33. “If You Love Her” - Forest Blakk
“If You Love Her” - Forest Blakk
Heath
It’s still raining when I wake up. One of those old canopies hangs above us, the curtains creating a cozy cocoon around the bed. The room is dark except for a few candles flickering on a dresser across the room.
Walker stirs on my chest. When she tilts her face up to me, I lean down and brush my lips across hers. She smiles through the kiss, and I pull back. Her hand traces the ridges of my stomach, causing goosebumps to prickle along my skin.
I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been here. We must have left the library hours ago, only to fall into bed and start again. She’s always had this effect on me. When I’m with her, the world halts on its axis long enough for her to become the only thing in my universe.
I capture her hand with my own, braiding our fingers together. I lift them to my lips and press a kiss to the back of her hand. She inclines her head, and I already want to lose myself in the fragrance of that coconut-scented hair again.
I stroke her wrist with my thumb, her skin puckering beneath my touch. “Why did you have it removed?” I say quietly .
Sadness flickers in her eyes. “It hurt too much to look at it.”
I move my arm so that my wrist is visible. Half of the Big Dipper is sprinkled across the skin there. She slips her fingers from mine and traces over the black ink. I long to know what thoughts are swirling through that brilliant mind of hers, but she doesn’t say anything else.
“Remember when we got them?” I ask.
“Mmm,” she murmurs into my chest.
“You were terrified,” I say.
“I hate needles.”
She only managed to get through the whole thing because I held her face between my hands and talked about anything I could think of. “I plied you with Bart Simpson jokes.” I laugh at the memory.
She smiles against my skin. “You are a ridiculous human being.”
“Do you . . . regret it?”
“The tattoo?” she says. When I don’t answer, she tilts her head back to look at me. “You mean us?”
I wince, wishing I could take the question back. Now that it’s out there, I don’t really want to know the answer.
She slides her hand up my chest until it rests on the side of my neck. “Sometimes.”
I close my eyes. I deserve it, fucking bastard that I am. But hearing her say that she regrets being with me, that she looks at our past and wishes it gone, sends a guttural pain through me. “That’s fair.”
“Not all of it though,” she says. “The days I spent with you were the best days of my life.”
I picture us dancing at the Gentleman’s Ball, blissed out and happy at eighteen.
Or shopping at the farmer’s market after deciding we had what it took to be world-class chefs. That night ended in the fulfillment of several strawberry-fueled sex fantasies we shared.
Witnessing the awe spread over her face when I took her to the Abbey Library in Switzerland.
My stomach dipping every time she laughed at something Lux or Rhett said.
Feeling her pulse quicken when I skimmed my fingers across her collarbone.
Her running across the sand to throw herself into my arms.
“We had some good times,” I say.
“The best times.”
Focusing on this for too long isn’t going to lead anywhere good. I search for a subject that doesn’t venture into too-delicate territory. “How long before Pierce and Maeve hook up?”
She laughs, and my stomach does that familiar little drop at the sound of it. “Never.”
“You don’t think so?”
“They’re too much alike. Besides, Maeve is nothing like the Ellas.”
Pierce has a tendency to date the same make of girlfriend, with only slight variations to the model.
I’ve lost track of all of them over the years, but I do know that they’re always blonde, always leggy, and if you blow in their ear, they’ll thank you for the refill.
Strangely, they’re always named something that ends in “ella.” Stella, Bella, Isabella.
“The guy knows what he wants,” I say.
“Considering his lack of success in any relationship, I’d venture to disagree.”
“What about Rhett and the Princess Royal?”
Walker snorts. “That will never happen.”
“Why not?”
“You think the queen is going to let her marry someone like Rhett?”
“True.” Adding Rhett to the royal family would be like adding a lit match to a barrel of whiskey. I fight the urge to purr as Walker strokes her hand lightly across my stomach. “What do you like about Oxford so much?” I say to distract myself.
Her fingers pause before continuing their leisurely stroll across my skin. “The books. The quiet. The smell.” A dreamy quality has taken over her voice. “Everyone’s dedication to learning.”
My throat tightens as I listen. Everything she’s describing sounds torturous. I spent four years there, and I would rather slice off all of my toes than return. There’s not enough air, not enough ocean. But it has one thing Wesbourne doesn’t.
“Maybe I can go back,” I find myself saying.
Her whole hand goes slack against my stomach. She cranes her head, letting me into that dark gaze. “To Oxford?”
I lift one corner of my mouth. It’s a ridiculous idea, but I’m ready to be ridiculous for her.
She pushes herself up on her elbow. Her hair falls over her shoulder, hiding her face. I reach out and tuck it behind her ear.
“You hated it there,” she says.
I nod, because there’s no sense in denying it. The four years I spent at St. Hilda’s were tolerable only because the six of us were in the same city together. “It’s not my favorite place in the world. But if you’re there—”
Her face crumples, and she drops my gaze. “You would be miserable there. You know you would.”
“I could—”
“The ocean is over an hour away.” She shakes her head. “You’d never survive.”
“I just want to be with you.”
Her eyes flicker up to mine again, and there’s so much sadness in them that a physical ache grows in my gut. “We’ll think of something,” she says.
I tighten my hold on her hip. “I can’t stand it if you leave again.” My voice is hushed, but the words need to be said. The first time nearly destroyed me. I was the one who drove her away, and that knowledge made it ten times worse.
She draws lazy circles around my belly button. “Do you ever think about joining your uncle in Australia?”
The question takes me by surprise. I haven’t thought of Declan in a while, definitely not since Walker’s been back in town. “Not recently, why?” Where is she going with this?
She shrugs, fingers still tracing my stomach. “It sounds like you.”
I’m not sure what this means, if she’s saying moving halfway around the world sounds like something I would do or that Australia sounds like a place I’d like to live. “Declan’s great, but—” The man was like a father to me, teaching me to surf when I had nothing else to live for.
She waits, biting that full bottom lip of hers. My cock stirs at the sight.
“Why the fuck would I be thinking about Australia when I can’t think of anything but you?”
That lip trembles, and I long to sweep it up, kiss it until it’s twice the size it is now.
“My research is practically done, Heath.”
“I know.” I’ve avoided dwelling on it, but only because living in denial seemed like the only path to survival. Now it looms large in front of me, demanding my full attention. “I know,” I say again.
“Maybe I could stay?” she says, like she’s offering a sacrifice.
I shake my head, like she did when the roles were reversed. “I can’t let you give up your dream for me.”
She sinks her head back onto my chest, her fingers still at last. We stay like that for several minutes. A tiny bead of moisture drops onto my skin, and I tug her up to me. Her eyelashes are damp.
“Don’t cry.” I use my thumb to wipe the tear from the corner of her eye. “We’ll figure this out.”
Walker sniffs loudly. “I don’t even know what I want.
Being with you is great—it’s always been great.
But there’s a voice in my head telling me I’m only going to get hurt again, that I should protect myself while I still can.
But then I look at you, and I know that the only place I’ll ever be truly happy is where you are, and it just sucks all of the breath out of my lungs.
” She takes one shuddering inhale. “I can’t breathe, Heath. ”
Her words fill me like helium and pop the balloon at the same time. She still thinks I’ll hurt her. She’s still not sure she can trust me.
“Listen to me.” I cradle her face in my palm. “If there’s one thing you can trust, it’s that I won’t hurt you again. I swear it.”
She squeezes her eyes shut and nods against my hand. A single tear dribbles its way down her face. I catch it with my thumb, then drop my head and capture her lips. They’re soft and wet and warm. Blood surges to my dick, but I keep the kiss sweet and gentle.
Several seconds later, she pulls back, her mouth glistening with moisture from mine. “I love you,” she whispers, “against my better judgment.”
I could do without that last bit, but I’ll take it. “I love you too. And I promise we will figure this out, okay?”
I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way, even if it kills me.