desolate (Grace Trilogy, Book One)

by Autumn Grey

  I don’t need any more encouragement. I let go of her face and intertwine my fingers with hers. Slowly, I ease myself inside her, watching her watching me. Her eyes widen, and she winces, then cries out. I stop, jaw clenched, breathing hard.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

  She feels so good, like coming home. And I wait, watching her body loosen as she relaxes, adjusting to me. I forge ahead, more careful than before, and when I’m fully inside her, we both exhale. If I could swear without inflicting God’s wrath, I would because being this deep inside her means I can feel the brisk beating of her heart everywhere, and mine is galloping in perfect synchronicity. I thought I knew what love was when I blurted out the words back in July.

  But now, I understand the true meaning of that word.

  Love is when two hearts recognize each other’s heartbeat, producing a beat sweeter than any music known to man.

  God, she’s so beautiful. What am I going to do without her? I push those thoughts to the back of my head and kiss her lips softly, then lean my forehead against hers as I start moving unhurriedly. My hands press down on hers as we find our rhythm, and our bodies move together seamlessly as if they’ve known each other forever. Forged to be united. I make her mine, my hunger for her ruthless, and my love selfish as I move inside her and make her my queen.

  She’s my first. And my last.

  I’ll always be her first.

  That knowledge unlocks something inside me. I growl, my hips pumping faster. She moans, her legs coming around to lock behind my back. Her heels digging into my ass cause me to increase speed.

  “I-I think I’m—”

  Our breathing becomes rougher. I try to hold back, but I can’t. My thighs are shaking, and my balls are tight. Then I’m coming inside her.

  God. Oh, God. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt.

  “Did you come?” I ask, kissing her hair, combing it with my fingers.

  She looks away as if she’s embarrassed.

  “Gracie?”

  She shakes her head. “I tried, but I couldn’t. It felt a little uncomfortable down there after, you know . . . but I hear it’s normal the first time,” she adds quickly as if trying to reassure me.

  “I’m sorry.” I feel like an asshole for not making sure she came too before following my own high. Realizing I’m smothering her under me, I roll on my back, taking her with me. I push away the impact of what I’ve done and just enjoy holding her close.

  “I’ll be fine, I promise. I’m just a little sore but being with you like this . . . it’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever experienced. Did you, um, enjoy it?” she asks hopefully.

  Did I enjoy it? That question, I can’t fully answer it without falling to my knees and just adoring her. Her body. “It was . . . it was perfect.” I finally push out the words. “Thank you for trusting me enough to let me be your first. And . . . for being mine.”

  She kisses my chest, and I feel her smile on my skin.

  The following week Sol and I are hanging out at his place on Saturday afternoon with our legs tangled. One of his hands rests on my hip, while the other strokes up and down my arm lazily, the touch purposeful and steady. We’re spending our last few hours together before he leaves for seminary.

  My mind goes back to the second time we had sex a few days after he came back from orientation, after the soreness between my legs faded. He took such great care of me, making sure I orgasmed before he came. It’s like once we gave ourselves to each other, we couldn’t stop. Now I get why he said he was sure if we ever had sex, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

  My eyes close briefly at the memory of his hands and mouth on me, languidly as if he had all the time in the world. And my entire body sighs with the memory.

  Sol has already packed his stuff, and he’ll be leaving tomorrow morning. Mom was meeting with Beverly and her husband for brunch. I excused myself and told my mom I wasn’t feeling too well. But from the way she looked at me, I think she knew where I was heading. We haven’t spoken again about Sol. I’ve been avoiding that topic whenever I could.

  Sol and I have been listening to music while lying on the bed. We mostly snuggle without saying much. My mind is chaos, and my heart is on a warpath, fighting heartbreak. I thought I was strong enough to watch him walk away, but over the past few days, I realized I’d been lying to myself.

  “I love you,” I murmur into his chest. “I just want to let you know. I love you, Solomon Callan. I didn’t say it back that day, but . . . I could’ve. I was just scared. Still am.”

  He kisses the back of my head, and his hands tighten around me, but he doesn’t respond. His chest rises and falls quicker now, his heart beating fast against my back.

  Unable to stomach the silence, I say, “I-I wish things were different, you know.”

  He exhales shakily behind me.

  “In another life, would you choose me?” I ask, knowing how unfair I’m being, but I’m slowly falling apart, and I don’t know what to do other than be selfish.

  “Yes.”

  “But not this life,” I press. I knew what I was getting into from the beginning, knew his heart wasn’t mine to keep.

  Yet I still hoped.

  “Gracie.” His voice is hoarse. “I love you so much, but I have to walk this path. I just have to. I can’t really explain it to you, but I feel like there’s something bigger planned for me. I feel like I have a larger purpose to find in life.”

  A sob chokes in my throat. I cough to cover the fact that I’m about to break down and cry. All of a sudden, he sits up on the bed, shoulders stiff. He grabs his jeans from the floor and puts them on. I watch him stand, then sit back down on the edge of the bed, dropping his head in his hands, exhaling.

  “Grace . . . Grace . . .” His voice drifts off as if he doesn’t have the energy to talk, and my heart is shriveling inside my body.

  He called me Grace, not Gracie.

  His shoulders are hunched forward, the weight of his decision pulling him down. I’m not going to pretend I understand what he’s going through, but I’m dying inside. I’m selfish, and I want him to choose me.

  Stupid.

  God, I’m stupid. I already knew where he stood. That he intended to pursue his dream of going to the seminary. Yet my heart, my body, everything in me got carried away, and now I’ve fallen so hard for him I can hardly pick myself up off the floor.

  I kissed him first. And even though his heart wasn’t mine to have, I knew there’d come a time when he’d have to choose between me and the call to serve God. I allowed hope to bloom in my chest, and with each kiss, it grew wings. With every touch, it took flight and soared, no longer a whisper in my ears but a roaring wind. I convinced myself he’d choose me. Love me enough to keep me. Now staring into his anguish-filled eyes, doubt washes over me. I’m shaking, waiting for the cards to fold and send me crashing down.

  Choose me, my thoughts yell inside my head.

  “Choose me,” I say, surprising myself by how strong my voice is.

  Maybe we were meant to be. Maybe I’m just like Delilah, and I’m Sol’s downfall. Maybe I’m just a selfish person who wants more. Needs more.

  Maybe—

  His palm frames one of my cheeks as the other hand cups the back of my neck in a firm hold that feels possessive. His gaze meets mine like a tender embrace, his love shining like the sun. Then his mouth is on mine, pressing a soft kiss. My fingers find his hair and tug, pulling him closer. And before long, the chaste kiss turns into a hungry, all-consuming one. We’re riding a sixty-foot wave of a kiss in an already turbulent ocean. It’s hello and goodbye. My eyes close of their own accord, and I allow myself to sink into the feeling. Then we’re both slowing down, our breathing ragged. My mouth skims his lips, his jaw, his cheek . . . memorizing his face. My eyes peel open when I taste wetness on my tongue and see tears streaming down Sol’s face. With my thumb, I swipe them away just as piercing blue, blue, blue eyes open to meet mine.

  “I’
m sorry, Grace,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

  He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, holding them there for a few seconds, his head down, shoulders rising and falling with each labored breath. Then he drops his arms to his sides and walks out of the room without a backward glance. My heart tells me to go after him, but my brain yells it’s not a good idea. That nothing will come out of it.

  Slowly, the cards fold and the foundation crumbles. I’m falling, shattering into pieces. I’m nothing more than heartbreak. Desolation smiles sadly as she opens her arms, welcoming me. I throw myself into her waiting embrace.

  This isn’t just a goodbye.

  This is our end.

  Swiping the tears off my face, I crawl out of bed and put on my clothes. Grabbing my bag from the desk, I leave Sol’s room. I head for the front door, but the sound coming from things crashing on the floor from the bathroom has my feet freezing on the spot. My heart aches at the thought of Sol being in pain, and my legs guide me to the door. I press my hand on the wood surface, ready to push, but stop when I hear him muttering something fervently.

  “Why, God? Why did you put her in my life, make me feel what it’s like to be loved and to love someone so much? Why?” A hushed sob rips through his lips. “I don’t know what to do . . .”

  Feeling like I’m intruding, I turn and leave without looking back. I can’t make him choose me and make him regret his decision later.

  Three weeks later . . .

  Days become weeks. I can’t seem to get my shit together, and I miss Sol. I miss him so badly that half the time, I fiddle with my phone, typing out a text message to him and deleting it without sending. The saddest part of all is that I never got to properly say goodbye to him. And that hurts more than anything else.

  I feel like a five-year-old, still trying to navigate the world and find my place in it. Time doesn’t heal wounds. To me, time is an enemy. It doesn’t stand still when you want it to. It keeps moving forward, even if you’re still stuck in the same place. I haven’t moved forward emotionally because my heart is in Boston, not inside my ribcage, where I can protect it.

  My stomach ties itself in knots just thinking about Sol. I swear to God, everything makes me think of him.

  If I go on like this, I’ll go crazy. I need to move forward. I need to finally breathe, and the only way I can do that is by fixing that broken part of me. No one else can do it. I have to fix it myself.

  Without giving myself time to think about it too much, I grab my car keys and head out. As soon as I’m inside my car, I call my mom to let her know I’ve gone out for a drive. She doesn’t ask me where I’m going, just tells me to be home by midnight. I know she worries about me. I see it in her eyes whenever she looks at me.

  I can’t tell her the truth, though, because she’s going to try to stop me. Try to talk some sense into me, and right now, sense is the last thing I need. Not when I’m feeling like I’m cracking in a million different places, and the only thing that will heal those cracks is what I’m about to do.

  Call it madness.

  Call it recklessness or stupidity.

  The heart is stupid and reckless and full of madness. And for once, my brain agrees with it.

  My body thrums with anticipation as I swing the car onto I-95S. In desperate need of a distraction, I set my iPod in the dock and scroll through my playlist. “Just Like A Pill” by Pink thuds inside the small space, helping me momentarily forget the thoughtlessness of my actions.

  Almost two hours later, my navigation system announces I’ve reached my destination. I pull into the closest parking spot and glance out the window. The sun’s already sinking behind the tall, red brick house. Now that I’m here, I’m not sure if driving all this way was such a good idea. The clock on my dashboard blinks 8:50 p.m.

  My head falls to the steering wheel as I consider my options. When I finally look up, it’s 8:55. If I want to make it back by midnight like I promised my mom, I need to make this quick.

  I pick up my phone from the passenger seat. When I find the name I’m looking for, I inhale deeply, then press the phone against my ear. Five rings later, the call goes to voicemail.

  This is it.

  This is a sign. I shouldn’t be chasing old memories. I should make peace and move on with my life.

  I swipe my face with the back of my hand. Why the fuck am I crying anyway?

  I’m so angry with myself. Why can’t I move on? Why am I so weak?

  I throw my phone on the passenger seat, and I watch it bounce twice before clattering onto the floor. Then without giving it a second thought, I reprogram my navigation to home and drive away.

  I screech to a stop at the first red light. I feel impatient to move, to race down the street and back home. Right now, even music can’t distract me.

  My phone starts vibrating on the floor. I squint at the screen, and my heart, which felt dead only minutes ago, sputters back to life as I see the name flashing.

  I unhook my seat belt and lunge forward, snatching the phone and answering the call.

  “Gracie.” Sol’s voice is rough like he’s just woken up, and the way he says my name is like he’s breathing in some much-needed air.

  My eyes burn, tears streaming down my cheeks. I can’t talk. There’s this huge lump in my throat, and my hands are shaking so freaking much.

  “Are you there? Gracie? Is everything okay?” He sounds a little panicky.

  The lump in my throat lets up a little, and the only words that fall from my lips are “I’m sorry.”

  I hear something rustle in the background, followed by a creaking sound, then a soft thud.

  “What’s going on? Where are you?” He’s talking too fast now.

  I glance out the window and realize the light has changed to green. I hear a horn coming from behind.

  “Grace! You’re scaring me!” He says my name louder to get my attention. I jerk upright in my seat.

  “Stop shouting!” I yell back as I grip the wheel tightly and jam my foot on the gas. The car lurches forward. Startled, the phone slips from my hand as my fingers grasp the wheel.

  I can hear him freaking out, but I need to get off the road without causing an accident.

  When I’m safely parked on the side of the street, I retrieve the phone and press it to my ear.

  “I’m here.” I wipe my cheeks, then pull my feet onto the seat.

  “Where is here, Grace?” he repeats in a tight voice.

  “I-I don’t know.” I squint out the window, taking in the buildings flanking my car, then glance at the little screen on my navigation in front of me. “Buswell Street.”

  There’s a long pause, then he says, “In Boston?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? I mean, what are you doing here?” He sounds so shocked.

  I don’t know how to answer that. My reason sounds really stupid and selfish in my head. So I say, “It was a mistake.”

  “What are you talking about?” He sounds exasperated, and I can picture him pacing and harassing his hair with his fingers.

  “Um . . . I just wanted . . .” Ugh. Just say it and be done with it. “I needed closure.”

  This time, he doesn’t say anything for so long I fear he’s disconnected the call.

  “Sol?” I say nervously, then continue talking. “I had to see you. I’ve been a mess the past three weeks. I haven’t been able to move on because I feel like something’s missing. I didn’t get to say goodbye before you left. I just want to see you. To say goodbye face-to-face, then you’ll never hear from me again. I swear to God—”

  “Grace,” he snaps, cutting me off.

  “Yeah?”

  “You drive me insane,” he says, anger and concern cracking in those words.

  “What?”

  “When I saw your call, I was so worried. Then you answered the phone, and you weren’t making sense. Do you have any idea how scared I was?”

  Clearly, I hadn’t thought this through. Shit. “I’m so sorry.”


  “Okay, text me the exact address where you’re parked. I’ll pick you up.”

  I start to protest, but he stops me.

  “You’re upset, and I don’t want you driving in your condition. Text me the address, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  God, I love him so much.

  My Sol.

  My best friend. The guy I’m in love with, who can never be mine.

  After texting him the address, I rest my chin on my knees and wait. I don’t want to think about how it’ll feel to see him because my heart already aches from how much I’ve missed him the past three weeks. Every time a song plays on the radio or from my playlist, I picture Sol playing it on his guitar.

  Abruptly, lights flash inside my car. A truck parks in front of mine, and a few minutes later, the driver’s door opens and long, muscular, denim-clad legs appear. Then broad shoulders and a head full of unruly hair.

  I’m frozen in my seat as I see Sol slam the door shut, watch as he makes the short walk between our two cars. He looks bigger and broader than I remember.

  Random thoughts rush inside my head; that white T-shirt framing his chest and torso looks great on him. His jaw is clenched tight, and a muscle pulses furiously there. It’s hot and scary because I’ve never seen him this pissed. But it’s his mouth that has me breathing hard. His lips look ridiculously full and pink and so hot.

  He reaches my car door and yanks it open. Then he just stares at me, and I stare at him, the air between us pulsating with energy.

  He lunges forward all of a sudden and snatches me from my seat, dragging me out of the car. And then I’m in his arms, wrapped so tightly I can’t breathe, but I don’t care because I’d live like this, in his arms, forever. The warmth of his skin seeps into mine, and I feel alive and nervous and giddy and shaky.

  He pulls back, his large hands on my shoulders. His gaze roams my face while his fingers trace the same path his eyes did.

  “You’re okay,” he murmurs, finally cupping my face in his hands.

  I nod, feeling guilty for being the cause of those worry lines creasing his forehead.