16. The Sullivans #2
"Excuse me." I set my napkin on the table. "I need to use the bathroom."
"Down the hall, second door on your left," Maureen said.
I smiled and pushed my chair back.
The bathroom was spotless. Marble countertop, folded towels, a small vase of flowers beside the sink. I closed the door and gripped the edge of the counter with both hands.
I looked at myself in the mirror. My makeup was fine. My dress was fine. Everything looked fine.
I closed my eyes and breathed. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Trying to convince my body that everything was okay when my body already knew it wasn't.
Cliff Sullivan didn't want me here. I could feel it in every question he directed at Knox instead of me, every silence he let stretch, every time he looked through me instead of at me. I had spent the entire dinner performing for a man who had already made up his mind.
Cold water on my wrists helped. I dried my hands and opened the door.
Voices reached me before I turned the corner.
The library door was open at the end of the hall. Knox's voice came first, low and hard.
"Don't."
"I'm telling you what people are saying, Knox." Cliff's voice was measured, but there was an edge to it. "I work with this woman. I hear things."
"You hear gossip."
"I hear that one of my nurses has been seen having private conversations with a married attending. That there's talk at the hospital about the nature of their relationship. And now she's sitting at my dinner table." A pause. "I'm not going to pretend I don't have concerns."
"Harlan is her attending. She works under him. That's it."
"That's not what I've been told."
"By who?" Knox's voice rose. "By Liz? By Jen? The same nurses who can't file a chart without an error? That's your source?"
"Lower your voice."
"No." I heard Knox take a step. "You don't know her. You haven't asked her a single real question tonight. You sat there and decided who she was before she walked through the door."
"I'm trying to protect you."
"From what? From a woman who raised her brother by herself since she was twenty? Who works twelve-hour shifts in your ER and never complains? That's who you need to protect me from?"
Silence.
"You want to talk about who people really are, Dad? Let's talk about that. Let's talk about twenty years of birthday dinners where you shook my hand like I was one of your colleagues. Let's talk about—"
"That's enough."
"No, it's not." Knox's voice was shaking now. "You don't get to sit in judgment of her. Not when you barely know your own son."
I heard footsteps. Knox came out of the library and stopped when he saw me standing in the hallway.
His face changed. The anger didn't leave, but something else came in underneath it. He looked at my eyes and he knew.
He took my hand.
"We're leaving."
Knox held my hand the entire drive home.
He didn't speak. He kept his eyes on the road, his jaw set, his thumb pressed against my knuckles like he needed to know I was still there. The streetlights passed over his face in slow intervals. I watched them move across his jaw, his cheekbones, the tight line of his mouth.
I let the silence stay. Whatever was happening inside him needed room.
We walked up to his apartment without a word. He unlocked the door, held it open for me, and closed it behind us.
"Nora."
I turned around.
He was standing by the door with his keys still in his hand, his shoulders heavy under the blazer.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that."
"Don't apologize."
"What he said about you—"
"Was wrong. And you told him that." I stepped closer to him.
He looked at me. The anger from his father's house was still there, but it was fading, replaced by something raw and tired.
I reached up and touched his jaw. He closed his eyes.
"Come here," I said.
He leaned down and I kissed him. Slow, careful, my hand on his face.
He kissed me back. I felt the tension in his body start to loosen.
His hands found my waist and pulled me closer, and I pressed into him until there was nothing between us but the fabric of his shirt and the thin material of my dress.
I pulled back and looked at him. Then I took the lapels of his blazer in both hands and slid it off his shoulders. It dropped to the floor behind him. He watched me, his breathing uneven, his hands still on my waist.
My fingers undid the first button of his shirt. Then the second. He stood still and let me.
"You looked so good tonight," I said. I worked the third button free. "I've been thinking about this since you picked me up."
"Since the truck?"
His shirt came open. I ran my hands up his chest, over his shoulders, and left the shirt where it was. He was watching me, breathing hard, the fabric hanging open on both sides.
I kissed his chest. His collarbone. The base of his throat. I felt his breath catch. My mouth moved down the center of his body, and my hands followed, tracing the line of his ribs, the plane of his stomach. I dropped to my knees in front of him and looked up.
His eyes were dark, his lips parted. He looked at me like he couldn't believe I was real.
I undid his belt and pulled him free. His hand came to the side of my head, his fingers sliding into my hair.
There was no rush. I wanted him to feel every part of it, every press of my lips, every place my tongue found that made his breath go ragged.
His fingers tightened in my hair. His head dropped back.
I heard my name come out of his mouth in a way that made my chest ache, broken and low, like a word he'd forgotten how to say.
His breathing changed. I felt his hand flex against my scalp, his body tense, and I stayed with him, steady and close, until he let go. He finished with a sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest, his hand still in my hair, his whole body shaking.
I stood up and kissed him again. He pulled me against him, his forehead dropping to mine.
"Nora."
"I'm here."
He walked me backward toward the bedroom. We crossed the threshold and I pushed him down onto the edge of the bed. He sat, looking up at me, and I reached behind my back and unzipped my dress. It slipped off my shoulders and fell to the floor.
His hands found my hips. His thumbs traced slow circles against my skin. I stepped between his legs and he pulled me onto him, my knees settling on either side of his thighs.
I sank down onto him slowly. His hands tightened on my hips, and the sound he made was quiet and involuntary. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my forehead to his.
We moved together. Slow at first, his hands holding me steady while I rocked against him. His mouth found my neck. My shoulder. The space between my collarbones. Every place he kissed felt like he was trying to memorize me.
I pulled his face up and kissed him while I moved. His hands slid from my hips to my lower back, pressing me closer, deeper. My breath broke against his mouth. He swallowed it and gave me his.
The pace changed. I moved faster and he matched me, his grip tightening, his breathing rough against my skin. My fingers dug into his shoulders. Everything narrowed to the heat between us, his body under mine, the pressure building low in my stomach until it was all I could feel.
I came apart first, my body arching into his, his arms holding me through it. He followed a moment later, pulling me down against him with both hands, his face buried in my neck, his breath hot and uneven against my skin.
We stayed like that. His arms wrapped around me, my legs still around him, both of us breathing hard. His heart was pounding against my chest.
His hands moved up my back. He pulled me closer, his forehead resting against my collarbone.
"Move in with me."
He lifted his head and cupped my face in his hands.
"Move in with me, Nora."
Everything in me went still.
"Okay," I said.
He kissed me. Slow, warm, his hands still on my back. I pressed my forehead to his and closed my eyes.
"I love you, Nora."
I opened my eyes. He was right there, his face inches from mine, and he meant every word.
"I love you too."
Outside the window, the city hummed. Traffic and sirens and the sound of a place that was always moving. Inside, it was just us.