Healing You

by Katana Collins

  She pushed her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “Why not?”

  His mouth turned up in a small smile. “Because I’m not fucking you in the back seat at my brother’s engagement party.” The playful tone and arched brow softened as he bent to kiss her.

  “But you’re okay finger banging me in the parking lot?” she added wryly.

  He shrugged, putting his finger in his mouth and licking her off of him. “Maybe another time on a less high-profile night, I’ll take you in my back seat, like we did when we were teenagers. But tonight? Tonight I want you in my bed. On my couch. Maybe on the coffee table—we’ll see how you feel. So… any objections to moving this party home?” he asked.

  *

  Reaching around, Steve caught the handle of the passenger door, gently pulling it open despite her body being pressed against it. She shifted, curving her body into the car and looking up at him from her seat with sultry eyes. He moved around to the other side of the car, adjusting his erection and swallowing a groan. He was harder than a choir boy in a strip club.

  He slid into the driver’s seat. In the distance, he could hear a cop’s siren and headlights from a passing car flooded into his car through the front windshield. His muscles seized, remembering the light that entered his Jeep just before their wreck. Remembering that feeling only hours ago—the nausea, the headache, the panicked breathlessness. It was terrible—that anxiety. Uncontrollable, unrelenting panic.

  He swallowed hard, his hand trembling as he lifted his keys. He could do this. He could get them home. There really was no other choice. She was drunk and it was over four miles back to their neighborhood. Fine for middle of the day in running clothes. Not fine for middle of the night in heels and a dress.

  Before he could get the key in the ignition, Yvonne was leaning over the console, her mouth on his ear and her hand stroking him through his pants. And in that quick blink of an eye, he was back in high school. Instead of a BMW, it was a Jeep. Instead of a suit, he was in his prom tuxedo. And instead of a mature professional in the community, he was suddenly a horny teenager.

  Her lilting laugh was the same, as was the floral smell of her hair just to the right of his chin. “Oh, God,” he rasped, and he could feel heat burning a path through his sinuses. His grip on the wheel was so tight he could feel the ache in his knuckles.

  Yvonne didn’t seem to notice. Her mouth was on his jaw and down his neck, her hand stroking between his legs.

  “Oh, God. Fuck yeah, Eve.” He pumped his hips, lifting them off the seat of his Jeep. His baby. The car he’d saved up for since he was old enough to have a job cleaning the neighbor’s chicken coop and dog-sitting.

  She nibbled her way down his neck, her hand drifting down his abs, playing with the waistband of his tuxedo pants. Teasing. She was teasing him hardcore. Her giggle created a wave of hot air from his ear down to his shoulder, and he bit down hard on his bottom lip, forcing himself to focus on the winding, dark road. Prom always took place at Washington Rock Ballroom and offered one of the highest and most gorgeous views of New Hampshire from the top. Of course, that meant that he had to keep a keen eye driving back down at eleven p.m. Yvonne had convinced him to cut the party short and continue their own private party elsewhere. To which he’d responded: Hell to the yes.

  “Eve,” he said, taking her hand, lifting it away from his pants and nipping her knuckle. “Babe, I gotta be careful. Fog is heavy tonight.”

  “Mmm hmm,” she hummed in his ear. He could smell the little bit of champagne she’d had from Kyra’s flask on her breath. It was sweet and bubbly, just like Eve. And even though his girl was tipsy, he was stone cold sober. Not that he didn’t have ample opportunity to drink. Oh, he’d been offered a flask, as well, but dutifully declined even though he badly wanted to drink. They’d be back at the hotel room soon and he could have some of the beer his friends had grabbed from their dad’s fridge.

  With one free hand, he brushed his fingers over his crooked bow tie. Everyone else had had a father to show them how to properly tie one. Steve, on the other hand, just had to fumble his way through it. And judging by the look of scowling disapproval Mr. Sarzacki had shown when he arrived to pick up Eve, he’d gotten it wrong.

  Yvonne gave a heavy sigh and stopped her attempts to unzip his pants. But her lips were still at his neck. Kissing. Nibbling. Sucking.

  Good God, that mouth of hers. It was all he could do to not pull off onto the lip of the road and take her there in his back seat. He groaned, stretching his neck to the side, and closed his eyes for all of half a second. And when he opened them, two giant headlights were in his face, in his lane, blinding his view of the road. The sharpest curve was just ahead and as Steve jerked the wheel to the right, a deer came into view just ahead of him. Frozen. A literal deer in the headlights. He turned the wheel harder, the sound of Yvonne’s screams and a blaring horn blasting through his thoughts.

  Steve flinched as the memories faded. Somehow Yvonne had moved into his lap and was now straddling him in the front seat, her weight shifting back against the horn.

  “Dammit,” she muttered, sliding back into her passenger seat.

  He willed his hand to move. Just turn the key. Just start the car and get us home safely. But he couldn’t do it. His hands felt like bricks were attached to his wrists.

  They had both nearly died the last time they were in a car together. He had almost killed them. In all these weeks together reuniting, they hadn’t once needed to drive anywhere. They mostly walked into town or went for a run together or just met out somewhere after work. But that wasn’t a behavior you could build a life together on. What did he expect? For them to never get in a car together again? Would she be responsible for driving their children around because he would be too terrified to take the wheel again? He couldn’t put that on her. The words from her letter years ago were practically chiseled into his brain. It was the reason he’d left, the reason he’d stayed away for so long.

  “We can’t do this,” Steve whispered. Despite how hot he’d felt moments ago with Yvonne’s mouth on his and how warm it was inside the car, he shivered. A hard, debilitating shiver that rocked through his whole body, causing the muscles to seize and convulse. His blood had been replaced with ice.

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” she agreed, flopping back into her seat and pushing her messy hair out of her face. “I remember it being more fun in high school. But now it’s just really uncomfortable.” She laughed in that gentle, candied, musical way of hers that always managed to mainline right to his heart. But this time, its soft, sweet tone speared his chest, slicing him open.

  “Not that,” he said, hoarsely. There was a lump lodged in his throat that no matter how many times he swallowed, it just wouldn’t go down. That hollow feeling at the base of his stomach was back. That emptiness he’d lived with for so many years, slowly eating at his happiness. It was back. “This.” He gestured between them, knowing that as soon as he said those words, it would be over. For good. Yvonne barely managed to forgive him once. There was no way she would a second time.

  He watched her closely as his words sunk in. Watched as the rosy flush drained from her cheeks leaving a ghostly pallor in its place. Watched as her gaze—those eyes, crinkled with her smile—dropped to her lap. Watched as her fingers flew to her mouth and she nibbled the edge of one painted nail. “You don’t really mean that.” But even with the bold statement, her voice trembled. She knew better. Knew him better than to believe that.

  And for all of a second, Steve debated taking it back. Pulling her into his arms and kissing her once more. If he knew Yvonne at all, he guessed he had a ten second window to change his mind and act on that.

  Nine… eight…

  He felt the airway in his throat constricting as the shock in her face drifted to pure undiluted sadness. Those hazel eyes filled with tears, sweeping the base of her eyelids like a gentle wave bringing in the tide. Even in sadness, she was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Tha
t was the problem though, right? A diamond, though beautiful, was still sharp enough to cut through glass—to draw blood.

  Seven… six…

  “Steve.” With that one little word, he could hear her plea for him to take it back.

  Five… four…

  She moved her hand across the seat, brushing her fingertips down the length of his scar, and he flinched at the contact of her soft skin against the roughness. She pulled back, as though the way he jerked away from her could permanently cause her damage as well. “You’re serious?” Even though it was a question, she spoke it in a way that suggested she already knew the answer.

  Was he? Was this the right choice? If it was so right, why did it feel so damn wrong? Why did it hurt like the windshield was shattering against his face all over again? Steve squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look at her. He’d spent thirteen years looking at Yvonne through a glass window. This amazing woman who was so much better off without him. A fact that even she knew in her most delicate, vulnerable state. He’d spent years admiring her from afar, thinking she could never be his again. Not because he didn’t want her, but because someone else would. Someone else who deserved her and wasn’t so afraid to lose her that he couldn’t start his goddamn car.

  Three… two…

  Oh, God. What was he doing? He loved her. Shouldn’t that be enough? Was he just repeating old habits by leaving without a discussion? If he learned nothing else from past mistakes, he should at least talk to her about this. “Yvonne,” he forced his gaze back to her, taking her hand in his.

  “No,” she snapped, wrenching her hand from his grasp.

  One.

  “I can’t believe I gave you the opportunity to do this to me again.” She shouldered open the car door, flipping his jacket off of her shoulders and throwing it into the passenger seat.

  Steve’s body felt heavy as he, too, got out of the car. “Let me get someone to take you home.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll walk.” She took off out of the parking lot at an impressive pace, all things considered.

  “Shit.” He took off behind her, following slowly a couple of steps behind. “Yvonne, come on,” he called out to her. “What are you gonna do? Walk the four miles home? In heels? Drunk?”

  “Apparently, yes.”

  “No, you’re not. Be serious. We’ll go back into the party and Kyra can take you home.”

  She snorted at that, shaking her head. “Kyra’s been drinking.”

  “Ronnie, then.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’ll go over well. She’d dump me in the lake if she could. Because apparently I’m the one who broke your heart. Like she conveniently forgot that you were the one who abandoned me in the hospital and then refused all my calls.”

  “Dammit,” he muttered, grabbing his cell and pulling up Kyra’s number. She was right that Kyra had been drinking, but he didn’t know who else to call right then.

  “Steve!” Kyra giggled, answering.

  “Kyra, I need you—” He stopped himself, feeling the emotion choking high in his throat. “Yvonne needs you to take her home.”

  “Why?” she asked, her voice suddenly sober. “What happened?”

  “Yvonne’s trying to walk home and she’s drunk and in heels—”

  “I’ll be there in two seconds.”

  “Can you drive?”

  “I’ll get someone to drive my car. You’re with her?”

  “Yeah. On Main Street.”

  A few minutes later Steve saw headlights pulling up behind them. Kyra jumped out of the passenger seat of her car, pulling a shawl around her shoulders, and she rushed over to Yvonne, handing her a cardigan.

  He knew Yvonne would react badly… but he hadn’t expected this. Looking behind him, he saw Nick Forrester get out from behind Kyra’s front seat. He seemed equally concerned. Steve gave him a quick nod—thank you? Hello? A little of both perhaps?

  Ahead, Kyra and Yvonne were speaking quietly and Yvonne shoved her arms clumsily into the sweater. Makeup stained her cheeks in dark streaks and her eyes were red. She blinked wet, spiky eyelashes and nibbled on her nail as Kyra whispered something to her.

  Gathering courage, Steve walked closer. Somewhere nearby one lone cricket sang to them with a chirping melody. Kyra curled her arms around Yvonne, guiding her back toward the car.

  “I’ll check on you tomorrow,” Steve said as they passed.

  A moment passed between the two girls, some unspoken best friend language. Kyra looked up at him and he saw the waves of disappointment in her eyes come crashing over him. “No, Steve,” she said. Her words were firm, but not altogether unkind. “I got this.”

  Kyra put Yvonne in the back seat and within seconds, they were driving off. Time slowed as the car passed him, Yvonne in the backseat, her wet eyes shrewd and sharp beneath the tears, like a sword waiting just below the water’s surface, ready to pierce and slice him open.

  Steve walked the couple of blocks back to Giuseppe’s parking lot and fell into his car, shutting the door and dropping his head to the steering wheel. The leather was cool against his clammy forehead and he moved his palm over his heart, clenching a fistful of his shirt and skin. Fuck, this hurt. He knew it would. He knew what he was in for. And yet, bracing for impact didn’t lessen the blow. It hadn’t physically in the car wreck. And it hadn’t now with their hearts. Sometimes, you just had to welcome the pain, accept your demons and learn to live with them.

  Except Yvonne wasn’t a demon. She was the farthest thing from it.

  ‡

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Oh God.” Yvonne sat up the next morning, clutching her head. Was that her tongue? Or had someone placed cotton balls in her mouth while she slept? She groaned and reached for the bottle of water on her nightstand, chugging it down… then quickly realized her mistake as the headache morphed into nausea. “Uh-oh,” she said, moving the hand that cradled her head to her stomach. She closed her eyes, laying back on the pillow until it passed.

  She looked to her right, the other side of her bed and pillow messed up, as though someone had spent the night with her.

  The hollow ache in her heart gnawed through her chest as she remembered the night before—it should have been a foggy memory. Hazy with alcohol, but it wasn’t. She remembered every last cringe-worthy, tear-inducing moment. We can’t do this.

  “You’re up,” Kyra said, poking her head in the door. “How you feeling?”

  “Like someone took a two-by-four to my head. You and your stupid Limoncellos,” she groaned.

  “Don’t blame the Limoncellos!” A man’s voice bellowed from the living room. Yvonne felt her body go stiff.

  “Is Nick in my living room?” she whispered—no, it wasn’t even a whisper. It was barely words.

  “He drove us home in my car. It was late and I was too tipsy to drive him back, so he stayed on the couch. I told him I’d give him a ride back this morning, but I wanted to wait until you were up.”

  Yvonne should be grateful, she supposed. But mostly, she just didn’t want to see a man… any man at the moment. Not even her father would be welcome today.

  “Can I get you something? Eggs, toast, coffee?”

  “You got anything stronger than coffee, but weaker than cocaine?” Yvonne said, throwing the covers off her legs to find that her dress was only halfway down her waist and she was still in her strapless bra.

  Kyra’s chuckle was quiet, but it was nice to hear, all the same. “Espresso coming right up. I’ll drop Nick off and grab some from Lex’s on the way back.”

  “You don’t have to come back just for that—”

  “I know.”

  “Seriously, Kyra, go home—”

  “Not a chance, Sarzacki. You’re stuck with me today. I borrowed some clothes.” Yvonne always considered herself curvy, but Kyra in her T-shirt and running shorts turned the outfit from sporty to downright pornographic. And she looked hella hot in them.

  Yvonne shook her head. “I wear those clothes every day
and on me they’re ratty and gross. You put them on and all of a sudden you’re like Sporty Spice.”

  Kyra held up two fingers in the peace sign. “Girl power,” she said with a wink. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  Yvonne laughed, but it sounded choked. Raw. Like a hollow echo of the woman she felt herself becoming with Steve not even twenty-four hours ago. When she heard the front door close, she forced herself to get out of bed. A hollow echo of the woman I was? Who the hell was she kidding? That was definitely not who she was. She was not going to be the girl who fell apart when her boyfriend broke up with her. She was not going to sit around all day wallowing like a lovesick teenager. Not this time.

  Mind reeling and heartsick, she gulped down more water. She already missed him. Missed the way he could make her feel like the only woman in the room, even if she was surrounded by supermodels. Missed the way he would hold her and his silly little under-the-breath one line jokes.

  Gatsby, Daisy, and Ruckus each came up to say good morning. True to form, Ruckus barreled through the room, nearly knocking her over, while Daisy and Gatsby seemed to notice something different. They looked up at her with spirited brown eyes, mirroring her sadness.

  Yvonne closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Steve’s scent was all over her. She could smell his cologne mixed with the sweet smell of his skin and aftershave.

  Even though her stomach turned and her head pounded, she turned on the shower and peeled the yellow cotton dress off of her body, stepping into the steaming spray of water. The same stream of water where she and Steve had had sex for the first time in over a decade. A rush of tears stung the back of her eyes, her heart pounding and hand shaking as she reached for the soap. Yes, it hurts, she thought as the thick misery spread over her body like sticky molasses. And it will probably keep hurting for a long time, she said to herself, giving her brain and body a much needed pep talk. But what the hell was she gonna do? Never shower again? Move? No. She was going to be fine. She had healed once when he walked out on her. She would do it again.