“‘There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind,’” he said, once again running his fingers over my skin. He looked up at me. “C.S. Lewis?”
“Yes.” I was mildly surprised he knew.
He stared at the tattoo for a minute, not saying anything. He left his fingers there, resting on the words I lived by. “Do you have any tattoos?” I asked, trying to break the silence.
“No. I haven’t found anything I need to etch permanently into my skin, yet.”
I chose to put my tattoos in places on my body that were often concealed from others, because their meaning was to me. Though I rarely saw my Queen tattoo due to placement, I knew it was always there, right behind my throat. I’d left much of Cora Mitchell behind when I left that apartment years earlier, but I couldn’t replace my love for my favorite band. This tattoo would be a dead giveaway for those who knew me, knew me as Cora Mitchell. All my other tattoos were for the after, the word “free” inked on my chest to remind me of what I was, that my choices were mine. The words on my leg to remind me to keep putting one foot forward, to move on from the things that haunted me.
“I like your ink,” Julian said, pulling me from my thoughts. “I like that they have meaning. I’m quite fond of words, if you didn’t know.”
I smiled. “You make your living from them, so you should like them.”
He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “My stories aren’t profound. They’re words I manipulated into emotion. Once I finish a story, I don’t think about it anymore. They’re mysteries. Once the mystery is solved, the story is over. The words I’m fond of are the ones that we inherently know what they mean. We don’t have to influence them to mean something. They stand on their own.”
“Okay, what words are those?” I was still sitting on his lap, his fingers still resting on the words on my thigh.
“For example: hate. That’s a word you feel. If you hate something, that’s some kind of power. Often, people hesitate from using that word because of its power, the depth of what it means to hate anything, anyone.” His fingers moved from my thigh to my waist, rubbing his thumb over the thin fabric of the tank top. “Love is another one. You don’t need to be taught its meaning. How could you teach that? I remember when my youngest sister, Annemarie, was about two or three years old. I was in high school, already driving. I was going through a phase where I resented my mom, resented her working all the time, resented being responsible for my sisters. And as I grabbed my keys to go for a drive, Annemarie came into my bedroom and asked me to play with her. I was upset, impatient, and I told her no. I told her to get out of my room, to go find one of our other sisters to play with. I looked back at her, saw her eyes welled up with tears. ‘But I want to play with you,’ she said, her bottom lip trembling. ‘I love you.’”
Julian picked a piece of grass with his other hand. “That was a profound moment for me. How did she understand what love was? We hadn’t sat down and discussed the definition of it, and even then, who would understand that? Love isn’t taught; it’s felt. But my toddler sister understood it, felt it, she knew what it was without explanation. Love and hate, those are my favorite words. They stand on their own. They don’t need to be defined.”
“Perhaps you should have them etched into your skin then,” I suggested, trailing my fingers down his arm.
“Perhaps,” he agreed, leaning in and peppering kisses across my collarbone. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, allowing him more access. Sitting in his lap gave him better access to my throat, and he took advantage, gliding his lips up my neck, nipping at the skin between my neck and my chin. His hands moved up to frame the sizes of my face as he pulled my face towards his. The way he held my face in his hands was my favorite, as if he wanted me to be aware of only his presence. I was always aware of his presence though, my body drawn to his like a magnet.
Using his thumb, he gently pulled my chin down, bring my lips closer to his. “I can’t stay away from you, Andra,” he breathed, pressing soft kisses against the corner of my lips. I was intoxicated, pulled under by his touch. “The way you move, you’re water. You’re fluid. When you’re wrapped around me, I’m drowning.” He pressed his lips just above mine, nibbling on my cupid’s bow. “You consume my thoughts.” He pressed his lips against mine for a brief moment and pulled away. “My hands instinctively reach for you when you’re in the vicinity.” He pushed his fingers back into my hair, rough hands pressing into my scalp. He brushed his nose just behind my ear. “Do you understand?” he whispered into my ear, the bite of his facial hair scratching my face. His words were fingers, trailing over my face, reaching inside of me, drumming against my heart beat. “Do you understand?” he repeated.
I couldn’t speak, my entire throat burned with desire. I nodded, swallowing, hoping to cool that fire.
“As much as I hate to say this, we need to get back. I’m sure you have things you need to do before we go to the concert tonight.”
I sighed, my body wavering between ignoring my chores and falling onto Julian. My loyalty to the ranch won out. “Yep, you’re right.” I stood up and wiped the dirt from my legs.
“Here,” Julian said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You have grass in your hair.” His fingers tugged my hair, loosening the pieces of grass. When he’d pulled the last piece, he ran his fingers through my hair like a comb. “I like your hair.”
“You like my ink, you like my hair. What else do you like?” I asked, looking at him over my shoulder.
“I like your eyes. And not just their shade, which is remarkable itself. I like how much you reveal yourself through your eyes. Your lips are beautiful too, but the words that come from them can tell a story or tell the truth. Your eyes, though, they can’t lie.”
I frowned and started walking through the meadow into the tree line, heading back to the ranch. “Okay, what don’t you like about me?”
“You snore in your sleep.”
My eyes were wide when I turned to him. “I do not snore!”
“Your face is really ugly with that bandage.” I knew he was saying it just to get a rise out of me.
I reached up and yanked the bandage off, exposing the scrape underneath. “Is that better?”
Julian looked shocked that I’d pulled it off. Then he shrugged. “You look more badass now.”
I laughed. The air actually felt good on the scrape, I’d just have to get used to the pain I felt whenever I smiled or laughed. “Now that I’ve fixed that, what else don’t you like?”
He laughed. “I don’t like that you lie.”
I stopped my stride and turned to him. “Elaborate.” It wasn’t a question.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, when we talked that first night I met you, you told me don’t run very fast. That was obviously a lie.” His eyes were aimed at mine, daring me to disagree.
I let the tension subside and nodded, pursing my lips. “Okay, you’re right. I lied. I can run pretty fast, actually.” And so I did.
After I’d finished the rest of my chores, I hurried back to the cabin to get ready for the outdoor concert with Julian. It was a weekly thing in the summer months, local bands performing on a cement slab in a park. People gathered with blankets and coolers, and stayed out until the last band finished their set. I’d gone with Dylan a few times but because Dylan wasn’t as naturally drawn to music as I was, he didn’t hold too much interest in going. I knew Julian loved music, and would appreciate it, so inviting him had been a no-brainer.
I wore my skinny jeans and a pair of boots, an old, threadbare Queen tank, and pulled on a black zip-up jacket in case it got cold when the sun went down. I put a few things into the cooler and dumped my entire ice tray into it, so I wouldn’t have to stop for ice. I grabbed a couple flannel blankets and stepped outside, locking the door behind me.
I took the top off of the Jeep and drove to Julian’s cabin. He stepped out and laughed. “I didn’t expect you to actually pick me up,” he said while
climbing into the passenger seat. “But thank you for not opening my door.”
I drove slowly down the gravel road, increasing the speed when I reached the main, paved road. Our town was tiny, but there were three other neighboring towns that worked together to organize these weekly concerts. Everyone paid a $5 fee to cover the bands’ charge and to help pay for the permit for the land.
After paying the fee, I parked the Jeep just off the road and hopped out, heading to the back of the vehicle to grab the cooler and other things I’d packed. Julian took the cooler from me and I grabbed the blankets. Then we both walked up the road, past cars that had arrived earlier than us. I could hear the sound check up ahead.
Julian reached his free hand for mine, grabbing it and entwining our fingers. He walked more closely beside me and we both slowed our steps, his fingers squeezing mine. My hand was warmed by his, by knowing that he wanted connection just as much as I did.
When we reached the field in front of the concrete stage, I led Julian to the left of the stage, the side that, to me, had the best acoustics in relation to the trees and the mountains around us. I spread out the larger blanket and plopped down, both of us turning on our sides to face on another. The first band was still setting up so we had time to talk. Once the music started, it would be too loud to hear each other without yelling.
“This was a great idea,” he said, scooting closer to me.
“I hope you like the music. They usually do a lot of covers.”
“I’m sure I will.” He pushed the hair away from my shoulder. The jacket slipped over my shoulder with the movement and Julian wasted no time running his fingers over the bare skin. “I can’t not touch you. I’m not going to be sorry for it either.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Did you see me complaining?” I asked, reaching out to grab a handful from the center of his shirt. I pulled him closer. “I don’t like the space between us,” I admitted. I propped myself up on one arm and looked down at him. His head was cushioned on his bent arm, his biceps flexed from the positioning. His hair was deliciously mussed up and his lips were in a contented smile. That smile was one of my favorites, knowing that I helped put it there.
I leaned down, allowing my hair to become a curtain around us, nuzzling my nose against his. I could tell that he was holding back, allowing me to take control of this situation. I peppered his facial hair with kisses, loving the bite against my lips. I kissed his lips quickly once, and then twice, and when I tried to pull away the third time, his hands came up and held my head in place, kissing me at his leisure. He was careful not to brush the scrape on my cheekbone.
Not sure about the PDA that was allowed at the park, I pulled away and off of him and laid flat on my back. I blew out an exaggerated breath. “Does it always feel like this?” I asked without thinking.
“No. I can say that it definitely does not always feel like this. In fact, I’d go as far as to say it never feels like this, or at least it never has for me before.”
I turned my eyes to his. His eyes were running over my face. It made me feel self-conscious. “Why do you look at me like that?”
His eyes met mine. “I’m memorizing your face.” He said it nonchalantly, as it that was the most obvious answer. Before I could ask why, the music started, drowning out my voice. We both turned our heads to the stage to listen. At some point, Julian had curled up behind me, allowing me to use his arm as a pillow, his other hand running down my waist, over the curve of my hip. Some of the songs, he used my hip as a guitar, plucking his fingers against the material in time to the band. I was sure it was innocent, but the repetitive motion was driving me crazy. As a result, we made out for all of the songs, pausing to catch our breaths, laugh, or have a sip of soda. Being around Julian was like being alive. I was more aware of my heart beating, challenged to evaluate myself, and I laughed so often my cheeks hurt.
When the third band played and Julian and I had each finished our second sodas, the sky had grown dark. The only lighting was around the stage and on the road, leaving those of us on the grass in complete darkness.
When the band played a song that was a bit sappy but still upbeat, Julian hopped up to his feet and reached a hand down to me.
“What are you doing?” I asked, suspicious.
“I, Julian Jameson, am asking you, Andra Walker, to dance with me to this happy song.” He seemed upbeat, and while I wanted to protest, I found myself placing my hand in his and standing up.
He led me towards the tree line, completely out of sight from the other concert-goers. It was absolutely black except for the stage, so I took comfort in knowing that no one else could see us. We could live in this square of trampled grass off to the side of the actual concert, and only acknowledge each other. Julian danced with me in time to the beat of Jason Mraz’s “I’m Yours” in the grass, spinning me away from him and pulling me back with drama. It was funny and fit the mood of our night together. The song blended into the next one.
“OneRepublic,” I whispered, my lips against his hair. “Your band.”
I felt his lips touch the shell of my ear as he sang along with the lyrics to “Stop and Stare.”
He serenaded me in the dark, his hips pressed against mine, the hand he held to my back tenderly tracing my spine. Every few chords, he would press his lips to my earlobe, in a kiss as soft as his voice. He didn’t withhold anything from me, whether it was his words or even his touch. He gave me everything.
And for the first time in my life, I fell in love. I fell in love with his hand on my waist, under the stars, while we danced to borrowed words. I fell in love with his breath at my ear, his cheek pressed against mine, with his body pressed tightly to mine. I fell in love again when we laid on the ground, my head on his chest and his hand in my hair. His heart beating in my ear was the loudest sound, my favorite sound.
Not for the first time, I knew I was in trouble.
When we made it back to the ranch, Julian asked me to come with him to his cabin. I was sleepy, sated, emotionally drunk from spending the evening in his arms. I agreed and followed him in.
Julian disappeared into the bathroom, so I crouched down to the small table that held the television. He’d stocked it with a few DVDs. The two DVDs stacked on top of the DVD player were The Goonies and The Princess Bride. My heart did a somersault in happiness.
I didn’t hear him come out of the bathroom as I read the back of the DVD cases for the movies I didn’t recognize.
“Cora.”
“Hmm?” I murmured, absent-mindedly. An instant later, my brain woke up. I spun to face him. I was certain my face displayed shock. “What did you call me?”
Julian took cautious steps toward me. “Cora. Cora Mitchell. That’s who you are.”
I was in absolute disbelief and I shook my head back and forth as fast as it could move. “No. That’s not-I’m not her.” It was my worst attempt at lying yet.
Julian moved closer and I backed up, my knees bumping into the television stand. Julian put a hand up, likely in an attempt to calm me. My eyes bolted towards the door but before I could make a move, Julian stood in front of it.
With his hands held up, he spoke softly, calmly. “I’m not going to corner you. But I don’t want you to leave until I explain.”
If I had opened my eyes anymore, I was sure my eyeballs themselves would roll right out of their sockets. I was shocked, scared, and absolutely speechless.
“I’ve known you were Cora since our first date, though I’ve suspected it far longer.”
I shook my head, shaking his words from my ears. “How?”
“I told you my father moved away when my parents divorced. And I told you he helped me with my novels. I didn’t tell you that he’s a police officer.” He paused. “In Michigan.”
My jaw lost control of itself, and I knew my mouth hung open. I had no words for what this felt like.
Julian gestured me to sit on his bed. I didn’t have much choice, my knees were wobbling, unable to bear my weight. I sa
t hard on the bed, noticing for the first time that he’d cleared the room from his earlier mess. There was a short stack of papers on his desk. I finally let my eyes fall upon him again.
Julian moved away from the door, just a few feet towards me. “He’s a detective, actually. And he’s assigned to cold cases. Some of my books are modeled after cases I know he’s worked on. I still fictionalize the stories, but he gives me inspiration.”
I nodded, my first acknowledgement that I was listening.
“About two years ago, we got to talking about a case of a missing girl. A seventeen year old who vanished. It’d been eating him alive and he joked that I should use some of my internet prowess to see what I could dig up. He never shared details with me that hadn’t already been leaked to the press. So I didn’t have an extra advantage.
“Well, I made a trip to see my dad last year and while there I snooped around, did some research. And while the entire internet believed the uncle was responsible, I didn’t. I did some digging. He lost a lot of money when she disappeared.”
I looked at him with a question in my eyes.
“I’ll get to that part,” he answered. “I looked up Cora’s history, delved into her life before she became an orphan.” I swallowed hard then, reminded of my mother. “I found Six that way. Or, as he’s legally known, William.” I cringed, knowing Six hated that name. “I followed the trail to California, thinking you might be with him. Of course, you weren’t. I got to thinking about you, how you were orphaned after you mother passed away. And I felt that Six would leave you with someone motherly.” Julian took a deep breath, as if admitting to the lengths he went to find me had weighed him down. He continued, “So I looked up his mother. I checked out her Facebook. I looked through all her friends, and you weren’t on there. So I checked out her friends. She had only about thirty friends, and maybe ten that she interacted regularly with. One of those friends was Rosa.”
I had calmed down slightly, and I was able to finally form words again. “She has a Facebook account mostly to maintain the ranch’s Facebook page.”
He Found Me Page 18
