Chapter 17 Scarlett #2
“Mine too.” It’s the two of us in the field, we’re both lying on the ground, eyes closed, with my hand resting softly on the outside of his neck, our noses are nearly touching, and soft smiles play on our faces.
We’d never actually laid like that, but it’s how I imagined we looked, older and still in love.
“I’m so sorry,” I say as I lean back into him.
His arms slide around my waist, chin hooking over my shoulder. “For what?”
“Not coming back. Breaking all my promises while you kept yours.”
He spins me in his arms, damp hair hanging at his shoulders, “No more looking back, okay? If I’m going to get past losing mom and you’re going to get past your pain, we’ve got to move forward. Okay? We’ll go together. Where you go, I go.”
I nod, letting my eyes trace the lines of his face.
“Where you go, I go,” I repeat. And then he’s stepping toward me, his intimidating presence makes me take a step back.
He mirrors my movements until I’m pressed up against the wall, strong hands snake around my hips, squeezing softly while mine trail up his chest, wrapping around the back of his neck.
We hold each other’s gaze for a moment, my eyes falling to his lips as he bites down softly on his own.
He angles his head, bending toward me when one of his hands moves to find its favorite spot at the front of my chin.
He holds me there for a second, his eyes now focused on my lips.
I lick across them, an invitation I hope he takes.
And he does. A shy smile quickly passes over his face before his grip on my chin tightens ever so slightly, and he presses his lips to mine.
It’s feather light, almost hesitant, but he doesn’t move.
His lips quiver against mine, the tiny tremble betrays everything he’s trying not to feel.
Then he exhales, the warmth of his breath ghosting over my lips before he kisses me again.
Harder this time. Needier. This moment feels significant, a silent surrender of the things we’ve held on to all this time.
After a few more gentle kisses, he pulls away.
Resting his forehead against my own, our breaths tangling together in the small space between us.
His chest rises and falls at a rate that says he’s struggling to steady himself.
Me too, Goldie. His eyes stay closed, but I watch him drag his tongue slowly across his lips, as if he’s savoring the taste of us.
“Will you call me next time you get the urge to drink?” I whisper, watching his blonde lashes flutter open.
“I still don’t have your number,” he whispers, sliding his hand over my jaw, threading through my hair until his fingers curl around the back of my neck.
“Hmm… We should change that then.” I lean into his touch, unable to stop myself. Unable to keep up the lie that I don’t want him, this.
He chuckles, lips quirking up as he nods, moving both our heads in tandem.
His hands trail down my neck, settling on my shoulders.
The warmth of his gaze settles over me like a blanket, cozy and welcoming.
“Yeah, pretty girl, we should. And I give you full permission to slap any alcohol out of my hand should you ever see me with it.”
I pull in a shaky breath, my hands sliding down his chest, fisting the fabric of his shirt.
The small tug pulls him a tiny bit closer.
“I don’t want to slap it out of your hand, Lucas.
” I tilt my head up to meet his eyes, hoping he can feel everything I can’t seem to say just yet.
“I just want you to ask for help. Tell me you’re struggling, or hell, stop putting yourself in a situation where you’re alone with no support. ”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He mumbles into my hair.
My hand moves to his cheek, thumb brushing back and forth against the coarse hair of his beard.
“Don’t be, I just want you to get better.
I don’t want you to be alone anymore, because you’re not.
You have me, you have your friends, heck, you even have a therapist. Let us help.
You want to hurt? Let's go do some physical labor. I’ll go work out with you.
You’d probably kill me, but I’ll do it.”
He laughs, a deep, bellowing laugh. “I’d love nothing more than to see you in workout pants. Maybe shorts. I dream about your legs.” His head tilts back, the movement exposing the strong, corded column of his neck. A groan escapes him at the thought, low and needy, and my restraint simply snaps.
Lifting up on my toes, I run my tongue along the front of his neck.
Tracing over the delicious bump in the middle, and he shudders, a full-body shudder.
By the time he brings his head down enough for me to reach the soft skin just beneath his jaw, I press up a bit more and catch his ear between my teeth.
“I dream about a lot of things,” I whisper.
“Most of which involve you. So how about we pick up where we left off the other day? Hmm..?”
His hands answer before his mouth does, tightening against my hips, claiming me once again.
“Careful,” He murmurs, voice low enough to make my skin pebble in its wake.
He brings his forehead back to mine, our combined breath mingling once again, as he slides one hand back into my hair.
He knows exactly what he’s doing, his grip keeping me right where he wants me.
“If you keep talking like that… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop this time. ”
My pulse stutters, his eyes flicking between my eyes and mouth, the air between us crackling with electricity I hope never fades. “Good,” I breathe. “It’s about time you caught up.”
Time hangs suspended between us, neither of us daring to move.
The whole world narrows to the heat of his hands, the press of his body against mine, and every promise we ever made hanging between us.
Here, in this moment, we aren’t bogged down by grief or fear.
Here, we’re simply two people who have been in love with one another for longer than they can remember.
But then he releases my hair, albeit reluctantly, and presses a soft, lingering kiss to my cheek.
“Not tonight,” he says, voice husky. “I want to be steady, and I’m not.
Not yet.” His thumb strokes softly over my cheek, apologetic and hopeful at the same time.
“I’ll get there, and I hope you’ll be there when I do. ”
Something in me springs to life, relieved, and wanting him even more for noticing and wanting better for himself. I step back, just enough to breathe on my own, but not enough to break our connection. “Then let’s get you better,” I whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His smile is small, but devastating because it’s the same sheepish one he gave me when he first told me he liked me as more than a friend. He was ten, maybe eleven. I’d recognize it anywhere, though.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, letting his hands drop from my hips. “I know.”
And with those two words, for the first time since I’ve been back, it feels like the ground beneath us isn’t shifting, it’s settling.