by Penny Reid
My earlier assessment of him as a live wire was proving eerily apt.
Or maybe….
I gasped, looked at him, considered his steady expression. Maybe he was playing a part, and we were still in the game. Maybe this was a test to see what I would do, how I would react. Maybe none of this was true. I hadn’t yet said true or false.
“Alex….” I licked my lips, got up, and sat on the table in front of him. My hands were shaking. “Alex, are we still playing the game?”
He didn’t say anything, but his eyes flashed lightning and his jaw ticked.
“Alex. This is false. This is all false.” I said the words desperately. “Your mother didn’t die when you were five. You did not live in foster care. Your father wasn’t in and out of prison. You did not ki….” I swallowed the word kill before it left my mouth; instead I opted for, “You did not defend yourself against another child when you were eight. You don’t want to trap me.”
Alex smiled. “Oh, Sandra…you’re so wrong.” He looked immeasurably sad. “It’s all true.”
I heaved a watery sigh and covered my mouth with my hand as the first tears tumbled down my cheeks. Soon they were a waterfall, and I hid my face in the sheet.
I felt Alex’s tentative hand on my shoulder. After a brief moment, as though testing whether I’d accept his touch, his grip became stronger, and soon one hand became two and he pulled me to his lap, and I cried against his chest.
I cried because I couldn’t unknow the dismal truths he’d just shared with me. I cried because I would miss my feelings for him, the ones before I knew how completely wretched his life had been. I cried because he’d been right all along; I couldn’t fathom how I would be able to stand by, ignore all my training and instincts, and just let him be broken. I cried because he’d finally been honest with me, and I was crying like a selfish cow.
But mostly, I cried because I loved him and he’d suffered, and there was nothing I could do to fix or manipulate the reality of his past.
***
WE DIDN’T SPEAK for a long time, even after my tears dried. The desire to stay on Alex’s lap, cradled in his arms, sharing his warmth was strong…compelling…overwhelming.
But I had to pee.
Therefore, I stirred, pushed against him—gently—unfolded from his arms and stood. But I didn’t move.
My face hurt, and I knew it was a bloaty, snotty, crusty mess. I didn’t care. It was me.
I glanced down at Alex from the corner of my eyes. He wasn’t looking at me; his attention was affixed to the bay window and the city beyond. He’d moved his hand to his mouth, his thumb and index finger tugging his bottom lip as if he were lost in thought.
I cleared my throat; even so, my voice was thick and nasal. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
He nodded; it appeared to be an absentminded, autopilot response. He still wasn’t looking at me.
I cleared my throat again, this time louder. “I’m going to start the bathtub. Can you give me a few minutes before you come in?”
He blinked, his eyebrows drew low in plain confusion, and then his eyes flickered to mine. A spark of desire—to hold him in my arms, keep him safe, fight his battles, and never let him go—swelled within me.
Instead, I asked, “Have you seen the amazing tub in this place?”
He shook his head.
“It’s big enough for four people.” I gave him a watery smile.
“Sandra, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Please?” I sniffled, swallowed. “I just want to be close to you.”
He breathed out, closed his eyes, and shook his head. “You’ll see it as the end. You expect me to let you go, to say goodbye. That’s not going to happen.”
I blinked against new tears threatening to spill over. “I don’t know what I expect.”
“I do. And I have no plans to make things easy for you.”
“Fine. What would you have me do?”
“Want me. Just…want me.” His eyes opened. He did not lift them to mine. Instead, he reached for my hand, cradled it in both of his then leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and brought it to his forehead.
When he spoke next, the back of my fingers were pressed to his brow, and he spoke to the ground. “When I was younger, I wanted plenty of things, plenty of people, until I realized there was no point in wanting. Since then, I’ve never had something I wanted, not really. Not ’til you.”
I could only breathe because I could barely breathe. If I had tried to multitask—like think or speak or move—I might have suffocated.
“But, to be wanted…that would make all the difference, wouldn’t it? Because then wanting you might not be just another effort in futility. If you wanted me, then having you and keeping you would be possible.”
I exhaled, quietly, carefully. New tears streaked down my face, and I glanced at the vaulted ceiling of the apartment I wanted but couldn’t afford.
I’d accepted that no amount of saving, working, trying was going to get this apartment. It was simply out of my reach, and always would be. Short of begging and stealing, it was just not in the cards. I was adult enough to know my limitations, own them, accept them, and move on.
What a depressing thought.
Well…screw that!
I wanted it.
And I was going to take it.
When you want something, you fight for it.
The cost doesn’t matter.
Begging and stealing were now on the table.
I would find a way—no matter what.
It would be mine.
I was invested in Alex. I’d wagered my entire heart, all of my body, the whole of my brain. The truth was, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t walk away. He was stuck with me, and I was going to fight for him.
“Alex.”
He didn’t respond.
“I want you.” I tugged my hand even as I squeezed his. His large round eyes peered up at me, uncertainty and apprehension mucking the pure cobalt blue of his eyes.
“I want you in a box, and with a fox.”
His forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“And in a train, and in the rain. With a mouse, and in a house. In fact….” I knelt before him, holding his beautiful eyes with my red-rimmed, crusty, blotchy ones. “I want you in my life for an indefinite period.”
His gaze of confusion gradually morphed into a glare of suspicion. “I’m not going to be one of your friends, one of your mental patient strays.”
“Well I should hope not. I don’t nag strays about leaving socks around the apartment. And I don’t have sex with them either. Speaking of apartments, I’m moving in here.”
“I thought you couldn’t afford it.”
“I can’t. But I’ll find a way.”
Suspicion and doubt sparred with hope as his gaze searched mine.
I gave him a half smile. “And,” I stood dramatically, “I want you in the bathtub, in ten minutes, after I pee.” I winked at him, gave him a half-lidded come-hither look, then turned and left with flourish. I stood in the hallway that led to the bedrooms, proud of myself and my theatrical exit. But then I had a thought, and I rushed back to the living room.
He was still sitting in the chair, watching the spot where I’d been kneeling. “Not in the bathtub. I’m not going to pee in the bathtub. I’ll pee in the toilet. Then I’ll flush it. Then you should come in—but give me ten minutes.”
A small smile tugged at his mouth, his eyes shining. “Sounds like a good plan.”
“Okay. Good. We have a plan.”
“Yes.” His gaze held mine; I felt a burst of both excitement and calm. “We do.”
CHAPTER 25
JANIE WAS RIGHT. The bathtubs were, quite possibly, my favorite part of the apartment. Of course, epic bathtub sexy times with Alex might have been responsible for my bias.
Our lovemaking wasn’t frenzied like before, but was no less passionate. I washed him, carefully, reverently, lovingly. I couldn’t erase his li
fetime of scars. Scars are permanent, but I hoped my ministrations would be the first step toward helping them fade and ensuring that he felt treasured, because I treasured him.
I sought to reassure him that I wanted him, that he was wanted desperately, entirely, just as he was. I may have wanted to help him, but I couldn’t fathom loving him more.
When he could take my gentle touches no longer, he grabbed my wrists and brought me to his lap. I didn’t object when we made love without protection; I wanted no barriers between us. Never again.
I came to him willingly, pliantly, unquestioningly, and let him use my body as he would, for his pleasure, to assuage his desire. My kisses were a salve. My touch was meant to comfort.
Our goal wasn’t release. Neither of us sought to end the moment; rather, we prolonged it, relished in sharing our bodies as a symbol of sharing our souls, breathing the same air. The slippery friction of soapy water heightened the sensation of dissolving into each other.
And when we reached our shared bliss, his eyes shone, though he never cried. But I did.
Not snotty, messy, heart-wrenching tears of sorrow, like before. But, instead, tears of longing and hope for our future—together.
He moved to hold me after, shifted me around so that my back was cradled against his chest. I rejected his efforts and instead held him, cradled him, showered him with kisses and love. I may have been suffocating him with my affection, but I didn’t care.
I needed to smother him. I needed to warm him and defeat the numbness, rip it away. I needed it.
We drew fresh water twice, reluctant to leave the tub, the soothing sounds of water. But we were forced from our white, whirlpool cocoon by wrinkly fingers and fatigue.
Sleep, surprisingly, came quickly. First him, then me, our bodies tangled together in a Mobius knot of limbs. My last thought, before I drifted to sleep, was that I didn’t know where I began and he ended.
***
ALEX WOKE ME up, on purpose.
I squinted at him then around the room, searching for a clock. There was none.
“Sandra….” his voice was indulgent, sweet—but still sexy. It was always sexy. “Do you want to come with me?”
I blinked, my eyes swollen and puffy from my earlier cry. “Where are you going? What time is it?”
I looked to the window for a clue. The sun was up, but the day was overcast. It could be the middle of the afternoon.
He brushed my hair away from my face, placed a gentle kiss on my lips. “It’s eight. And it’s Sunday. Do you want to come with me?”
Eight…Sunday.
Sunday.
I bolted upright in bed, rubbed my eyes, and blinked at him again. “It’s Sunday.”
He was fully dressed in his usual all black, and wearing that damn windbreaker that I hated for its ineffectual warming abilities. His hands were tucked in the pockets.
“How did you…?” I frowned at him, his clothing. “Did you bring a change of clothes? When did that happen?”
“No. I ran home and changed, grabbed a bag of stuff. By the way, I hope you like apple fritters.”
I smelled them as soon as he said it. I also smelled coffee. My eyes a little less hazy now, I took in his appearance and the room.
He looked refreshed, content, happy even. My heart did little gymnastics exercises in my chest. He wore an open, welcoming smile.
I glanced around me and found a plate of apple fritters and two mugs of coffee on the nightstand.
“You made breakfast?”
He shook his head. “No. Your friend Elizabeth and her husband stopped by with them—and the coffee—a little bit ago. I told them you were still sleeping.”
I wasn’t completely embarrassed, but I was a little embarrassed. I’d asked to use the place for the night, and I was a grown woman, Elizabeth knew enough about our situation to understand why we needed the place. Still, I was embarrassed.
“They seem nice.” Alex said the words as though the thought confused him, as though it would be strange for nice people to exist.
“They are. You’d like Nico. He’s a comedian.”
“You mean he’s a funny guy?”
“No. He’s an actual comedian. He has his own show on TV.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised, suspicious even, like I was trying to pull a fast one over him.
“Really.” I reached for the coffee, treated myself to a whiff of the fritters. “I told you, the world is full of unbelievable people.”
“Huh.” Alex frowned, shrugged. “You’re right. That’s pretty unbelievable.”
I watched him over my mug, propping myself against the pillows and allowing the sheet to slip to my waist. Because, really, what was the point?
Alex’s eyes, which were contemplative after my news about Nico, immediately refocused to my bosom. Score a point for boobs.
“So,” I took a sip of my coffee. It was still hot. “Where are we going?”
“Going?” He no longer looked contemplative. He just looked distracted.
Boys and boobs.
Now I understood the point. I lifted the sheet to cover my chest and waited ’til his eyes met mine. “Where are we going today? You asked if I wanted to go.”
“Oh. Yeah. That. We could just stay here instead.”
“No.” I pushed him with my foot, leveled him with a narrowed glare. “I want to go with you. I want to discover how you spend your Sundays.”
Alex placed his hand on my leg over the covers and reached for his own coffee. “It’s not very exciting.”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I want to know everything.”
His expression fell a bit, though he tried to hide it with a sip from his coffee. “Even after last night?”
I held his gaze this time, dared him to look away. “Especially after last night.”
This appeared to appease him, his hand on the sheets rubbed my thigh. “Okay. Drink your coffee; eat your fritters. We’re running late.”
***
I DECIDED TO dress in a rush and bring the fritters with us. Alex hadn’t eaten yet, and explained that he wouldn’t eat anything until after our first stop.
Our first stop, as it turned out, was the indoor pool inside the building. The expansive room smelled of humidity and chlorine. Alex discarded his clothes as soon as we stepped inside, tossed them to a chair, and revealed a Speedo underneath.
I almost died dead. It was officially the best morning of my life. I sat at the edge of the pool and watched Alex swim laps for an hour while I drank coffee and ate pastry. It was proof that God did exist and God loved me.
He told me, after emerging from the pool soaking wet, droplets of water running down his face, chest, back, abdomen…sigh.
Where was I?
Oh yes, he told me that he swam every morning, not just Sundays. This explained why he had the build of a swimmer—because he was one. Obviously, he didn’t usually use the pool inside Quinn’s building. He’d asked Elizabeth and Nico when they arrived earlier whether or not the building had a pool. When they confirmed, our first morning destination was decided.
Afterward, we stopped by the apartment so he could quickly shower. This quick shower turned into a quickie shower. Once finished, both satiated, we quickly dressed. He stuffed a fritter into his mouth and coaxed me out the door.
There was no way we were going to be able to keep up this pace; I knew that. However, I decided to just go with it, ride the wave as long as our combined chemistry and hormones would allow. Seize the day!
In typical Alex style, he surprised me—yet again—with our next destination. Tucked under his arm, I was distracted by my self-recrimination that I hadn’t yet given him his hat, scarf, and gloves, when we arrived at the Chicago Public Library.
My steps faltered when he pulled me toward the entrance. I blinked up at the impressive building.
“The library?” I found his eyes watching me, ghost smile and glasses planted on his face. “You go to the library on Sundays?”
> “Yep.”
“What do you do here?”
“Read books.”
I frowned, still immobile. “What books?”
His smile intensified. He may have been laughing at me. “All books. Any books. I’ll read anything. Sometimes I read a novel, all day, finish it. Sometimes I do research on a topic that interests me. Usually I do a bit of both.”
“That’s so awesome!” The words were out of my mouth before I thought them, a completely honest reaction to this discovery.
He accepted my praise, his reaction not quite stoic. It reminded me of his reaction at the restaurant after he’d rushed outside to save Marie. Perhaps he was unused to praise, how to respond to it, deal with it, because he’d never received it. The thought made me both melancholy and angry.
I withdrew from his side and grabbed his hand.
“Let’s go. Show me what you read last week.”
We entered the library and it smelled like books, a haunting smell that reminded me of kindergarten, my childhood, arts and crafts, and adventures tucked away on tidy shelves.
I never went to the library; not anymore. But today it made me feel nostalgic, and gave me the warm fuzzies—a feeling and a place I would forever associate with Alex.
We’d just climbed the stairs from the lobby when I heard someone call my name. I turned, searched the carpeted hallway, and found my friend Devon walking toward me. Absentmindedly, I wondered whether he’d ever bought the red couch I’d suggested.
Devon wore his blonde hair impeccably coiffed, and seemed to favor business shirts and cashmere sweaters even on the weekends. He was tall but not towering, and naturally tan; this made his teeth appear unnaturally white. His hazel eyes, though on the surface were friendly, hinted at a haunted past.
Devon was a handsome guy if you went for the hedge fund manager type, which I usually did.
His long legs made quick work of the space between us. Before I quite knew what was happening, he’d wrapped me in a hug.
“Sandra, hey!” He pulled away, his hands on my shoulders. “It’s great to see you.”
“You too.” I nodded, returned his smile, then turned to Alex.
