Chapter 9 #2
“Then I drank a bottle of whiskey. I woke up the next afternoon on my kitchen floor. I don’t know why I was there instead of bed or what time I finished that bottle.
I blacked out. Eventually, I got up, took acetaminophen, tried to shower all the shame and the sadness off me—didn’t work, in case you’re wondering—and drove out to my brother’s that evening as if I’d been at the seminar all day. Never told a soul I wasn’t.”
For the next few minutes, neither of us spoke. She kept her head resting on me as if what I’d just told her was the most normal thing in the world. I let myself soak up her touch, her support. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but it wasn’t such calm acceptance.
I freed my hand from hers and wrapped my arm around her, pulling her into my side, taking comfort in her companionship. Breathing in her scent.
“You definitely win for drama,” she finally said.
I chuckled. “Told you. I’m not proud of any of that. I can’t believe I told you.”
“I’m glad you did. It’s very un-Coach-Dawson-like. It makes you seem almost human.”
“I’m so fucking human.”
“So after the hangover, did anything get any easier?”
“No.”
“Thanks for shattering any hope I had,” she said dryly, drawing a smile from me.
“I guess it has gotten a little easier. I haven’t felt that horrible rage since then. But I still miss my cousin like crazy. Still worry every minute of the day I’m going to fuck up his kid.”
“You’re not going to fuck up his kid.”
She had no way of knowing that, but I didn’t argue. “Do you feel any better after underwater ugly crying?”
“No.” She straightened, removing her head from my shoulder, then dipping her hand in the water and trailing it back and forth. “I mean, that physical pressure that builds up in your chest and your throat?”
I nodded, very damn familiar with it.
“That feels less. A lot less. But other yucky thoughts surfaced.”
“Like what?” I asked, trying not to miss the weight of her head on my shoulder. Her closeness.
She kept moving her hand back and forth, back and forth. I watched it, mesmerized by the rhythm, the little bubbles that caught the moonlight.
“Naomi was so focused. Dedicated. She had goals and passions, and she was living those out. She literally died from doing something she loved, and though I don’t think she wanted to die in her thirties, I think—” Her voice cracked.
She took her hand out of the water, pressed her fist to her mouth.
“I think she’d not have regrets. She lived a life bursting with purpose, you know? ”
“I understood that very well from your acceptance speech tonight.”
Harper nodded, her eyes closing. “She did so much. And I’ve been doing my best to take care of everything she left hanging. The auction. Her studio. The recognition tonight.”
“Even though I didn’t know her, I feel confident saying you did her proud, Harper.”
“I hope so.” She pressed her lips together, looking even more troubled. “But it occurred to me that, if I died tomorrow, there’d be nothing for anyone to take care of for me. Not. A. Thing. Because I don’t do anything meaningful. I’m just drifting along.”
“You can’t compare yourself to Naomi.”
“No. No one compares to Naomi. But I don’t have anything that drives me, that makes me excited to wake up in the morning. Like…coaching or teaching might be for you? Or maybe math?” She made a face.
“I do like all of those. I’m not sure I’d call myself excited to wake up in the morning because of them—”
“You know what I mean. They give you purpose.”
“They do.”
“If you died tonight, God forbid, someone would have to teach your classes. Someone would have to coach your team. Someone would have to take care of your son.”
The last part was like a stab to my chest, but I merely nodded.
“I don’t have that. Someone would have to take my shifts at the diner, but anyone could do that.
” She bit down on her lip, visibly struggling.
It was my turn to take her hand. “I’ve been so adamantly against settling down, but this Naomi thing…
” She shook her head. “It’s kind of flipping my life on its head. ”
“Traumatic events can do that.”
She whipped her gaze toward me. “This must sound stupid compared to becoming a dad all of a sudden.”
“It’s not stupid. Maybe less tangible but no less significant. Sometimes less tangible can be even harder to figure out.”
“Harder than a baby?” The tips of her lips flirted with a smile. “I don’t think so.”
“Harder to acknowledge, maybe. But you just acknowledged it.” I thought about our conversation in the car, about her refusal to choose a path.
I knew better than to use that P-word, but it seemed that’s what she was lacking.
“Out of all the things you told me you enjoy earlier, which ones do you like best? What could you see getting up in the morning to do every day?”
She peered at me for several seconds, but I couldn’t read her expression. I was starting to think I’d pushed too much.
Before I could decide whether I should back down, Harper put her hand on the back of my head and pulled me toward her until our mouths collided in an ungentle kiss.
Her lips pressed against mine. Then, before I could register the taste of her, she pulled back, leaving half an inch of space between us as our gazes met and we took each other in.
I could pull away. I knew I could end this, but I wasn’t thinking so much as reacting. I wanted a better taste of her.
I reached for her, ran my hand through her hair to grasp her head and bring her soft, alluring mouth back to mine.
She met me halfway, our breaths mingling as we kissed, our lips lingering, tasting.
When our tongues touched, a groan escaped from me.
Our connection exploded as our tongues twisted and probed at each other.
My body was all on board in mere seconds, aching for more of her. She ran her hand up my bare chest. All I could think about was more skin-to-skin contact. Our positions were awkward though. Moving would mean breaking contact, and I couldn’t get enough of her sweet taste, her confident kiss.
Before I could think past that need, she ended the kiss, ducking her chin, both of us catching our breath.
She took her hand back and faced straight ahead again, not looking at me.
“I don’t want to talk about what might drive me,” she said quietly, “and I definitely don’t want to talk about kissing you.”
Harper stood, the water pouring off her lower body. I sat there in the shallow water, my brain still trying to catch up, torn between wanting to follow her to the guest room and knowing damn well it was smarter to let her walk away.
“I’m sorry, Max. I’m going to dry off and try to sleep.”
Before I could figure out what to say, she pivoted, waded out of the lake, and headed to her room.
I sat there, my pulse still pounding blood down to my dick, as I tried to figure out what the fuck had just happened.