“I heard about it. They’ve got some crazy idea about running a motel there?”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, Jesus. It’s not a motel, Jack, it’s a bed and breakfast.”
“Whatever. I won’t stand in their way, but there’s no way they’ll come up with the money they need.”
“That’s what Georgia said. Could they get a small business loan or something?”
“I guess they can try.” He didn’t sound too hopeful.
“I wish there was a way I could help,” I said wistfully. How terrible to have your dream within reach and not be able to afford it. I’d been so spoiled my entire life. Not that I’d spent frivolously or irresponsibly, I hadn’t—but I also didn’t know what it was like to go without something I really wanted because I couldn’t afford it.
“That’s nice of you, but they’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out.”
“So you have Cooper tonight?” I ruffled the little boy’s hair as he swung near me.
“Yeah. Pete and Georgia are both working.”
“What will you do with him?”
“Feed him ice cream for dinner, buy him a bunch of candy, let him watch a bunch of TV until he falls asleep.” He smiled at me. “The usual uncle stuff.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Want to join us?”
My heart stuttered. “Sure. I’d love to.”
We spent another hour at the park, and I was amazed at how good Jack was with Cooper. He went down the slide with him, spun him on the merry-go-round, helped him climb up the old-fashioned jungle gym. When Cooper fell and scraped his knee, Jack brushed him off, dried his tears, and hugged him close. When it was time to leave and Cooper insisted on one more time down the slide, Jack raced him to it. When we walked to the ice cream parlor, Jack swung the little boy up onto his shoulders and held his tiny hands the whole way there.
Later, I watched him make dinner for Cooper and spoonfeed him every bite. I watched him give his nephew a bath—we’d exchanged a fun look as he started to fill the tub—careful not to get any water in his eyes when he rinsed the shampoo from Cooper’s hair. I watched him put a diaper and clean pajamas on the tired toddler, brush his baby curls off his forehead in an adorable imitation of his own hair. “There,” he said. “Just like your Uncle Jack.”
All I could think was, This man should be a father.
When it was time to turn off the light and put him in bed, I said I’d wait downstairs, said goodnight to Cooper, and headed down to the kitchen.
As soon as I entered the room, I heard Cooper fussing for “Mama” and then Jack’s voice on the monitor. “OK, Buddy, time to settle down. Let’s get Bunny.” Smiling, I stood in front of the little screen and watched Jack grab something from the crib and cradle the weepy Cooper against his chest.
“You want to rock a little bit? OK, OK.” He disappeared from view. A few seconds later, the fussing stopped. And the singing began.
It was soft at first, and I leaned toward the monitor to hear it better. At first, I didn’t recognize the song—something about a whippoorwill—but after another line or two, I clapped a hand over my mouth, my heart pounding. It was the Hank Williams song that we’d heard in the truck yesterday on the way to the market. He’d sung along then, too. He had a nice voice—deep and melodic with just the right amount of grit.
Goosebumps blanketed my arms. I put a hand over my heart, surprised my chest was still flesh and bone since I felt as if I were melting. I’d never heard anything so sweet.
A lump formed in my throat.
Give me a chance to make you happy, Jack.
Let me try.
Twenty-Eight
Jack
I rose to my feet, careful not to jostle my sleeping nephew. Cursing the wood floor that creaked beneath my feet, I tried to avoid the spots I knew made noise as I made my way to the crib. After laying him down on his back, I kissed my fingertips, touched his forehead and quietly slipped out of the room.
I found Margot sitting on a kitchen chair, one hand over her heart. When she saw me, she clapped the other one over it. Looked as if she were about to burst into tears.
“Fuck. I forgot to turn off the monitor, didn’t I?”
“I can’t talk, I’m a puddle.”
Groaning, I went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. All I wanted to do was get my hands on her (and various other body parts) but it didn’t feel right in Pete and Georgia’s house, so I needed to find something to occupy them.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry. Your secret sweetness is still safe with me.”
I eyeballed her as I uncapped the bottle and took a drink. “It better be. Want a beer?”
“No, thanks.”
“Glass of wine?”
She hesitated. “I hate to drink Pete and Georgia’s wine.”
“Why? They got free babysitters tonight.” I pulled a bottle down from the rack above the fridge and showed it to her. “This OK?”
“Looks great. Thank you.”
I uncorked the bottle and poured her a glass. “You hungry? I was going to order pizza.”
“Pizza sounds perfect.” She smiled, and it was perfect. Her hair in that long blond braid was perfect. The way she held her wineglass was perfect. The way she’d kissed my shoulder last night and told me I was the bravest person she knew was perfect. Pizza was fucking dough and sauce and cheese. It didn’t even taste as good as she did.
I’d lain awake the entire night thinking about her. About us. I thought I’d feel good that I hadn’t given into the urge to stay with her again, that I’d been strong enough to resist that temptation, but instead I just felt miserable. Restless. Lonely. In the past I’d found a kind of solace in those feelings, but not last night.
Last night, I’d just missed her.
I thought about the days we’d spent together, the way she made me laugh, the way she listened to me. I wondered when I’d see her again, what she’d be wearing, what we’d do. There were places I wanted to take her, things I wanted to show her, songs I wanted her to hear, foods I wanted her to taste. There were curves on her body I wanted to kiss, filthy words I wanted to whisper to her, things I wanted to do to her. But I wanted to listen to her, too. Wanted to know about her dreams, her hopes, her memories. And I didn’t have a lot of time—a week, that was it.
I made up my mind not to waste any more of it.
Because when she left, that would be it. I’d sleep alone again every single night for the rest of my life. I’d suffer for my sins. The loneliness would be all the worse for having had these days and nights with her, so in a way, she would become part of my punishment.
A friend in the Army once lent me a copy of The Prophet by Khalil Gibran, and it resonated with me so much, I’d bought my own copy when I came home. I thought about this one particular line a lot: The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. At the time, it had brought me hope.
Later, I realized the reverse was also true: The greater your joy in something, the deeper your sorrow will be when it’s gone.
And loss, I’d learned, was inescapable.
After we ate, I dug out a deck of cards and taught Margot to play gin rummy. In contrast to her egg-gathering efforts, she was a quick learner at cards and improved fast. A few times my mind waded into deeper waters, imagining how nice it would be to have her around during the winter, when nights were long and cold and there wasn’t much to do but light a fire and play cards or curl up on the couch and watch a movie. I’d had to scold myself.
Don’t. She’s leaving next week, and it’s for the best.
If Pete and Georgia were surprised to find her there with me when they got home, they didn’t say it. We chatted with them for a few minutes, then said goodnight and exited out the back door.
“Come here.” I pulled her into the shadows behind the house, away from any windows, and crushed my mouth to hers. Her arms came around my neck, and I lifted her right off her feet. Her lips on mine felt like rain after a d
rought.
“Wow, you been saving that up?” she asked once I let her catch her breath.
I set her down. “Yes. I was afraid if I started in there, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
“Mmm. Don’t stop,” she whispered, rising up on her toes and kissing my neck. Her tongue on my skin sent bolts of lust straight to my cock, which twitched uncontrollably. It was as if my body knew the clock was already counting down the hours we had together. She moved one hand to my crotch, rubbing the bulge through my jeans while she sucked my earlobe, licked her way down my throat, sank her teeth into my shoulder.
“Oh, fuck.” I grabbed her arm and took off across the moonlit yard. I barely even thought about where I was going, I just knew I had to get her somewhere alone before I came in my pants like a teenager.
We ran through the trees to the cabin, pounded up the porch steps. It wasn’t until I opened the front door and pulled her through it into the darkened front room that it struck me I’d brought her to a place full of memories. I froze, my fingers still clasped around her wrist. Could I do this?
“Hey.” She spoke softly. “It’s OK.”
I turned to her, my chest a battleground. “Fuck,” I whispered.
She put a hand on my jaw. “It’s OK. I understand.”
“Margot, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I know this is hard.”
Exhaling loudly, I circled both her wrists and tipped my forehead to hers. “It shouldn’t be this hard. I want you so badly.”
“I want you too.” Her voice was strained.
The dark was so thick I couldn’t see anything in the room. But I heard her breathing, sensed the rise and fall of her chest. Felt her skin, warm beneath my palms. Smelled her hair, the scent evoking memories of last night. And then my mouth was on her throat, because I had to taste her.
“Jack,” she whispered. “We don’t have to—”
“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” I heard myself saying. “I’m so fucking tired of being alone.”
“You don’t have to be.” She slid her fingers into my hair, covered my face with kisses. “I won’t leave you.”
Her words stayed with me as we hurriedly removed clothing and tumbled to our knees. I won’t leave you. As I laid her down gently on the rug and stretched out above her. I won’t leave you. As I moved my hands and lips and tongue over her breasts, her ribs, her stomach. I won’t leave you. As I buried myself inside her, rhythmic and deep, her arms around my neck, her lips a whisper away.
I won’t leave you.
God, what would that be like? What would it feel like to let go of the guilt, let go of the pain, let go of the fear? To look forward, and not back? What would it feel like to be happy again? To believe that I deserved it? To think that it could last?
I fought back against the crazy seed of hope taking root inside me, but its hold was already frighteningly deep and strong.
Something that had long been closed off inside me was opening up, and I felt a rush as it was filled with her presence, her trust, her understanding. The idea that she could feel something for me. The hope that all would be forgiven. The promise of a new life. A new beginning. A new love.
No. This is not about love. It’s not absolution or even acquittal. It’s a temporary stay, a bandaid on a wound. Soon it’ll be ripped off, and you’ll bleed again. Oh, God…
I felt like two halves of me were splitting apart—one wanted so badly to be granted that second chance at loving someone and allowing myself to be loved, while the other demanded I serve out my life sentence alone in the prison I’d built for myself.
Desperate to regain control, I focused on the heat and friction between us, on the sound of her voice saying my name, on the sting of her nails raking down my back. I concentrated on making her come, grinding against her the way she liked, whispering dirty words in her ear. I was rough with her, like I had been before.
But it was different this time—how could it not be? I’d told her everything. I was vulnerable to her in a way I’d never been to anyone. Everything was bare to her now, all my secrets, all my suffering, all my scars.
And she still wanted me.
I felt myself falling.
Frantically, I fought off my orgasm, panicked that coming together would only strengthen our sexual chemistry and bring us closer. But she held me so tightly, like she’d never let me go, and she took me so deep, and her cries were so helpless and my cock was so hard and I couldn’t hold back, couldn’t hang on, couldn’t stop myself from crashing through the gates and careening over the edge with her, my willpower no match for my feelings.
Don’t leave me, I thought with every thrust and throb inside her trembling body, every pounding beat of my heart. Don’t let me go. I need you to feel alive.
As our bodies stilled and our breathing slowed, I opened my eyes—and realized what I’d done.
I’d let her in. I’d let her get close. I’d let myself feel again.
Worse, I’d brought another woman into sacred space. I’d broken a promise. I’d dishonored a vow.
I had no right. No right.
The hope I’d felt moments ago was crushed by the weight of shame.
I forced myself to stop justifying my behavior and admit the truth.
This had to end. Tonight.
I didn’t say anything as we put ourselves back together. My chest felt like a cannonball had lodged within it, and my throat was tight.
“Can I use your bathroom?” Margot asked timidly.
“Of course.” Already my voice was stiff.
While she was in the bathroom, I sat on the couch in the dark, hating myself for letting it come to this. I never should have kissed her. Never should have touched her. Never should have asked her to stay.
Now I had to get her to leave, and I only knew one way to do it and make sure she left for good—put up walls around my heart and be a complete and utter asshole. Blow her off. Hurt her. Make her hate me like I hate myself.
She came out of the bathroom, leaving the light on, and sat next to me on the couch, but not touching me. “You OK?”
Fuck, Margot. Don’t be sweet to me now. “Yeah.”
“That was kind of…intense.”
I shrugged. My stomach churned.
“You didn’t think so?” She looked at me, probably trying to read my expression.
“Not really.”
Her body deflated. “Oh. Well…maybe it was just me then.”
“Maybe.” I couldn’t bear to look her in the eye, so I stared at her knees, which were pressed together tightly, her hands clasped around them. Someday, some rich bastard with a trust fund and a Porsche would put a big fat diamond on her finger. She’d have the huge, fancy wedding of her dreams, followed by a luxury honeymoon. After that, he’d buy her a mansion, which they’d fill with beautiful children who went to private schools and called her Mummy. She’d have everything she wanted. She’ll be where she belongs, and she’ll be happy.
I looked down at my wedding band. And I’ll be here.
“Jack, what’s wrong? Something is off, I can tell.”
“Nothing.” I stood up. “I’ll take you home.”
I grabbed my keys from the shelf and went out the front door, so she didn’t have much choice but to follow me. I pulled it shut behind her and started down the porch steps, but she grabbed my arm.
“Hey. Wait a minute.”
I steeled myself and looked at her. “What?”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.” I’m mad at me.
“Are you mad that we…did what we did in there?” She dropped her hand. “Because we didn’t have to do it. I told you I understood.”
“It’s not that.”
“Well, it’s something.” She stuck her hands on her hips. “I know you’re moody, but this is like a complete one-eighty. An hour ago you couldn’t keep your hands off me, and now you’re freezing me out. Tell me what I did.”
“You didn’t do anything,” I snappe
d.
“Then tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me what went wrong. Tell me something, Jack!” Her voice broke. “You can’t just shut down on me.”
“Yes, I fucking can!” I yelled, furious with myself for letting my guard down and with her for penetrating my defenses. “This is me, Margot. This is who I am. And it’s why we never should have gotten involved in the first place.”
Her body seemed to wilt. If I could have seen her eyes, I knew they’d be shiny with tears. “This isn’t you. I know you.”
I put up another wall. “You think because we fucked a few times that you know me? You don’t. It was just sex.”
She shook her head again, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because it’s time, OK?” My hands were shaking. “We both knew this thing couldn’t go on, so we might as well end it now.”
“Why couldn’t it go on? I don’t live that far away, and…” She took a breath. I had the feeling I wouldn’t want to hear what she said next, and I was right. “I feel something for you, Jack. I don’t want it to end.”
I had to be ruthless. Rip off the bandage. “Well, I do.”
She started to cry. “Don’t you feel anything for me? Have the past few days meant nothing to you?”
I shrugged, and she cradled her stomach as if I’d struck her. She believed the lies so readily. Fucking hell, this was torture.
“God,” she wept, rushing past me down the steps. “I was so wrong about you.”
Cursing myself, I followed her through the trees, past the spot where we’d first combusted, and into Pete and Georgia’s yard. I saw her glance at the spot where I’d kissed her so passionately just a couple hours ago, and wanted to put my fist through a wall. Godammit, you weren’t wrong about me. But I can’t handle my feelings for you. I have no place to put them, they don’t fit inside me, don’t fit inside the life I have to live. I have no choice, Margot! Can’t you see?
She didn’t even try to walk home—she knew me too well, another punch in the gut—but marched right to the driveway and got into my truck, slamming the door so hard I thought it might fall off.
After We Fall Page 19
