26. Chapter 27
Chapter 27
CHARLOTTE
W ith my mother asleep in the back seat and my thoughts too loud to hold any sort of conversation, the drive home is quiet with nothing but the rhythmic hum of the tires over the pavement and the hiss of passing cars. So, when Chis pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine, the total absence of sound is deafening.
I sit for a moment in silence, realizing I hadn’t thought about one useful thing I need to do on the drive here. “I guess we need a plan.”
“It’s late. You’re tired,” Chris says, his gaze flickering over me. “Why don’t we worry about figuring everything out tomorrow and just get her in bed?”
Exhaustion settles over me like a weighted blanket, thick and heavy but without the comfort. “Yeah, that’s probably smart.”
Turning, he notes my mother’s sleeping form and says, “Why don’t you go unlock the door, and I’ll carry her to her room.”
“Chris, I can help her. You don’t have to?”
“You said it’s upstairs, right?” He cuts me off, and I nod. “I’d rather carry her up the stairs than have you help her up them while she’s drowsy and you’re both tired. The last thing I need is for you both to come tumbling down them.” He winks, then swings open the driver’s side door, leaving little room for argument.
Feeling oddly useless, I slide my keys from my pocket and head toward the porch where I unlock the door, then turn and watch as Chris lifts my mother from his car like it’s no big deal. Her head lolls against his chest as he cradles her in his arms, and a moan escapes her lips as she groggily blinks her eyes open.
“Mom, Chris is going to carry you to your room since you’re not supposed to take the stairs, okay?”
She grunts in response, her eyes falling shut once more as he steps inside the house, and I motion for him to follow me up the stairs. I take my time, waiting at the top of the landing with a frog in my throat at the way he gingerly shifts my mother in his arms.
Love spears inside my chest as I guide him down the hall toward the master bedroom, taking one look at the clothes strewn all over the floor, together with the dirty towels and empty water glasses, and my cheeks heat. If Chris notices the mess, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he lays her down in bed, then covers her with the blanket, his every move thoughtful and tender. They’re all clues pointing to how absolutely incredible he’ll be as a father.
My heart swells as he steps away from the bed at the same time Mom curls into the blankets, mumbling something incoherent before she rolls on her side and starts to snore.
The corners of Chris’s lips twitch as if suppressing a smile when it hits me just how handsome he is. There’s no denying Chris Collins is pretty to look at, with thick golden locks, a glacial gaze, full lips, and a jawline carved from stone. Don’t even get me started on his body.
But at this moment, he’s so much more than a pretty face or a hot jock. He’s breathtaking, a new breed of masculine beauty I can’t quite compare to anyone else, and it hits me all at once?I’ll never find another man like him. After a brutal football game that would put anyone on their ass, followed by a night out, he’s here with me, taking care of my mother instead of hanging with the guys, drinking a beer, or finding a willing co-ed to warm his bed. I can live to be one hundred, and I’m quite certain Chris Collins is the kind of man you find once in a lifetime.
Cocking his head, he furrows his brow, and I brush off the questioning gaze in his eyes with a shake of my head. I can’t put these thoughts into words even if I tried.
Taking his hand in mine, I lead him back downstairs and toward the kitchen where I ignore the dishes piled in the sink and turn to him with a soft smile. “You hungry?” I ask, mostly because Chris is always hungry, and I don’t yet want to say good night. The second my head hits the pillow, I’ll lie awake, thinking about my mother and how fucked her situation is. Then my mind will drift to all the other reasons I have to fret and worry, like how accepting Chris is of my mother while I’ve been nothing short of reluctant with his.
Chris runs his free hand over his stomach. “You know, I can always eat.”
Happy for something to do, I open the fridge, then the cupboards, unsurprised to find them fairly bare. “How does grilled cheese and hot chocolate sound?”
“Doesn’t everyone eat grilled cheese and hot chocolate at two a.m. on a Sunday?” he says with a chuckle before he closes the distance between us, sweeping the hair off the back of my neck where the warmth of his breath ghosts over my skin. “Yes, Lettie, that sounds perfect,” he says, punctuating his words with a kiss.
With a shiver, I set about buttering the bread and heating the skillet while he leans against the island, arms crossed over his chest as he watches me assemble our sandwiches. Once they’re sizzling in the pan, I grab the old box of hot cocoa I’m pretty sure I bought and left here last Christmas, then microwave two mugs of water and stir in the chocolate mix.
Handing him one, I flip the sandwiches, then wait another minute before plating them and pushing one toward him. “Do you want to sit?” My gaze flickers to the table. “Or we can go on the couch . . .?”
“If I sit on your couch, I’ll be out like a light. I’m fine here if you are.”
I nod and move beside him, mimicking his posture and propping myself against the island at the same time he takes a bite of his sandwich with a satisfied groan. “You must be exhausted,” I say, stating the obvious. Even if he hadn’t just told me he was tired, after playing football all afternoon, then going out and rushing here to help my mother, I know he must be dead on his feet.
“I could sleep.” He grins, starting in on the second half of his grilled cheese. “But I’d rather be here, talking to you.”
The knot in my chest from earlier reappears, tightening at his words. “ Why? ”
“Why what?” he asks as he polishes off the last of his sandwich in one bite, sounding genuinely clueless.
“Why are you here? You could be anywhere, doing anything better than this, yet you’re here, helping me. Why? Why me ?” I shake my head, emotion stinging the backs of my eyes. “You’re . . . God, I can’t believe I’m going to admit this out loud,” I say, pressing a hand to my throat, afraid I might get sick, “but you’re so fucking perfect. You’re so damn caring and sweet and good . So, what are you doing with someone like me?”
He frowns like I’m speaking a foreign language, his blue eyes searching mine. “Why not you, Lettie?”
I shake my head. He doesn’t understand what I’m asking. He doesn’t get why I’m so skeptical, why I might be afraid to hinge my hopes on something that seems too good to be true.
“Now wait a minute. I’m serious,” he says when I start to pull away. He reaches out, grabbing my arm and tugging me closer. “Why not you? What about you is so unlovable that you can’t fathom why I would want to be here with you right now?”
“It’s . . .” I bite my lip, my mind going a mile a minute while his glacial gaze narrows. “I just . . . it’s just . . .” Everything.
And there you have it.
The real reason I’m scared, the real reason I want to run from anything real.
During our date at the yoga studio, I told Chris I was afraid of being dependent on someone, of turning into my mother and pushing him away. And although I am scared of those things, deep down, the real problem is that I’ve gone my whole life trying so damn hard to be enough for my mother, to be the perfect daughter, to make her happy, and I never could. Nothing I ever did was good enough. At the end of the day, her love for me wasn’t strong enough, and my love for her wasn’t, either.
I wasn’t enough.
Not for her or my father.
Hell, I’m still not.
I snap my mouth closed and break free of his hold on me, spinning around, unable to look him in the eyes.
I’m not this person, the one who gets emotional and can’t handle their feelings. The one who falls apart or needs reassurance from others. Instead, I pride myself on my strength, my resilience. Anything else makes me feel weak, and feeling weak and out of control, reminds me a little too much of the woman sleeping soundly upstairs.
Chris reaches out, his arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me into him until my back is pressed against the strong plane of his chest. Closing my eyes, I inhale his scent as it wraps around me, dulling my senses while I fight to calm my racing heart.
“Lettie, look at me.” The deep rumble of his voice sends goosebumps down my back.
I blink and swallow, afraid to turn to him for fear of what he might see.
“Lettie.” He draws my name out like a prayer, so soft and reverent, it makes my heart ache. “Look at me.”
I shift, resigned to facing him. Turning in his arms, I tip my head back until the warmth of his blue eyes meets mine with so much tenderness, I’m inclined to believe him when he says, “From where I’m standing, you’re pretty fucking amazing. The kind of amazing I’m falling in love with.”
My heart leaps to my throat, hands gripping the front of his shirt as if I can hold him here with me forever?two souls tethered together, for better or for worse?and I know for as long as I live, I’ll never forget the way he’s looking at me. I’ll never forget his words that echo in the back of my mind. From where I’m standing, you’re pretty fucking amazing. The kind of amazing I’m falling in love with.
I stretch on my toes, gripping his face between my hands, and allow the feel of him beneath my palms to anchor me in the moment. My gaze slides over the rugged lines of his face, memorizing the lush slope of his lips, every curve and line and freckle until something shifts inside of me.
The black centers of his eyes grow, engulfing the blue as he peers down at me, his gaze dipping to my mouth. And then, like a tsunami engulfing me, his lips brush against mine, and I’m lost, sinking in the abyss of him like the deep dark waters of the sea.
My mouth slants against his, demanding more and eliciting a soft groan from his chest, which I follow with one of my own. Gentle fingers coax the hem of my shirt up my back while his fingers dance against my skin, hot and scorching.
I tug at his shirt, pushing it up over his smooth taut skin, wanting to feel it against my own, needing to taste it with my tongue.
As if reading my thoughts, our kiss turns from gentle to demanding and needy, each of us giving, each of us taking everything the other has to offer.
His hands take on a life of their own as they traverse every square inch of my skin, blazing a trail in his wake. Frustrated, I pull back, peeling my shirt off and tossing it on the floor while his gaze hungrily tracks the movements.
My chest rises and falls with my breath, watching the way he drinks me in like an answer to a prayer, and suddenly, I’ve never wanted anything more than I want him.
Breathing heavily, I reach for the hem of his shirt, pleased when he assists me by raising his arms and shrugging out of it until all that rippling tan skin is on display.
I think I might die if I can’t touch him. My skin will burst into flames in the absence of the rough slide of his palms. I’ll drown in the muddy waters of despair if I can’t have him?all of him. I wonder if this is what love is like, if it’s supposed to be this all-consuming. I wonder why in the hell I never thought I needed it until now.
His eyes are unfocused when he looks at me, the haze of lust plain in his gaze before he dips his mouth for a kiss so intimate and vulnerable and fierce, it sends a shiver down my spine. His tongue traces the seam of my mouth before brushing against my own, and I’m lost in him. Everything I thought to be true about myself vanishes. All my fears and misconceptions mean nothing with the feel of his palm gliding over the thin lace of my bra.
He lifts me up with one arm and my legs lock around his waist, wanting more. Wanting everything. Needing to be as close to him as humanly possible, connected to him in every way.
The kiss turns fevered while I fumble with the button of his jeans, my fingers gripping the zipper when the hand cupping my breast squeezes me tightly, and I gasp.
“Are you sure?” he whispers.
Goosebumps dance over my skin, and I nod, unable to find my voice as his mouth and tongue trace new lines over my neck.
“I need to hear you say it, Lettie.”
My hands find the waistband of his jeans and I push them down, pulling back to meet his eyes like twin flames. “I’m sure,” I say, and no sooner than the words leave my mouth is he on me.
His large body presses me back onto the countertop where he makes quick work of my leggings. My hands skate over his back, his arms, every square inch of skin as he licks and tastes his way down my body. I rock against him, impatient and insistent, needing to quell this burning ache inside of me before I explode.
My hands frantically push at his boxer briefs before he helps me slide them off. With a flick of the wrist, my bra is gone, and the lace of my panties swept away on the rising tide of desire, until there’s nothing left between us but the insistent rush of heat and need.
Muscle ripples beneath my palms, fingertips sinking into hot needy flesh, and all I can think is one time with him will never be enough. I’ll want this forever?want him forever.
I wake with a start, squinting at the sunlight shining through the window as my mind plays catch-up. My mother. The hospital. Chris.
Snippets of last night replay in my head like the best kind of slow-motion replay: his hot breath on my skin, his lips, the calloused scrape of his hands, legs tangled with mine. Smiling, I press my face into my pillow, stifling a girlish squeal when a heavy arm wraps around my waist.
Turning into him, I prop myself up on my elbow and take in his sleepy blue eyes, the same shade of the sky outside my window. He’s still shirtless, his scruff thicker than yesterday, scratching over the tips of my fingers when I trail them over his jaw. It’s almost comical how big he looks sprawled out in the tiny twin bed of my old bedroom.
“Hi,” I say, intently watching him and searching for any signs he regrets last night.
“Hi.” With a grin, he reaches up and taps my temple. “Stop overthinking it.”
I chuckle and drop my face into the crook of his neck, embarrassed he can read me so well.
Breathing him in, I decide I like the way he smells even better in the morning?like cedar and citrus and sunshine and me.
I press a kiss to his neck, and when I tip my head toward him, his mouth meets mine.
His kiss is lazy, slow and languid. It’s a morning-after kiss, the kind that tells me he expects many more of these mornings to come, and after last night, that’s definitely something I can get on board with.
His large hand sinks beneath the sheets, sliding down the outside of my thigh to the back of my knee where he hooks my leg around his waist. A soft moan flutters in my chest with anticipation while my nerve endings spark to life. The only sound in the room is the heavy exhalations of our breaths.
“Charlotte, are you still here?” The raspy sound of my mother’s voice slices through the silence, and my stomach sinks.
Shit.
Chris pulls back with a chuckle, and I sigh. “Yup. Be right there,” I say before I press my forehead to his chest, needing a second before reality comes crashing in. “Sorry,” I say with a grimace.
“Don’t be sorry. This won’t be the first time we’re interrupted.” He smooths the hair from my forehead, his touch soothing as he grins. “Years from now, it’ll be our kids getting us out of bed.”
My brows lift, taken aback by the trajectory of his thoughts.
“Damn it.” Chris moans and scrubs a hand over his face. “I fucked up and mentioned kids too soon, and now I scared you, didn’t I?”
“Um . . .” I blink, unsure of what to think.
“Blame it on my lack of morning coffee.” His cheeks pinken, and I think Chris blushing might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. “Just do me a favor and strike that from your memory. Unless you liked it. If you liked it, I’ll double down on the promise behind that statement.”
A laugh sputters from my lips. “You didn’t scare me,” I say, realizing it’s true.
Chris comes from a big family with lots of siblings and an even bigger extended family from what I’ve been told. It doesn’t surprise me that he wants a family someday. He’s made it very clear what his priorities are now, and in the future, and I can’t say I hate it. In fact, having grown up in an unstable home, I kind of love how family oriented he is. Besides, wasn’t I thinking just last night what an amazing father he’d make?
“No?” Chris smiles like he won the lottery, and I can’t help but smile back before I remember I have to go check on my mother.
“No.” I press a kiss to his chest, then sit up with a groan.
Standing, I head to my closet and tug on an old cotton robe, one I left here when I moved to the dorms, and motion toward the door. “Be right back.”
“Let me know if she wants to go downstairs, and I’ll carry her down.”
I shake my head with a little laugh. “Chris, you’re not a human elevator. You can’t just carry my mother up and down the stairs every time she needs it.”
“You’re right, because I won’t always be here but while I am, I can, and I will,” he says in a way that leaves little room for argument. “And on that note,” he sits up, “while you check on her, how about I make myself useful and order us some breakfast.”
I have other ways you can make yourself useful.
Biting my lower lip, I offer him a nod, then turn toward my mother’s room, thinking this must be what cloud nine feels like.