Chapter 9
NINE
Alex
Waking up to a still, brightly lit room, I know she’s gone. I can feel it. And my stomach turns with disappointment. I don’t know what I hoped would happen, but her absence is like breaking a seal. Or maybe it’s the sunlight that broke the spell.
Don’t love it, though.
I wasn’t supposed to come back in here; I told myself I wouldn’t. But I couldn’t sleep.
I was bone tired, but my body just wouldn’t let go.
And I felt bad. I’d been avoiding her for two days, so maybe she’s the real reason I couldn’t sleep because as soon as I lay down next to her, the eyes that wouldn’t budge fell. Deep.
I can just barely hear them chatting, forcing me fully awake and out into the great room.
But it’s not her.
Some woman sits in Blanks’ lap while he feeds her. Where’s Emma? Blanks and the woman look up at me, and the lighthearted look flies off his face when he sees I’ve come from her room.
He stands, moving the woman’s legs off his own, extricating himself out of their embrace.
“She’s not here,” he tells me even though I don’t ask.
“Where is she then?” I move closer into the eat-in, where he’s now standing.
“There’s a note.” Blanks points to the counter, taking a long sip of coffee.
Merry Christmas. Breakfast’s on me today. Going for a hike, be back before nighttime.
I turn to stare at him.
“You knew she was doing this today?”
He shrugs.
“You fucking let her go by herself? Are you fucking insane?” I yell. Don’t mean to just the anxiety is instant, directly followed by rage. What if something happens to her?
“She’s fine,” he says calmly.
“She doesn’t even own a jacket heavy enough for this weather!” I shout again.
“Yeah. She does!” He shouts back, “Because I bought her one yesterday. Calm the fuck down.” He moves in closer, daring to get in my face.
I don’t like the stinging in my chest because if I spared her more than a glance yesterday, maybe I would know this, too.
Maybe I would be the one buying her things, taking her places.
“I think I should go,” the redhead interrupts us quietly, moving off the dining bench, then giving us a wide berth as she heads to find the rest of her clothes.
“And who the fuck is that?” I ask Blanks, pissed as hell.
He laughs, “Does it matter? If you’re mad about not getting any, maybe next time, don’t turn down your wife.” I want to throttle him.
We stand, staring each other down, until I finally say, “I didn’t turn her down.” The sick smile slides off the bastard’s face. “She turned me down.” Hate admitting that to him. I shoulder-check him as I grab a piece of bacon off the counter, then head towards the stairs.
“She turned you down?” he asks quietly as if the question isn’t actually meant to be answered.
So I don’t bother with an answer, focusing instead on getting dressed as quickly as possible to go find her.
Blanks
Everything tastes sour. Immediately, I want to throw up the coffee I’ve been downing like it’s a lifeline.
What does it mean that she turned him down?
Who was she begging for in the bathroom?
Was it me? Why do I wish it was me so bad?
I drag my hand down my face, feeling the burn in my chest. This new yet familiar ache that comes every time I’m around her.
Every time I say I’ll keep my distance and then can’t, the burn is there.
When I left her alone last night, on fucking Christmas Eve, the burn had been there.
When I brought someone home, knowing she would be getting up for her hike, my chest had been on fire. And not for the redhead, but for her. Hoping she would hear me. Wishing it was her the whole time.
Knowing it never would be because she’s likely halfway in love with her husband already.
But is she?
Why the fuck is Alex sleeping in there if she said no, and why did it make me want to push him into the freezing cold lake? Why couldn’t he just leave her the fuck alone?
I want to punch him in his fucking face over it.
My feet are moving up the stairs before I can even think of it. Stay the fuck away from her. Repeats in my head, over and over. Is it that I need to stay away, or him? Both.
I barge into his room. We were past the point of a courtesy knock.
“Just leave her alone today, okay?” I say to his back as he gets dressed.
“Give me a good reason to, then.” He turns around, zipping up his jeans and grabbing a sweater.
Because I like her, and she’s nice, and she doesn’t deserve whatever shit you’ll end up putting her through. But I don’t say that. I can’t.
“Because she doesn’t like Christmas, and it’s a shitty day for her. Just let her be alone. You, of all people, should know how that feels.”
I hate him for a second because somehow he’ll squander this, burning everyone around him in the process, then wonder what all the smoke is about later. He just doesn’t fucking get it, his effect on people. I hate that he’s like this.
When it becomes apparent he isn’t going to bother replying, I say, “Listen, I’m leaving today. But just try and be nice to her.” I turn to walk away, almost forgetting, “Your Christmas present’s in the garage, asshole. Merry Christmas.”
He stands, staring at me, until finally he says, “Yeah, Merry Christmas.”
Rolling my eyes, I blow out of his room, fuming. Still.
I need to give Red a ride home, make an appearance at Brit’s, and then, I’ll say goodbye to her.
Emma
He’s waiting outside for me. Well, that’s the story I’m telling myself because it makes me feel good to imagine a man like that would be waiting for me. The thought produces chills.
In my fucking dreams.
My cheeks heat, and I drop my gaze, ashamed. He was fucking someone else this morning. How much more clear could it be that he isn’t interested? He’s also my husband’s best friend.
I walk past him, shooting him a sideways smile but not stopping because everything hurts. My feet. My back. My head. I want a hot shower and to sleep for twelve hours. I’m just praying that a ten-mile hike outdoors will be just the thing to set my circadian rhythm back to normal.
In my eagerness to take the hike, I didn’t really compute that five miles meant five miles there. And five miles back. So when I’m unable to walk tomorrow, I just hope that something in this town delivers food. I hope.
Was it worth it? Standing at the end of the trail, on a ridge that offers a view all the way to Nevada, yes.
It was worth it. There’s a small clearing that brings you right to the edge of a steep drop-off, leaving you feeling like all the world is below you.
The ridge feels like the peak. It’s empowering, if not a little terrifying, to look down.
But hobbling home, weary and bone tired, I’m not so sure how worth it it was.
“Hey,” he says, coming forward so that he’s no longer kicked back, leaning against his car.
“Hey,” I say back, continuing to walk towards the house.
“I’m leaving.” There’s that burn again. He’s always making me feel uncomfortable in the most unexpected ways.
“Oh.” I stop walking to turn towards him. “Um, why?” I thought, well, I guess I thought that the two of them lived together.
“The holiday is over, so it’s back to reality, Angel.” Why am I going to miss him?
“So you’re going home?” If I keep asking stupid questions, will it keep him here longer? Where is home? Texas?
He smiles that sinful smile and says, “Maybe. I just wanted to say goodbye and tell you,” he hesitates, and I hang on the edge of his word like it’s my salvation, “Merry Christmas.” Of course.
I give him a tired smile and eke out a response, “Yeah, same to you. Merry Christmas.” I guess.
Staring at him as he stares back at me, I want to say something more. I want to hear him say something more, but the front door is opening, and Alex is coming for us.
“Well, bye then.” I give a stupid sort of wave and start walking towards the house. Again.
I anticipate walking around Alex, leaving room for him to pass, but it quickly becomes clear he’s walking towards me, surprising me.
When I turn to look back at Blanks one last time, he’s already getting in his car. Yeah, okay.
Whatever. Just another disappointing Christmas.
The hiking euphoria is fading, the exhaustion taking over, so by the time Alex gets to me, I feel like I’m barely standing upright.
He reaches around, taking the backpack off my shoulders, and leads me into the house.
There’s dinner set on the table and a fire roaring in the great room. And all I want is to cry.
“How was it?” He asks, maybe uncomfortably.
“Long.” My voice nearly cracks at the utter defeat that I feel about this day. “I’m just gonna shower and then lay down.”
“Oh.” He looks over to the table and then back to me. “I can bring your food to your room for you? If you want?” I sort of shake my head. No. Then bypass him to leave my coat and hat in the mudroom.
I’m stripping before I ever step foot in my room, leaving a trail of clothes that starts at the door and trickles all the way to the bathroom.
I want a bath, but the thought of sitting down just to have to get back up is too daunting. So I shower faster than I’ve ever done before. Using shampoo only, I lather head to toe, unwilling to take an extra step to open the body wash.
Fuck conditioner. Screw brushing my hair. I wrap a towel around myself and climb into bed, giving zero fucks that I left the light on in the bathroom. It’ll just have to stay that way. I close my eyes, waiting for the relief of resting to find me, but I miss him already.
The endlessly lonely days seem to stretch out in front of me, and I wonder what the fuck have I done coming here?
I swallow against the knot in my throat and wait for sleep to take me.
When the light gets flicked off in the bathroom, I startle, and he stops moving at the reaction.
“Sorry,” he whispers, “I thought it would be easier to sleep without the light on.” I nod, assuming he can see the motion in the dark. I can just make out his body movements, but not his face.
“Can’t sleep again?” I ask, and he nods back, moving closer to the bed.
“Can I?” He doesn’t need to ask.
I pull back the cover for him, realizing I’m naked, the towel lost at the bottom of the bed.
He doesn’t notice, or if he does, he pretends to give me privacy by looking away.
He takes off his flannel sleep pants and gets into the bed beside me, bringing warmth and his woodsy scent with him.
He must have showered recently, and the smell of his body wash is like balm to my skin. I want to melt into him.
But I don’t. I roll over, expecting a repeat of the night before. Plenty of space, no touching, just two souls who can’t seem to make it through the night without each other.
A warm hand on my hip sears and stings at my cool skin, the heat of his touch nearly unbearable.
“I was worried about you today,” he whispers, sending shockwaves bounding over me at how close he is.
“I-I’m sorry. I was fine.” When his hand squeezes at my hip, a full-body shiver shakes me.
“Can I touch you?” He whispers again.
“Yeah,” I whisper back because my lonely little soul is desperate for human touch. I would beg him to rub my back or run a hand into my hair. I would do anything for him to pull me into his chest and hold me. Please.
And then he moves closer, the front of his body sliding against the back of mine. Fitting to me like a glove. Two puzzle pieces locking together. It feels right.
I shiver again, not from the cold but from the thrill, and he notches his arm tighter around my midsection, pulling me flush.
Oh my god. My touch-deprived body burns. He has no idea that this, right here, is getting me hotter than any foreplay ever could.
“I-is this okay?” He stammers. I simply nod, the back of my head rubbing against his chest, and his breathing starts to even out.
Eventually, mine falls into the same rhythm.
“You don’t have to ask, Alex. If you want to sleep in here, you can.” If my only human interaction would be this, I’d take it where I can.
“Okay,” it’s the last thing he says before his breathing drops low and slow, and like the sweetest lullaby, I fall with him.