Chapter Fifty
Lainey
For the next hour, we both dance separately. And yet, our bodies naturally gravitate toward each other, always close enough to get a glimpse of the other, but far enough away not to draw attention.
On the rare occasions that our paths cross, Thomas always makes contact, a subtle brush across my ass or a gentle knock of my shoulder, his gaze always watching for my reaction. And from the look on his face, I know he’s loving the effect he has on me.
As he should.
There are more attractive men here than should be legal in one place, but I can’t take my eyes off Thomas. And it’s the strangest feeling because every second he’s with another woman makes me crave him even more, and I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to feel right now.
Thoughts of his confession roll around in my head, and with each subtle glance or stolen moment, I’m questioning everything. How can he think I have the power when he’s the one that walked away?
And what did he mean when he said he never let me go? That he never quit me. Is he alluding to wanting me the entire time? To love?
My eyes catch his again, and the intensity of his stare answers my question. He’s not gazing at my face or my body; he’s staring into my soul, trying to convey so much with a single look.
And who am I kidding?He all but admitted he loved me, but I cut him off. Twice. I’m not ready to hear it. I’m terrified that if I let the words leave his mouth, I won’t be able to make the right choices. His confession will fog my brain.
And I need a clear head.
When the next song ends, my colleague Courtney taps me on the shoulder, before leaning in to whisper in my ear, making my pulse spike as a nervous energy flows through me.
My eyes lock on Thomas again, and he must see a shift in my mood because he raises a brow and abandons his current dance partner, his stare never wavering as he presumably waits for my move.
I curl my finger, summoning him over, butterflies swarming my stomach when he chuckles.
“Me?” he mouths, feigning shock as he moves through the crowd.
“Yes, you,” I whisper when he reaches me, and I pull him closer, a soft giggle escaping my lips. “My friends are sick of watching us, quote, ‘fuck each other with our eyes,’” I tell him, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. “They want to see us dance.”
Thomas smiles as his eyes light up with mischief, but just when I think he’s going to say something teasing, he glides a hand around my waist, pulling me flush against him, his other hand clasping mine. “Then dance we will,” he says, spinning me around, and I hate that I instantly feel at home. Like being back in his arms is exactly where I belong.
“After all,” Thomas says, “it’s kind of our thing.”
We dance together for the next couple of songs, moving in sync, our eyes locked and my heart pounding in my chest. When I’m not a nanny, I’m here. I do this exact thing several times a week, for hours at a time, and yet there is nothing about this moment that’s even remotely the same. Everything feels different. His fingers heat my skin through my dress, his breath sends a shiver down my spine, his hold feels possessive yet gentle, and his eyes bore into my soul.
I’m consumed by him. Obsessed with him. Falling back into old patterns that I don’t want to fall into—not yet anyway, but it’s impossible to bring myself to care.
When we’re still dancing as the fourth song crescendos, I start to notice eyes on us, heated gazes, knowing smiles.
If I’m being honest, they could have been watching us for a long time, but not only has my body revolved around Thomas but my mind has too, the room around us barely on my radar.
Dropping Thomas’s hand, I grab his shoulder and lift to my toes, slowing our movements. “I think we’re drawing attention,” I whisper, my lips brushing against his ear.
Thomas’s grip on me tightens, his free hand falling to my hip, his fingers biting into my skin as he turns his head, his lips brushing my neck. “Let them look. I’m not ready to let you go.”
I close my eyes, his words rushing through me like a shot of adrenaline, but I have to break away. The more we dance, the more I forget about our problems, and I can’t let that happen.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again as I pull back, dropping my hands. “I think we should go.”
“We?” Thomas asks, his tone even.
“Yeah, come on. If you’re ready to leave, I’ll give you a ride home.”
I’m bailing early. I usually finish around three a.m., but since Shauna told me I could leave hours ago, I figure she’ll be fine that I’m leaving at one. Especially considering I’m not contributing to the tips anyway.
And though I’m not sure I can give him anything tonight, I hope Thomas comes with me, and when he nods, I can’t stop the flutter in my stomach.
Tension runs through me as I gather my things, and when I find Thomas waiting at the door, his thumb running across his bottom lip, that tension intensifies, especially when his gaze travels over my body as I come to a stop in front of him, taking in my complete change of attire. Where before I was dressed to impress, now I’m dressed for comfort in my short shorts and loose-fitting shirt. Though from the way Thomas’s eyes darken, I’m not sure he agrees.
“You’re not making this easy on me, Lainey. Do those shorts even cover your ass?”
I bite back a smile as I spin around, letting him see for himself that they do. Just. And when I turn back to face him, his eyes snap to mine as he forces a smile. “Okay, you ready?”
We walk to the car in silence, and that quiet remains on the drive home. While I can’t say for sure what’s on Thomas’s mind, I’m almost certain that his trail of thoughts won’t be drifting too far from my own. Where do we go from here? And what happens if nothing changes this time around?
I come to no conclusions on the way to Dylan and Summer’s, but I know two things for sure—I need more time to think and I need more information.
As soon as we come to a stop in the driveway, I jump out of the car, determined to put a little space between us, but before I’ve had the chance to move, Thomas catches my hand, pulling me to a stop. “Wait, please.”
Along with his words, I can hear the pleading in his voice, but when I turn back to face him, it’s so much worse, his gaze begging me to stop. To listen.
“Okay. I’ll wait.”
Thomas breathes out a relieved sigh and walks me back to the car, leaning against it, like he has in the past. “I meant what I said earlier. I want a second…third chance, and while I don’t expect you to give it to me right away, I want to know what I can do to earn your trust again, to show you this time will be different.”
I think about that for a moment as a vision of Thomas stumbling onto the back porch has my brows furrowing. “Will it be different?” I ask even though it pains me to hurt him. “You said you were addicted to me, but you were addicted to alcohol too, and you’re still drinking.”
His anguished expression works like a knife to my back, but I hold strong. I have to; finding and losing Thomas for a third time has the potential to end me.
“I’m still drinking,” he admits, and I almost sigh in relief since I expected him to lie. “But it’s not a problem. Not anymore. I usually only drink during the offseason and it’s a social thing. I can control it.”
“But how is that different from before? You said you could control it back then too.”
“I could, and nothing has changed on that front, except that I know I messed up. I’m aware of it. I never should have let you go, because doing it without you didn’t make it any easier. In fact, there were moments when it was worse. Being away from you was torture… I had everything I could ever want, and yet, I was lonely.”
“Thomas…” My heart aches for him, but that’s how I felt the last time we were together, and I’m not convinced we should go back there. “Thomas, I—”
“Wait, please let me say more.”
I nod and he continues, reaching for my hand. “Last time was different because we both needed to be apart. You blossomed during that time away, but I can admit that I wilted. I tried hard to fix myself. For me. But I couldn’t escape the darkness.”
“I’m sorry. I should have stayed—”
“No, you shouldn’t have. Because while I knew the second you walked away that I needed you—that you were the missing half of my heart—I will never regret the decisions I made back then. Not a single one. If you could have seen yourself on that stage… You were playing a part, I know, but there was this peace in your expression, and when the music stopped, the most beautiful smile graced your face. When we were together, I never once managed to elicit that happiness. But maybe, just maybe, I helped contribute to it by setting you free.”
Thomas pauses, and my heart races as he runs a hand through his hair. “I know it’s not right to be asking you this,” he says hesitantly. “But I want you to put our past aside for just a moment, a heartbeat, and think about how you feel.” Lifting my hand, he holds it over my heart and covers it with his own. “In here. Are you ready to walk away, or is there still an ounce of hope, a spark, a single star in the billions that light up the sky? If there is any part of you that doesn’t want to say goodbye, I’ll take it and I’ll wait.”
My stomach twists in knots as my mind reels, my hand subconsciously moving to my hip. To the tattoo I got on my travels, five years after I planned it. Doing as he asked, I try hard not to think about the past, to focus on the way I feel, to look at our current circumstances instead of what was… But it seems the world is out to mess with us, because no sooner do I push the memories from my mind, that the heavens open up and the sky cracks around us, the rain falling before I’ve had the chance to look up.
No, not falling—it’s pouring, instantly coating us, giving us no time to run for shelter.
“Jesus,” Thomas says as he laughs, shielding his eyes as he glances toward the darkness. “Talk about a sign. Come on.” He clasps our hands and leads me around the side of the house, ducking in and out of the rain, giving me moments of respite in between the cold coating my skin.
“Do you think it’s a good sign or bad sign?” I whisper as we walk, conscious of our proximity to the windows.
Thomas stops, his intense gaze hitting me square in the eyes as he spins to face me, making me stumble. I let out a muted squeal and step back, landing in a puddle, my loose ballet flat sticking to the ground. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groan as I hop, grabbing the brick wall for support.
“Shit.” Thomas springs forward, cupping my waist to steady me as he reaches down to pick up my dirty shoe. We both stare at the mess, and when my eyes flash to my foot, Thomas chuckles.
“Come here,” he says, dropping my shoe beside the path as he grabs me under the ass and lifts me until I’m forced to wrap my legs around him. “Let’s worry about that in the morning. For now, let’s get inside.”
I’m about to argue when more lightning cracks and the thunder rolls seconds later, scrambling my thoughts. Thomas huffs out a laugh, his grip holding me firmly in place as he stares up at me, my heart beating out of control. I don’t think I can walk away, but more than that, I don’t think I want to. I’m not sure how long we stare at each other, but it looks like he’s about to say something before he shakes his head and laughs again, whispering, “Guess there’ll be no dancing in the rain today.”
I stifle my own laugh as he takes off in a jog, holding me close, and I give in, burying my face in his neck, breathing him in. The faster we go, the harder the rain pelts into us, until we’re both completely soaked through. Thomas chuckles again when I curse under my breath, his laughter only subsiding when we reach the shelter of the pool house.
“You can put me down now,” I whisper, wriggling in his grip when he comes to a stop. “I need to find my keys.”
Thomas does as I ask, until I shiver, then he stops, leaning back to look in my eyes, his gaze full of concern. My nose scrunches as I try to hide it, but my quivering lips give the game away.
“Shit, you’re freezing.” He lifts me back into his arms and pats my pockets, searching for the keys.
“Are they in your bag?” he asks and I immediately cringe.
“Yes.” And I left my bag in the car.
Thomas nods knowingly, his expression curious until he smiles. “Main house it is.”
What? “No, we can—”
He spins me around, cutting me off as he rushes toward the house, ignoring me when I squeeze his shoulders. “No time,” he says with a frown. “We need to get you warm.”
One of his hands slips between us, and he holds me with the other, pulling his keys from his pocket as we reach the door. Without putting me down, he slows his pace, then unlocks the slider, quietly walking inside. My heart lodges in my throat, as a panic runs through me and I’m not sure what’s more concerning—the fear of someone catching us, or the fear of what comes next.