Ashley wasn’t sure. September 11 aside, fighting fires in New York City had always been a deadly venture. “Even when it’s dangerous?”
“Yes.” Landon’s lips came together in a straight line, his eyes deeper than they’d been in a while. “Especially when it’s dangerous.”
Conversation drifted to things at church, and Ashley shared that she was reading the Bible more with Irvel and Edith. “They don’t remember their names half the time, but still, hearing God’s Word brings them peace. A peace that doesn’t wipe them out the way drugs do but makes them feel almost normal again.”
The evening wore on. They finished the pizza and took seats next to each other on his leather sofa. Landon flipped on the television and hit the mute button. “No point hearing a bunch of commercials. When it’s closer to midnight I’ll turn it up.”
Closer to midnight.
The thought hit Ashley like a poison arrow and lodged somewhere above her heart. Midnight would come soon, and with it, the new year and the changes that would take them apart, probably forever. Midnight and an hour to tell Landon good-bye. She crossed her arms and stared at her lap.
He slid closer to her on the sofa, as though he’d noticed the change in her. He reached out and ran his fingers along her wrist and the tops of her hands. “Tell me.”
“Hmmm?” Her eyes lifted to his and she managed a smile.
“What’re you thinking?”
She shrugged. “About us—how my flight leaves in the morning. How different things’ll be next year.”
“It’s been a nice week.” He wrapped his fingers around hers and found her eyes. “Like something from a dream.”
“Yes.” She didn’t blink, didn’t want to lose a single second of the connection she felt to him. In some ways she had expected them to spend more time alone, kissing or holding each other. Instead they’d kept busy—sightseeing, shopping, skating. Drinking coffee and talking late into the night. For all the days they’d had together, this was the first time they’d really been alone.
His lips opened then, and his eyes pleaded with her. She understood. He wanted to ask her one more time, plead with her to see it his way, to give him the chance to love her, whatever it cost him. But she closed her eyes and gave the slightest shake of her head. No, God, don’t let him talk about it now. I can’t take it. . . .
When she blinked open, the moment had passed. “A lot’s happened this year, Ash. Have you thought about it?”
“Not all at once, I guess.”
“Really?” He stretched and his leg brushed up against hers. Ashley wondered if he noticed, if the sensation of his straightened leg beside hers was causing him as much conflict as it was causing her. If it was, he didn’t let on. He looked straight ahead out the window at the dark sky and lit-up city. “I try to do that every year, think about the highs and lows, the changes, and how all of it’s helped me grow.” He looked at her again. “You know, taking stock, a chance to see how far I’ve come in the past twelve months.”
Ashley listened to him, and already the pain was taking root in her soul. How had she missed the beauty of this man all those years ago? She should never have gone to Paris, with Landon waiting in Bloomington. That way, the two of them would’ve married. Cole would be his, and she would be healthy.
“I thought about it last night.” He placed his hands behind his head and laced his fingers together. His leg was still alongside hers. “Getting settled at the department, finding out about Reagan, seeing your paintings in the local art gallery.” He leaned over and kissed the side of her head. “By now I thought we’d be finishing wedding plans of our own, but that was before your blood test.”
“My entire year can be summed up with that one phone call, the one telling me . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Instead she stared out the front window and allowed herself to imagine how different things would be if she’d gotten a negative result instead.
“Can I tell you something, Ash?” He angled his head so he could see her better. “The test didn’t change anything for me.” His eyes shone with a kind of love only he was capable of giving her. “You changed it.”
“Me?” She ran her tongue along the inside of her lip. “Not me, Landon. The test. Otherwise, I’d be wearing your ring now.”
“No, Ashley. It wasn’t the test. It was you—you not believing that sick or not, you’re all I want. All I’ve ever wanted.”
The conversation was creeping dangerously close to areas that still needed to be off-limits. She crossed her arms and let her gaze fall to her lap again. “I’m sorry, Landon.” Her tone was little more than a whisper. “I pray that one day you’ll understand.”
“Ah, Ashley. I’m sorry.” He pulled one hand out from behind his head and looped it around her shoulders. His tone was kindness and resignation. “I understand now. I just never want you to walk away thinking I was afraid of a blood test. This . . . what we have . . . it’s stronger than that.”
Their eyes locked, and slowly, deliberately, like a dance step that had been building since Reagan and Luke’s wedding, the two of them came together in an embrace that needed no words.
It was fifteen minutes before midnight, the time when they’d agreed to turn up the volume and watch the ball drop over a wet and icy Times Square. But in all the world, Ashley could think of nothing but the way she felt in Landon Blake’s arms, the way she would ache for his hug all the days of her life.
The way whatever time they shared now would have to last them a lifetime.
In movements too small to measure, his lips found hers. They hadn’t kissed since Christmas Day under the mistletoe, but here, on New Year’s Eve, neither of them had doubted for a minute that they would find their way back to this place, to the passion of coming together and kissing the way they’d wanted to all week.
Landon’s hands found her face, and his fingers wove their way into her hairline. “Ashley . . .”
Her name was all she needed to hear. She knew him well enough, heard in his tone the things he wasn’t saying. That he had been honest a moment earlier, that he loved her and wanted her and couldn’t bear the thought of what the morning would bring.
“I know, Landon.” Tears stung at her eyes as she tilted her head back, savoring his trail of kisses along her jaw, her cheekbone, the soft area near her ear. “I know.”
In the time since she’d told him the truth about Paris, the two of them had crossed the sea of desire into dangerous waters only a handful of times. Always at this point—at the place where kissing was simply not enough, where their bodies shared a craving that could be satisfied only one way—common sense would prevail and someone would pull back.
But tonight, more was at stake than ever before. Because tonight was the ending of a year, more than that, the ending of an era. Tonight a page would turn and a new chapter would begin, one that would send them so far in separate directions, a night like this one wasn’t only unlikely.
It was impossible.
And because of that, Ashley couldn’t bring herself to stop.
She slid closer to Landon, kissing him on his lips and his face, moving her mouth lightly down his neck even after she heard him moan from somewhere deep within. “Landon . . . I love you.” For a moment she drew back and found his eyes, saw the passion there, and in the distance she saw the two-minute countdown clock in the corner of the television screen.
1:05 . . . 1:04 . . . 1:03 . . .
He moved his lips over hers, kissing her even as he followed her gaze. “Hey . . . one minute.” Landon eased himself from her, stretched, and spread a feather blanket on the floor. He tossed a pillow toward the top, just in front of the TV. “Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her down beside him. “Let’s watch it.”
Ashley looked at the screen, the sound still muted. Fifty seconds. All that was left of the old year, the old Ashley Baxter, was less than a minute. Landon reached for the remote control, the desire of a moment earlier on hold but hardly forgotten. He clicked
the Sound button and suddenly the room filled with the sounds Ashley expected to hear on New Year’s Eve.
Hooting, hollering, shouting people, arms raised, faces lit with smiles and laughter; Dick Clark explaining in that unique voice of his that, yes indeed, another year had passed them by; and in the background a band playing “Auld Lang Syne”—all as the ball lowered the rest of the way over Times Square.
Ashley sang the words quietly to herself: “Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind? . . .”
Landon stretched out on his stomach, his eyes on the screen, hand still tucked in hers. And she sat cross-legged on the floor beside him, her knee up against his ribs. The counter on the screen slipped to :10 . . . :09 . . . :08 . . .
“Ashley . . .” Landon rolled onto his back and held his arms out to her. “Happy New Year.”
She came to him, allowing herself to lay partially across his chest as they hugged and the countdown finished itself.
:03 . . . :02 . . .
And Ashley’s lips found his again, her chest over his as they kissed the slow, happy kiss of celebration, but more quickly this time, the kiss turned hot and dangerous. Landon groped for the remote control and dimmed the volume to almost nothing.
“Where were we?” He worked his hand through her hair and drew her to himself.
Ashley was breathless from the feelings assaulting her senses. An unquenchable desire, a terrifying understanding that this was the most dangerous place they’d ever put themselves into, and an inability to stop regardless of the consequences. All those feelings at the same time.
“Baby . . .” Landon eased himself onto his side so the entire length of his upper body pressed against hers.
They were close here, too close. The nearness of him, his kisses and gentle fiery touch were more than Ashley could handle. But as weak as she felt, she managed the simplest prayer. God . . . help.
And though her desire didn’t diminish a bit, Ashley suddenly pictured where the moment was headed—and the image it gave her made her stomach turn. Not the idea of Landon’s body against hers, or the way it would feel if they could give in to their passions, but the bigger truth.
She was contaminated.
And if she couldn’t control herself here, on the brink of good-bye, she could hardly expect to be in a relationship with him and go a lifetime without physical intimacy. Landon could say what he wanted about finding a way to make their relationship work.
The truth was, given the opportunity, she would willingly love him in a way that could do more than harm him.
It could kill him.
He was drawing closer to her now, and though she still savored every moment of his touch, his nearness, she suddenly pulled herself from the moment and sat up on her knees, breathless from her warring emotions. “Landon . . . see? This is why.”
His eyes were still clouded with a desire that made him look irresistible. He took her hand and gave a slight shake of his head. “Ashley . . .” The whispered word hung in the air between them. “Come here, baby. Don’t worry . . . I only want to kiss you.”
Then, in what felt like some strange sort of vision, instead of seeing Landon strong and well, she saw him sick. Sick with HIV because she couldn’t control her passions. “No, Landon. This—” she lifted her hands, palms up, and searched for the right words—“this could kill you, Landon. Don’t you see?”
“No, baby.” He ran his fingers along the length of her arm and searched her eyes. “We could kiss like this forever, and it would never hurt me.”
“Landon.” Her voice was louder, frustrated. “You and I both know where this goes. We’re minutes away from you having the same diagnosis as me!” Her legs shook, but she forced herself to stand up. “I have to go. Please . . .” She held her hand out to him. “Come say good-bye to me.”
At first he stayed on the floor, his hand stretched out to her, waiting for her to change her mind and fall back on the floor with him. But after nearly a minute, his expression changed. He took her hand and pulled himself to his feet. Gently, the desire faded from his expression, his voice. He framed her face with his fingers. “I’m sorry, Ashley. I didn’t mean for it to get . . . well. I didn’t mean it.”
“I know.” She pressed her fingers against her legs and tried to still her shaking arms. “This is why, Landon. I can’t . . .” She let her head fall forward and stared at the floor. Her heart was still beating hard, her breathing not quite back to normal. “I just can’t.”
His arms came around her waist and he held her, not the way he’d held her minutes ago but in a sad, desperate way indicating that once he let go, he might never be the same again. She eased her arms up and toward his neck. As long as they held on this way, she wouldn’t have to leave, wouldn’t have to tell him good-bye. Because whenever they let go, there would be only one thing left to do.
He whispered against her face the words she longed to hear. “I love you, Ashley. If this is the last time, then I’ll say it again. I’ll never love anyone like I love you.”
Ashley pulled back a few inches, just enough to find his eyes. “I love you, too. Never wonder about that.” The tears came quickly, slipping onto her cheeks and falling to the floor. “I need to go.”
She searched his eyes, looking for some crazy way of escape, some possibility that the past five months had been nothing but a nightmare, and that really she was healthy and well, her blood tests normal, and that her time with Landon this week could go on forever.
“This isn’t the end, Ashley.” Landon moved his thumb across the trail of tears on her face. “I’ll never believe that.”
They kissed one last time, but Ashley was already straining toward the door. Holding on longer at this point would only make leaving that much harder. When she pulled away, she could barely make him out through her tears. “Good-bye, Landon.”
He wouldn’t say it. Instead he held his palm up and kept his eyes locked on hers until she slipped through his front door and closed it behind her. She made it to the elevator before she broke down, and as she left his building and looked for a cab, she ignored the curious looks from the occasional passerby.
She could’ve lost her way or had too much to drink or been the victim of a mugger. This was New Year’s Eve in New York City, after all, and no one cared about one young woman crying as she waited for a cab.
That was fine with Ashley.
She didn’t want anyone but Landon caring for her, anyway. The air was cold and damp, and she shivered as a cab pulled up to the curb and sprayed gutter water on her ankles. Ashley dragged her coat sleeve beneath her eyes and stifled a series of deep sobs.
Just before she slipped into the backseat, she felt it. The feeling she’d had as a little girl when her mother would stand at the door watching her, checking to see that she was doing her chores. That was how Ashley felt now, as though she was being watched from behind. And not just watched, but studied. Stared at.
She had one leg in the cab when she looked over her shoulder up at a bank of windows in Landon’s apartment building, and that’s when she saw him. Standing there watching her, his hand still raised. She mouthed another good-bye and held her hand up as she eased herself into the cab and shut the door. The last thing she saw was the haunting image of his face, and something she couldn’t quite make out until the very last second—something that would make her doubt forever the wisdom of leaving him.
Landon Blake was crying.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Peter stared at the television set, at the revelers in New York City, and he was struck by a thought more profound than any he’d had that week.
He couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take another year of drifting further from his family, of rewriting the ending to that fateful Saturday when Hayley fell in the pool. Couldn’t take another year of looking for a reason to live between pills.
A year felt like eternity, a death sentence. A torture worse than hell.
Peter flicked the Power button on the TV
remote and the screen went black. Never mind a year; he couldn’t take another month, another day. Not even another hour.
He squinted in the darkness and tried to remember when the problem had gotten worse again. Just a week ago he’d tried to kill himself with the pills and something had stopped him, caused him to vomit. At the time he’d been so relieved he’d wondered if maybe God himself had intervened. But the next day around noon the shaking returned with a vengeance.
Two pills an hour had become three now, and even that didn’t seem to ease his racing heart, the way the floor swayed, the pounding in his head.
Peter caught a bit of moon reflecting on the pill bottle beside him. He couldn’t kill himself, wouldn’t try again. That would be no sort of legacy for Brooke and the girls. Besides, he was stronger than that. He needed pain meds, yes, but he didn’t have to take an entire handful.
Four.
Maybe that was the answer. Four an hour, the level he’d seen some patients and doctors reach. Never mind that most of them wound up in treatment. Peter wouldn’t go that route, not ever. Not unless taking his own life was the only other option.
He reached for the pills and the water bottle beside them. Forty-five minutes since his last pills and already his heart trembled, head and mind twisted with the beginnings of an unbearable ache. He eased the lid off and spilled four pills into his hand. Four pills. Peter stared at them, shocked and anxious at the same time. This would be the answer; it had to be.
Call for help, Peter. Don’t take the pills.
The water bottle slipped from Peter’s hands to the floor. He looked about the room, eyes wide. Who had said that? And where were they? The voice sounded like it was coming from the television set, but he’d turned it off minutes ago.
“Who are you?” He hissed the question, pressing his body into the recliner and tightening his grip on the pills. “Get out of my house!”
Don’t take the pills, son. . . . Come to me, you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.
Rejoice Page 26
