Kissing my forehead, I feel his presence leave the room.
“Why did you leave me?”
“What?” I hear him say, but it’s distant. Like he was already out of the door.
I grind my teeth and feel my forehead wrinkle. “You left me. Why?”
His footsteps move closer. He rests his hand on my shoulder, his thumb rubbing the outside of the blanket. “I’m right here.”
My muddled brain won’t accept that answer. I don’t know why I’m picking now to be the time to talk about our issues, but, now that I am, I can’t stop myself. “You left me five years ago, August. Why?”
He sucks in another breath, and this time I can feel the anguish behind it. I don’t even have to open my eyes to know it’s written all over his face. I’m sure he was hoping we’d skip over that whole debacle. I did too – up until about two minutes ago.
Like I said before, there’s a truth in the darkness and I guess I’m seeking it out.
“Belle, can we not talk about this tonight? You’re tired, I’m exhausted. Just go to bed and we can talk about it in the morning.”
I shake my head, clenching my eyes tighter. “No. I can’t. I need to know.”
He removes his hand and I hear the shuffle of his clothes, like he’s sitting on the floor. “You need to know what? Why is it so important you know it right now?”
I finally open my eyes, not very tired anymore. He is, in fact, sitting cross legged on the floor. When my eyes find him, he flinches. “Because…” I struggle with my words. “Because I…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“You what?”
I turn on my back, shoving the comforter off my body. “I never got closure, August.”
In the gloom of my room, the only light from the moon outside, I turn my head to see him look down at his lap, his hands tangled. “Neither did I.”
My nose twitches, my eyes threatening to water.
“What do you want me to say, Belle?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. That you didn’t love me anymore and you needed to go live your life. Tell me that you were so career driven, you needed to leave your old life behind so you could live a new one. Tell me all the thoughts that have been running through my head these past five years were right so I can maybe move…” I stop, almost ashamed of myself.
He looks up, his expression wounded. “So you can move on?”
I gulp. “Yeah – maybe.”
He sits silent for a couple seconds. “You haven’t moved on?”
I don’t answer. If my past relationships were any indication, of course I haven’t moved on. I loved him and he left, how does one move on from that? I’m still licking my wounds for goodness sake.
He pulls off his glasses. Swiping at his nose, he then runs his hand through his hair, it’s so much longer now. His five o’clock shadow has grown to a short beard and he scratches at it.
Sighing, he whispers, “I don’t know if I’ve moved on, either.”
My body shivers just the slightest and my breath catches in my throat.
“I’ve sabotaged every good relationship I’ve ever had,” he says and I think it pains him – it pains me. I never wanted that for him.
I tug my hand through my hair, willing myself to be strong. “Why did you leave me, August?”
Angry, he shakes his head, his jaw tight.
“What?” It comes out a little harsher than I intended.
He shakes his head again, his hair falling onto his forehead. “Because you gave up on us!” he shouts, and I see him regret it the moment the words fly out of his mouth. “You gave up on us,” he says quieter this time.
I sit up in a flash. “Like hell I did. You didn’t give me any time to process.”
“I had to make a decision!” His hand flies up in the air. “I wanted you to go with me.”
“To New York?” I chuckle, the thought literally bringing me to laughter.
“Why’s that so absurd, Belle?”
“I wasn’t meant for New York. At least not then. I needed to finish school. You were asking so much of me.”
He pushes air through his nose. “I wasn’t good enough.”
“I’m sorry – what?” He thinks he wasn’t good enough?
He scratches his head, pushing his hair back. “I wasn’t good enough for you. You didn’t want to take a chance on us. You gave up. My life couldn’t stay in Georgia if I wanted to publish my book and you refused to leave.”
“You gave me twenty minutes to figure it out, August.”
He tilts his head, clearly not okay with me inaccurately describing our situation.
“A day…whatever.”
He groans. “Isn’t that what life is about? Finding every good moment, every possible happiness and holding on? That’s what I was doing. You were my happiness and that book offer was my good moment. I wanted to sail on that ship with you.”
“You left the dock without me. You left me standing there, hand raised in goodbye, alone.” I sniffle, knotting the fabric of my blanket in my hands.
“You were never alone, Belle,” he whispers, his eyes so blue in the dim light. I wonder how that’s even possible. I can’t make out the shape of my hand in front of me, but I can see his icy irises from a mile away.
“Don’t say that,” I say, the words coming out as a hushed whisper. “Don’t say that to me. You closed our book. Maybe I didn’t move on, but our book ended, August. You left.”
“You gave up!”
And around and around we go. I groan, hitting the mattress with my fists. “I didn’t give up! You left before I could tell you I wanted to go with you.”
August’s eyes grow bigger than saucers – freaking serving dishes – and he stutters. “You…you wanted to go with me?” He looks so small, like a wounded animal, his hand on his chest.
Pulling my knees up to my chest, I set my chin down on them. “I was packed and ready to go when I saw you leaving the lobby of the dorms.”
“Why didn’t you stop me?!” he yells, standing up, his face turning a shade of red that would scare me had it been on another man.
I shove the covers away from me with force, standing up to meet him face to face. “How could I possibly stop you? You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t tell me where you’d be. You obviously didn’t want me.” My chest is heaving now, my breaths coming out in erratic spurts.
“I didn’t want you to…” he stops, covering his mouth with his hand. “Jesus Christ, Belle. You broke me that day. I told you I was leaving for New York and you just stood there and watched me go. Didn’t say a word.”
I swallow, shaking my head. “I thought we were done.” My body moves on instinct, inching closer toward him. I’d use my will to stop myself, but who am I kidding? My will at this moment is like tits on a bull. Useless.
August’s shoulders move up and down in a slow, steady motion as he takes in lungful’s air. He shoves his sleeves up to his forearms as his eyes dilate.
Closing my eyes, my insides crumble. “I don’t know what to do with all of this, August.” I put my head down, pinching the bridge of my nose when August touches his fingers on the bottom of my chin, lifting my eyes.
He holds his breath, searching for answers. His eyes hold mine before moving down to my mouth and then back up again. Weaving one of his hands in my hair, his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. Before I can register what’s happening, his other hand follows suit. His breath, so sweet, cascades over my face, blanketing me in anticipation.
“Didn’t you read what I wrote about us? We were never done,” he says before his mouth falls on mine.
Dills My Pickle
I rise on my tiptoes, pressing my lips harder to his. He groans as my hands find his waist under the chambray button up he’s got on.
I gasp, pulling away, my heartbeat keeping in tune with my breathing. “What are we doing?”
August wipes my bottom lip with his thumb, smiling. It’s brilliant and powerful, like he’s won the Super B
owl and the Kentucky Derby all at once. “Everything.”
I shake my head and pull him closer, wanting more of him. More of his lips. More of his tongue. More of his smile. More of his groans when I push against him. Just more August.
He crashes his lips back to mine, only this time it’s not nearly as safe. I feel the edge of his kiss the moment his lips part. He growls when I slip my tongue inside his mouth.
I wonder if I should stop him. The thought halts me and I pull back, but just slightly. Only enough for August to trace his teeth along the side of my neck. My eyes fall back, the overwhelming lust taking over my body.
I clutch his skin tighter, my will on the brink of collapsing. I open my mouth to speak but his lips catch my words.
This isn’t a normal, I’m-into-you sort of kiss. This isn’t a let’s-bang kiss. This kiss is the kind of kiss that sends you into a spiral of bliss. A reality worth fighting for. It’s what I’ve been searching for in that darkness for so long. A truth I hadn’t lived in far too many years. This kiss feels like the home I’ve so longed to visit. I’d been anticipating on the doorstep, lonely and cold, waiting to be let in.
August slides his tongue into my mouth, meeting mine. Stroke after agonizing stroke, it feels as if August has been waiting his entire life to kiss me like this. Never once did it feel this wild. This intense.
“Damn,” August groans, pulling back, trying to catch his breath.
I do the same, trying to level my erratic gasps of air. My fingers touch my mouth where August had just been and they tingle. “August, I…”
“You want me to stop,” he finishes for me.
I rear back. “What? No.”
August’s shoulders deflate, an easy smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
“I just…I think we need to talk.” I feel my face scrunch, a little worried he’s going to be hurt.
He lifts his eyebrows and moves his eyes left to right as to say, Isn’t that what we were doing before all the kissing?
I sigh. “I mean we need to hash things out before we go any further. I don’t know where you stand and you don’t know where my head is. I think we should call it a night and talk in the morning.”
When my brain and my vagina can agree.
August doesn’t let me go. Instead, he licks his lips. His eyes smolder with fierce intensity. “We…we can do that.” He’s still trying to stabilize his air intake. “I thought I was fairly clear on where I stood.”
I squint, feeling my heart throb in my chest. I guess his kiss told me he’s still into me – which is obviously a relief. We’ve always had incredible chemistry, so it’s not crazy to think we’ve developed some sort of feelings during our time together. Still, one can never be too sure.
“I love you, Belle.”
My heart stops. It putters to a standstill, falling against my ribs and my eyes go wide. Tight, my chest constricts, feeling the deficiency of oxygen. He still loves me? I open my mouth – like a water-deprived fish – to say something – God, anything – but he cuts me off.
“I know I don’t deserve to love you,” he scolds himself, “so please don’t say anything back,” he says, the words rushing out of his mouth. I grind my teeth, and his thumb strokes my cheek. “We can talk and if you want to take it slow, we will, but I already know the ending to our story.”
I blink. How am I supposed to respond to that? He knows how our story will end and I’m still terrified he’ll write one that doesn’t involve me.
Talk…we need more talking.
Going still, I will my body to react. Lift a finger. Jump start your heart. Make words! Anything!
Once again, I open my mouth to say something but, instead, August meets my confusion with a kiss. One that rattles my very soul. It crushes it in one swift movement of his tongue and the curve of his lips. I want to pull away and tell him he can’t guarantee those things, the unspoken possibilities, because if there’s the slightest chance that he’ll go back on his word, it’ll crush me. It’ll rip me apart.
But I don’t.
I can’t stop kissing him because no matter the hurt we’ve caused each other, no matter the distance we’ve faced, he speaks to my soul. Every fiber of my being wants to be his. I’ve tried masking my cravings with others. I’ve tried changing my palate, but Campbell Potter is totally and unequivocally August Wyatt’s. We’re attached by something deeper than love – by something far more important than trivial lust. We’re connected by his words. The words he wrote for the entire world to read. We had love. We had lust, but his words were his promise. He’d always said by the end of his book I’d know how he truly felt about me.
Pupils dilated, August lets go of my lips. “Everything will be okay.”
With that, he grabs one of my shoulders in one hand and the back of my head in the other and brings his lips to my forehead, kissing me.
“Good night, Belle.”
My hands fall to my sides and he closes my bedroom door behind him.
“Mama, I’m tellin’ you, I don’t know if what happened last night was a dream or not.”
Mama huffs on the other end of the line. “Sugar, if it was all a dream, I need to know what you were smokin’.”
I laugh, sitting back on my bed, pulling the comforter up to my chest. “It was bourbon.”
“Now you know what to get me for Christmas.”
My head falls into my free hand and I rub my forehead. “I don’t know what to do. I love him, Mama. You know I do. A part of me wishes I could erase the last five years and start over again. Or, maybe go back five years and open my big mouth to let him know I wanted to go with him to New York.”
I can feel her scolding me. “But you can’t. You can’t turn back time. You can’t change the past. You can’t do anything but figure out what you’re going to do and take responsibility.”
I lift my head and lean against my headboard. “It was all so easy when we were just friends.”
Mama scoffs. “Were you ever just friends? I don’t think so.” She doesn’t let me answer. “You’ve loved that boy since before you were filling out a bra properly. Give yourself time. If he loves you like he says he does, he’ll wait.”
“It’s been five years, Mama.”
“What’s the harm in a few more days?” she challenges. “Where is he now? Is he at the apartment?”
I shake my head. “No. I heard him leave early this morning.”
“How long till the movie’s done?”
“It’s gone longer than expected because of rain and the tornado threat last week. Another month? Maybe? I don’t know. Honestly, that scares me, too. What if we pick it up again and he has to leave?”
Mama shuffles, scratching noises coming through the phone. “He is going to leave. He’s gonna have to. The movie will be made and he’ll have to promote it. Can you handle that? He ain’t no Normal-Joe August anymore, honey. He’s a big deal. He’ll come with a lot of baggage. Are you willin’ to pay the price it’ll take to be with him?”
My answer is easy. “Of course. It’s just, he might not want me to come with him.”
“You’d go?”
“I wouldn’t think twice.”
She sighs. “Well, dills my pickle, sugar. I don’t think you need to talk it out with me anymore. You’ve already made up your mind.”
My nose twitches. “I think so. I don’t know if I can tell him yet.”
“You better not ignore him, darlin’. He doesn’t deserve that. It seems like he was hurting just as much as you were. Y’all need to heal together.”
“I think so, too.”
“I gotta go. Mrs. Caldwell is comin’ over to bake a pie.”
I laugh. “Bake a pie? She’s nearing ninety years old.”
Mama groans. “Yeah, well, you know I’ll bake the pie and she’ll take credit at church come Sunday.”
“Sounds about right. I miss you.”
“Come have dinner with me next week. Friday? Bring August. I’d love to see him.”
<
br /> “I’ll try, Mama. I love you.”
“You too.”
It’s almost three in the afternoon when Beau stops in the doorway of my office. His dark brown pants hug his legs as he stuffs his hands into the pockets. “I have to run home and get changed. You’ll be good to close up?”
I scratch the corner of my eye, hitting the frames of my glasses. “I think so. We’ll both need to be back here by five to get the press in order. Lily said she’s got it all handled, but they need to be in place by the time we open up our doors at six.”
He looks down at his watch. “Sounds good.” His eyes, still sad, just like they have been every other day since he broke up with me, find mine. “See you in a bit.”
I wait until I hear the wooden doors close to get up and lock them behind Beau.
Our unveiling is tonight. All the preparations, stress and hard work will finally pay off. The past week has been chaotic. I’m almost relieved it’ll be over soon.
I haven’t seen August since he kissed me – or I kissed him. I can’t remember which. We’ve somehow missed each other every night since then. I know he’s been home, little splashes of water on the counter and an empty glass in the sink told me so. Every morning, no matter how early I get up, he’s always gone, off filming his movie.
In the back of my mind, I can’t help but think it will always be like this. Never a normal relationship, just sporadic moments together filled with heat and passion and need. He doesn’t have a nine-to-five job, and Susie Homemaker, I certainly am not.
I don’t know if it’s intentional or not, but I’m almost thankful. Maybe thankful isn’t the best word. I want to see him. I’m yearning to, but my hesitation hinders me from being fully worried about our lack of alone time. Maybe I like it this way. Always longing. Always full of desire.
That’ll all change tonight. The entire cast has confirmed their attendance – which I know is August’s doing. He wants the unveiling to be a hit and this is probably his way of getting it there.
August: Black tie tonight?
I quickly text back.
Me: Yes, sir.
August: Mmm, sir. I kind of like that. Are you coming home?
Who Needs Air Page 11
