Chapter Thirty-six
Martina
There’s a knock on the door and I race over, because it has to be Dallas. Asher would have used the key.
Relief swells through me when I see his face.
“What?” he says. “Did you think I was going to leave Bex stranded here?”
I bite my lip. “So you just came back for the dog?”
He doesn’t answer. Because with the way we’re looking at each other, he doesn’t need to. My heart pounds not knowing if I have two more minutes or two more hours with him.
“How’s Anita?” he asks, crossing the threshold.
“Drugged up on Valium. She’s having a hard time. I’m not sure if my being there helped or just brought up more memories she couldn’t deal with. There was no point in our staying after she’d gone down, so we ate at McDonalds and then came back here. Charlie’s been playing with Bex for about twenty minutes. I think he’s in love.”
He’s not the only one , the voice in my head screams. Tell him!
Charlie squeals gleefully behind us. Bex has all but pinned him to the floor and is licking his face, the dog’s large tongue almost the size of Charlie’s cheek.
Dallas strides over. “Easy, boy.” Bex sits dutifully at Dallas’s side. “I don’t think he realizes he’s as big as you are.”
“I’ll be bigger,” Charlie exclaims. “Mommy says I’m a weed.”
Dallas chuckles and my whole world flips upside down. He’s talking with my son. And he’s laughing. My heart couldn’t be fuller.
“You’ll be bigger than him in no time, I’m sure,” Dallas says.
“Dallas?” Charlie says, sounding as cute as ever as his three-year-old lisp makes Dallas’s name sound more like Dallith .
Dallas sits on the bed. I can tell he’s hesitant, but at least he’s not running out the door. “What is it, Charlie?”
“Will you swim with me?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t have a swimsuit.”
“Unca Asher took me to the big store. He can take you too. Then you can swim.”
“I think the store might be closed,” I say, coming up with an excuse for Dallas. The last thing he needs right now is my son asking to jump into his arms off the side of a pool. While every fiber of my being longs for it to happen, I know it’s simply not possible. Not today. Possibly not ever.
“You watch me, okay?” Charlie asks. “Pwease, pwease, pwease?”
I sit down next to Dallas. “Charlie, I don’t think—”
Dallas puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. I can watch you swim for a few minutes, okay? Then I have to go back home.”
“Mommy says you have a cabin and there’s bears. Does Bex like bears?”
Dallas chuckles again. So do I. “No,” he says. “Bex definitely doesn’t like bears. But speaking of Bex, I do need to take him outside. Why don’t you get ready for the pool while I do that?”
Asher comes in from the connecting room. The door was open, and it makes me wonder how long he was over there listening. “I’ll get Charlie ready,” he says. “Why don’t the two of you walk Bex and we’ll meet you at the pool.”
Dallas clips a leash on Bex. “Sounds good.” He nods to my coat—or rather his coat that he loaned me. “Better put that on, it’s cold out.”
The two of us walk in silence to the elevator. Once inside, he does something that makes my heart soar. He holds my hand. It’s silly to think that such a small gesture means anything after all the sex we’ve had, but it has my pulse racing.
It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.
Except that it means everything .
He runs slow circles across my finger with his thumb. It’s the first time we’ve touched in hours, and I feel like an addict who just got her fix. He’s become the drug I need to survive. I just hope I don’t have to go cold turkey.
It’s an idiotic fantasy, thinking something can become of this. Deep down I know how unlikely it is. But that doesn’t keep my mind from wanting it. My heart from craving it. My body from demanding it.
“Marti?”
I look up at him.
“Your death grip is about to break a few of my fingers.”
“Oh, sorry.”
I try to pull my hand away, but he doesn’t let me.
We walk through the lobby and out the front door. Snow flurries dance around us when we clear the awning. I crane my neck and let them fall onto my face. Memories flood my mind: the snowball fight, the snowman, our trek to the tower.
“You think you’ll miss the snow?” he asks.
“A thousand percent, yes.”
Bex leads us over to an area with bushes and trees and starts sniffing.
Dallas gives my hand a squeeze. “Will you miss anything else?”
I turn to him and throw his words back at him. “Will you?”
He glances over his shoulder, then pulls me behind the nearest tree, dragging Bex along with us. He presses me against the large trunk, gazes down into my eyes, and lowers his lips to within an inch of mine. Just before they touch, he whispers, “What do you think?”
“I think—”
I’m not able to continue as his lips claim mine. They claim mine in a way that tells me this could very well be the last kiss we ever share. That thought has me returning the kiss with just as much desperation and fervor as I’m feeling from him. Because if this is the last kiss we ever have, it needs to be memorable. Intense. Utterly mind-blowing. I want it to be a moment I can look back on without any regrets. A goodbye that overshadows all others. A parting neither of us forgets.
My head swims as our mouths devour each other. Our breath mingles and our hands grasp for purchase, moans erupting from both of us, sounding different than before. These are filled with anguish, torture, and despair. Neither of us wants this kiss to end, but we know it will. It has to. Our days of being snowed in are over. This is over. We’re just trying to hang on to one last moment.
When we’re both breathless, he pulls me against him and buries his head down on my shoulder. I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking at this very second.
I take a lock of his hair and run it between my fingers. “This is my favorite part of you.”
He chuckles and thrusts his hips into mine. “Some of my other parts are offended.” He pulls away and winks.
“No. I mean, when I look back on our time together, I think it’s your hair I’ll remember the most. The way it felt when I’d run my fingers through it as I read to you. How it fell around my face when we made love.”
His eyes close briefly. He’s going to miss those things too.
Tell him.
This is your only chance.
“Dallas?”
His shoulders stiffen as he looks at me, his face a veil of uncertainty knowing good and well what I want to say. Shifting ever so slightly on his feet, he lightly scratches his forehead. He’s afraid of the words that sit on the tip of my tongue.
Which is why I don’t say them. “I think I left my bracelet at your cabin. It’s the silver one with my initials on it.”
Chicken.
He heaves a chestful of air, looking both relieved and disappointed. “I’ll look for it when I get back.”
“Um… Dallas?” I say, my heart a pattery mess.
“Mmm?”
My arms twine around him in a bruising embrace, afraid of what my forthcoming words will do to him. But I have to say something. I’ll regret it if I don’t.
“I can’t remember the exact quote, where I read it, or who said it—probably some famous philosopher—but the words stuck with me.” I take a deep breath and blow it out, the cloud of it swirling around us. “Love is the only thing that can be divided endlessly and still not diminish.”
He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me, his forehead a map of wrinkles. It’s the first time I can’t read his eyes.
“Do you understand what that means?” I grip his shoulders. “It means you can still love them, but you can love others too. You could even love… us . You don’t have to choose. Both can exist, and that doesn’t mean either will be any less.”
“I…” He swallows hard, rips his eyes from mine, and stares at the tree behind me. Is he contemplating the words? Getting ready to run? About to tell me I’ve read him all wrong? “We should probably go back. Your boy is waiting.”
My lungs deflate with defeat. “Okay.” I start to walk away when he surprises me by taking my hand once again. I’m relieved I didn’t run him off. But at the same time, I’m worried I may have ruined what could be our last private moment together.
I didn’t tell him exactly what I wanted to say. But I told him enough. He can read between the lines. He can see it on my face. Feel it in my kiss. Hear it in my voice. I’m hopelessly, stupidly, maybe even recklessly in love with him.
~ ~ ~
I grab my purse and a towel for Charlie. We leave Bex in the room once again and head down to the pool.
I’m not used to indoor pools. There’s no need for them in Florida. This one is massive. The hotel is built around it, and the dome above is a glass roof that offers a view of the tall ceiling beyond. One end of the pool is a kids’ area with water toys and small slides. This is where we set up camp.
After Charlie goes down a slide, he calls for Asher to go in the pool with him.
“Watch me!” he shouts over when he climbs out and jumps back in, right into Asher’s arms. Then he swims to the edge, climbs out again, and sloshes over to Dallas. “Did you see? I hold my bweath and go under.”
“I did see,” Dallas says. “You’re a great swimmer, buddy.”
Buddy . My heart swells.
“Show me how far you can swim. Can you kick your feet?”
At Dallas’s challenge, he races back to the pool, jumps in and demonstrates his capabilities.
Dallas turns to me. “You weren’t kidding when you said he could swim. Impressive.”
“This is nothing. You should see him surf.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. Dallas retreats into a shell. It wasn’t an invitation, just something that popped out.
“I mean… not that you should… it was just…” I cover my face with my hands. “Dallas, I don’t know how to do this. What exactly is going on here?”
“What’s going on here is that I’m keeping my promise to watch Charlie swim.”
I pick at the pool towel. “And after that?”
“After that, I’ll get in my truck and go back to my cabin.”
“And after that?”
It’s the million-dollar question. The one I haven’t asked but has been on my mind for a week. I finally did it. I asked the ‘what about me?’ question like a pathetic love-sick girl.
Asher drops into the seat next to Dallas. Talk about bad timing.
“He was invited by those kids to play on the splash pad,” Asher says, drying off.
I look over his shoulder to see Charlie playing with four other kids about his age. I watch for a moment, thinking how this must seem like just a vacation to him. He still doesn’t fully grasp that his father has died and won’t be coming back. I know it’s a conversation that we’ll have over and over again until he’s older and can understand the finality of death.
I narrow my brow and gaze at Dallas as he talks with Asher, wondering if my son isn’t the only one who doesn’t comprehend it.
Asher orders us a round of drinks, but Dallas barely touches his, all the more indication that he’ll be leaving sooner rather than later.
We all keep an eye on Charlie as we talk. I notice that Dallas does so even more vigilantly than I do. It’s like he can’t bear to be around him, but he has a need to protect him all the same.
“Something’s wrong!” Dallas says. He sprints out of his chair and dashes over to the splash pad.
My stomach churns at the tone of his words and how quickly he moves.
I dart after him until we reach the pod of children.
Charlie looks up at me, distressed. “Mommy, my mouth feels funny.”
My heart beats wildly. Did he just swallow too much chlorine, or… I look up. “My son has a severe peanut allergy. Did he ingest anything?”
A woman steps forward, holding out a packet of cookies. “My son was eating these.” She turns to him. “Sam, did you give this boy any of your snack?”
The boy, who can’t be more than four, looks scared, like he doesn’t want to be punished. He shakes his head.
I sink to his level. “Sam, it’s really important. You’re not in trouble, but Charlie may need help. Did you share your snack with him? Please tell me.”
His lip quivers. He’s afraid of all the commotion going on around us. He nods slowly.
I read the ingredients of the package. Peanuts are third on the list. Oh, dear God.
Asher shoves my purse into my hands. I pour out the contents onto the wet splash pad, searching for the EpiPen I never leave home without. “Where is it?” I rifle through everything. It has to be here. I look up at Asher, terrified. “It’s not here!”
He gets on his knees, helping me sift through everything. He checks every nook and cranny of my purse.
When realization dawns, it’s like a stab to the heart. My eyes connect with Dallas’s. “The accident. Everything spilled out of my purse. Oh my god. I don’t have it.” I stand up and yell, “Does anyone have an EpiPen?”
“I’m calling 911,” Asher says behind me.
I vaguely hear him telling the operator that we have a child going into anaphylaxis and we need epinephrine immediately.
“Charlie, help is on the way. It’s going to be okay.”
I’m on my knees, holding him close, knowing that this is going to get very bad very quickly. Just as soon as I think it, I see his lips swelling up and then he collapses. But before I can catch him, Dallas swoops in and scoops him into his arms. “We’ll meet the ambulance out front.”
Why didn’t I think of that? Seconds count when my son’s throat is closing a little more with every tick of the clock.
People are yelling, still trying to find an EpiPen. Kids are crying. A woman comes over, steps in front of us, and shoves a packet of Benadryl pills in my face. “Give him this.”
“He can’t take pills.” I push it away. “Besides, it won’t work in time.”
“I read that—”
“It won’t work!” I look at my son, limp in Dallas’s arms. His face is ballooning, and his lips are already turning blue. “He needs epinephrine,” I cry. I look at Dallas. “Dallas, oh my god.”
“No!” he shouts and continues toward the front of the hotel. “This is not happening.”
Tears are streaming down his face. He’s shaking. Yet he’s holding my son as if he’s a China doll, taking care to support his head against his chest, while at the same time keeping it extended to give him the best chance at getting air.
In the back of my mind, I curse the hotel for being so large and for having the kids’ pool area at the very back of the massive indoor structure.
Asher runs up behind us. “They’re on the way. Two minutes.”
Two minutes. How long has it already been? Does he have two minutes?
I cry out a guttural sob, running beside Dallas until we get to the lobby, plowing through the curious onlookers who have gathered to see what the emergency is.
“Stay back!” Asher barks as he escorts us through the front doors.
Sirens sound. They aren’t close enough.
“Baby, it’s okay,” I say, putting my lips to Charlie’s forehead. I squeeze him gently. “You’re going to be okay. M-mommy’s here. I’m right here.” I look up at Dallas. He looks as destroyed as I feel. “Th-this c-can’t h-happen.”
“It’s not going to.” He sniffs sharply, tears still falling. “No way. He’s going to be okay. He’s got to be.”
He’s not looking at me. He’s only looking at Charlie. There’s not even room in my mind to think of what Dallas might be going through at this very moment. Because all I can think of is my son and how incredibly helpless I feel standing here doing nothing.
Lights flash. The siren is piercingly loud. The ambulance pulls up under the awning and two paramedics dart out.
I’m too distraught to even speak at this point. Asher explains. One of the paramedics takes Charlie and carefully places him on the ground while the other administers epinephrine.
In an instant, Charlie takes a huge breath, coughs a few times, then starts crying. His lips pink up. A moment later, his facial swelling starts to abate.
My whole world swirls and I fall into Dallas’s waiting arms.
When I come to, it must have only been seconds that passed, because Charlie is being put on a gurney and loaded into the back of the ambulance. Covered in blankets now, he has an oxygen mask over his face and he’s calling for me.
“We need to bring him in for observation. There’s always a chance of a rebound reaction,” the paramedic says, looking between Dallas and me. “We can only take one of you.”
“Me. I’m going.”
“We’ll follow,” Asher says. “Go.”
“Ma’am,” the paramedic asks. “Are you okay?”
“She’s perfectly fine,” Dallas insists. “She’s good and she’s going with him.”
I look over at Dallas as I make my way to the back of the rig. “Thank you,” I say, my eyes pools of relieved tears.
He’s visibly trembling as he nods.
The last thing I see before the large rear doors close is Dallas running over to vomit into a nearby bush.
And somehow, deep down, I know it’s the last memory I’ll ever have of Dallas Montana.