Beside Your Heart

by Mary Whitney

Staring at me, he looked like he was going to say something but then decided against it. Instead, he shrugged it off and paid the bill.

  “So what else do you have planned?” I asked.

  “Let’s go for a walk along the bayou.”

  We spent the rest of the evening strolling along or sitting in the grass, talking and stealing kisses. As the hour drew toward ten, he stroked my hair and announced, “I’d like to spend the night with you.”

  I nodded solemnly. It was slowly sinking in that despite the fun we’d been having, time was marching on. He would be gone the next day.

  “We’re leaving at seven in the morning. I could go home now and be back at your place by midnight.”

  “How am I going to get you in?” Somehow the fact that my mom would kill me if she found him seemed a secondary concern.

  “I’ll climb onto the porch and through your window.”

  “Okay.” I laughed and then timidly asked, “And in the morning? When do you need to be home?”

  “Six fifty-nine. I really don’t care if I’ve showered and shaved, and I certainly don’t fucking care if I get in trouble.”

  At that point, I didn’t care if I got in trouble either. “My mom doesn’t get up until eight on Sundays.”

  “Then let’s do it!” He grinned.

  When I got home with the framed pictures in hand, Mom quietly asked me, “Was the goodbye hard?”

  I’d forgotten that she’d think Adam and I would’ve said our final farewell by now. Lucky for me, I didn’t have to resort to my bad acting when I croaked out the truth in a tight voice. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” The idea that he was coming to see me for the last time in only a few hours hit me in the gut just as hard as if we had already parted ways.

  Thankfully, Mom accepted that was all she was going to get out of me, and she let me be for the rest of the night.

  As promised, Adam arrived at my window shortly before midnight. After stifling our giggles from his Spiderman behavior, we spent the first hour cuddling, making out, and then very quietly having sex.

  This time, it was emotionally intense, not like the raunchy, playful sex we’d had in his car. Instead, it was missionary with our eyes locked and his weight heavy on me. Nothing was said, but we were both taken by it.

  We eventually got to talking again. For the first time, he asked me a million questions about what my life was going to be like, both in the immediate future and further on. I didn’t have a lot of answers, except that I doubted I’d ever be far from my parents. With Lauren gone, I’d always want to be close to my family.

  I concluded with my fortune. “Remember, my good luck is coming later in life.”

  He didn’t laugh. It took him a moment to ask, “Nicki, will we ever speak to each other again?”

  “I…don’t know.” After the day we’d just shared, it seemed impossible to say no altogether, despite all of my adamant protests. Yet there were facts that couldn’t be denied. “I guess never say never, but it’s kind of unlikely. Our lives are going to be very different. I mean, we really do live a world apart. An ocean apart, anyway.”

  After that, his silence was deafening. So much so that I felt like I had to make an offer, but it was so improbable, I was pretty comfortable saying it. “Maybe. Maybe, if we were living in the same city.”

  “As you said, that’s probably not going to happen.”

  “Probably not.”

  “But what if…what if I was thirty-five and still single? Could I contact you then?”

  What he described seemed unimaginable. I couldn’t really comprehend what it would be like to be thirty-five. And the idea that he would ever be single was ridiculous. But I played along. I tried to think about what it would be like if he called me when I was that old. Of course, if I was still single or even just casually dating someone, I’d be elated.

  What if I was married, though? Lying in bed with him at that moment, with his arms around me, it seemed impossible that I’d find anyone who would at all measure up to him—someone who I’d love equally. But what if I was older and lonely? Or what if I wanted kids? Would I settle? I was a practical person; I knew I’d happily take what I could get. But would it then wreck my world to have Adam Kincaid burst into it? Without a doubt, I knew it would.

  Yet, I said yes. “In the highly unlikely event that was the case, I’d say sure.”

  “Really?”

  “You’ve got to admit, it’s probably not going to happen.”

  He happily kissed my nose. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  We spent the rest of the night intermittently sleeping and kissing. When it was near six, we had one more round of slow, quiet sex. It was so dark in my room that I couldn’t quite figure out the noises he was making, but when they continued afterward, it sounded like he was sniffling a bit. I kissed his cheek and tasted tears.

  Once again, my boy was crying, and I wasn’t. It was inexplicable. Maybe after all the tears I’d cried in the last year, I didn’t have any left.

  We silently cuddled for the next half-hour. Then, without a word, he got up and started putting on his clothes. I only stared at him because there was nothing to say. When he snapped his watch back on, it was the sign he had to go.

  Still naked, I finally got up and kissed him. He was still pretty broken up but managed to say, “I’m not saying goodbye. I love you too much to say that.”

  Nodding, I kissed him once more. “And I love you.”

  He didn’t look at me again as he climbed out the window. The whole scene was so surreal; I went to the open window and watched him jump down, making almost no noise. He started walking quickly, but then stopped near the driveway. Placing his hands to both his eyes, he crouched down. He was bawling.

  Without another thought, I yelled out my window, “Adam!”

  Before he could see me, I grabbed my bathrobe and sped out of my room and out of the house.

  As I ran toward him, he squinted and said, “Nicki?”

  Throwing my arms around him, I whispered in his ear, “I’ll always love you, Adam. Remember that.”

  We embraced for a few seconds before he pulled away and grinned through his tears. “I will.”

  After a final quick kiss, he walked toward his car, which he always parked down the block. He didn’t look back. I turned to the house in dread, knowing that I might’ve woken up my mom when I’d yelled Adam’s name. I was probably going to catch hell for him spending the night, but I didn’t care. I smiled. Like everything about Adam, it had been worth it.

  Epilogue

  Adam Kincaid

  Washington, DC

  January 2009

  I LIED, AND I FELT THE REMORSE as soon as I ended the call with my boss in London. I hadn’t said anything contradictory to the truth, but the amount of information I’d withheld was tantamount to a lie. I considered my breach of ethics and panicked for a moment, but I soon justified my actions.

  After all, I was interested in a different assignment, and I’d disclosed all the facts to management. The emotions that accompanied those facts weren’t facts themselves and, thus, not necessarily material. I felt safe in my denial, though it was utter crap. I even believed my own bullshit for a few weeks. I was certain I could do my job with a clear conscience, but then I walked into the White House press briefing room, where my lies hit me again.

  “I heard you might be here,” said an exaggerated baritone voice.

  I looked to my right to see Dan Roark, ABC News White House correspondent and all-around American arsehole. He eyed me suspiciously.

  “I missed reporting.” I shrugged. “And these are interesting times.”

  “Hmm.” Dan raised his eyebrows. As he walked to his prized seat front and center in the room, he said, “Very interesting times to bring Adam Kincaid out of his ivory tower.”

  Wanker, I thought. I began determinedly scrolling through the messages on my phone to regain my composure. When that didn’t work, I checked the Premi
er League results, but Dan’s remark haunted me. He’s right. Really, why am I doing this? Does she wonder as well?

  If Dan had heard I’d taken a temporary assignment to cover the new administration, would she also have? We were now working in the same field in the same city—albeit improbably. She should know where I was working simply by gossip, if not the trade press. She would know I’d be standing here today—just like the rest of the White House press corps. Does she care that I’m here?

  As the noise in the room diminished, I looked at the podium. Standing in front of the iconic blue and white oval sign with an illustration of the most famous white house in the world was Matthew Foster, press secretary for President James Logan.

  Still high from the inaugural honeymoon, Matthew smiled as he cleared his throat before greeting the room. “Good morning to you all. Welcome to our first official press briefing. I’m sure we’ll soon get sick of seeing one another every day.”

  Laughter at the joke reverberated through the room, but my attention was focused on finding her. A minor player in American media, the BBC shared its seat with The Baltimore Sun, far back in the steerage of the room. When the Sun reporter arrived, I nodded for her to take the seat today. No doubt she thought I was a chivalrous Englishman, but really I wanted to stand for a better view. Unfortunately, my height wasn’t helping me. As I searched for her, I began to doubt myself. Do I no longer recognize her?

  My frustration ended when Matthew spoke again. “Before we get started, I want you to meet our team. First, I’d like to introduce you to our deputy press secretary, Nicole Johnson. If you were on the campaign trail with us, you know Nicole well.” Then he motioned toward a small crowd of men behind him, saying, “Nicole, get out from behind Jeff so you can say hello.”

  She emerged from the collection of men’s suits, smiling and with a small wave of her hand. Taking to the podium with confidence, she addressed the audience, and her soft Texas twang warmed the room.

  “Hello, everyone. Being new in town, it’s nice to see some familiar faces from the campaign. And I’m looking forward to getting to know those of you I haven’t met yet.”

  My eyes never left her as she moved to stand not far from Matthew’s side, and I didn’t exhale until Matthew spoke. Forgetting all of my professional responsibilities, I stopped listening to Matthew. My focus was on Nicki because she was the same—just the same.

  Physically, she was as beautiful as I remembered her. Fifteen years later, she only looked different to me because I’d never seen her in a suit before—but why would I have? We’d been in secondary school together. She wore her dark hair up at the back, and I knew that look on her; occasionally, she’d worn her hair in a ponytail. Her figure was just as enticing, petite as she was and accentuated by a jacket belted at the waist. But it was those dark eyes that I couldn’t stop staring at.

  My colleagues battered Matthew with questions, and he blathered on about the economy, health care, energy, climate change, the Middle East—all the news of the day. But I took in none of it. I noticed Nicki’s small hands, which she clasped in front of her skirt. It came to me that I knew that woman the way no one else in the room did. I knew how her hands felt when you walked hand in hand with her and when you held both of them in your own. Moreover, I knew how those hands felt on my body—when they tickled the back of my neck or stroked my chest. Or held my dick.

  I knew her. I looked around the room and saw all the men who wanted to know her—Dan Roark being one of them. Obviously checking her out, Dan ogled her lean legs. Did he see her scar, I wondered?

  Her scars. I knew her scars. I’d never forget them. Scars from the accident covered her body. I still could picture many of them, and my mouth remembered kissing the brownish purplish lines, wishing I could make all of her pain disappear. I wondered what they might look like now. Were they just faded ghost lines criss-crossing her torso? Maybe the dark memories had faded as well.

  I kept a steady gaze on Nicki’s face. Her skin was bright as ever, and the small indentation between her eyes was most likely only noticeable to me. When we had been together, it would appear when she was serious or concerned or sad. But fifteen years of life had fissured her otherwise flawless skin; like a river creating a canyon, sorrow had eroded a tiny crevice where none should be. At once, I felt sick to my stomach because I’d had a part in the cutting of that line. I’d caused anguish that had torn at both our hearts. But why does hers have to be visible?

  In the back of my mind, my reporter’s sixth sense kicked in, telling me now was the time to ask my question. I raised my finger to Matthew, who I already knew.

  “Adam,” Matthew said with a nod.

  “As a candidate last autumn, the President made lukewarm comments toward the relationship between the United Kingdom and America. Is the Logan Administration going to mark a new era in the two countries’ special relationship?”

  Dutiful to my job, I scribbled some notes as Matthew answered my question, saying the “special relationship” was as strong as ever and comments during a campaign had to be taken with a grain of salt. As I wrote, I thought Nicki had to have seen me; she had to have at least had a glimpse of me.

  With my question and answer over, I allowed myself to look at Nicki again, who now had that Jeff character at her side. They were talking quietly as the press conference continued.

  Why isn’t she looking at me? Is it on purpose? Or does she simply not care?

  For the rest of the hour, I stewed on all of my questions about her and vowed I’d get an answer before I left the room. After all, you didn’t nab this bloody assignment just because of the work. Admit it. The work was secondary.

  When the briefing finally ended, I casually but quickly made my way to the front, occasionally greeting a friend but never stopping for conversation. Matthew was backslapping the inner circle of America’s Fourth Estate, whilst Nicki answered a few reporters’ follow-up questions.

  Soon, Matthew started to head for the door. He caught my eye. “Welcome, Adam. I hear you’re going to be with us for a while.”

  “Yes, thank you. I’m looking forward to it.”

  As soon as I replied, Nicki turned to face me. We stood only a few feet apart as our eyes met. Instantly, I felt like I was being pulled toward her, but soon I knew something was wrong. My heart caved as I realized there was no reciprocity. She only gave me a blank stare. Doesn’t she feel anything for me?

  “Nick—”

  I only wanted to say hello—or anything that might give me some insight into her—but I was interrupted by Matthew as he said, “Nicole, we need to move on.”

  She turned on her heel and followed him without looking at me again. I swallowed hard as I watched her leave. I was devastated.

  And then everything changed.

  Nicki stopped for the briefest moment and peered over her shoulder, wrenching my heart again with another indifferent stare. But this time, her mouth twitched ever so slightly, just like it always had when she was anxious. A shy smile crossed her face, and without a word, she turned back around and quickly exited the room.

  Is she happy to see me?

  I couldn’t tell, but I didn’t care. Nicki still felt something, and that alone was enough.

  Acknowledgments

  As the first novel I ever wrote years ago, this book has been a long time coming. It’s fitting that I begin these acknowledgments by thanking two dear women whom I’ve known since first grade, Laura Comstock and Mary Clausen Hooker. Along with my old law school friend, Julia Gannaway, they read the first draft and gave me the encouragement to keep going. God love them for stomaching the writing of someone who had no idea what she was doing.

  Thank you also to the ladies from my beloved fanfiction community who helped the story in its next phase: Catherine Waring, Corey Ward, Jada D’Lee, and a few others. Your generosity and talents are enormous.

  Finally, the book today is the product of the great work of Omnific Publishing—Elizabeth Harper, Enn Bocci, and
most importantly, my editor Colleen Wagner, who seemed to know Adam even better than me. Thank you so much.

  About the Author

  Even before she graduated from law school, Mary knew she wasn’t cut out to be a real lawyer. Drawn to politics, she’s spent her career as an organizer, lobbyist, and nonprofit executive. Nothing piques her interest more than a good political scandal or romance, and when she stumbled upon writing, she put the two together. A born Midwesterner, naturalized Texan, and transient resident of Washington, D.C., Mary now lives in Northern California with her two daughters and real lawyer husband.

  Check Out These Titles From Omnific Publishing

  Contemporary Romance

  Boycotts & Barflies and Trust in Advertising by Victoria Michaels

  Passion Fish by Alison Oburia and Jessica McQuinn

  Three Daves by Nicki Elson

  Small Town Girl and Corporate Affair by Linda Cunningham

  Stitches and Scars by Elizabeth A. Vincent

  Take the Cake by Sandra Wright

  Pieces of Us by Hannah Downing

  The Way That You Play It by BJ Thornton

  Poughkeepsie by Debra Anastasia

  Burning Embers by Hannah Fielding

  Cocktails & Dreams by Autumn Markus

  Recaptured Dreams and All-American Girl by Justine Dell

  Once Upon a Second Chance by Marian Vere

  The Englishman by Nina Lewis

  Tangled by Emma Chase

  16 Marsden Place by Rachel Brimble

  Beside Your Heart by Mary Whitney

  Historical Romance

  Cat O’ Nine Tails by Patricia Leever

  Burning Embers by Hannah Fielding

  Romantic Suspense

  Whirlwind by Robin DeJarnett

  The CONduct Series: With Good Behavior and Bad Behavior by Jennifer Lane

  Indivisible by Jessica McQuinn

  Between the Lies by Alison Oburia

  Paranormal Romance

  The Light Series: Seers of Light, Whisper of Light, and Circle of Light by Jennifer DeLucy