by Mika Jolie
A heavy silence hung over them. She glanced unceremoniously around the room until her gaze landed on Forrest. Their eyes intertwined. Realization whirled around them. The big elephant they managed to avoid for the little bit of time was fully awake. She sagged back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling.
“You have a life here.” He spoke first. His voice was calm as always, but there was an undercurrent now, the slightest tension. Which, coming from Forrest was monumental. “I knew that was part of the deal.”
“What does that mean?” she asked and held her breath. A jolt of panic immediately rifled through her entire body.
“It means this is where you belong.” He looked at her for a beat. His eyes were pensive, his mouth grim. “I love who you’ve become, but…”
“I belong with you,” she interjected, knowing where this was going. But he had it all wrong.
He gave her a long look, then removed his glasses and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “You belong here.”
There was finality in his voice that chilled her bones. He rose from the couch, distancing himself from her—from them. Desperate to hold on, she flung to her feet and grabbed his arm.
“I love you, Forrest. If I have to choose, I’d choose you.”
He stepped closer, cupped her face and kissed her long and deep. “You shouldn’t have to choose,” he said against her lips. “I can never make you choose. I love you too much.” He smiled, a joyless smile. “I fell in love with you that day I helped you in the garden. I didn’t even know what the hell it was…” His voice trailed. “But it smacked me hard in the chest. Almost twenty years later, I’m still in love with you.”
The revelation should have her in rapture, walking on air. Instead she felt flat, dejected. Because even though he’d just declared his love for her, he didn’t look happy. On the contrary, the man she loved looked like his heart was breaking into a million pieces.
“I’m glad you invited me to L.A. and let me in the part of you that I shut out for so long,” he continued in a low voice, filled with regrets. “And for that I’m truly sorry.”
She pressed her face in his hand and kissed his palm. “Come with me. It’s only three months. Stay with me.”
He stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Where are you going?” he asked, but his voice gave her no sign he was actually considering the idea.
“I don’t know.” She really didn’t. One day she could be in Atlanta, New York next, and Utah after.
“You have a tour to finish,” he said in a perfectly calm voice. “I know. You put it off long enough. Don’t you think?”
“We can make us work. I know I’ll be on the road a lot, but I’ll come back to the island as much as I can.”
“How often?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, heart hammering in her chest. “Whenever–”
“Your schedule allows,” he finished, no trace of bitterness in his voice. “I’m willing to go anywhere with you, but I want permanence. My home is the Vineyard.”
“We can make it work.” She wanted to point out couples like Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, Will Smith and Jada Pinkett. They found a way. But her shoulders slumped because even in her ears, they sounded doomed. She was temporary. Although she’d stopped running, she was still lost in the torrid vortex of the past.
Her stomach churned with a cocktail of emotions. A tear slid down her cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb, and brought the salty streak to his lips. “Don’t cry,” he whispered.
She shook her head, unable to speak. They stood staring at each other. When she couldn’t take it anymore, emptied, like a collapsed balloon she let herself fall back on the couch. In a busy silence, she watched as Forrest removed his jacket, unknotted his tie and sat next to her. Then he reached his hand behind her head and unclipped her hair.
With a gentle tug, he turned her face so she was looking at him. Removing his glasses, he placed them on the other end of the sofa before focusing back on her, a dark edgy expression on his face. “Make love to me,” he said, and then kissed her. Tender at first. Then not so tender.
Her arms reached up and tangled around his neck. Wanting to be as intimate with him as she could, she kissed him back. She swept her tongue across his lips and garnered a low, guttural sound deep in his throat. It was a soulful, hungry sound that consumed her. His mouth opened on hers, igniting flames all the way to her toes.
His hands were swift on her dress, going straight to the delicate buttons. Nimble fingers snapped one button loose. “Is this your dress?” he asked, kissing his way to the outer shell of her ear.
“Yes.”
“I owe you a dress.”
A pop snapping sound followed, she broke off a startled gasp when the front of her dress came apart. With a flick of a finger, her bra fell from her shoulders, bearing her breasts. He groaned, dipped his head and kissed her collarbone. Then lower. When he licked the tip of a nipple as if she were a sinful dessert, Claire sighed in sheer pleasure.
“I want to touch you,” she said in a hurried voice, unbuttoning his shirt. In her impatience, she tore off a few buttons.
“Touch me.”
She tugged off his shirt and ran her fingers over the firm ridges of abs, it generated a slight trembling movement from him.
His mouth was on her breast. He sucked then took it between his teeth and gave it a quick bite. She moaned at the sharp, sweet sting of pain mingled with pleasure. Quivering from head to toe, she arched her back, giving him more access. He repeated the same motion on the other.
That sweet ache between her legs throbbed, and Forrest was the one and only who could soothe her agony. Grateful to be wearing a dress, which was pretty much a belt around her waist now, she straddled him, and unzipped his pants. His fingers slid her panties to the side and stroked the spot between her thighs that was burning for him.
“So wet,” he said hoarsely. “Now.”
She sank onto him, and gasped silently. He filled her so completely, and held her like she was all he ever wanted.
“So fucking sweet,” he whispered in that sexy, gravel-filled voice. She cupped his face and he gripped her waist, and she made love to him in her living room.
“Claire,” he whispered, his eyes locked on hers.
“Forrest.”
“I love you,” he said, holding tight to her.
His words melted her. That deepest connection was her greatest wish. This was everything she’d ever wanted—to love and to be loved back by this man.
Overwhelmed with emotions, she looked away once to catch their hazy reflections in the dark of the window. They looked like two people who couldn’t get enough of each other. His eyes squeezed shut, his breath came fast and harsh, and he moved deeper into her. She watched for another moment, thrilling inside at all that the window revealed about him, and how he felt about her. She turned back to him, their bodies colliding, their lips connecting, her arms wrapped around him as they came together.
Then he carried her to the bedroom, turned on the shower and washed her down. In desperation, they reached for each other again. With her hands on the shower wall, Forrest plunged into her as the water beat against the tile floor. Steam rolling over them. Their cries reverberated, blending with the running water.
Once in bed, they made love again, a little slower this time. He kissed her deep, moving in an unhurried motion as she writhed beneath him, lost, completely gone.
“Tell me something beautiful,” she murmured.
Pushing her hair away from her face, he looked into her eyes. “Claire.”
Her heart toppled over. Tears threatened to spill. She blinked and cried out his name as they rode the wave.
She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that—tangled, holding tight to each other. As if they disconnected, they might never find their way back. She held on until he brought his weight to his arms and slowly withdrew from her body. He sat on the edge of the bed, hair rumpled, as his unguarded eyes swept over her.
She
had the oddest feeling that he was cataloging her—from her hair, lips, breasts, and then her eyes, as if this was their last time. This time she didn’t hold back and let her pain roll down her cheeks in silent tears.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered, running a hand over her arm.
“I’m not.”
He smiled.
“You’ll wait for me,” she repeated the words she’d uttered to him so many times in their lives.
He kissed her. “Forever.”
“I’m coming back to you when I’m done.”
“I know.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“A committed heart does not wait for conditions to be exactly right. Conditions are never exactly right.”
Charles Montgomery
As soon as Forrest arrived in Vineyard Haven, he drove to downtown Edgartown and caught the On Time ferry to Chappaquiddick. While being shuttled over he pulled his phone, swiped the screen to send Claire a text. She beat him to it. In his inbox was her picture. Wide, luminous eyes, a bit puffy from lack of sleep and tears shed stared back at him. His heart swelled. Pain in the back of his mind came forward by the slightest reminder.
He read the text.
Order of travel for this week. Seattle. Wisconsin, Utah and New York. Where do you want to meet? Missing you so much.
His fingers brushed across the screen of the smartphone, tracing her full lips and the smile meant only for his eyes. He tapped a response.
When New York and for how long? A day, can’t do. You’ll be busy. Two days? Second day just you and me. Otherwise, next time. Heading to Chappy. Thinking of you.
Since he didn’t expect an immediate response, he shoved the phone in his jeans pocket and focus straight ahead of Norton Point for the two-mile ride to the peninsula. Best thing to do was not to think about her or the fact less than twenty-four ago he’d been soaking in everything Claire.
He failed.
Thoughts of her flooded his brain. Pulling his phone, he examined his text again and stopped at the one day, can’t do words. In actuality, he’d take thirty seconds of her day, if that was all she was able to give, but he knew the next few months were going to be insane. It was best to let her be, give her space to focus and not be a distraction. And maybe, just maybe, she’d find a way back home.
Emptiness settled in his chest. He exhaled and was relieved when the privately owned and operated ferry docked. Although winter was on its way out, a chill lingered. Cold air brought salt to his lips. Cry of the gulls that wheeled overhead in their lazy arcs filled his ears.
He drove through the isolated island. The actual landmass of Chappy was small, only about thirty-eight hundred acres with a population of less than two hundred people. Forrest turned on the radio, John Legend’s Shelter played at a low volume. The singer’s voice didn’t intrude or disturb him. Fingers tapping lightly to the melody, he stayed focused on his mission to the Montgomery compound He slowed his pace as he drove over Dike Bridge and glanced at the fishing boats scattered over the harbor like fall leaves in a pond. The colors were engaging, random, bringing forth echoing memories from his childhood spent in the tight-knit community.
One of his most perfect memories he clung to was fishing here with his father, Jason, and Charles. That snapshot was golden and sacred, something to keep it in his heart forever. Hence the reason he was here.
Minutes later, he drove past My Toi Gardens, the small Japanese garden where he’d spent a fair amount of time with Claire.
He steered left, off the dirt road, and entered the Montgomery compound. Suddenly his stomach burned. He didn’t have to be here. As a matter of fact, he’d told himself many times hell would freeze over first before he acknowledged the man. But Luc had always been a persistent man. Even in death.
It was more than that though. Charles’ sacrifice gnawed at his conscience. Forrest made another left, drove to the large oak tree and parked under the tree house. He stepped out of the Jeep, but didn’t head to the estate. For a beat, he surveyed the thickness of the tree. With its great boughs, it strived to touch the sky, and with its noble roots, it strengthened its hold on the ground.
He glanced up at the tree house. It stood mute in the winter air and impressively large. Like Charles, he thought.
He pressed one hand against the oak, his fingertips traced along the crevices that ran through the bark. His eyes came to rest on the sign nailed to the tree. Its once-vibrant red paint now blistered with rust. The wood grain, slightly peeled from the toll of a relentless freeze-thaw cycle. But the words held on and were still legible. He glanced over them. Girls Not Allowed. This means U CLAIRE!
A smile touched his lips as he remembered the time she snuck out of the cottage to see him. That night they shared their first kiss. Felt like yesterday. He could still taste her mouth against his. She’d been hesitant at first, then curious.
Claire at seventeen had tortured him. So much so that even during a simple game of pool, he’d made sure their hips stayed pasted together just to feel her. Eleven years later, nothing had changed.
Forrest shoved a hand through his hair, chuckled and gently kicked the seat of the swing Charles had built for Claire once he learned she was banned from the man-cave.
Everything came back to Charles. Even Claire.
Not that he detested the older Montgomery. Up until recently, he loved the man and admired his dedication to Jason and his son’s friends. All of them had always been welcome at the compound, not just Forrest. Some of the memories he held dear were time spent with Charles and his family.
As he crossed the immaculate lawn, a vision of Charles holding his wrist and ankle spinning him like a shot-sputter blazed through his mind’s eye. Forrest lifted his glasses and dug the heel of his fingers in his eyes in an attempt to bury the memory. The mental image stayed vivid in his reverie. The happy wails as Charles spun him, the garden turning into a green blur, as he flew-flew, until they could spin no more. Even the finest details of Charles’ face, creased with love and joy as Forrest laughed were crystal clear.
He entered the house. Immediately his pace increased. Each footfall clip-clopping down the hallway, shattering the silence. Deep in thoughts, he almost bumped into Charles. Forrest quickly came to a halt. A brief look of surprise crossed the older man’s face, but disappeared as fast as it came.
For the first time in a long time he looked Charles over. Tall, broad, powerful shoulders, blue eyes as vivid as Jason’s, dark hair sprinkled with gray. But what caught Forrest’s attention was Charles’ arrogant, masculine nose. It was slightly crooked and a bit too large. They had similar noses.
His breath caught in his chest, and his heart stopped for a moment. Forrest removed his glasses and took a step back. “Expecting someone else?”
“Where’s Claire?” Charles asked.
“On her way to Seattle, I believe.”
Charles looked at him.
“She has to finish the promotional tour for her movie.”
Charles nodded. “Are the two of you finally in a good place?”
“I think so. But…” Forrest let his voice trail. Not going there. No need to discuss Claire’s career and their relationship, that’s not why he was here.
“Both of you will figure things out. She loves you. Always has.” Charles walked past him down the hall into his office.
Forrest followed. For a moment neither spoke. “I read Dad’s letter.”
“Good.”
Charles Montgomery, a man of few words. Forrest watched him, completely unreadable.
“What are your expectations going forward?” he asked his father.
Charles looked at him. “A relationship.”
“We already had one.”
“Then it should continue as it used to be.”
Forrest walked over and stood by the large window, put on his glasses and focused on the garden filled with flowering quince and mock rush. “To me you’ll always be Charles. Luc was my dad,” he said while watching a cardinal
poke for seeds at the tall flower’s spike.
“Understood,” Charles responded in a dry voice. “You’re thirty-one years old. I never expected otherwise.” He paused. “I just wanted you to know that you’re my son and I love you.”
Forrest’s heart rattled around his ribcage. He turned and met Charles’ gaze. “I’ve always known you love me. I’ve always felt it.”
Charles nodded. “Good. Then we’re good.”
Neither made an attempt to move. They stood in the quiet room, Forrest lost in thoughts, memories, time lost, and his second chance with Claire. “I need some time to process everything,” he said into the room, snapping the silence. “I’m working on it.”
“I was thinking you, Jason, and I can maybe have a drink soon,” Charles said.
“Let me know when.”
Charles found his phone and seemed to check his calendar. “How’s next week?” he asked, meeting Forrest’s gaze.
“That works.” Forrest’s scratched the back of his head. “I should be going,” he said and headed for the door.
“Forrest,” Charles called to him.
Forrest stopped, hands on the door knob.
“I’m glad to see you’ve reunited with Claire. She loves you.”
“I love her.” He opened the door and came face to face with his mother.
Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes widened in obvious surprise. Forest’s gut twisted.
“Forrest,” she whispered.
He studied his mother. Her cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “How come you and Charles are always together?”
She smiled, walked past him into Charles’ office. “Because we’re friends.”
“Were you ever in love with Dad? Luc?” He said his father’s name for the first time.
A soft laugh escaped his mother’s lips. Charles shoved his hands in his pockets. “I loved your father.” His mother’s voice shook a bit with sadness. She swung around, glanced at Charles then back to Forrest. “Charles and I have history. We are friends.”
Right. He took a closer look at them standing side by side. Maybe for now friendship was all it was, but under all the layers, he also picked up an attraction. “When and if you ever decide to move on to the next phase, tell me. Don’t wait until one of you is dead for me to find out.” He started to walk away, then paused and turned to face the room and focused on Charles. “I’ll see you next week.”
