Watching the Sky Cry

by J. B. Hartnett

  “Be sure,” he whispered. “Before this goes any further, be sure.”

  “What I want,” I said as I swallowed down the remnants of tears, “is to be free.” I moved my face closer, feeling the scruff of his facial hair brush against my cheek.

  “Moving from one cage to another isn’t freedom, Ry.”

  “I can’t imagine a cage with you would be a hardship, Quentin.”

  “No…can’t imagine it would be for me either.” His hands moved beneath the back of my rain-soaked shirt and slowly pulled me closer, the heat from his palm against my bare skin like a brand. And his eyes, well, they seemed to stare straight inside me. “I was too young to understand what letting you go meant when I was eighteen. Now I know, and I don’t plan on giving up this time.”

  When our lips finally met, both of us strained to hold back the desire that spurred us to consume the other.

  I pulled away from the kiss first, only then coming to terms with how powerful our connection was. Not because I’d built up the idea and memory of him into some kind of nostalgic fantasy. And not because I’d just overcome another hurdle in my grieving process. It was partially chemistry, something we’d always had. But now, that chemistry was raw, urgent, physical.

  And emotional.

  I moved from beneath the cover of the deck first and stopped when I saw the river rushing in the muted light from the house.

  “We’ll look tomorrow,” he assured from behind me with his hands on my arms. “For your rings. We’ll look tomorrow.”

  My eyes swept over my property, quickly realizing that a little water had created a disaster in my backyard. The rings were probably gone forever, but that was the last thing on my mind. I wondered if Quentin would stay the night. He may have thought he wanted me now. But would he be able to deal with the crazy, older, baggage-ridden version of Rylie? Or would he say thanks, but no thanks, and call it a day?

  I opened the back door, throwing my muddy shoes onto the deck behind me as I headed straight to the laundry off the kitchen. I grabbed some towels and came back to see Quentin return from placing his boots neatly beside mine next to the kitchen door. In awe of the grace with which each and every muscle in his shoulders moved beneath his wet tee, I was mesmerized while he closed the door and his hands reached for his belt buckle.

  “Clothes are soaked,” he said, his face plastered with wet strands that landed at his neck.

  “I have some sweat pants Billy left behind. And a sweat shirt, too, I think. Just give me a sec.” I handed Quentin a large beach towel while I went back into the laundry, opening the cupboards. I made my way back to the kitchen, Billy’s discarded clothes in my hands, and tossed him the items. Then I used the kitchen counter to hide myself as I stripped out of my jeans. I tried to avert my eyes while Quentin undressed. I suppose I should have offered him the bathroom or something, but I guess neither one of us was thinking clearly.

  Or, at all for that matter.

  I pulled on a pair of flannel pj bottoms I found on top of my clean laundry, and, for no sane reason, I was still hiding as I pulled on a dry hoodie.

  “Quentin…” I began, but said nothing else. I didn’t have words. I was tired of thinking, of feeling. Tired of everything in life being so goddamn hard.

  He walked to me with a towel around his waist, no shirt, nothing but Egyptian cotton, and tossed his wet jeans into my kitchen sink, my wet clothes joining them. His hands squeezed my arms as he grabbed me and set me on the counter. Then, those same hands moved to either side of my face and said, almost verbatim, what his letter had.

  “First girl I ever kissed…first girl I ever touched. All the rest I imagined…over and over again.” These words were spoken against my lips, but he hadn’t answered my question.

  “Quentin...”

  “Twenty years, Ry.”

  He backed up, broke contact with me, and leaned against the stove. The towel was doing a poor job of hiding what was happening underneath. And I wanted him. I realized then, I wanted him more than I’d wanted anything in my entire life.

  Anything.

  But I feared the power of that want would someday come at a cost.

  “You said to be sure. What did you mean by that?” I asked. “I mean, I want this. I want it like you would not believe. But I’m not—”

  “I gave up, Rylie.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I never got married because I met the girl I wanted to marry when I was a kid.”

  I covered my mouth with the back of my hand as his beautiful words pierced me.

  “And I gave up because I couldn’t handle another woman I loved rejecting me.”

  “Oh, Quentin…” I reached for him, but he put his hands up to stop me.

  “Nothing ever changed my resolve. Every time you left, you left a hole, and I’ve never been able to fill it. A few years went by, I kept trying to talk myself into coming to see you. Then I heard you’d met someone…and you were happy. Even if I’d met anyone who came close, they’d always live in the shadow of you, Rylie.”

  Oh my God.

  “What you said, last time we saw each other…about how we’d fight and fall in love and have babies… Did you mean that?” he asked.

  I nodded. I’d meant every drunken word.

  Still…

  “I don’t know you anymore.”

  That’s when he moved back to me. “I’m the same man I was, just older, a little wiser, but not by much,” he said, a slight smile playing at his lips. “My brother and I bought The Boon a few years ago. I’ve been living with him in Santa Rosa. We’d invested in a business that recycles and repairs wine barrels. Some shit happened, and Miles convinced me selling my share was the right thing to do. So I did, and that was my share to get started on the bar with him. Didn’t want to at first since there were a lot of memories here. Not just you,” he said with a reassuring squeeze of my arm. “You were the good, and everywhere I looked, you were there. You were so much a part of everything that made it all bearable.”

  Unfortunately, I knew exactly what he meant.

  He had emotional land mines.

  “I’m so sorry,” I told him quietly.

  He stood there, silent, waiting for me to say something. Then he touched the earring he’d given me so many years before.

  “Tonight…I have these moments, Quentin. I think I’m okay, I think it’s all behind me, and then…I don’t know if it ever will be. I have no warning. It just…happens.”

  Both hands moved downward as his grip tightened at my hips. “Then you deal when those moments come, and you do it with me.”

  I laughed, but not with humor. I just figured he had no idea I was pretty much an expert in promises you can’t keep.

  “I can’t give you guarantees,” I told him. “What I mean is, I won’t do that to you.”

  “Rylie…” He began to argue or disagree. I’m not sure which because I didn’t let him finish.

  “I learned the hard way, sometimes, the pain is worth the risk. Being with you, here,” I reflected. “It makes me question myself. The what-if’s… But you have to know now, I don’t regret a single minute I spent with my husband. That pain…it was worth it.”

  A lovely amber glow was cast by a lamp I paid too much for. I told my aunt it was supposed to be for one of the buses. But that was a lie. I stared at it for a while, minutes maybe, until I realized he was waiting. “Sorry, I’ll go put those wet things in the dryer…and....”

  But he didn’t let me move.

  “I’m spending the night. I’m gonna wake up with you in the morning. And I don’t care what happens once we get into bed. We’ll get to know each other again in whatever way it happens. But I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Just so we’re clear, Rylie. I’m not going to leave you.”

  Three weeks. I’d been trying not to think about him, and then bam, he’s all but driven up to the front door with a moving van. I wondered what it was going to be like, waking up in the morning with another man in my bed
. And then a thought, not welcome or unwelcome, appeared: Nick would have approved. I’d told him about Quentin, speaking candidly of my young heartbreak and regret with this ghost from my past. And the tears which had only visited me minutes before were all but forgotten.

  He moved closer to me and rasped, “You’re a beautiful woman, Rylie.”

  He slowly lifted my hoodie over my head and cupped my breasts. Holding the weight of each one in his hands as his thumbs brushed across my nipples.

  “Amazing,” he said, still cupping them in his hands.

  “I don’t…they aren’t…”

  “You don’t understand, Rylie.” He looked at my face as he kept his hands still. “You weren’t a woman last time I saw you, not like you are now. I wish we’d done this as teenagers,” he said, his lips trailing along my jaw as his thumbs again brushed across the edge of my nipples. “Explored… Learned from each other…”

  I didn’t. I was glad I could go in having a little experience under my belt. “Quentin,” I whimpered.

  When he released me, slowly, he stood up to his full height, his splayed hands moving over my ribs and around my hips as his fingers traced the top of my pants. Then he claimed my mouth again, his tongue and mine moving in tandem, deeper, discovering.

  But he pulled back and broke this kiss, something I wanted more of.

  “I wondered what it would be like…to just be with you. Someone to be in the day-to-day with.”

  When I didn’t respond in any way…because, I couldn’t make my mouth work…he moved us down the hall.

  “Come on,” he said and pulled me toward the stairs that led to the bedrooms. He looked left, then right, and moved us into the bathroom.

  He turned on the taps, steam billowing up into the cool air as he stood in front of me and began to slide down my pajamas, his fingers tangled in the sides as he pushed them down my hips and legs, and fell to his knees in front of me.

  I moved my hands through his damp hair as he looked up at me with darkening eyes. His lids shut slowly, his nose just touched the sparse hair between my legs as he inhaled deeply.

  It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about sex the last couple of years. I had. I just did my best to ignore it. That single night with John, it was far from bad when it was happening. But this was different, scratching an itch, so to speak. Quentin awakened a part of me I was sure would have forever remained dormant. I didn’t want a casual fuck, nor did I want a lover. I wanted him to take my soul as his own, fill my heart with his words, and love me with everything he was and ever would be.

  “I need you to touch me,” I breathed. “Please…”

  When I gripped his hair in my fists, he moved his fingers up and along my thighs, urging my legs to part and give him the access he sought and I desired. As he swept a single finger up and between the folds of my sex, he slid it inside me. And as my fingernails dug into his scalp, I bit my lip and held on for dear life.

  Then he rose up, my hands trailing down his back until his mouth was at my ear.

  “I want to see your face.”

  The same long finger pushed deep and pulled up with a wet glide across my clit as I gasped, ever closer to climax. I knew it would be unrealistic to think in terms of happily-ever-after. The idea this man in particular was touching me was monumental, but it wasn’t another hurdle I’d need to overcome. I was prepared for this one, open and willing and terrified all at the same time.

  As much as I wanted to be completely in the moment, a brief brush of emotional distress competed with my physical pleasure. And Quentin was studying my face closely. My body took over, and I came, with his warm breath on my jaw, his thumb at my clit as his fingers slowed their thrust. “I see you, like I always did,” he said. “Everything that’s you, even your pain. Never hesitate to give it to me.”

  One great love affair in a lifetime was lucky, more than most people would ever have. Singles websites had boomed while I had ten years of mostly wedded bliss. To have more than one great love edged on greedy. Life, in all its uncertainty, could be a real asshole when it came to heartbreak. And I knew, whatever his history, no matter our best intentions, shit happens, and there were no guarantees. Then I saw his eyes and knew he meant every word he said with unwavering conviction.

  So, even with the odds against us, I chose to open my heart and let Quentin bring the light back into my world.

  NINE

  I’d seen countless movies of women laying their hand on the empty pillow next to theirs. I’d done that, too. I also forced myself to sleep in the middle, only to give up altogether and make the living room couch my new bed. It was fine, really. I mean, I had the kitchen a few feet away, the big TV all to myself…

  So, I wasn’t sure how I would feel when I woke up to the weight of a hand on my hip. My lips dared a small smile, afraid the movement would rouse the sleeping giant next to me. But when his hand slowly drifted over my bare skin, I opened my eyes to see his were closed, but he was smiling, too.

  “Good morning, Rylie May.”

  I turned my face into the pillow. I was hiding, yes, but that was only because I wasn’t sure if I should giggle nervously or cry out with sheer joy.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  I nodded, hidden behind a tangled mass of hair.

  I was better than all right.

  “Can I see your eyes?”

  I turned my head, deciding to give him the ten-thousand watt grin I couldn’t even begin to hide.

  “You look beautiful.”

  “Says the cast of Magic Mike.”

  “Which one?” He smiled.

  “All of them. Like an amalgam of hotness rolled into one. Your hair’s the color of chestnuts. Sexy beard-stubble thing going on. Your hair isn’t too long or too short. I can hold it in my fingers and pull you in for a kiss. You’re a lady-killer, Quentin Miller. Sounds like a movie…or a song.”

  He moved his head closer, his soft lips touching mine and pulling back. “What it is, is a dream come true.”

  My heart thundered in my chest at his words, but I had to stay grounded just a little longer. “Miles looks good,” I lamely interjected. “And your parents? You haven’t said much about any of them.”

  “I figured we had time to talk about the people who aren’t you or me at a later date.”

  “We should do that,” I said. “Go on a date, I mean.”

  He kept looking at me, probably waiting for me to add another item to my list of crazy-woman demands. So I gave it to him straight. “It feels like I’m starting over,” I admitted. “I can’t even remember what it was like to date.”

  “Funny, I don’t look at it that way at all. I think we’re just picking up right where we left off.” He kissed the tip of my nose and moved from the bed, picking up the sweat pants I’d given him last night. “I’ll make us some coffee.”

  When he was out of the room, I sat up in bed, pulling the sheet over my breasts, and grabbed my phone. It was way too early to call Billy. So, I sent him a text instead.

  Quentin is making coffee. In my kitchen. After spending the night.

  XOXO

  I hit send and got up to put something on. Waking up with Quentin hadn’t unnerved me like I worried it would. The only reason I was second-guessing myself is maybe it should have.

  I heard him bound up the stairs and come right back to me as he tossed his clothes, fresh from the dryer, onto the floor. “How’s your brother?” he asked.

  I chuckled and leaned over him to put my phone back down. “Either you read my mind, or you know me, really, really well. I just sent him a text. If I saw him more, I could give you a better answer.”

  “Fair enough. You want to go get some breakfast downtown?” he asked, moving the sheet to expose my breasts to the chill, morning air. “Perfect tits, Ry. Not sure if anyone has ever told you that, but you have the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen.”

  His fingers moved along the outer curve of my breast and cupped each one.

  “In
credible,” he said with sheer wonder in his voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  He looked into my eyes and took one breast in each hand. “I’ve watched you grow into a young woman. I’m sure you don’t even realize it, just how beautiful you are.”

  Not able to fight the struggle as my eyes drifted down, I saw the dark brown hair between his legs surrounding an incredible, lengthy thickness. And I knew for a fact, he’d also grown into something beyond my wildest dreams.

  Quentin was all man, very much so.

  Last night, he’d showered with me, pleasured me, but not himself, then slept naked with me, and not once had he attempted to use his God-given gift.

  “You have amazing self-control,” I told him, not bothering to hide the purposeful aim of my eyes.

  “Last night was about you.” He grinned. “Tonight, if all goes well, it won’t be just about you…”

  God, what I would give for a time machine to make the sun go down. But alas, I had things to do. “I feel like I should go to work today. But I could be swayed to take the day off.”

  He still had me naked in my bed, caressing my breasts as I spoke. Under his gaze and thorough assessment of my body, I decided not to be self-conscious about it. Instead, though it took some concentration, I kept talking.

  “I have to figure out how to link the current website for the cottages to the one for the buses we’re building. I’m going to have to hire someone to do that, I think. Aunt Ardie wanted my opinion on revamping the cottages, which are looking dated and could use a bit of a make-over. What she doesn’t know is, the minute Uncle Lee mentioned it, I started collecting odds and ends to decorate them.”

  His eyes moved from my breasts to my face.

  “Ry,” he said, almost as if he was about to cushion a blow.

  And I was not wrong.

  “I said I had to take care of something a few weeks back…”

  I nodded, prompting him to continue.

  “That something…is a someone.”