forget everything that has piled up between us. When he teases my lips again, I almost forget that I’ve been without him for three years. I close my eyes and envision us as teenagers again, back in the treehouse, flesh-to-flesh as we take our time exploring each other.

  I can almost pretend we’ve lost no time since then, that the past three years never happened. In my heart, that is partially true. Some things have not changed. Like I still love the boy that first stole my heart, I love the man that stands before me now.

  My lips part to say the words. I manage only a sigh when he takes the opportunity to capture my mouth with a deep and slow kiss. He eases away, and our breaths mingle as our lips barely touch. Neither of us moves, as if we both fear that moving will shatter the illusion once thought impossible.

  I tentatively run my hands up his solid chest and over his shoulders, assuring myself that he is real. My eyes slit open to confirm that this is really happening. I’m touching him. I’m kissing him . . . barely, and it’s not enough.

  My fingers flirt with the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck, and with slight pressure, I pull his lips to mine. He instantly steps back—one arm snaking around my waist to take me with him—as his free arm slams the car door shut behind me. The wall of glass and metal is hard and unyielding when he presses me against it, but I’m grateful for that. I need something sturdy to hold me up the moment his tongue parts my lips.

  We take off in a fast race, both of us competing to see who can re-familiarize themselves with the other first. Our mouths move together in perfect harmony, both of us greedily taking what we can from the other. It’s clumsy. It’s messy.

  It’s still not enough.

  Somewhere along the way, my legs get wrapped around his waist. I’m not even sure who instigated that. My hands are under his shirt, and I have no memory of how they got there. My own shirt is bunched up from Ben’s exploring touch, and the sun-warmed metal on my exposed back partially pulls me out of the surreal escape of our heated kiss.

  I’m sandwiched between Ben and the car door. I can’t stop kissing him. I don’t want to stop kissing him, but . . .

  My lips slide from his long enough to whisper, “Ben?”

  He doesn’t know the reason I said his name. He doesn’t ask. He responds by gripping my hips to secure my legs around his waist, and pulling me off of the car like he already knows our reunion deserves better than a hasty kiss against the hot metal of a car. Instead of putting me on my feet, he carries me to the kitchen door. His mouth holds me captive the entire time.

  He manages to yank the screen door open without dropping me. The inner door is a little trickier, and we bounce through it like a pinball at the arcade. I giggle against the smile on his lips as he rights us against the wall just inside the door. My hands are finally free to do what they want, and they quickly lift the shirt over his head.

  Our lips part only long enough for the material to pass between us, before crashing back together. Just as quickly, we’re on the move again. He hastily lays me on the edge of the island counter, and makes quick work of my blouse before tossing it to the floor alongside his.

  Standing between my parted knees, he releases my mouth to nibble and suckle a path down my jaw, my neck, and lower. My head rolls back, and I stare at the ceiling through hooded eyes as I try to catch my breath.

  What he’s doing to me certainly isn’t helping, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting more. When his lips skim the upper edges of my bra, my back arches in anticipation.

  “Off,” I demand. “Take . . . now.”

  I feel his mouth curve into a smile against my flesh before he murmurs, “Is that a sentence?”

  “It’s an order,” I breathe. My legs tighten around his waist to pull him closer.

  His mouth moves lower as his fingers unhook the clasp at my back. The fabric slips away, and I squeeze my eyes shut as a surge of incredible pleasure washes over me.

  I collapse onto my back, and Ben presses between my knees to follow. His need is evident, and the feel of him there, in a place he hasn’t touched in three years, only fuels the fire already burning inside of me. It’s a fire I know only he can extinguish.

  But . . . not on the kitchen island. I cast a wary glance at the ceiling, and swear I can feel Ma’s disapproving scowl from the heavens.

  I push up onto my elbows and pull Ben’s face into my hands to force him to look at me. I don’t know what to say to explain my sudden unease, but apparently I don’t have to say anything. Just like he did outside moments ago, he seems to understand what I’m thinking.

  He captures my mouth with a throaty moan as he pulls me off the counter. With my legs wrapped around him once again, he carries me into the living room. Ben drops into the old reclining chair, and I go with him. The feel of our hot and naked flesh pressed together brings about a renewed surge of desperation in both of us. Our mouths move together as our fingers feverishly search for the clasps, buttons, and zippers that remain in our way.

  I shift and shimmy on his lap as every last article of clothing is tossed to the side. I can feel him, hot and hard, against me. Only then do I pull my mouth from his, because there’s something he needs to know.

  “I’ve only ever been with you,” I tell him softly. “There’s been no one else.”

  His head rolls back to rest against the back of the chair, and he blinks up at me as awareness settles in. We’ve only been together a handful of times . . . three years ago. Behind the smug grin on his face, I see a flash of understanding.

  The feverish pace at which we’ve been moving gives way to delicate and purposeful actions. His hands caress my skin with the familiar tenderness he always reserved for me. His eyes hold mine as he slips a hand between us. Then he pulls my mouth to his as he pushes me to the brink. Holding me tight as the waves of pleasure rip through me, he brings our bodies together again.

  He distracts me from the mild discomfort with a deep kiss until it fades. In its place settles an overwhelming sensation of fullness, of absolute completion, that brings tears to my eyes. Good tears. The happiest kind of tears.

  As our bodies move together, I confirm what I’ve known all along. No one can ever replace Bennett Sawyer. Not in my heart, my soul, or my body.

  I’m alone when I wake up in my own bed the next morning. The aroma of
freshly made pancakes in the air reassures me that I’m not entirely alone, and that last night was not an illusion.

  I follow the delicious smell downstairs and into the kitchen. There, I find Ben standing at the stove in nothing but the jeans he wore yesterday. Though the house is slightly chilled this morning, I flush as thoughts about last night roll through my head.

  For hours, we discovered all that we have missed out on the past three years. Our chemistry together, though it seems impossible, is even stronger now. Our connection is even more powerful. Of course, he is still as insanely sexy as ever, whether he’s taking my clothes off, or trying to cook.

  “Need some help?” I announce softly from the doorway, remembering his difficulty with loud and unexpected things.

  He doesn’t jump, but instead shoots me a smile over his shoulder. “Hope you like your pancakes well done.”

  “I’m hungry enough to eat them in any condition.” I hold his gaze as I come up behind him. The scar that runs across his ribcage reminds me that he has experienced things I can never fully comprehend, and I gauge his reaction as I carefully slip my arms around him. He doesn’t flinch, or tell me to stop.

  “Is this okay?” I ask softly.

  “Perfect.” One of his hands folds around mine where it’s fanned across his chest, while the other one flips pancakes. A few comfortably silent moments tick by before he asks, “What are you doing today?”

  “Eating burnt pancakes, and then . . . I don’t know.”

  His chest vibrates under my hand in silent laughter as he scoops up the last pancake and deposits it on the plate with the others. After turning off the stove he turns to face me, his arms slipping around my waist to tug me close.

  “I’ve got to, uh . . . take care of something this morning.” He gives me a look, and I know he’s referring to his plans to finally break things off with Tracy. “Maybe this afternoon, we can do something? Go down the coast? Head into the city? It’s the weekend, so I have the next two days off . . .”

  A worrisome thought crosses my mind as Ben trails off. I told Michelle I would only be gone a few days. What am I doing? What am I going to do?

  “Ana?”

  I attempt to dismiss my brief daze-like episode with an encouraging smile, but he doesn’t buy it. His grip on my waist tightens as he stares down at me, as if my thoughts are written on my forehead.

  He swallows hard. “Do you love him?”

  My head whips back at his soft inquiry. My immediate reaction is to ask him who he is talking about, but I can’t organize the right words into a functional sentence.

  One corner of his mouth quirks up. “I’ll take that as a no,” he chuckles lightly.

  “There isn’t . . .” I shake my head in confusion. “Why would you think . . .”

  He shrugs casually. “Your friend, Michelle, told me you left with two other people. One of which had a thing for you. I just . . .”

  “Assumed?” I finish with a smile. When he nods, I add, “It wasn’t easy to let others in when I couldn’t even force myself to get over you.”

  His smile widens, and I ask, “What now?”

  “It’s just that this is the first time since you came back that I know you’re not going to leave.”

  “Oh, really? You know that, do you?” He nods confidently as I draw closer, melting into his embrace. “What makes you so sure?”

  He tucks my head under his chin, and his breath stirs my untamed hair. “Because I made you fall in love with me again.”

  “No, you didn’t.” I press my cheek against to his chest, where his heart beats wildly. “I never stopped.”

  He is right about one thing. I’m not going to leave Stone Creek now. I have some major decisions to make. But not today.

  My nightmares have morphed into a dream come true, and I’m not ready to wake up from it yet. First I’ll enjoy another blissful afternoon of avoidance, before I take the first step toward whatever the future holds and decide what I’m going to do. For the first time in three years, I know that Ben will be there at the end of the day.

  I end up spending most of the morning with Ana before I reluctantly bring myself to leave. What I have to do next isn’t something I look forward to, but I know it’s necessary for Ana and me to move forward in rebuilding what we once had. Though we got an early start on it last night, there are still many wrongs that need to be righted. There are many changes that I need to make.

  I plan to start with Tracy. I plan to drive home, shower, get some clean clothes, and then track her down. But when I pull up to the house alongside Tracy’s white car, I realize our talk is going to happen a little sooner than expected.

  She’s perched on the top step leading to the deck, waiting for me. Her eyes rake over my wrinkled, day-old clothes with a flash of anger. “I don’t need to ask where you were all night.”

  I take a seat a few steps below her with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Tracy. I really am.”

  “Just like that? She comes back, and four days later, you forget the past year that she wasn’t here? The past six months you spent with me? Everything I’ve done?”

  “You’ve known from day one how I felt about Ana,” I remind her levelly. “I never lied to you. If you thought otherwise, it’s not because I wasn’t honest with you.”

  “Right.” She shoots to a stand. “I was never good enough to replace your precious Ana! You made that perfectly clear—”

  “You shouldn’t want to be anyone’s replacement, Tracy,” I growl as I push to my feet.

  “She’s going to find out, Ben!” Tracy screams. “She’ll find out, and do you really think she’ll stick around then? When she learns that you’re just like him?”

  “That’s enough, Tracy.” I climb the rest of the steps, stalking past her as I head toward the front door.

  “I don’t care about it, Ben!” She roars as she runs after me. “There’s something from the war that’s eating you up. I know that’s why you drink, why you freak out in the middle of the night. I’ve known all along, but I don’t care. I don’t care what you do, as long as you come home to me at the end of the night. Do you think she’ll feel the same?”

  I turn abruptly, causing her to skid to a stop behind me. “This is my home. Not yours, and you won’t be here for me to come back to anymore. Get your stuff, Tracy.” I yank the door open, and nod my head inside. I return her steely gaze with a look of indifference as she marches past me, and into the house. “Tracy?”

  She stops, and looks up at me with hopeful eyes.

  “Where’s the ring?” I ask her, and stand firm when her face falls. I won’t let her fool me again. No more. Her crocodile tears don’t affect me.

  She wipes them away with the palm of her hand before she fishes my mama’s ring out of her pocket. With a sniffle, she places it in my outstretched hand. Then she shifts, and her stormy eyes snap up to mine. “You’re going to regret this.”

  “The only thing I regret is the past six months,” I tell her honestly. A little harsh, but her stunt yesterday only reminds me of just how right my statement is. Tracy has brought nothing but trouble from day one, and I do regret getting mixed up with her again. I’m just glad her most recent attempt to come between Ana and me has failed.

  With a huff, Tracy stomps off. I wait in the entryway as she thumps around upstairs, gathering what belongs to her, which isn’t much. It takes longer than it should before I see her descending the stairs with an armload of clothes and a bag tossed over her shoulder.

  She doesn’t meet my gaze as she passes by, and I think this has gone a hell of a lot better than I expected it to. Then she stops, and turns to thrust a bottle of whiskey into my chest.

  “Have one on me,” she smirks.

  I stare after her until she’s in the car, and gone . . . and I’m left alone with my greatest weakness, and the one thing I have avoided since the day Ana came back. It’s the one thing that can ruin any chance I have at getting my life straight again.

  It’s that
realization, coupled with the thought of the ring now safely in my pocket, that forces my feet to move across the floor toward the kitchen. I twist the lid off the bottle and dump the golden liquid down the drain. There is more in the house, but I don’t have time to search for all of it now.

  I need to see Ana now, more than ever.

  I know before falling asleep that it’s going to be a rough night. I can feel it—the nightmares hitching a ride with the memories Tracy brought back to the surface today. I should have moved to the couch after Ana fell asleep, but my own greed wouldn’t let me leave the bed with her in it.

  Deep inside the dream, the stench of burning flesh is just as putrid as it was that day. The footfalls of the advancing enemy just as loud and terrifying as I remember. I know what I need to do, but my feet are stuck to the ground under the weight of fear, just as I’m stuck in the dream with no way out. Not until it finally releases me.

  I’m jolted awake by the blinding pain that explodes across the back of my head from the butt of a rifle. Tonight, like every night I relive it, my hands fly to my head as I gulp for air. Tonight, however, I’m not alone.

  A shadowy hand drifts out of the dark and lands on my shoulder. I tear out of the bed, and freeze only when I hear a familiar voice calling my name. I slowly turn, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and settle my gaze on a startled Ana.

  She sits up and leans across the mattress toward me. “Ben? What happened? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” My voice is raspy, and I swallow the dry lump in my throat as I inch away from her. “Just a bad dream.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I shake my head vigorously. “I need some air. I’ll be fine, I just . . .” Need to get out of this room right now.

  “Okay.” Ana moves to get out of the bed, and I put a hand out to stop her.

  “Just stay here,” I order softly. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Ben, I—”

  “It’s fine, Ana,” I cut her off as I swipe a pair of pants off the floor and slip them on. “I just need a minute.”