But I didn’t feel like being there.
The great room was dark, which meant my parents had already gone up to bed, so it wasn’t that I’d have to deal with them, but I was too agitated to sit still, let alone sleep. I turned around and walked out again, locking the door behind me.
I knew where I was going, but I didn’t admit it right away.
I walked leisurely, careful to stay on the highway shoulder, breathing deeply, letting the cool night air and the miles of road ahead of me sober me up. I told myself I was just getting a little fresh air and exercise in order to tire myself out, kill the buzz, quiet my mind. When I turned into Hannah’s neighborhood, I had to face the truth. I wanted to see her. I needed to see her.
I needed more than that—I needed her to understand why I’d stopped her last night, that it wasn’t because I didn’t want her. I wanted her more than anything.
All I needed was a second chance to prove it.
Nine
HANNAH
This week it was my turn to stun everyone at Wine with Widows.
“I threw myself at Wes,” I told them. We were sitting around Tess’s kitchen table, and she nearly spilled the zinfandel she was pouring.
“What?” She straightened up. “What do you mean, you threw yourself at him?”
“Picture one of the dragons from Game of Thrones swooping down on someone, breathing fire, wings outstretched. That was basically me.” I shuddered at the memory of flying across the kitchen at him.
“When?” Grace asked.
“Monday night. He had the good sense to stop things before they went too far—before they went anywhere, really. But it was totally embarrassing. Worse than the time I cried in my fajitas at Applebee’s.”
“What made you do it?” Anne’s eyes were wide.
“I’ve been asking myself that question for two days, and I think the answer is a complicated mix of I had a Bad Day, I was feeling extra lonely, I missed my old life, and Wes was there, looking exactly like my dead husband. I think I threw myself at a ghost.” I could still remember staring out the window at Wes pushing Abby on the swing, desperately wishing things were different so I could feel happy again. The only hitch in my theory was that I wasn’t thinking about Drew when I did what I did—I was thinking about Wes.
But I didn’t want to dwell on that. As long as my friends saw my explanation as plausible, I’d stick with it. Anything else was too uncomfortable to deal with. Too sticky a mess.
Tess finished pouring and handed me a glass of wine. “You poor thing.”
“At least he was a gentleman about it,” Grace offered. “A lot of guys probably would have just done it.”
“Yeah.” Somehow that didn’t make me feel any better. For two days, I’d been obsessing over that first minute where he’d kissed me back. It had felt so good to be held that way. Touched that way. Wanted that way. Not just by any man, but by him. It was awful of me.
“So then what happened?” Tess asked.
“Um, then it got worse.” I winced. “After he pushed me away, I threw this massive tantrum. I screamed at him. I told him to fuck off. I slapped his face.”
“Oh my God.” She put a hand on her chest. “What did he do?”
“Nothing. Kept his cool and went home, like a gentleman would.”
“Have you seen him since?” Anne asked.
“Only once. He came over the next morning, which was yesterday, with a little note for Abby for her first day of school. I apologized profusely, and he accepted.”
“Well, there you go. Don’t beat yourself up about it, Hannah.” Tess rubbed my shoulder. “Sounds like he understands.”
“He does. That’s the crazy thing, you guys.” I shook my head. “Wes gets me. Talking to him is so easy. I find myself telling him things I haven’t told anyone.”
“Really?” Tess was looking at me differently now.
“Yes. It’s almost eerie how safe I feel with him, given that he’s only been back for a week.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Grace said. “You have a connection. You trust each other.”
“Yeah, but it’s—it’s messing with me a little,” I admitted, shifting in my chair. “So I asked him to stay away for a while, and he agreed.”
Anne and Tess exchanged a look. “What do you mean?” asked Anne.
“I mean, being around him was starting to make me feel things that aren’t real.” I launched into the extended version of my theory. “I look at him and see Drew, so my body reacts. Add to that how well we get along and how good he is with Abby, and it’s no wonder I get confused, right? I’m obviously looking at him as a substitute for Drew.”
Everyone was silent a minute.
“Are you sure you don’t have some feelings for Wes?” Tess asked gently. “Feelings that exist outside your grief over Drew?”
“Positive,” I said. “It was just my mind playing tricks on me.”
But it was a lie.
The truth was, as the days went by, I couldn’t get Wes out of my head. It was like that kiss had flipped a switch in me. For the first time since Drew died, another man was at the forefront of my thoughts. Not only another man, but his brother. And he wasn’t just hanging around in my thoughts—he was doing things. With his hands. And his mouth. And his cock. Things I hadn’t done in a year and a half. Things I’d never done. Things that made me blush. Things that made me feel swoony and hot. Things that made me want to reach between my legs at night to relieve the tension—but I didn’t.
It was too wrong, I told myself. Too misguided. Too shameful. Guilt weighed heavily on me. What kind of woman got herself off while thinking about her dead husband’s brother? Denying myself almost became a sort of punishment. And I truly deserved it—not only for what I had done or what I couldn’t stop thinking about doing, but for letting my guard down. For making myself susceptible to rejection. For opening myself up to feel things, when I should have known better.
I didn’t want feelings—not for any man, but especially not for Wes. No matter what it took, I had to shut them down.
The only thing that made it a little easier was knowing the feelings were one-sided. Wes stayed away like I’d asked. No texts, no calls, no drop-in visits. He doesn’t miss you, I told myself. He isn’t thinking about you. He doesn’t want you. It hurt, but I could handle it.
Pain, I was used to. Pain was familiar. Pain was safe.
Saturday after work, Lenore called and asked if Abby could sleep over, and I’d been tempted to say no, since I didn’t want to risk running into Wes when I dropped her off, but Abby was standing next to me with her hands clasped under her chin, chanting, “please, please, please,” so I ended up saying yes. On the way over, I’d prayed he wouldn’t be there, and I’d thanked my lucky stars on the way home because I’d been in and out of the house in five minutes and no one had even mentioned him.
Later, I fixed myself some dinner and tried to watch a movie, but my mind kept wandering. Where had he been this afternoon? Was he home tonight? Maybe he had a date. It was Saturday night, after all. That’s what attractive single people did on Saturday nights. People who still believed in the fairy tale. People who were desired. I felt sorry for myself, sitting at home in sweatpants eating a chicken pot pie in front of the television. I gave up on the movie and the pot pie and went to up to bed early.
I had just finished brushing my teeth when I heard the knock.
Panicking, I rushed into my bedroom and looked at my phone. No missed calls. If there was a problem with Abby, Lenore would have called me, right?
The pounding repeated, four sharp knocks.
My pulse began to race. Should I answer it? What if it was a crazy person? A burglar? A murderer?
Really, Hannah. Would he knock?
I went to my window and looked out at the street, but there was no car in my driveway or at the curb. Whoever it was must have walked. A neighbor locked out? A wrong address?
I made my way down the steps on tiptoe with my b
ottom lip caught between my teeth. At the front door I hesitated, but before I could ask who’s there, I had my answer.
“Hannah, it’s Wes.”
“Wes?” I opened the door and there he was. Could he hear my heart pounding? “What are you doing here?”
“I had to see you. Can I come in?”
My gut instinct was to say no, slam the door, and hide in the closet. But I willed myself to have strength. I couldn’t hide in the closet every time Wes was around. He was family. “Okay.”
He entered the house and I shut the door behind him. We stood facing each other in the hall, and I was torn between turning on the light so I could see his face and keeping my ugly sweatpants and silly T-shirt a secret in the dark. The shirt was thin and pink and said OK BUT FIRST PANCAKES above a picture of a stack of them. I wasn’t wearing a bra and my nipples were hard. I crossed my arms over my chest.
He wasn’t talking. Why wasn’t he talking?
“I didn’t ring the bell,” he finally said.
“What?”
“The doorbell. You said you hate the sound of it because it makes you scared something bad has happened. I didn’t want you to be scared.”
“Oh. Thank you.” I waited for him to go on, to explain what he was doing here not ringing the bell at ten o’clock at night, but for a moment he just stood there, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. I started to worry. Did good news ever arrive late at night? “Wes. What is it?”
“I want to tell you something. I’m just…searching for the right words.”
“The right words for what?”
He moved toward me and took me by the shoulders. His eyes searched mine in the dark. Hungrily, desperately. At that moment, he looked nothing like Drew. “The other night, you thought I stopped that kiss because I didn’t want you. But I do.”
“What?” I felt the floor drop.
“I do want you, Hannah. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The edges of my vision clouded. Was this real? “You can’t?”
“No. And I’m sorry. I know I’m making things worse for you right now. I know I said stopping was the right thing. I know you called it a mistake and asked me to stay away. And God knows I’ve been drinking tonight and probably shouldn’t have come here to make a fucking fool of myself. But goddammit, Hannah.” He tipped his forehead to mine, his hands clenching tight around my upper arms. “Goddammit, I want another chance. Just one.”
My heart was doing something scary inside my chest. My breaths were short and fast. My stomach was cartwheeling out of control. All I could think was he wants me, he wants me, he wants me. Enough to walk here in the dark. Enough to ask for another chance. Enough to admit he’d made a mistake and couldn’t stop thinking about me. All my walls fell. “Wes. Kiss me.”
He put his lips on mine, and my body flooded with warmth. His mouth opened, his head tilting as his hands slid up my shoulders to frame my face. His tongue stroked mine, igniting a fire deep inside me, and I moved closer, slipping my hands around his taut waist. He kissed his way down my throat, his breath coming faster, his hands reaching beneath my shirt. His breath was velvet against my skin.
“Oh, God.” I let my head fall back as his lips and tongue traced a path across my neck. It was like feeling the sun on your skin after a long, cold winter. “That feels so good.”
He lifted my shirt, and I raised my arms as it disappeared over my head. “Jesus,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful.”
Impatient, I reached for his shirt, tugging it from his jeans. He helped me, whipping it off with his white undershirt inside it. Both of us moaned as our bare chests came together. His was hard and warm and muscular, and I pressed myself against it as tightly as I could, kissing him like I’d never stop, like the night would never end, like he and I would go on forever.
His hands moved over me like wildfire, greedy and uncontrollable, setting every inch of my skin ablaze. In my hair, down my back, on my breasts, which ached for his touch. He shoved my pants and underwear down my legs, and I stepped free. Immediately he grabbed my ass and pulled me against him, but I was too short to feel his hard length where I wanted it. Where I needed it.
Frustrated, I fumbled with his belt until it was undone, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and shoved my hand down the front of his pants. I wrapped my hand around his cock and fisted it tight. It was so hot. I’d forgotten how hot a man’s erection was, how it felt to have that hard heat sliding through my fingers or between my lips or against my clit. Sensual memories I’d thought lost to me came rushing back, awakening nerve endings in my body I’d neglected and let wither. Now they were alive, screaming with hunger and demanding to be fed.
Looping my arms around his neck, I jumped up, wrapping my legs around him. He groaned and slid his hands beneath my thighs as I rubbed my clit along his shaft. I was wet and needy and brazen, writhing against him, plunging my tongue into his mouth, clutching fistfuls of his hair. He slid two fingers inside me, and I gasped. “Yes,” I whispered against his lips. “Yes.” And then, since I’d never felt so desperate for anyone and I’d checked my shame at the door, I decided to go on, to say things I’d never even said to Drew. “I want you to fuck me, Wes. Hard. Now.” It felt good to take control that way, to tell someone what I wanted and know it would be delivered.
Without a word, he put my back against the wall, kept me hoisted with one arm, and reached between us with the other hand, positioning himself between my legs. We both groaned as the smooth head of his cock slid inside me. He rocked in and out a few times, easing me open for him, giving me a chance to get reacquainted with the exquisite stretch and surrender. But I was impatient. “All of you,” I panted. “I want all of you.”
He gave me what I wanted with one deep, hard thrust. I cried out as he growled and gripped me tight, keeping me impaled on his body, his cock buried inside me. Sharp twinges ricocheted through me as he began to move, and I closed my eyes, teeth clenched against the pain.
But I liked it—I liked its depth and its strength and its intensity. It meant this was real, I was here, I was alive. I can still feel. He began to move faster, and I was out of my mind with the rapture of it, with the pleasure and pain, the heat and friction.
Our bodies moved together with ease and familiarity, as if they’d known this climb before and remembered the way. But there was newness too—the shocking thought that this was Wes’s mouth on my skin, Wes’s hands on my ass, Wes’s cock driving inside me. I said his name over and over again, my lips barely brushing his.
“God, Hannah.” He slowed for a moment, circling his hips, making my body arch in supplication. “It’s so fucking good.”
“Don’t stop.” Over his shoulder I caught our reflection in the mirror, and I nearly exploded at the sight of his naked back, my clutching hands, my wanton, half-lidded eyes and open mouth. Was it really me? Was that possible? I watched the mouth stretch into a lazy, erotic smile. Watched the hands slide into his hair. Watched the head tilt as I put my lips to his ear. “Make me come, Wes. I want to come for you.”
He groaned, and I felt him throb once inside me. “Fuck. I don’t want to come too—”
“Do it. Now. I want to feel it.” It would be the final untethering from the anchor of grief and loneliness, this shared release, pulsing with vitality, the ultimate victory over death. “I need it. I need it.” He resumed his earlier rhythm, moving faster and faster, taking me right to the edge while I begged him to come with me.
“Christ, Hannah.” His voice broke. “You’re killing me.”
And you’re bringing me back to life.
With a passionate cry, my body erupted, the orgasm emanating from the center of me and reverberating throughout my limbs in glorious, rhythmic waves. Wes came almost immediately after I did, as if the first clutch of my body around his had burst the dam.
He pressed his face into my neck, his groan vibrating against my skin, his cock surging again and again inside me. I wrapped my arms around his
head and held him close like he was mine, like I was his, like we were in love and love would keep us safe.
But it wouldn’t. Love was never safe.
I started to panic. My heart. My heart. It’s beating too fast. Something was hurting me. My chest was way too tight.
A cold sweat broke out on my back. My body began to tremble.
Wes picked up his head, breathing hard. “Are you okay?”
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. Was he choking me?
He set me down gently and extricated himself from my body. “Hannah, you’re shaking. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
His voice was coming from far away. It was freezing in here. I was going to freeze to death, and he was going to let me. Maybe he was even going to kill me. My hands were already going numb. I shivered uncontrollably, gasping for air. My heart was beating out of control. I fidgeted, but I couldn’t get away. My feet were like blocks of ice.
“I can’t—I can’t—”
Wes recognized what was happening, and the doctor in him took over. “Okay honey, it’s okay. Breathe with me. In for four, out for four.” He talked calmly, his hands brushing my hair back from my face. He inhaled and exhaled with me, long, deep breaths that eased the anxiety inside me. He took one of my hands and pressed his fingertips to the inside of my wrists. “Good girl. You’re okay. Everything is gonna be okay.”
I’m not sure how many minutes the panic attack lasted, but eventually my heart rate slowed. I regained feeling in my hands and feet. My senses returned. I registered the loud tick of the kitchen clock. The lingering scent of chicken pot pie. The broadness of his shoulders. The slow trickle of warmth from my body.
I found my voice. “Uh, I need a minute.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Okay, but I…” I glanced down at my naked thighs.
He realized what I meant. “Oh, God, Hannah. I’m such an asshole. I didn’t even think.”
My capacity for stringing rational thoughts together was working hard to keep up. We’d had unprotected sex. Were we okay? After a quick calculation, I thought we were. My cycle was really reliable, and I was due for a period in the next day or so. “It’s fine. I didn’t think either, but the timing is—it’s fine. Just give me a minute.”
From This Moment Page 11
