Chapter 17 Aurora #2
I don’t remember making the decision to move, but my mouth falls into hers perfectly.
When she gasps, it’s a shot of adrenaline, and I feel more alive than I have in a long, long time.
Her fingers tighten on my face as mine reach for her, needing to touch her.
Needing an anchor. A reminder that she’s real.
I run my palms over her smooth arms. Trail my hands up her delicate neck.
Thread my fingers into her soft hair. This is real.
It must be. It has to be, but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
It's free-falling. It’s flying. It’s perfect.
On instinct, I trace my tongue along the seam of her lips. Mercifully, she parts them, and then our tongues are colliding. Dancing. Tangling. Hungry and desperate, but still graceful and soft. So, so soft. Just how I imagined it would be.
Mabel’s hand wraps around the side of my neck as her other hand grips my waist, pulling my body into hers.
I whimper the moment we press together, but it’s not close enough.
I want to be closer. My fingers tighten in her hair, and she moans into my mouth.
I can feel her chest vibrate with it, and it makes every muscle in my body tremble.
That spot between my thighs aches. My heart pounds so hard that I fear it might burst. And I want more. I want her. I want everything.
And then she’s gone.
Just like on the dance floor earlier, I’m hit with a wall of cool air in her absence, and I have to blink away the fuzz that’s all but filled my head.
My hands stay open, suspended in the air, but now she’s out of reach.
Steps away, staring wide-eyed at me in a way that makes me both proud and self-conscious.
I don’t understand. I don’t know what’s happened.
“We can’t do that,” she says finally, and it knocks the air from my chest. I start to panic.
“Oh my God. I’m sorry. Of course. Of course you wouldn’t want to kiss me.
Oh my God, I am so sorry.” I grab my hair and pull.
I look everywhere but at her. “I shouldn’t have done that.
I shouldn’t. I’m sorry. I never should have assumed.
I don’t even know why...I wasn’t...It was so stupid. I am such an idiot.”
“Hey. Stop it. You’re not an idiot. You’re not.”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“I kissed you back.”
My breath hitches. She did kiss me back. She did. It was real, then. It wasn’t just in my head. But, God, why does she look so sad? What did I do wrong?
“Then why...then what...”
I trail off, and Mabel huffs a tired laugh. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m not. I’m not drunk. I only had two. Or maybe three. I’m not...at least I don’t think...”
“And I’m older than you. I’m in a position of power. I don’t want to take advantage of you when—”
“You’re not in a position of power,” I interrupt. “You’re not my boss. Sav is. And you’re not that much older than me. Seven-ish years is basically nothing. You’re not taking advantage. I started it. I wanted it.”
Mabel smiles a soft, sad smile, then she takes a step forward, grabs my left hand and rubs my naked ring finger.
“You’re married, Aurora.”
There it is.
I stepped out of the fog, fell over the cliff, and this is where I crash right into the ground. I can practically hear the crunch of bone. I can absolutely feel it.
Brady.
I’m married.
I’m married, but I just kissed someone else. My husband was so far from my mind that he practically didn’t exist. I didn’t consider him once. Not once.
I’m a horrible wife. I’m a terrible person.
I’m married, but I just kissed Mabel Rossi, and God help me, but I want to do it again. I have never, ever wanted to do anything more in my whole life. In this moment, I would burn my whole life to the ground to touch her one more time, and it’s terrifying.
I pull my hand from her grip and take several steps back, my heartbeat growing louder in my ears, my breath coming in pants. I’m going to cry. I’m going to pass out. I need to get out of here.
“I have to go.”
She steps toward me. “No, look, it’s okay. We should probably talk—”
“No. No.” I shake my head frantically and widen the distance between us again. “I have to go. I have to think. Please. Just stay here and have fun. Find Kangaroo Jack and, you know, dance with him again or whatever. I’m fine. I’m fine. I just...I’ll...I’ll see you in the morning.”
Mabel’s smile is more of a wince as she nods. “Sure. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I turn and flee.
I’m ashamed and embarrassed. I’m going to start sobbing. I can feel it. I need to leave. I need to get the hell out of here. The lights are suddenly blinding, and the music is too loud, and the people are—
I run smack into a tall, hard body. His large hands close gently on my shoulders. When I look up into the face of my security guard, I cringe. Jones. And he looks so damn awkward.
Shit.
“Tell me you haven’t been here the whole time.”
His wincing smile mirrors Mabel’s. “Sorry, Mrs. Sinclair. It’s my job.”
Mrs. Sinclair. God, it’s like a slap to the face. I swallow roughly, take a deep breath, and beg.
“Please, please don’t tell anyone. Not my uncle or Sav. No one. Please.”
He nods. “I promise.”
We ride back to the lodge in silence. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even turn on the radio, and I’m so grateful for it. All I can do is stare out the window and replay every amazing, confusing, terrible moment with Mabel in that club. She was everything, and I’m...I’m...
I’m so screwed.
What the hell am I going to do?
Jones says something about the others and transportation, but it doesn’t make it through the thick fog that’s once again descended in my head.
I amble through the suite, take a quick, freezing shower to wash away the buzz, and climb into bed.
I’m plugging my phone in when I notice three missed calls from Brady and a series of texts.
My heart races once more, guilt and fear stabbing at my skin. Does he know? Were we seen? Oh God, not yet. He can’t know yet. Not before I know what to do.
I hold my breath as I open and read the texts.
Brady
What the hell is this 30-dollar charge at a bar? What the fuck are you doing at a bar at 2 in the fucking morning?
Brady
Answer the fucking phone, Aurora.
Brady
Call me. Now.
I can hear Brady’s voice. Raised and angry. Past condescending. Past patronizing. Nothing but ire.
Every message is like a backhanded slap, and my cheek stings with each word. I flinch and grit my teeth, imagining the phantom handprint blooming on my skin.
He’s hit me twice before. Twice, in quick succession.
Only twice, he’d said the next morning. It’s not like I beat you.
Only twice, and it was enough.
Enough to intimidate me into submission. Enough to shove me back into the darkness I’d been fighting against. To keep me down, quiet, and obedient.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut.
This isn’t normal. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Nothing about this is how it’s supposed to be.
I think of Sav and what she said about her relationship.
Levi wants what I want because we’re a team.
She went out tonight wearing an outfit that revealed more skin than it covered, and I watched him kiss her goodbye and tell her to have fun.
No judgment or jealousy or strong-armed attempt to control her.
He respects her and he trusts her. That would never happen with me and Brady.
What Brady and I have...
It’s not healthy. It’s harmful. It’s not how it’s supposed to be.
I bet Callie and Claire don’t get texts from their partners that feel like physical blows.
I bet they don’t have to think up pre-planned excuses before spending money.
When Jonah came to the dressing room earlier, he didn’t make Claire go home with the baby.
He gave her the choice, and then he respected it.
It been years since I’ve witnessed relationships that work harmoniously. I almost forgot they existed. I forgot it could be different. That is should be different.
I don’t have friends. I’ve all but cut off my relationship with my uncle. I don’t talk to anyone outside of the Sinclairs, and as for them...
Well, Brady is just like his father. Do I want to end up just like his mother?
Then, as painful as it is, I think of my own parents. Their relationship was one of strength, trust, and love. They supported each other. They respected each other. Their marriage was like a team, and they were equal players.
What would they say about my marriage? What would they think of what I’ve let myself become?
Uncle Wade said on the tarmac, just before we left the States, that my family would be proud of me. But would they? Because if they read these texts from my husband. If they knew about the anxiety I feel on a daily basis. The fear that weighs me down at the mere thought of going against him...
I don’t think they’d be proud. I think they’d be devastated and disappointed.
And then that kiss.
It wouldn’t have happened if I were in love with my husband. It shouldn’t have happened at all, but now that it has...
God, what am I going to do?
I turn off my phone and drop it beside the bed.
Then the tears come in one giant flood. For the second time in a matter of days, loud, hiccupping sobs rack my body. My muscles ache. My throat burns. I bury my face in my pillow, soaking it in tears and snot, and it takes all my self-control not to scream.
In hindsight, I can see it all so clearly. My misguided reasons and fearful excuses. My desperation. My vulnerability. I’d just lost my family. I was so terrified of being alone, so burdened with grief and guilt, that I numbly handed all the control over to the first person who wanted it.
What if by doing that, I let go of myself, too?
What am I doing? What have I done? Why did I let this happen? Mabel’s voice is a whisper in my head, and it starts to make sense.
What has he done to you?
There is confidence here. It’s not gone.
You’re not gone.
“Not yet,” I say out loud, my voice echoing through the dark room.
I’m not gone yet, but I’m trapped. I’m suffocating.
And if I don’t change something soon, I’ll disappear for good.