I reached my bedroom door and glanced over my shoulder before pushing it open. Jordan had stopped in front of our family picture and was ogling that version of me. “Wow,” he finally said before turning his half-grin on me. I didn’t wait to find out if that wow was a good or bad one.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Walking into my bedroom was like walking through a time-travel portal. Even though Tish said her mother had changed the sheets on my bed, it looked exactly the way it did the night I left, right down to the huge, stuffed panda with its head resting on my pillow. Granted, the night I left, Pinky had been under my covers, pretending to be me in case anyone stuck their head in my room during the dark hours before morning when all would be revealed anyway. On my bedside table was the same pile of books I’d been systematically devouring that summer, two of which I knew, without looking, were from the library (had my parents paid my fines?), and my Hello Kitty alarm clock I’d had since third grade. Draped over the bow between her ears was the same Harry Potter choker I was wearing in the portrait in the hall.
The room even smelled familiar to me. I caught a definite whiff of the Apple Orchard body spray I’d loved so much—the scent Jordan had said made him want to take a big, juicy bite out of me—and I glanced at him from the corner of my eye as he stepped into the room behind me. Sure enough, his nose lifted in the air just the slightest bit and I saw his chest rise, like he was breathing it in. I looked away quickly, not wanting to embarrass him.
My gaze landed on my closet door, and I approached it with slow steps. It felt so strange being here among my own things, in this place that had once been all mine. That still was all mine, I supposed. Yet, I felt detached, almost like I was a stranger here. In a weird way, it reminded me of a trip we’d made to Missouri when I was ten. We’d gone for some kind of conference where my dad was speaking, but before we returned home, we visited Laura and Almanzo Wilder’s home in Mansfield. I’d read every book in The Little House on the Prairie series, and then gone on to read the series about Laura and Almanzo’s daughter, Rose Wilder, too. Visiting the home around which so many of those later books took place was like visiting a place I already knew and loved. Now, standing in the middle of my old bedroom, I felt like I was visiting a place I already knew and loved, but one that didn’t belong to me.
I ran my fingertips over the sleeves of the clothes hanging in the closet and nudged a pair of red Mary Janes lined up in the row of shoes on the floor. They had been a favorite of mine at one time, but they had no place in my world now. I wore hemp sandals and hand-stitched leather slippers these days. I still had the pair of black Toms I’d been wearing when I left, but wearing them reminded me too much of what I’d left behind, so they stayed tucked into the back of my closet. Until tonight. For some reason, I’d felt compelled to pull them out and put them on, to wear them home. They seemed fitting somehow.
“Where do you want him?” Jordan asked from behind me. Although he spoke softly, he startled me out of my reverie, and I jumped in surprise. I’d all but forgotten he was carrying Killian for me. “Sorry,” he said, sounding like he was doing his best not to laugh at me.
I rolled my eyes and hurried to the bed, pulling back the covers and pushing Pinky onto the floor. The panda lay there, looking up at me with her shiny, black eyes, and I whispered, “Did you miss me, Pinky?”
Jordan laid the floppy little boy on my bed and stepped back while I tucked him in. As surreal as this whole thing was, I suddenly couldn’t wait to crawl in next to my baby, under my own covers in my own bed, but I had several things to do before I got to crash.
We both began to speak at the same time.
“Look, Savannah—”
“Jordan, I—”
“You first,” Jordan said.
“Okay.” I pulled the two sides of my hoodie closed in front of me, the intimacy of being in my bedroom with Jordan overwhelming me with memories. I was having a hard time concentrating on the tasks at hand. The last time the two of us had been in here alone together, my mother had walked in and caught us standing almost exactly where we were now, kissing, Jordan’s hands cupping my face. I was clutching a copy of The Hunger Games between us; I’d been trying to convince him to read the series, and he’d finally agreed in exchange for a kiss. Mom had impeccable timing. She hadn’t said anything, but just stood aside and waited for us to leave the room ahead of her.
Jordan hadn’t taken the book, but he’d let me read the whole series aloud to him that summer.
“I don’t know how to thank you for today,” I began, unsure where to even start. It felt like a million years had passed since I’d first backed into him that afternoon. Technically, it was yesterday afternoon now, but the fact that barely twelve hours had passed since then kind of blew my exhausted mind. “I’m sorry for the way I acted—”
“No, stop.” He stepped forward and took me by the elbows, waiting until I looked up at him. “You do not need to apologize for today, okay? We’ll talk about all that tomorrow. Or after your mom is all clear.”
I studied him, wondering where to go from that point. “I’m glad you didn’t listen… I’m glad you came back for me.” My voice hitched a little, but I swallowed hard and continued. Jordan moved his hands up and down my arms to comfort me. “I don’t know how we would have gotten here if you hadn’t come to get us. How I would have even known.” I shook my head as I considered how differently things would have been if Jordan and I hadn’t bumped into each other today, if he hadn’t insisted on coming back for me, even when I didn’t respond to his repeated attempts to contact me. “I don’t know what I would have done if my mom had—if she hadn’t—” My voice cracked. “Oh Jordan,” I whispered harshly around the huge lump in my throat. “You didn’t see her. She looks like—like—” I reached up and covered my face with both hands, overwhelmed by the night’s events.
Jordan pulled me close, his arms going around me like earlier at the lake. Was that just this afternoon, too? And once again, I didn’t push him away. I just let him hold me. I shed a few tears—stupid, pesky things—but only a few, because my mind was working overtime, trying to come up with a plan for the next few days, to conjure up the right words that would convince Marek to let me stay without any repercussions. My body, however, leaned into the familiarity of Jordan, my muscle memory craning toward him, toward the past when being held against him was a dream come true. I didn’t even think about what I was doing; I just slipped my arms around his waist and grabbed handfuls of his shirt at his back, pressing myself up against him, as though he could somehow absorb me into his being.
I felt him grow still, his breathing stop, and I did the same. Please, oh please, don’t pull away. I need you just to hold me upright for a little longer. I was so confused by the myriad of emotions going through me. Part of me wanted to lay my head on his shoulder the way Killian had, curled up against his chest, and just be held. Part of me felt like that seventeen-year-old on the verge of womanhood, discovering what it meant to love and be loved for the first time.
But another part of me suddenly wanted to slide my hands up under his shirt and touch the skin that was so warm beneath the knit fabric, to lift my face and have him kiss me again and again until I forgot about all the insanities of the day, of my life.
I was no longer some awkward, ignorant teenager who didn’t know what to do with my hands. I was no longer a child uncertain of the power I wielded with my body. I had been bent and broken until I understood the ultimate sacrifice of giving up oneself for the sake of those you loved. I’d endured the agony of childbirth, so I could experience the joy of being a mother. I’d offered my body and myself again and again, so I could provide for the child entrusted to me. And I’d even experienced the guilty pleasures that came with the freedom of our bohemian lifestyle, at least before Marek had tightened his grip on me.
I was no longer the scared little sleeping beauty who’d run away from this teenage room in the middle of the night. I was a terrified, but fully awa
kened woman standing with the man I loved—had always loved—wrapped around me, real and warm against me, our hearts throbbing in tandem. My body responded to him, even as I tried to resist.
I brushed my lips against the underside of his jaw. It wasn’t really a kiss—more like a tactile whisper, but his whole body quivered in response. His arms tightened around me, and I did it again. I lingered this time, releasing my warm breath in a soft rush just beneath his ear before lifting my face and pressing my cheek to his. Sighing at the rasp of his day-old stubble against my skin, I tipped my head back, my eyes closed, knowing exactly how he would respond.
His lips came down on mine, swift and sure, his hands sliding up my back toward my shoulders, lifting me to my tiptoes so our mouths were at the same height. He was an inch or two shy of six feet and I wasn’t short, so our bodies fit together like two halves of a whole. I let out another sigh and he opened his mouth for me, his tongue crashing into mine, a growing sense of urgency making our movements aggressive and slightly desperate. My chin burned from rubbing against the roughness on his, and in some far-off place in my mind, I wondered how I would explain the whisker rash to my father, to Jordan’s parents… oh God, to Marek.
I jerked my head away, gasping, and pressed my forehead to Jordan’s shoulder. What was wrong with me? The image of my mother’s broken body flashed across the screen behind my eyes. I was here for her, not for… for this! I felt like some out-of-control hormonal teenager.
Or trash, like Marek said. Maybe he was right.
I was afraid to step away from Jordan lest he see the shock, guilt, and… pleasure on my face, but I couldn’t stay pressed up against him either. My traitorous body trembled with desire for him, and I ached to feel his kisses again.
Oh, how I had missed his kisses.
“Savannah.” My name came out of him in a harsh rasp. I knew if I looked at him, I’d crash and burn…
There was a light knock on the door, and we leapt apart just as Tish stuck her head inside. “Hey, Jor—” She stopped, her eyes darting back and forth between us before they widened. Not in surprise, I decided. In fact, I got the feeling she might just laugh at us. “Um, did I interrupt something?”
Well, wasn’t Miss Ransome direct? But then, she’d always been that way, now that I thought about it. Tish was one of the boldest girls I knew, and that was saying a lot, considering I spent most of my days around bawdy wenches, haughty nobility, and pirate queens.
“No! No, you didn’t,” I said, stepping close to the bed and brushing the hair from Killian’s squishy, relaxed face just to give my trembling hands something to do.
“Yes, you did,” Jordan said at the exact same time. He thrust his own fingers through his short, dark hair, making it stand on end. I wanted to touch that hair, to smooth it down the way I was doing to Killian.
Tish didn’t laugh. Nope. She guffawed. “I see,” she stated, nodding her head as she stepped inside the room and pushed the door closed behind her. “Boy, your timing sucks, big brother. I need to go, and you promised to walk me home. Sebastian would do it, but his landlord has certain… um… rules and regulations about this house, and I have it on good authority that my boyfriend would rather be keelhauled by rabid pirates than leave you two alone to swab the decks together. Or whatever it was you were swabbing. And now, dang it, you owe me twenty bucks.”
“Out.” Jordan pointed at the door past her shoulder. “And why on earth do I owe you money?”
Tish grinned cheekily at him. “Because it’s your fault I owe Sebastian twenty bucks. I knew you were a lady’s man, Jordy, but holy buccaneer! You move fast. Savannah hasn’t even been home a day, and you’re already raising the Jolly Roger—”
“Enough!” Jordan lunged toward her, but Tish was quick. And quiet. They both were, thank goodness. I really didn’t want Killian to wake up again. The kid could sleep through almost anything, but he hated it when Marek yelled at me. I didn’t know if he’d recognize the sibling banter to be different from what passed between Marek and me. Tish slipped out into the hall, but poked her head back inside, a saucy grin on her face.
“You’ve got ten minutes, and then I’m coming back with Sebastian.” At that, she pulled the door shut with a quick pop that made Killian startle in his sleep. He let out a little wuffle and flopped an arm out to the side the way he did when he awoke in the middle of the night and reached out to clutch at me. I squeezed his hand, but he didn’t even twitch in response.
The room was still except for the sound of Jordan’s uneven breathing and my pulse still throbbing a little too loudly between my ears. I was too embarrassed by my own brazenness to look at him, but I didn’t want him to think I was like that with everyone. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, still looking down at Killian.
Jordan was by my side in an instant. He took my hand in his, but I pulled away, afraid to touch him. Afraid because I desperately wanted to touch him. He crossed his arms, tucking his hands against his rib cage as though locking them down so they wouldn’t reach for me of their own volition. “Please don’t be sorry, Savannah. Unless you really mean it. Please. That was… I’ve wanted…” He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’ve gone nearly insane with missing you, and that?” He blew out a breath in a gush of air. “That almost made the last three years worth the wait. But not if you’re sorry.”
I dropped to the edge of the bed and bowed my head, wanting so badly to be what he wanted me to be. But I wasn’t there to stay. I wasn’t coming back to him. I wasn’t going to make waiting for me worth it, not when all was said and done. I’d find a way to be there long enough to help my mother, but then I’d go back to the real world—to my real world. Back to being a Gypsy dancer, back to living on the road, back to Killian’s father. The only thing that had changed was that I was no longer hiding. Still running, I supposed, but in full view.
I couldn’t stay. I looked around my old room, once again feeling out of place, out of time. Even as I replayed the last few minutes in my mind, I knew I didn’t belong here in this teenager’s bedroom any more than I belonged with a man as wonderful as Jordan. I would only drag him down into the mess my life was. He didn’t deserve Marek—no one did.
Except for me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“You’d better go, Jordan.”
“Can we at least talk about this?”
“About what?” No. We can’t talk about it. We can’t even think about it.
“About what’s still obviously here.” He waved a hand back and forth between us. “I know you didn’t leave because you didn’t love me. I knew it back then, and I knew even before you kissed me just now. I’ve known it all along, and I’m sorry I cut and run. I was angry. And my pride was hurt. But I didn’t think you’d—I thought you’d be here when I came home at Thanksgiving and we could figure things out after everything cooled down.” He took a step toward me. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay and work this out with you. Figure out what was wrong.”
“Jordan, stop. Please. Just stop.” I brought my hands up, swept the hair back from my face in frustration, and turned to look at him. “It wouldn’t have mattered, okay? I broke up with you because I had to, not because I wanted to. And I left because I had to, not because you didn’t stick around. It really had nothing to do with you at all.”
“Nothing to do with me? Nothing to do with me?” The words came out tight, distraught. “You gutted me, Savannah, and then walked away without giving me any reasons.”
I turned away from the anguish in his eyes and steeled my resolve. “Come on, Jordan. We’d been dating for two months, and I was a naïve little girl.”
“I don’t care how long we were dating.” He said the word like it left a bitter taste in his mouth. “We loved each other. For a lot longer than two months, mind you. And you know it.”
I spun back around and crossed my arms. “It doesn’t matter,” I ground out, enunciating each word between my teeth. “I’m sorry I kissed you, okay? I was weak. It won’t happen again.
It didn’t mean anything,” I added for emphasis.
“I don’t believe you,” he murmured. It sounded like he was trying to convince us both of the fact. “And I don’t accept your apology. I think it’s crap. I think you kissed me because you were right where you should have been all along. I think you kissed me because you need me.” As he continued, his voice became raspier, more passionate, until he was almost growling. “I think you kissed me because you still love me. And because you knew I’d kiss you back.”
I wasn’t going to stand there and argue with him. Not right now, anyway. Clearly, though, we would have to deal with this at some point if I was going to stick around. If I was going to stick around. Which I wasn’t.
“I can’t do this now, okay?” I spoke in a soft voice, hoping he’d drop the subject, at least for the night. “I need to get some sleep. And I need to call Marek. Let him know where Killian and I are and that we’re all right.”
Jordan didn’t reply. He looked like I’d just sucker punched him. His mouth was set in a hard line, but his eyes were clouded over, a storm brewing behind them.
“You’re going to call him tonight?” His voice was low, still husky, but for a new reason, I feared. The expression on his face gave me a good idea how he felt about me calling Marek.
“I need to.”
A Long Way Home Page 10
