24. Dove
DOVE
A s the dust settled behind Josh’s SUV, I let the cheesy smile I’d been holding back all morning bleed onto my face.
Apparently, “not done with you yet” was code for “I want to snuggle with you.”
Last night, I got ready for bed in a post-orgasmic fog, and when I crawled under the covers Josh slid in behind me, snug up against my back, in a perfect mirror of what we’d done in the shower.
Only…he hadn’t tried to do anything more than that.
He just curled himself around me, cuddled close, and wrapped his arm around my waist like he belonged there.
The loneliness the cloak of night usually brought vanished in an instant, and I knew Josh would protect me from the nightmares that had surged back to plague me.
It was easy to let the weight of loss press down when night fell.
To allow the dark hours to suffocate me with sadness as memories crept up unbidden to remind me of everything I’d lost, everything that I’d never have again, everything that could never be.
My heart clenched painfully in my chest, and I let out a shaky exhale.
He pulled me back into his chest, nuzzling my damp hair.
“Whatcha’ thinking about,” he asked quietly, the hushed tone of his voice bringing me comfort.
Night also gave the illusion of courage. The things bubbling up inside me were easier to talk about when black enveloped us. When I couldn’t see his face and he couldn’t see mine.
“Our parents,” I whispered back. He tightened his arm around my waist, and I reminded myself that Josh had me. “You,” I tacked on truthfully.
His chin pressed into my shoulder, beard tickling my skin. “What about me?”
There was still so much that lingered between us, even if we’d decided to pursue… this . There were years of his absence that still wound itself around my heart like barbwire, guarding it, reminding me that all it would take to shatter it again was him leaving.
But I was trying to move past that, and a part of that was understanding his absence and his silence.
Even though he’d told me why he’d left, I wanted to know the reason he hadn’t reached out.
Why he hadn’t contacted me. I understood his strained relationship with his father influenced him staying away—that Gareth had ordered him to leave the farm.
What I didn’t understand was him leaving me .
Completely and utterly without explanation.
Three years of nothing. I wanted—no, I needed—to know why.
“Why didn’t you call me?” The pleading note in my voice carried in the silent room as I practically begged for his answer. “Why didn’t you text me, write me, anything ?”
Darkness swallowed my words. Silence was all that answered me.
Shifting in his arms, I turned to face him. Through the window we had opened to let in the night breeze, his eyes glowed bronze in the subtle light of the moon. I could just make out the handsome features of his face, softened by uncertainty.
“I wouldn’t have told Gareth,” I stressed. “You know I wouldn’t have.”
His chest rose and fell in a near silent sigh. “Dove, it?—”
“No more excuses.” I stabbed my finger into his bare chest. “No more runarounds. I want the truth.”
Josh took my hand in his and brought it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to my fingertips. “Okay, Dove. The truth. I promise.”
The sincerity in his voice calmed the desperation in me, and I settled, allowing myself to snuggle further into his warmth, allowing him time to think through his answer.
It better be a damn good one.
His fingers trailed up and down my spine, back and forth, back and forth, until I was half convinced he was trying to lull me to sleep. I was half a second away from chastising him for the underhanded tactic when he finally spoke.
“Leaving you was the hardest decision I ever had to make.” His low, whispered voice broke the silence.
“Cutting you off, ignoring you…it killed me, but I had to sever you off completely. Otherwise, leaving never would have stuck. One word from you, one tearful plea, and I’d have turned right back around.
But I promise you, baby”—his rough voice turned solemn—“I felt you every day, like a phantom fucking limb.”
The raw honesty in his words had me blinking up at him, heart racing, any trace of sleepiness gone.
“A part of me…” He cleared his throat like what he was about to say was difficult for him to get out.
His hand stilled on the middle of my back, a warm weight.
I understood his reluctance, even if I waited with bated breath for what he was about to say.
Josh and I had always been honest with each other, but I was far better at expressing my emotions than he was.
He’d opened up to me eventually, but it had taken time.
It hurt my heart to think he had no one to talk to while he was gone.
It made me hungry to know every part of the life Josh had led beyond the farm these past few years—who he trusted, where he called home, what he’d been doing to support himself. I wanted to know everything.
But those were questions for another time.
“A part of me,” Josh repeated, soft and slow, like he didn’t want to be admitting this to me at all, “believed him.”
“Believed who?” I asked, although I already knew. My fingers came up to tentatively trace over the dip of his collarbone, tracing the shadow there, created from the moonlight streaming in through the window.
“Gareth.”
That one-word answer was enough. I could only imagine the kinds of things his father had said to him that night.
“What did you believe?” I prodded, wanting to know but also afraid of what he was about to say. He tensed against me and my wandering fingers caressed down his arm in comfort.
“That I was disgusting. Sick. Perverted.” Josh looked at me, eyes intense and slightly sad. “I mean, this isn’t exactly… normal.”
That was putting it mildly.
“We’re not related,” I pointed out. A reminder for both of us, because it was something I was still having trouble coming to terms with. That no matter what anyone else had to say about our relationship, we weren’t doing anything disgusting or illicit.
Josh snorted, and his fingers flexed along my back. “Do you think my father cared about that at all? He only cared about what people around here would think. His son falling in love with the stepdaughter he’d helped raise. My god, could you imagine what the locals would have to say about that?”
“I don’t care what people think.” I said that with more bravado than I actually felt. Maybe if I repeated it enough times, I’d believe it. “All I care about is you.” That, at least, was the truth.
His hand left the small of my back to stroke my cheek and the sadness in his tentative smile was emphasized by the moonlight stretched across it.
“That’s why I left, Dove. That’s why I didn’t call, or text, or write.
Because I care about you, and I didn’t want to jeopardize your home, or my father’s love for you, because of my sick feelings. ”
The misery in his voice had me leaning forward to plant a kiss on his mouth. At first Josh stilled against me, but then the hand cupping my cheek shifted to clasp the back of my neck so he could tug me closer as he kissed me back.
“Your feelings aren’t sick,” I murmured against his mouth, placing another quick kiss to his lips. “And if they are, that means mine are, too.”
He shook his head. “Nothing about you could be sick, Dove. Never. You’re perfect.”
Warmth spread through me at the conviction in his tone.
It reminded me of how he’d sounded in the shower when he said those same words.
I ducked my head, thankful for the cover of darkness that helped hide my blush.
I wasn’t perfect by any means, far from it, but it sure was nice to hear Josh say it.
There was one last thing bothering me, and I debated bringing it up. He’d already been so honest and heartfelt, I didn’t want to push, but I needed to know or else it would always be in the back of my mind, festering like a bad wound.
In a quiet, imploring voice, I finally allowed myself to ask the question I’d been wanting an answer to since he’d been back.
“And the day of the accident?” I bit my lip, uncertainly filling me.
Maybe I didn’t want to know. Bringing that day up was too fresh, too painful.
“You ignored my calls and texts but showed up anyway… I don’t get it. ”
Josh’s expression turned contrite, unable to meet my intense, questioning stare.
“Do you remember Ollie?” he asked randomly. The non-sequitur had my eyebrows drawing down in confusion.
“He graduated a year ahead of me,” he explained. “You may not remember him. His parents are surgeons at?—”
“Greenwich Memorial, yeah, I remember.” I just had no idea how this had to do with what I asked.
The sheets whispered as Josh fidgeted, settling into a more comfortable position. He drew his arm up from under the pillows so his hand could cradle his head while his other drifted down to rest on the curve of my waist.
“Well, he had access to a pretty sizeable college fund. I guess the plan was always to follow in his parent’s footsteps, you know? Threw us all for a loop when we found out he’d bought a gym over in Marleysville behind his parents back with the money instead.”
My jaw dropped. “No way.”
Everyone had known Oliver Wright V was meant to be a surgeon, just like his parents.
Just like his parent’s parents. They were a family of surgeons, dating back generations.
It wasn’t talked about—it just was . I was a little surprised I hadn’t heard about it, usually once the town sniffed out gossip, it spread like wildfire.
Then again, the Wright’s were influential enough to stop even a whisper of their family in its tracks.