Tethered Love (The Knot Duet Book 2)

by M. Mabie

  I answered, with only mild enthusiasm, “I think so.”

  “Good. We’d like to meet her.” My parents always spoke for each other. Rarely, me or I. Usually, we or us. It was then I wondered if I’d ever have what they did.

  “Okay, Dad. I’m going to get a shower. I have a long day tomorrow.” Just like every other damn day.

  “Okay, goodnight. Call your mom sometime, Reggie.”

  I showered, and then decided I’d go ahead and ask Sarah if she was interested and free.

  ME: Do you want to attend my sister’s wedding with me?

  I set the phone next to me on my bed and flipped the television to the news channel. I didn’t really jump to see her reply when my phone buzzed, it didn’t really matter to me either way.

  NORA: When is it?

  Whoa. What the fuck did I do?

  I’d texted Nora by accident. Shit.

  My pulse raced. What had I done?

  I stared at it, then I scrolled up through our messages from last fall while she’d been gone. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  She didn’t say no.

  If I hadn’t had so much Valium coursing through my veins to prevent me from over analyzing everything, I don’t know if I would have even gotten around to replying.

  I’d thought about what would happen if we’d ever talked again, but didn’t actually expect it.

  Nora hadn’t even come back to get her things. She’d sent movers to box everything back up and ship them halfway around the world to her new home.

  That sent a clear message to me.

  It was good for my resolve she hadn’t come back and done it herself. I would have been down there acting like a fool. Old habits die hard.

  I hadn’t been good those first few months.

  I ate. Exercised. Went to work, stayed late. Got up early and did it all over again. I existed, but just.

  It hadn’t been until recently that I’d even went out. My first date with Sarah had been the first meal I’d had in a restaurant all year, except the occasional lunch for work. I’d been skipping the dinners.

  In my mind, I was going through the motions. Hitting the next step. Moving on.

  I guess.

  It never felt like it was getting better though. Never felt any easier. My longing for her never subsided. I had to believe it eventually would.

  So why had I accidentally sent a text I’d meant for Sarah to Nora, and what the fuck was I going to do now that she replied?

  Was I supposed to tell her I’d made a mistake, and that the invite wasn’t for her? Could I do that?

  I needed to do something, but my hands had a mind of their own.

  ME: May 23rd

  NORA: Are you sure?

  My ears were ringing, and my head began to ache.

  I wanted her so fucking bad. My dick got hard as memories of us together trampled their way off the shelf where I’d placed them. The expression on her face after she came. The way my body felt connected to hers when we were a hot, sweaty mess of limbs.

  ME: Yes.

  NORA: Seattle?

  Was she actually considering it? Could I pass it up if she was? It didn’t change anything, she still lived where she did. I still would never be able to give her more than what she already had. I wanted her with me, but there was so much for her in Switzerland.

  Goddamn it. Missing her made me insane. Every day it hurt all over. Hurt like a son of a bitch.

  ME: Yes.

  NORA: I’ll see if I can make it.

  ME: How’s the toe?

  She didn’t answer that one.

  I broke things off with Sarah the next morning. I didn’t give her another thought.

  TWENTY-THREE

  PAST

  NORA—Monday, April 6, 2009

  I hadn’t been thinking clearly.

  It had been so out of the blue when my phone chimed in the middle of the night. I’d been dreaming about a long, narrow maze, and I was thankful for the disturbance.

  Maybe I was still asleep when I answered him; I wasn’t fully awake. There was a seven-hour time difference.

  When he asked about my toe, I put the phone back down and tried to fall back asleep. I willed my brain to let me dream about him, though I seldom did. It was tragic.

  That didn’t keep me from daydreaming.

  I’d caught two of the workers kissing on the third-floor deck one day, and I watched as they made out, unaware I could see them.

  I didn’t see them. I saw us.

  His hands moving over my body. My arms around his neck.

  That afternoon I’d tried for hours to climax on my own. Even with the vision of them—us—fresh in my mind. It wasn’t the same. I’d gotten off, but it was weak compared to the way I felt when I was with him.

  Then I’d cried.

  When I woke back up, looked at my phone again, and realized I hadn’t dreamt the whole thing, I sent him a reply.

  ME: Toe still hurts.

  As I walked through the halls, he sent one back.

  REAGAN: You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I’m not asking for anything else.

  ME: I still don’t know if I’ll be able to make it. I’ll let you know.

  I’d need to think about it, but having an open line of communication with him again pacified the deafening cry for him inside me.

  I was so lost.

  I DIDN’T HEAR MUCH out of him for the next few weeks, even though I still emailed the fake account, and, as insane as it was, I talked to my imaginary him about it there.

  Every once in a while, the real Reagan would ask if I knew whether I was coming or not, and I eventually said I would.

  When the day came, I couldn’t get on the plane. I thought about changing my phone number. Considered hiding, but after I failed to leave, I didn’t expect him to contact me again. The whole world was my hiding spot. He wouldn’t want to find me anymore.

  Weddings weren’t my thing. I’d told myself that, and a great many other excuses, while I sat at the gate as the plane filled without me on it.

  My absence would say what I didn’t want to. He’d be better off.

  “Last call for boarding,” a man said before he shut and locked the jetway door.

  Last call.

  So it painfully was.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  PAST

  REAGAN—Saturday, August 15, 2009

  It hurt when she didn’t show up in Seattle.

  No call. No text. No surprise.

  After the wedding, I ended up fucking the shit out of some Melanie girl who Blake worked with in San Francisco. I lost myself for a few hours, hoping it would stomp out the coals that still burned for her. However, every time Melanie cried out, a shockwave would fly up my spine and shred my heart even more.

  When I came, I roared like the wounded animal I felt like.

  I returned to Chicago and didn’t stop.

  I called up a few women I knew before Nora, but they were all seeing people. So, that summer I spent many nights in clubs, drinking more than I should and bringing women home. Some were more satisfying than others, but none of them ever left me wanting more.

  I fucked myself, emptier and emptier.

  I RAN THE TOWEL THROUGH my wet hair and stopped when I heard my phone ringing from my bedroom.

  I picked it up before I missed it and saw the name as I pressed the speaker to my ear.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “It’s my birthday,” Nora said. I knew it was. Last year, she’d let me cook for her, and then we’d spent the night in my bed.

  “Happy birthday,” I said even though there wasn’t much of it left. I looked at my watch and saw that it was nearly eight thirty, I was about to head out to get a drink with the new guy at work.

  “I’m in Chicago at the Harbor,” she said. Her voice was mumbled, maybe slurred.

  She sounded off.

  I was off, too.

  In those days, I was mad at the world. Mad at her. Mad at myself. Angry in
general. Like my foolish love, my rage didn’t exclude her—even if I was to blame. Except, she’d lied, and that lie teased me. Tricked me into thinking I’d get to be with her. My stupid hope and her resistance to me played keep-away with my morals.

  I took a long breath and sat on my bed, my heart hammering behind the wall I built around it. “Why should I care?”

  “Are you with anyone?” The jagged lilt in her voice gave way to her vulnerability. I immediately recognized the tone. When she exposed herself to me, she always burrowed somewhere in my chest.

  “Not at the moment,” I said coolly, bitten and shy.

  “Can you be with me? For a while?”

  I balled my fists and slammed my eyes shut, bearing my teeth. My brain knocked me up against a barricade and shouted in my face.

  You know better.

  I knew damn well what would happen if I went over there expecting one thing and left without it.

  My soul knocked through and answered, “Yes.”

  “Room 211.” Then, she hung up.

  I’D CHOSEN TO WEAR a suit. She could wait. I took my time and shaved, which I hadn’t done much lately. I’d lazily let my hair grow out longer, but it was manageable, and I combed it back.

  I paid the cab driver and walked through the same fucking doors I’d walked through the night I met her.

  The fucking Harbor Hotel was our tomb.

  I strode the hall with purpose. Left foot. Right foot.

  You can do this, Reggie.

  My knuckles rapped on the door, and it was mere seconds before it was open.

  She looked pitiful. The worst birthday girl I’d ever seen. Red nose, tear streaked face. Pink blotches on her neck and forehead.

  She shuddered. “I can’t talk about it. Please, don’t ask.”

  The sight of her in that shape, so eviscerated and wounded; I didn’t gain anything from making her feel worse than she looked. Stifled, my anger took a seat.

  “Are you—”

  Her head shook, and she tipped to the side like I’d slapped her. Her eyes blanching and locking up tight. “I...I can’t. No. Just touch me. Please,” she whimpered. “Nothing makes me feel better than you, and I need to feel better right now. Even if it is just a little. I know it’s wrong, but I need you so badly.”

  When weren’t those magic words?

  Nora needed me.

  She shrank into her chest, choked and sobbed. “Please, Reagan?”

  When you love someone, your instincts don’t always follow logic. Mine didn’t. The temptation to give her anything in my power had always been stronger than anything else I knew.

  I could soothe her, soothe us both for the moment. Respite my pain and hers. I lifted her in my arms, then walked in so I could shut the door.

  I turned off the lights, not needing any more visuals to haunt me later. I possessed a surplus of erotic ghosts.

  To be honest, I couldn’t look at her poor face. She looked too broken, and I wouldn’t be able to do it. Her sorrow was abhorrent, and I’d fail to touch her like she’d asked me.

  Beyond that, I didn’t want to look into her eyes, but I didn’t want her to know.

  I stripped off our clothes and pulled the covers over us. She was cold against me, and I gave her refuge with my body to warm her up. I moved the hair out of her face, and I kissed her neck.

  She wasn’t wearing any perfume; it was all her. The worst intoxicating torture.

  I lost my train of thought, and when it came back, my face was buried between her legs in her untrimmed hair, parting her so that I could get to my favorite spot. The sweet taste of her made me forget most everything. The feeling of her aroused flesh in my mouth was never in the running for something I could resist.

  I used my fingers on her like I had so many times. They spoke a language her body knew, and she fell apart over and over. She no longer sounded like she was crying from sadness, but instead from pleasure.

  Her rescue turned into my peril.

  I was a sleeping beast seduced awake by her ecstasy.

  “Yes, Reagan,” she moaned. I wasn’t strong enough to last another minute without being inside of her. So, I held myself over her with one hand, while the other clutched her flush to me and I pushed into her.

  “Ah! Goddammit, Nora.” I shouted as I thrust. It was her. Her temperature. Her fit. Her texture and wetness. The exact thing I’d been looking for in one-night stands over the past months.

  I had no patience. No control. No center of gravity or manual how to deal with all of our fucked up shit.

  All I had was my dick in her, and her saying yes to me. There is no defense against those variables.

  When her body begged for mine, in those beautifully brief moments, I was a fucking king again.

  I felt muscles in my back roll as I pushed into her, a deep slow grind that was driving me closer to the edge with every stroke. Her fingernails ran over my neck and through my hair, and I arched feeling my orgasm roar to life. Like a slow explosion, I shoved into her hard, somewhat sideways, and got as deep as I could.

  Our bodies were designed for each other, she rocked back into me, seated as I was, and it was the extra purchase I needed. My dick throbbed, and she gripped me so tightly with her muscles that it felt like we shared the same pulse.

  “No, fuck. No.” I barred my teeth and came so fucking hard.

  We recovered on opposite sides of the bed. Then she climbed on top of me, weeping, and rode me until we both came again.

  When she got up to take a shower, I left.

  We weren’t talking. Nothing would be solved.

  That wasn’t what the visit was about. I’d done what I’d came there for. There was no reason to stay the night. I called a cab and waited for it out front, much like I had the night we met.

  I sat on the same sofa, making the same damn wish for her.

  I DIDN’T HEAR FROM her the next day, but Monday, I learned that Janel had been killed in a car accident. She’d been hit Friday morning, but had just passed a few hours before Nora called me. Not having much family, other than her one sister, Janel was being taken back to Switzerland for burial.

  I went to my office and locked the door, threw innocent things and screamed obscenities. The pain of not being able to be there for her enraged me.

  I made an attempt to clean up my mess but decided I’d leave it for another day. Then, I locked my door, and said to Claudia, “I’m out for the rest of the day. I’ll call you when I know more.” She didn’t say anything.

  I willed Nora to answer the phone as I drove to my apartment, but she didn’t.

  When I got home, there was nothing to do but pace, think the worst things imaginable, and pace more.

  I wanted a drink, but I’d taken an extra pill on the way to the Lunar.

  Why wouldn’t she answer the phone? It wasn’t like I was going to call and scream at her, fight with her. Didn’t she know that?

  I’d left her there at the Harbor. Alone.

  Damn it, Nora answer the phone.

  All I got was the same recording. “This is Nora Koehl. Please leave a message.”

  Finally, a few times later, I decided to leave one, but a lump rose before I could speak after the beep.

  I cleared my throat. “Nora, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Please call me back. Let me know you’re okay.”

  Nothing.

  I looked online to find more information on the accident. Apparently, she’d been hit by a trailer truck after the driver fell asleep at the wheel. He veered into her lane and totaled her car. From the pictures, the semi pretty much ran up on top of the sedan. Reports said she’d sustained life-threatening injuries and never woke up from them at the hospital.

  She was one of Nora’s oldest friends. Damn it.

  Her best friend died on her fucking birthday, and I’d just fucked her and left.

  I called my dad and, God bless him, he cried with me.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  PAST

  NORA—Tuesday, Augu
st 18, 2009

  I wept when he sent me a huge bouquet of white freesia, with a card that only said Reagan on it, the day before the funeral.

  I cried on the floor until I fell asleep, and Laura woke me up the next morning when she came in and found me. She made me shower and dress, then went to the funeral with me and held my hand.

  Ives had the services in his family’s church. That’s what she would have liked. They were married there after all, and unorthodox as their marriage was, she’d said she loved romantic traditions.

  I think she just loved the stained glass windows. They were so beautiful I wept.

  I smelled the flowers as I brought them up to my room, deciding I’d rather have them where I could see them. Or maybe because they made me sob, and I didn’t want to fall apart in front of the staff any more than I already had.

  He sent me a vase full every day that week. Each day a different color. Each only said his name.

  I had to reach out to him before he raped the earth of all its freesia.

  Knowing he thought about me every day made me better, and after the funeral was over, and after I cried a few more days after that, I sat down and emailed him.

  The real him.

  From: Nora V. Koehl

  Subject: Thank you

  Date: August 21, 2009 15:27 CET

  To: Reagan Warren

  The world will stink if you keep sending me all of its beautiful flowers. Save some for the brides.

  They were a little color in the painfully grey days this week. Thank you for that.

  I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what had happened when I saw you. I was just too sad. And thank you for coming to see me. I’m sorry it was so random and rude to you.

  I never do the right thing, but I’m pretty sure I warned you about that in the beginning, so you should have seen it coming.

  I know I flaked on your sister’s wedding. I apologize. Maybe I’d hoped by then you’d have found someone who was better for you, and I was lonely when you asked me.