Chapter Thirty-Three
Sam
It could have been so much worse. That’s what the paramedic tells her. A tall, plain-speaking man who arrives along with two fire engines, answering the call of her alarm. He sits us in the back of an ambulance, where he produces a cup of tea out of nowhere and presses it into Ciara’s hands.
Ciara, who won’t stop shivering.
Ciara, who doesn’t say a word.
A team sweeps through the house to ensure no one else is inside, and then the building is cordoned off.
But the worst of the damage is done as the storm passes over us, continuing east. Almost as soon as it does, more cars appear in the driveway, and then, suddenly, everyone is there.
Every face I’ve come to recognize, whether I know their names or not.
They all come for Ciara, carrying food and blankets and offers of accommodation.
Mary’s the first to arrive. Mary, who always seems to know what’s going on. She brings two cartons of milk just as she did the first time I saw her, and it’s used for the tea that’s passed around, followed by a tray of sandwiches that Ronan made.
A pale-faced Maddie is one of the last to arrive. She brings an overnight bag for Ciara, and tries to insist we stay with her, but Ciara doesn’t want to be so far from the house and so she drives us to the room above Delaney’s instead.
Then we’re left alone.
I make Ciara take the first shower, and I’m touched when I find Maddie brought new clothes for me as well.
I use the T-shirt and sweats as pajamas once I’ve washed the rain from my skin and try not to think about what would have happened if Ciara had been in the room.
Try and fail, seeing as how I haven’t stopped thinking about it from the moment I saw the damage.
The horror that gripped me was like nothing I’ve ever experienced and I never, ever want to feel it again. It’s the memory of that feeling that makes me irrational. And I’m barely in the bathroom three minutes before I’m back out again, needing to see her with my own eyes.
The bed feels even tinier than it used to, but Ciara doesn’t say a word as she climbs into it and drags me down with her. Any lack of space is made up for by the way she drapes her body over mine, and for the first time since I’ve met her, when the world grows dark, she sleeps.
I know I should try to as well, but I don’t. I can’t. All I can do is lie there and watch her dream, ready for the moment she might wake. For when she might need me.
Eventually, though, I must lose the battle, because the next time I open my eyes, pale sunlight filters through the thin curtains, telling me a new day has begun.
A glance at my phone tells me it’s just after dawn.
Ciara hasn’t moved an inch.
Her body is warm and so very real beside me, and when I draw the fallen sheet over her shoulder her eyes open, finding me immediately.
“Sorry,” I say. “Did I wake you?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve been awake for a while.”
“You hungry?”
“No.”
“Thirsty?”
“I’m okay. Has anyone called? Or…”
“It’s early,” I say.
A strand of hair falls over her face, catching on her eyelashes, and I hesitate for only a moment before I tuck it back. She shifts closer, her nose brushing mine. “Does my breath smell?”
“Yes.”
She groans, rolling away. “You’re supposed to lie,” she mutters, but she doesn’t protest when I pull her back into me. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.”
“Just rest. You don’t need to do anything today.”
“I need to get my stuff.”
“We’ll go by later and get what we can. But they might not let us inside yet.”
She makes a noncommittal noise, and I don’t hide my relief when she relaxes against me.
“I’m sorry I said I wasn’t going to tell you about Lizzie,” I say quietly. “It’s just that you were finally starting to enjoy writing again, and realizing I might be the reason that that stopped was…I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“It hasn’t stopped.” She sighs. “And I’m not mad at you. Or at Lizzie. Not really. I was just frustrated about everything, and it felt like…”
“What?”
“Nothing,” she mumbles, but I’m already urging her around to face me, surprised when she doesn’t meet my gaze.
“Felt like what?” I insist.
“I’ve lived my whole life in the shadow of those books,” she says. “And I love them. I do. I owe so much to those characters. But it’s still hard. I share everything with them. The house, my dad…you.” She says the last word softly, almost sadly, and my hand tightens around her hip.
“You think, if it came down to it, I would pick the books over you?”
“No,” she says, clearly lying. “I just—”
I sit up, turning so I’m braced above her. “I think I need to be clear,” I say, forcing her to meet my eye, “that, given the choice, I will choose you every time.”
She looks up at me. “You’re using your editor voice.”
“Because your mind needs editing. You come first. Always.”
“So you’re saying, if I asked, you would burn Richardson Books to the—”
“I’m serious.”
She falls silent, looking faintly embarrassed. But I know she hears me. “You’ll still tell me when my story’s shite, though, right?”
“Of course,” I say, lying back down beside her. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
She burrows into me immediately. “Is it bad that I don’t feel bad anymore?” she whispers. “I’m lying here, and I don’t feel bad. I’m exhausted and bruised, but that’s physical stuff. The emotional side of me…” She trails off, her gaze searching mine. “I think I’m relieved.”
“Then you’re relieved,” I say. “You should never feel guilty for how you feel.”
“I know, it’s just…” She licks her lips, her jaw working as though she’s searching for the words.
“It’s, like, now I don’t have to decide anymore, right?
I’ve put off thinking about what to do with all his letters and notebooks for a year, and now I don’t have to decide.
Because it’s all gone. It’s just gone, and I’m still here.
Maybe I should get them to knock it down,” she adds before I can say anything.
“Build something new.” But even as she speaks, the words fall flat.
“You don’t want that.”
“No,” she says. “But I don’t want to live there either. I never have. It’s never felt like mine. Not without him there. It just feels as though I’ve borrowed it. As though I’m playing house. It hasn’t felt like an actual home in a long time.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to sell it?” I ask softly. “It’s okay if you change your mind.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But then, no, because even just thinking about doing that makes me feel sick.” She drags a hand down her face. “I think I’m just confused.”
I stroke her back, trying to ease some of the tension I find there even as I press my lips together, swallowing the words on the tip of my tongue.
Because there’s another option. Another option entirely.
But I’m not so tired that I forget the importance of timing. Of knowing my own thoughts before I voice them.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say. “Nothing has to be decided now.”
She seems to relax at that, and laces her fingers with mine, drawing my arm over her body.
Ten minutes tick by, and I think she’s gone back to sleep, but then her hand drifts down my chest, and she shifts even closer.
When the hand doesn’t stop, I tilt my chin to look at her, and as if it’s what she was waiting for, she pushes up and kisses me.
It’s soft at first, gentle and sweet. But that doesn’t last long.
We roll so I’m back above her, and she’s silent but sure in her movements, guiding my hands to the bottom of her T-shirt.
I lift it over her head, baring her to the morning air as she kicks her shorts to the bottom of the bed.
Warm fingers trail up my stomach as she removes my own shirt, and then she settles back into the pillows as my briefs go next.
Our first time was so frantic, a race to devour, but this feels different. Unhurried. Languid. As if we have all the time in the world.
The thought makes me pause because I know we don’t. The storm has added a week or two at most to my time here. But I lean down and kiss her before she can notice, sinking my mouth against the side of her neck and then along her collarbone.
Outside, birds sing to the rising sun, and with every press of my lips I try to give her what she needs, to ease her pain, to show her I’m here. I move lower, nudging her legs wider as I settle between them.
She hesitates for only a second, as though not sure what I’m doing, but she catches on quickly, her breath speeding up as I slip her thighs over my shoulders.
The first touch of my tongue sends her hands to my head, her fingers spearing through my hair. Each tug sends a jolt of electricity down my spine, and I stay right where I am until she’s arching from the bed, clenching around me.
She rests for only a second before her hands scramble at my shoulders. She urges me up and so up I go, nuzzling her thighs, her hips, the valley between her breasts.
I thank my past self for leaving the backpack right by the bed. It takes only a moment to reach over and grab a condom from inside. Ciara doesn’t stop touching me as I do, her hands roving over my body as though to make sure I’m real.
She’s more than ready, and within seconds I’m pushing into her, dropping my forehead to her sweat-sheened shoulder.
Pressure mounts between us as I let myself sink into her, get lost in her until there’s nothing but the here and now.
And as she wraps her legs around my hips I want to tell her how right this is, how perfect she is, but she kisses me before I can speak, clenching around me as her release ignites mine, and all coherent thoughts dissolve in my mind as I hold her tight.
For once, we’re not focused on the words.