Chapter 16
As soon aswe’re done eating, I want to drag Sully out of the ballroom and up to our suite on the top floor, with the view of the harbor and a bathtub big enough for two. I’ve been fantasizing about having my way with her in that tub since I saw it on the hotel website.
But this isn’t something I want to rush.
This night…
The possibilities arising between us…
I don’t want to do anything to scare her away or dim the warmth in her eyes.
So, once we’re finished eating, I draw her onto the dance floor and into my arms, swaying with her to a Celtic ballad sung by the band’s witchy-looking singer. I can’t understand the words—they’re in Gaelic—but I understand the longing behind them all too well.
The song swells and dips and aches, the way I ache for this woman.
She curls her fingers around mine and rests her head on my chest, sending a twist of longing through me that’s painful. And for the first time in my forty years of life, I understand why so many songs talk about how much love hurts. Even if there wasn’t a single obstacle standing in our way, it hurts to want someone this much, to realize too late that you might not be okay without them.
I’m a survivor, I always have been, but I don’t like the idea of surviving Sully.
I don’t want to lose her. Hell, I don’t want to spend another day without her. I want her in my bed when I go to sleep and when I get up in the morning. I want to make her dreams come true and to celebrate her successes and to watch her grow into an even more powerful, impressive woman than she is already.
There isn’t anyone else like her, not even close. And though we come from different worlds in so many ways, being with someone has never felt this right, this…necessary.
I bend my head, pressing a kiss to her forehead, the ache in my chest growing almost unbearable when she sighs and clings tighter to my neck. I’m about to do it, to tell her that I don’t want to dance with anyone else tonight—or ever again—when the sound of a horn blaring cuts through the air.
Sully jerks away, apologizing to the couples swaying around us as she quickly fetches her cell from her purse and silences the sound.
“Sorry,” she says again, this time to me as she glances down at the screen with a worried expression. She’s already moving toward the front of the ballroom as she says, “It’s Aunt Cathy. She only calls if there’s a family emergency. I have to take this.”
“Of course,” I assure her. “I’ll get your coat from the check, in case we need to leave.”
Relief in her eyes, she mouths, “thank you,” before accepting the call. She turns, pressing her cell to her ear as she hurries through the cornfield toward the exit. I only hear her say, “Cathy? Hey, what’s up?” before her voice fades away.
I step into the line for the coat check, where latecomers are just dropping off their things and only the over sixty set are looking to pick up. Watching the slightly stooped older couple in front of me shouting loudly into each other’s hearing aids, I think about the age gap between Sully and myself in a different context than I have before…
For now, it doesn’t matter. I’m a man in my prime. I have no trouble keeping up with or besting younger men in the gym or at the office and keeping up with Sully isn’t an issue, either.
But there will come a day when my body will begin to deteriorate, no matter how hard I fight it. When this thing with Sully had no future, I wasn’t concerned about that.
But now…
Will the beautiful woman striding toward me with a relieved expression still look at me like she can’t get my clothes off fast enough when she’s a woman in her prime, and I qualify for the senior discount and can’t stay up past ten o’clock?
She lifts her cell in the air, rocking it back and forth as she comes to stand beside me. “False alarm.” She sighs, rolling her eyes. “Well, not a false alarm to the crazy people in my family, but nothing we need to worry about. My cousin Jennifer is in labor. It looks like the baby is coming in the next hour or two, but her grandmother, my great aunt, is the crazy kind of Catholic, so…”
I arch a brow, trying to push the vision of myself stooped over and asking a still strong, gorgeous Sully to shout into my hearing aid from my head. “And that means…?”
She laughs. “Sorry. I forgot your family isn’t very churchy. It’s Halloween. Great Aunt Sue thinks Halloween is the devil’s day. So, if the baby is born tonight it might end up being the Antichrist, or something. And she’s worked way too hard to keep the Sullivan clan on God’s good side for that.”
She shoots me a wry smile as we shift forward in line. “She’s in the hospital chapel, praying for the baby to hold out until after midnight, so it can be born on All Saints’ Day instead. Aunt Cathy’s worried she’s going to give herself a heart attack, but I told her it would be okay. Aunt Sue is in incredible shape. She was the only eighty-year-old to finish the town 5K last year. She’ll still be here, stressing out about our immortal souls and making her horrible onion dip for the church picnic when the rest of us are six feet under.”
She glances at the older couple in front of us, smiling as she watches them laugh at a shared joke. She clearly isn’t haunted by the specter of her future self.
But why should she be? She has her entire life ahead of her, decades before she’s even middle-aged, let alone approaching her dotage.
I’m the problem here. I’m the one with the age and experience to know how quickly the years fly by, moving faster and faster, until you blink and suddenly a decade’s passed and you’re no longer the person you were before.
Until now, I’ve leveled up with the passing years, but constant, unrelenting growth isn’t sustainable. Or natural. It’s something I tell my clients—that no matter what capitalism and the modern market might demand, all companies experience times when profits are down. It’s important to acknowledge that, and to prepare for seasons of scarcity as well as plenty.
“Are you all right?” Sully asks softly, her fingers plucking at the sleeve of my shirt.
I blink, dragging myself from my progressively depressing thoughts. “Yes, why?”
“You didn’t say anything about my story.”
I pull in a breath, exhaling with a shake of my head. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t know what to say. Are we Team Antichrist or Team All Saints’ Day?”
She laughs. “I mean, not to be a jerk, but I’d love a Halloween cousin. Either way, I’m buying him a devil costume for baby’s first Halloween next year. Just to mess with Aunt Sue.”
I force a smile. “As you should.”
She nods toward the people ahead of as we shift forward again. “Do we still want to be in this line? We don’t have to leave if you don’t want to. Though we have already danced and eaten and had one of our palms read…”
I cock my head. “But it’s only ten o’clock.”
She shrugs. “That’s okay. I’m used to going to bed early, hazard of the lobstering lifestyle.”
The mention of her dead-end job sends a flash of heat through my chest. It was bad enough, watching her throw her life away on a grueling career with no chance of advancement or a pay raise, when I didn’t know she had real talent.
But now that’s different, too.
“We should talk about your job,” I say, stepping forward again. We’re nearly at the claim window now, and I’m grateful. This room, with its crush of people and haunting music, is starting to make me feel claustrophobic.
Or maybe that’s just my own skin…
She frowns. “What about my job?”
“You’re wasting your potential.”
The furrow between her brows deepens. “What? Where is this coming from?”
“It’s coming from concern for your welfare and your future, not to mention your body. Most twenty-four-year-olds don’t have a shoulder injury that aches when it rains.”
Her chin hitches up, and her eyes take on that stubborn gleam I haven’t seen since Tuesday, when she refused to try the duck-liver paté I bought at the gourmet shop in town. But we’re aren’t half-naked, laughing over a plate of crackers right now.
“Well, I do,” she says. “And that’s from playing rugby in high school, not working on the boat.”
“But if you didn’t work on the boat, it might have had time to heal,” I counter. “And don’t you want a job where you don’t have to hose off the stink of salted herring at the end of every day? Don’t you want to make something of yourself? To honor the talent that you’ve been given?”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”
I clench my jaw, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, yes you do,” she shoots back. “Don’t pull that Mr. Ice in My Veins thing with me. I don’t buy it anymore. Just put your normal face back on and talk to me.”
I frown, doubling down on my impenetrable stare. “Excuse me?”
She reaches up, poking a finger into my cheek. “Your face. Put the real one back on.”
I clench my jaw harder, fighting to maintain control as she pokes me again, this time on the other cheek.
“That’s right,” she says, poking my forehead, between my eyes, and finally, the tip of my nose. I huff out a soft laugh and her lips curve into a victorious smile. “There it is. I knew the real Mr. Fancy was in there somewhere.” Her grin fades, concern filling her eyes as she says, “Should we head up to the room and talk about what’s really bothering you?”
I glance down at the floor, ashamed of myself. I’m supposed to be the older, wiser person in this situation. Instead, I’m lashing out like a fucking teenager.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She takes my hand. “Don’t be. You don’t have to be perfect all the time. God knows, I’m not.” We step forward, until only the happy older couple stands between us and the coat check window. “And you aren’t the first person to say something like that to me. Elaina and Maya have both expressed similar things, but…that was a long time ago. At this point, most of the people in my life have learned to respect my choices.”
I’m about to apologize again and promise that I’ll do my best to respect them, as well—even if I want a better, easier life for her—when she adds, “But maybe that’s not necessarily a good thing.”
I arch a brow. “No?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’ve been thinking a lot this week about time and that thing…” She bites her lip, searching for a word. “You know, that thing where matter stays stuck in a pattern unless it’s disturbed by an external force?”
“Inertia?” I supply.
“Yes! That.” She nods, seeming to chew on the concept for a moment. “I’ve been stuck in the inertia zone for a while, longer than I realized until you came along. I guess I needed an external force to get me thinking about the big picture again.” She squeezes my hand. “So…thanks.”
“I’ll be your external force anytime,” I whisper, wanting to tell her so much more.
I want to tell her that I don’t want to say goodbye.
That I don’t want a future without her in it.
That I’m in love with her.
But it’s our turn at the coat check and I hand over our claim tickets and a ten-dollar bill, instead.
When we’re outside the ballroom with our coats, Sully loops her arm through mine, and whispers, “Take me upstairs?”
“Always,” I say, wishing it was a promise I could keep.