by Jewel E. Ann
That incredible smile eases up his face as his gaze moves from her to me. I smile back. Not a gloating smile, just genuine happiness. It’s the Jenna-died-but-Morgan-will-adore-you-forever smile. I can’t really articulate how much I want him to have something special in his life last forever.
“You’re awesome,” he says in a choked whisper. And he’d never admit it, but those are the beginning of unshed tears in his eyes.
This feels like butterflies in my tummy and orange and red popsicles on hot days. Like my life makes sense again. Maybe I’m here to make Nate smile. Maybe I’m simply here for Nate, and he knew it, even Griffin might have known it, before I was ready to admit it.
“You’re welcome.”
After a few more seconds of total bliss, he slides his wallet out of his pocket and thumbs through a wad of bills, depositing three hundreds on the counter.
“Who just happens to have three hundred dollars in their wallet on a whim?”
“People who pay cash for everything.” He takes Morgan back with a goofy grin permanently pinned to his face.
My lips twist to the side. “I can’t take your money. The look on your face was enough. Besides, you’re right, a dishwasher isn’t a necessity. And I don’t cook much on my own.”
“Thought you were renting. Shouldn’t that be something your landlord replaces?”
“Probably. I don’t want to ask.”
“Why not?” He sets Morgan back down, and she crawls straight to the sofa to stand up again.
“My landlords are my ex-fiancé’s parents.” I still don’t say Griffin’s name aloud.
“So? If you’re paying rent, they should fix or replace it.”
I nod, not really agreeing to anything, just acknowledging that I heard what he said. “Whatcha doing for dinner? Wanna order pineapple and jalapeño pizza?”
“Excuse me?” He chuckles. “You’re a cheese girl.”
“Maybe. I’ve never actually tried pineapple and jalapeño. It just sounds disgusting. But maybe it could be my jam. You once knew a girl who liked it. I might like it too.”
He does a crappy job of hiding his apprehension, but I keep my chin up and what I hope is an irresistible smile on my face.
“Order it. But you’re buying with your three hundred dollars.”
Grinning, I grab my phone from the counter. “I think there’s an online coupon I can use. You know … since I’m buying.”
And so it begins. My friendship with Nate Hunt. It doesn’t start on a school bus this time. It starts over a large pizza, a smiley baby girl, and lounging on the sofa watching hockey together after he puts Morgan to bed.
I make stupid comments like I don’t understand the sport—just to get a rise out of him—and he playfully nudges my leg, giving me a narrow-eyed look. Just before eleven, he walks me to my car after it’s been warmed up because … yeah … he started it for me fifteen minutes ago.
“Thanks for the pizza,” he says.
I laugh. “Anytime. I had fun watching those guys hit that disc thingie with those paddle thingies around the ice.”
“You are no good. Zip. Zero. One hundred percent trouble.”
“But you love me, right?”
Oh shit …
I said that. But I meant it in a playful banter kind of way. My gaze drops to my feet as I scuff my boots against the driveway dotted with a few patches of caked-on snow.
“Yes. I do.”
My head snaps up, jaw dropped.
Nate slips his hands into his pockets, shoulders lifting to his ears in an innocent shrug. “Always have. Always will.”
“Nate …” I say because all other words fail me.
Keeping his hands in his pockets, like they’re there to keep him out of trouble, he bends forward and kisses the top of my head. Staying there, he murmurs, “It’s not an expectant love. It’s not a romantic love. It’s not an inappropriate kiss. It’s not even my daughter saying my name.”
Turning his head, he rests his cheek on my head. I press my hands to his chest.
“It’s just what’s always been in my heart. You died, but I lived and so has my love for you.”
He straightens.
“Nate …” Yeah. That’s all I’ve got.
He smiles. “It’s an innocent love. It’s a beautiful love. I think it’s even an eternal love. But … I don’t know yet. Maybe in another lifetime we’ll see. We’ll find out if our souls share something that transcends time or if they are nothing more than epoch.”
“Epic?”
“E-p-o-c-h. It’s a memorable event or period in time.”
“Epoch …” I grin. “I definitely think this is epoch. But I also think it could be transcendent … and that would be e-p-i-c.”
He reaches behind me and opens my door. “Drive safely.”
“Safe.” I start to get in my car and stop. “It’s weird.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s been over a month since my fiancé left, since I told you that I was sleeping with a knife under my pillow. A month since you knew I was going to have hypnosis to remember what happened. But you just …” I shrug, face contorted in confusion. “You never asked. Like you just stopped caring. I feel like everyone stopped caring. It’s like the moment my parents gave up on me being anything extraordinary.”
Nate has this unexplainable look on his face. It’s odd. Cautious? Contemplative? “How’s all of that going?”
I cough a laugh. “Are you serious? How’s all of that going? I’m not dead, that’s how it’s going, but gee … thanks for asking a fucking month later.”
He flinches.
“Seriously! What has to happen for the people who supposedly love me to give more than two shits?”
“Swayze …”
“You have video cameras in your house, yet my safety doesn’t warrant so much as a ‘Hey, are you locking your doors?’ or ‘Has that psychopath tried to get near you again?’”
“Has he?”
“No!” I throw my hands up in the air. “Because he’s dead!”
Nate nods.
He. Fucking. Nods!
“Then you’ve been safe.”
My head whips back like a close encounter with a bus on a busy street. “He’s. Dead.”
Nate nods again. A slow nod with that look. That cautious, contemplative look. “That’s a relief.”
“What’s going on, Nate?” My breaths turn shallow, and I feel weak in the knees.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re not reacting in a normal way. I say Doug Mann is dead, and you have no questions. None. Not ‘Are you serious?’ Or ‘When? Where? How?’ How, Nate. The normal reaction is to wonder how he died. Heart attack, cancer, car accident, or a knife to his heart. My knife, Nate. I took a knife and a bottle of Xanax to his apartment.”
His eyes narrow, wrinkling the skin around his eyes.
“I was going to kill him because the hypnosis didn’t work. I was going to kill him because that’s the only way I could live. That’s the only way I could feel safe. That’s the only way I could ease my conscience that no one else would die at his hands.”
“I’m sorry.”
He’s sorry. That’s all wrong. What is going on?
When I start to speak, he brings me into his arms, stifling my attempt to speak. I don’t want a hug. I want answers. I want to know how the two men who have claimed to love me the most just abandoned me when I needed them the most.
I pull back. “Nate—”
“Shh …” He drops his head, hovering over my lips, one hand sliding into my hair, palming the side of my head while he rubs the knuckles of his other hand over my cheek, rendering me speechless and breathless.
The pad of his thumb slides over my bottom lip, jumbling my thoughts. His thumb trails downward, his lips follow in its wake.
When his thumb rubs my neck, just below my ear, my eyelids surrender, finding solace in memories of a lifetime ago. I grab his arms to steady myself when his li
ps press to my neck.
This is what it feels like.
To be cherished.
To be adored.
To be loved beyond words.
To be young.
To be alive.
“Swayze,” Nate murmurs against my ear, “you’re safe because those who claim to love you actually do love you.” He kisses my neck.
I die.
He kisses my cheek and lets go of me, turning and not giving a glance back as he makes his way up the drive. “Goodnight.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I think it’s time to revisit Dr. Albright. Then I change my mind. She’s called me once a week since my failed hypnosis session, just to see how I’m doing. There’s no pressure to go visit her. There’s no pressure to share anything at all with her. Sometimes the only thing I share is a new recipe gone wrong and why wasted food is the reason I eat out so much.
She’s being a friend, someone who knows my journey so well. A true friend’s hand is always outstretched. Knowing I can take that hand whenever I need it is a comfort all of its own.
This Monday morning, I might need that hand. My knees wobble with each step I take toward Nate’s front door. The kiss on the neck Friday night left me dazed and confused. Nervous and giddy. That kiss on the neck gave me sound sleep. I didn’t wake up once reaching for Griffin. I didn’t shed a single tear over his absence, and I didn’t hate him in the morning.
Loving Griffin hurts too much. Hating him might be extreme, but when I think of him abandoning me and cutting all ties, all means of communication, the hate is just easier. But for two nights, I felt like myself again. Not the girl who lost the guy.
“You’re late,” Nate calls from the nursery.
I peek around the corner. “Two minutes.” And it’s only because it took me so long to get the nerve to open his front door.
Nate snaps Morgan’s outfit and picks her up, depositing a big smooch on her chipmunk cheek before handing her to me. “Now I’m two minutes late.” He kisses me … on the head. I don’t know what to think of these head kisses.
“So fire me, Professor.”
“I’m thinking about it, Miss Samuels.” He grabs his coat and bag while Morgan and I shadow him. “Have a good day, ladies.”
I step as close as I can to him when he gives Morgan one last kiss.
“Where’s mine.” I grin.
He lifts an eyebrow for a second before kissing me again, on the head.
“I have lips that work well for that too, ya know. Maybe you should give them a try again.”
It’s crazy to deny it any longer. Nate is my destiny, even if my heart isn’t entirely convinced. Griffin made quite the mark on it, so it could take a while to get it completely on board. But my mind makes total sense of it. We fell in love in another life. I came back into his life when he needed me. Morgan needs me. We fit.
“I think I’ve said this before, and if I haven’t actually said it, I’ve thought it a lot.”
“What’s that?”
A sad smile forms on his face. “You’re not mine to kiss. Not like that.”
I laugh. “Uh … okay. Then whose am I?”
“You know that answer.” He continues to the back door.
“No. Actually, I don’t. Last I checked, I was a single woman making my own decisions.”
After opening the door, he turns. “He left, but he loves you.”
“Loved. He loved me. And you’re right, he left me. But what he didn’t leave was any way for me to contact him—ever. I don’t know where he lives. He got a different phone number and he told his family to not give me any of that information. It wasn’t a goodbye, it was…” I glance at Morgan then back to Nate, mouthing “…a fuck off.”
Nate has these looks. Some of them make me feel like a child. Some make me feel like I’m a guilty pleasure. Some of them—specifically this one—makes me feel like I break his heart.
“Can you do me a favor? Since you didn’t listen to me when I told you to stay away from the abandoned property …”
This. When he sees me as Daisy, he gives me the heartbreaking look.
“What’s the favor?”
“Chase happiness. Never settle. Fight for what you want, not what you think you deserve. Dream big … enough for two lifetimes.”
I love him. I know Daisy loves him. But I’m certain Swayze fell for him along the way as well.
“What if you and Morgan are my dream?”
Another heartbreaking look. “I’ll see you two later.”
When later comes, I talk him into ordering Thai. We both prefer ordering in. I add it to the list of things we have in common. We play with Morgan. I stand outside of the nursery room door, listening to him read her a book. I watch TV while he grades papers on the sofa. He walks me to my car and kisses me on the head.
This happens day after day. I feel his eyes on me all the time. I know he’s trying to figure out what we’re doing. I tell myself I’m chasing happiness, still fighting with my reluctant heart.
Damn you, Griffin Calloway!
I’m not sure what Nate’s doing, but I’ve got all the time in the world to wait for him to open his eyes to the second chance right in front of him.
*
Nathaniel
By spring break, after months of avoiding Swayze’s advances toward me and months of trying to forget how my heart hammered in my chest with need and desire the day I kissed her against the wall, she starts to get a little edgy about everything.
The chaste kisses on her head.
The way I playfully warn her to keep her distance when she tries to snuggle up to me on the sofa. The way she longingly stares at me when I give her the I-could-bite-you line, like she wants me to bite her.
I want her like a friend wants his sidekick. But I also want her like a man dying to lose himself in a woman—but not in Daisy. She’s inside of Swayze. My desire is all for the physical woman that is right in front of me, the parts of her I’ve touched, the parts of her I’ve seen, and the parts of her I’ve fantasized about too many damn times.
Somewhere along the way, the man inside of me developed a strong physical attraction to this young woman.
The inappropriate thoughts.
The heated looks.
The innocent touches that make me instantly hard.
It’s all killing me because she isn’t mine.
“What should we do next week?” Swayze asks as I pull off my tie for the start of my week off. I’ve officially learned to tie a Half Windsor knot—in Swayze’s words—like a big boy. She’s so proud of me and of herself for teaching me.
“Actually, I talked with Brad, Jenna’s brother. Rachael is flying out to D.C. to spend the next week with him. Brad asked if I’d bring Morgan and hang out with them too. So I managed to get us a flight out on Sunday afternoon.”
“Three tickets?” she asks.
“Two.”
“You suck.”
“I’ll give you the week paid.” I toss my tie over the back of the chair and smile at Morgan as I unbutton the top two buttons of my shirt.
“You’re going to miss me. You’re going to wish you had Morgan’s unicorn nanny with you.”
She has no fucking idea how much I’m going to miss her.
“She needs a Swayze detox. Maybe by the end of spring break she’ll smile at me like she smiles at you.”
Like I smile at you.
“You suck.” She frowns.
Yeah, I’m going to miss this woman every day for the rest of this life.
“You said that. Get some new material.”
“You really suck. Where’s my winter bonus. I’ve never been to D.C. Would it kill you to bring the world’s best nanny with you?”
“How am I going to explain why I need the nanny with me to go visit Morgan’s aunt and uncle?”
She crosses her arms over her chest as I sit on the sofa, playing with Morgan, who’s cruising around the furniture like a champ.
“We could dro
p the nanny label. I could be your friend. You know, we used to be friends.”
If only …
Yeah, I want to be her friend. I want to be her everything. But it’s not our time.
“My dead friend, Daisy, or my twenty-two-year-old friend, Swayze? To their ears, both scenarios will be equally cringe-worthy.”
“So you’re never going to tell your family or Jenna’s family about us?”
“Us?” I give her a questioning brow raise. “Again, are we talking about my dead friend?”
“No. We’re talking about me, Swayze. You know, the girl you kissed. The girl you imagined giving you head after I sent you the wrong text.”
“I didn’t imagine—”
“Bull! Don’t even try that with me. Griffin told me there’s no way you weren’t thinking inappropriate thoughts. And that’s fine. Because I had inappropriate dreams about us. I looked at the picture and wondered what it would feel like to kiss those lips, run my hands through those wavy locks. And now I know because you kissed me. And I want you to do it again. But not on my head like you’d kiss the family dog. I want you to kiss me like you did against that wall over there. But this time I don’t want you to stop kissing me.”
Fuck me …
I want to just say screw it, put Morgan to bed, and take everything Swayze’s offering me. She makes me want to be selfish and indulgent. But I can’t …
“You’re not mine to kiss.”
“Stop saying that!”
I shoot her a disapproving glare as Morgan startles from the outburst like she might cry. But as soon as she sees Swayze’s small, apologetic smile, she matches it and continues on with her cruising.
“Griffin doesn’t deserve my kisses. He doesn’t want my kisses. He left me alone in the same city as the man who wanted to kill me. Why do you defend him? To ease your own guilt of not watching out for me?”
“Nothing happened to you.”
“But it could have! Stop taking credit for luck, as if you somehow knew—” Her face turns ashen, like the blood in her veins just turned to ice. A whoosh of air sweeps past her lips, and her brow tenses as if she can’t find her next breath.
I know the feeling because I know where this is going. The reality feels like my own lungs are nothing more than two sandbags bearing down on my chest.
