12. A seesaw on the edge
Chapter 12
A seesaw on the edge
TOMER
I t’s been hard to breathe since the second that damn USB drive got here.
Until now.
Lettie’s kissing away the agony. The suffocation. The blinding rage.
For the first time, I see light at the end of the tunnel. And it’s not an oncoming train.
At least, I don’t think it is.
It’s hope.
Pure and raw.
Hope that she might have the capacity to forgive me once I confess my sins.
She knows my name isn’t James. She knows I’m dangerous. Knows I have secrets. And she’s still letting me hold her. Letting me kiss her.
And love her.
As if that wasn’t miraculous enough, she’s given me permission to do what I need to do. To right the wrongs committed against her.
And I thought I couldn’t love her more.
She pulls her mouth away from mine, inhaling a hiss of air through her teeth. Her face pinches into a grimace.
“What’s wrong, sugar bear?”
“My ribs.”
Instantly, I loosen my grip around her. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
Fuck.
What the hell is the matter with me? My panic over everything I saw on that drive has rendered me a fucking wreck. And now I’m hurting her.
Get it together, man.
“Shh.” She cups my cheek, managing a tiny smile. “Don’t apologize. I was holding you just as tightly. You’re worth some achin’ ribs.”
The fact that she must accept physical pain to be in my embrace brings the fury back to the surface again.
I manage to keep it under lock and key long enough to focus on taking care of her. “What can I get you for the pain?”
“I only need you.”
In an instant, my lips return to hers. There’s no way I can resist kissing her again after that. This time, however, my grip is less insistent, and I shift my hands to avoid her tender spots.
Her kisses are laced with a hint of salt from her tears. But it does nothing to dull her sweetness.
Each moment she’s in my arms reminds me that she’s no longer suffering like she was in that video.
When I break away this time, her eyes flicker open slowly. The movement—so familiar and tender—only serves to draw my mouth back to hers for one more kiss. After what I saw in that fucking recording, I need this. I need to reassure myself she’s no longer living through hell.
She’s safe.
Bringing my forehead to rest against hers, I hold her close and breathe her in, letting her presence soothe the savagery brewing inside me.
It almost works.
Until my memory flashes with the image of what she went through. It feeds the beast inside me, fueling my need for vengeance.
“Lettie, I swear to you I’m going to make this right. And then I’ll come right back to you.”
Although I didn’t ask a question, I half expect an answer. It never comes.
Instead, she coaxes, “Come sit with me for a minute.”
Lacing our fingers together, she leads me to the couch. The serenity that surrounded her when she was in my arms fades, giving way to nervous tension.
That makes sense, considering she’s preparing for me to leave so I can take care of the monsters who hurt her.
Once we’re in front of the couch, she points, indicating I should sit down first. When I do, she eases onto my lap with her supple thighs straddling me.
Instinctively, my hands settle on her waist. “This position doesn’t aggravate your ribs?”
Although she’s spent quite a bit of time on my lap since I rescued her, she hasn’t straddled me like this. I don’t want to cause her any pain or trigger her.
She shakes her head. “It’s okay.” Shimmying her lower body closer to me, she drags her palms down my pecs and up again in a massaging motion.
Gently, I caress the swell of her hips to reciprocate while being cognizant of her injuries.
She removes all remaining space between us, pressing her breasts against me and nuzzling into my neck. “Hold me tighter, babe.”
This is starting to feel sexual, especially considering how many times she’s ridden my dick in this exact spot. Obviously, that’s not the case now, but it could trigger her, so I ask, “Where do you want my hands?”
She huffs, rolling her eyes. “On me.”
“Brat behavior,” I tsk and kiss the tip of her nose. “I meant, where on your body do you want my hands so I don’t hurt you, or you don’t...”
The rest of the sentence dies on my tongue.
Lettie finishes it for me. “So I don’t what? Get scared? You think I could ever be scared of you?”
Over the last few days, I’ve continued researching trauma responses to ensure I don’t inadvertently cause her stress. Most survivors don’t like being caged in.
“I don’t want you to feel trapped or,” I swallow around a lump in my throat, “restrained by me.”
She purses her lips, clucking her tongue dismissively. “Says my rope top.”
After what I saw, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to put her in my ropes again. I can’t imagine she’d want me to.
But we’re not discussing that now. I need to work out my plan, which means I need to give her some comfort and then call in my teammates. I have a lot of work to do.
“Sugar, you know what I mean.”
“Please trust me to tell you if something makes me feel uncomfortable. I’m not scared of you. At all. Okay?”
She’s so damn strong.
“Yes,” I whisper, letting my hands scoop farther around her lower back. “Is it okay to touch you here?”
“Do you have a hearing problem, old man? I just said I’ll tell you if I’m uncomfortable.”
“Fair point, sassy mouth.”
She sticks out her tongue playfully.
For a beat, everything feels like it did before this nightmare. When she was my bratty little butterfly, who enchanted me with her smile and her voice. Even when she was in my ropes, it was me who was tied in knots. She’s had me wrapped around her finger since the day she fluttered into Florida.
Seeing these little glimpses of the old Lettie does wonders for my mood.
She draws my focus back when she massages her palms over my shoulders and down my arms, stopping when she gets to my wrists. She covers my hands with hers and repositions my grip, moving me toward her lower back. Then keeps going lower.
And lower still.
After raising herself an inch off my lap, she slips our hands under her ass, then pulses so I squeeze her cheeks. Leaving my hands essentially cupping her bottom, she returns hers to my shoulders.
Odd.
One side of her face rises with her partial smile, and her eyes flash with mischievousness. “Since I’ve got such a sassy mouth tonight, maybe you should teach it a lesson.”
Is she... flirting at a time like this?
My stomach coils when she inches one hand between us and makes a beeline for my dick. Not only is this not the time for sex, but it’s way too soon after what happened to her.
“Lettie, what the hell are you doing?”
“Sitting like this has me feeling... you know.” She pumps her brows. “And after everything that’s happened tonight, I need to feel close to you.”
“And this will help?” I gesture toward my crotch.
Her lips press together in a thin line of frustration, and her nostrils flare with a sharp inhale. “All I want is a few minutes to connect with you before we,” she pauses, her voice growing faint and gaze falling, “talk.”
No, no, no, no.
Fuck jumping to a conclusion. My mind sets a land speed record.
Things aren’t settled the way I thought they were. She must realize she doesn’t love me enough to overlook my deceit.
While I knew she wouldn’t forgive it forever, I thought she could... for now.
Heart full of dread, I gather the courage to ask, “What aren’t you saying, baby?”
My question is met with silence stretching far too long. Her eyes volley between my chest and the ceiling, occasionally glancing at my face. Yet she can’t look at me for long.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
No one will love you, boy.
“Talk to me,” I encourage her gently while straining to silence my father’s grating voice.
Her shoulders raise, and her throat bobs with her forced swallow. When she opens her eyes, a determined glint shimmers in her irises.
She’s gonna leave you exactly like your mother did, boy.
“I know I told you I want you to,” she swallows, “make them pay. And I do want that.” After a jerky inhale, she finishes her statement in a rush, with her Southern twang in full effect. “But ya ain’t leavin’ me tonight. Those men are killers. It’s too dang dangerous without backup. You need to follow procedures or whatever your boss and the giant guy were upset about. If there were protocols for raiding the hell house to save me, there’s gotta be some for whatever y’all want to do to these guys, right? So call your boss and get the other soldier guys to go with you. The blond chick too. But not by yourself. I ain’t havin’ that. No Siree Bob.”
Although she didn’t yet find me unworthy of her forgiveness, she is changing her stance on my plan for vengeance. One bullet dodged, leaving another in the chamber.
Regretfully, the urge to bolt out of here with a shovel, garbage bags, and my weapons strapped to my chest still ravages me.
“Lettie, please. I need to do this for you. If I wait?—”
Anger flashes behind her eyes, and she snaps. “For me or for you?”
My head rears back like her words slapped me in the face.
Shit.
When I don’t answer, she continues. “If this were about me, you’d be stayin’ right here, James.” She looks away, clenches her jaw, and shakes her head. A groan reverberates in her chest as if she’s in pain.
Fuck.
That name.
And all the lies wrapped up in it.
When she opens her eyes, she’s brought herself back from her breaking point.
Violet Holt might bend with the wind, but she doesn’t break.
“I need you to listen carefully to me. You are not leaving me. I need you with me. I fucking need you . Me. Not them. I cannot lose you, and that’s what will happen if you go out there in this state of mind. And don’t act like you ain’t burnin’ up with a dragon’s fury ‘cause I can read ya better than ya think.”
Her features contort as she holds back her tears.
So damn strong.
She continues, and this time, the ardent determination of her voice is replaced with steadiness. “I got no right to demand anything of you. You’re not responsible for me. And you’ve damn sure already done more than I deserve.” Her twang vanishes as her anger morphs into sadness. The tears overpower her resolve, and a few slide down her puffy pink cheeks. “But I’m asking you anyway. Whether I deserve it or not, please stay with me.”
I lose track of the seconds as my mind tries to work out how she could ever think—for even a single moment—she doesn’t deserve everything I am and all I have to give.
At some point, my hands made their way to her cheeks. Careful to avoid her healing cuts and bruises, I wipe her tears while trying to box up the rage I harbor toward her tormentors.
At the thought of those men, my rage boils over once more.
All it takes is a single image from that recording to flash through my mind, and I’m teetering on the edge again.
Desperation flooding me, I search her face for something I can cling to. Something to make it okay to stay here tonight, even if it means losing my chance to question Davidov.
“Lettie, I’m not strong like you. I don’t know how to process all this,” I wave my hand over my heart, “all this fury and hurt. It’s burning and ripping through me. I want to be here for you. I’m trying. I know you need me, but all I can fucking think about is killing them. He deserves to die. They all do.”
Her jaw springs open, and her chin wobbles, but she can’t speak.
“Sugar bear, I need you to tell me what to do to stop this pain.” I tap at my sternum, barbed wire grating my tone. “I don’t want to leave you tonight. But I don’t know any other way to end this agony. If you won’t let me leave, then make me stay. Pull me from the edge before I jump.”
My admission surprises us both. Hearing the words outside of my own head hits differently.
Between the two of us, I’m usually the one with my shit together. I’m typically calm and intentional. She’s the one who acts first and thinks second. It’s one of the things I love about her.
Right now, I need her to make the decisions. I need her to bring an end to this misery. I need her to care for me.
It’s unfair of me to ask this of her or to put it on her slight shoulders.
You’re weak.
You’ll never be a man.
That’s why I call you boy.
You don’t even deserve a name.
The back of my head thumps onto the sofa cushion as an acerbic taste fills my mouth.
He was right. I’m so fucking weak.
No wonder no one has ever loved me before her. No wonder my own father couldn’t stand me. No wonder Big Al has always felt the need to check up on me like a shriveled-up house plant that’s been left alone without water or sunlight.
Lettie steadies my cheeks between her palms, squaring her shoulders with mine. Her cheeks are puffy, but they’re dry now.
She deserves better than me.
“I know it’s dark where you are. It’s also cold there, right?” She inhales and flutters out a trembling breath. “I’ve been there a lot lately and when I was younger. I get it. But you’re not alone, even though it feels like you are.”
Lettie’s honey-coated voice wraps around me, grounding me in place.
I can’t let this be about me. I need to be stronger than this. To be the man. I should be taking care of her. That’s my job.
I was supposed to protect her.
I failed.
And now I’m supposed to be taking care of her, but I’m failing again.
That’s all I know how to do.
But I need to be better for her.
“Rather than psychoanalyze what you’re going through, I’m just gonna do what you asked me to do. I’m pulling you back. You’re not going over the ledge. Not unless we’re jumping together, and no offense, but I’m scared of heights.” Her lip tugs up a tiny bit on one side.
She pauses, waiting for me to make eye contact. Running her hand along my jaw, she tips my chin toward her.
So much love in her touch.
I should probably be used to feeling this from her by now—this warmth and genuine affection—but it’s still foreign.
“How, Lettie?” I grit out, then force a swallow around the boulder camping out in my throat.
“We’re going to do it together. I’ll hold you, and you’re gonna hold me. All night long until the urge to go after them fades away. And if it’s still there in the morning, I’ll keep holding you. You just focus on me. Don’t think about them.”
Her throat bobs, and she mashes her eyes closed as she sucks in a sharp breath. When she exhales, it’s as if she’s found a new reservoir of strength. “They don’t deserve another minute of our attention. They took enough away from me already. I’ll be damned if I let them take you too.”
“You’re so fucking amazing, Lettie. I’m in awe of you. All I did was watch a portion of what you endured, and I’m a broken man.” I drag in a shuddery breath. “How are you this strong?”
A sad smile slips onto her face. “I think I get it from my dad.”
She pauses, and my heart stalls out. Blood stops pulsing through my veins, turning to a viscous sludge.
“Well, my papa,” she amends.
Her first sentence was correct.
She’s as strong as her father. Much like he picked me off the ground, she’s doing the same.
Oblivious to how her unknowing slipup has caused a domino effect in my mind, she goes on to explain. “Papa often talked about finding balance, and he loved to teach me lessons using the dangdest metaphors. Remember playing on seesaws at the playground as a kid?”
I give her a nod, even though it’s a white lie.
You need friends to play on one of those.
“After we’d leave the park, he’d talk to me about taking turns and working together, using the seesaw to illustrate his lessons. Like if both kids don’t do their part, then it wouldn’t be any fun. And you can’t be both up and down at the same time. Stuff like that. Well, as I got older, his stories got deeper, but they often came back to the seesaw. Somehow that man managed to make a basic piece of playground equipment apply to how to have a strong marriage or bring about frickin’ world peace.” She chuckles to herself, and her eyes stare off into the distance wistfully. “Frankly, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he told me a swing set could end world hunger and a slide was all we need to reverse climate change.”
I get lost in her eyes as she rambles.
Fuck. I love this woman.
“Most people think the seesaw is all about one person being up while the other is down. The rising or the falling. Papa said the real joy is in the brief moment when both people are at the same level. In balance. When you pass the midway point, catch eyes with your partner, and you both feel like you’re suspended in space. That’s where the magic lies.”
Although I sense where she’s going with this story, I let her continue at her own speed. Everything about this smooths over the fissures of my mind and soul. She’s shining her light inside me, driving away my darkness.
Just like I asked her to do.
Actually . . . I begged for it.
Her eyes refocus, and she locks them on mine. “You can never achieve those moments of bliss if you don’t help each other through the highs and the lows. Sure, from the bottom, you could push with your legs to get up a little. But all the pushing in the world won’t amount to a hill of beans without the other person to balance the seesaw and propel you the rest of the way up.”
My mind wanders a bit while she takes a breath.
If she’s trying to say she and I are balanced, I don’t get it. For something to be balanced, there must be value on both sides. Lettie is all of the good. The light. The joy. The warmth.
What value could I ever offer someone like her?
Continuing her story, she raises two fingers in front of her and points them at my chest, then back at hers a few times in quick succession. “You and I have that balance.”
I narrow my eyes at her in disbelief.
She screws her lips to one side and eyes me down. “My head is chaos most of the time. You’re typically clear-minded. I flutter about like a free spirit, singing songs and dreaming dreams. You’re steady and calm. And you’re the only one in the world who has helped me to experience... quiet serenity. On the flip side, when we met, you were shut off from your emotions. Didn’t laugh all that much, and your smiles seemed forced. Now, I could be wrong, yet I like to think some of that was my doing.”
She smiles again, but this time, it’s not sad or wistful.
It’s radiating affection.
For me.
“Anyhow, while I was hiding in a closet, cowering in fear, I heard your voice. You pulled me from the darkness and brought me into the light. It’s my turn to pull you into the light. That’s how we keep the balance. So we can have those moments of wonder when we’re suspended in time at the midway point, and everything else is gone except us. All you gotta do is push a little with your legs, and I’ll do the rest. Just like you did for me. And if I’m honest, I might need you to do it for me again real soon.”
This woman and her metaphors about inanimate objects. She called me a chair once, and damn if she wasn’t right on the money then too.
Gazing into her enchanting eyes, I tuck a lock of hair behind her ears, letting my fingers linger and twirl through the tresses. “I wish I could’ve met your papa. He sounds like he was a good man. I’m glad you had him.”
Her eyes mist over. “Me too.”
“Thank you, sugar bear.”
She pats my cheek affectionately. “You look more relaxed. Are you feeling a little better?”
“Better is a relative term, all things considered.” I lift one shoulder in a partial shrug. “But yeah. I’m good.”
“And you’re gonna stay with me tonight, right?”
I nod solemnly, acceptance settling onto my shoulders, bearing down with the slightest weight.
“Good.”
Her gaze falls to my mouth a second before she leans in and presses her lips to mine.
It soothes me in much the same way her silly metaphor did. Or maybe it was just her presence that did it.
She could have told me a story about a hot air balloon careening into a peach grove and catching it on fire, and I would have felt equally as comforted.
Although I’m not entirely sure I believe we’re in balance, having her in my arms gave me precisely what I needed to get through the night.
As much as I want to race out the door and hunt them down like the animals they are, it will have to wait.
Lettie needs me more than I need vengeance.
As our lips part, she says the one thing I’ve longed to hear since the day we met.
“Thank you . . . Tomer .”
Heaven.
Violet Anastasia Holt saying my name—my real name—is the sweetest song. She might as well have sung it in her enchanting voice for how much it affects me.
All I want to do is bask in the moment—even though I’m undeserving of a wonder like this. Afraid the slightest movement might shatter the euphoria, I don’t blink or breathe. I just freeze.
I never thought I’d hear her say my name.
Never thought my name could be worthy of passing through her delicate lips.
Before she spoke those two syllables, I’d already decided I wouldn’t leave her tonight. But now I couldn’t go even if I wanted to.
I’m tethered to her side. Not with shackles or chains but silken cords.
My name, spoken in her angelic voice, weaves itself around my wrists and ankles to anchor me in place—binding me to her.
Tonight, she’s seen more of me than I ever thought I could show her.
Not James.
Not some falsehood. Not a shield or a mask.
She sees me. Knows me. And speaks my name.
Not in anger or disdain. Not in disgust.
She speaks it like the simple act of saying it matters.
Like I matter.
Me.
Tomer.