26. “Save Tonight”
Chapter 26
“Save Tonight”
Sascha - Age 24, 1994
T his evening has been more than I was mentally prepared for. Some of us ladies went to grab a few drinks earlier to celebrate Sarah’s wedding tomorrow, and I had been desperately looking forward to a night out with the girls.
I planned to sip a martini or two to soothe my rapidly fraying nerves about seeing Michael tomorrow for the first time in years.
I was feeling cool, calm, and collected. At least, that’s the image I was portraying on the outside. And it was working. I had it handled. I was mentally prepared to see him tomorrow, be cordial and friendly, and enjoy the wedding without drama. After all, we’re not exactly friends anymore, but we’re also not enemies. We’re just sort of…neutral, or so I thought.
Then Ivy took us all on a little trip down memory lane. She had a couple of glasses of Chardonnay and regaled the group with tales of cults, teenage bullies, and lost love. She told her story from beginning to end—the kidnapping, life in captivity, meeting me, Corey, and everyone else in high school, and how she’s felt stuck these past few years.
Everyone listened with rapt attention. It’s an astonishing story. So astonishing that she’s written it into a book. I’m so proud of her for telling it, but I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of feelings that crashed over me like endless waves on a stormy day. Every time I tried to come up for air, I was pulled back under in a riptide of sentiment.
In the center of her story was Michael Tazman. Well, maybe he wasn’t the center of her story, but he’s the center of mine. As she talked about her time in high school, I relived it with her. All of the friendship, anger, lust, and love came flooding back to me. Every step of my relationship with him stared me in the face, impossible to ignore, even two martinis deep.
I did my best to focus on Ivy, offering support as she recalled the strange events of her life through her teenage years. But the truth is, ever since I got home two days ago, all I’ve been able to think about is how this wedding has the potential to affect my own life.
So when I returned home this evening, my head was spinning. My parents had gone to bed, so I went upstairs to my childhood room and plopped down on the bed.
Being surrounded by the memories held within these walls is always comforting. My parents haven’t changed much in here. They have no real use for this room, so things are basically as I left it. It’s like sleeping in a time capsule.
As I slip under the covers of the bed that was my haven for years, a wave of nostalgia envelops me along with the new comforter. It’s blue and lighter than I preferred in high school. My posters, once proudly displayed on the walls, are now safely tucked away in the closet. But everything else is the same—the mirror across the room, adorned with pictures of me and my friends from our teenage years, smiles back at me.
The years have passed in a blur, and it’s hard to believe how much time has passed. It feels like we were young and reckless just yesterday, sneaking around for secret nights together. But now, as I look back on those memories, they seem distant and hazy.
He’s come home sporadically to visit his grandmother, and I’ve returned during breaks and holidays, yet our paths haven’t crossed. Whether this was a conscious decision or simply the way life played out, I can’t say. Occasionally, he will call my parents to check in and ask about me, but direct contact between us has been nonexistent since we were eighteen.
And while I think of him often, I haven’t reached out either. Time has created a distance between us that seems insurmountable. We have both moved on with our lives, forming new connections and traveling down different paths. Such is the predictable nature of life, and not the first time it’s happened with us, I find myself thinking with a hint of resignation.
I wouldn’t know what to say to him now. The mere thought of facing someone who was once such a big part of my world sends a sharp pang through my chest. Ivy and I have discussed it endlessly but still can’t figure out the right words. How do you talk to a stranger who used to know every intimate detail of your life? It’s too trippy to comprehend, so I choose avoidance.
But tomorrow, there will be no way to avoid one another. My heart raced when Landry told me he had arrived in town alone. I had assumed he would have a bevy of beautiful women surrounding him, just like he did in high school. After all, he’s become a successful professional hockey player in his first year in the NHL. The thought of him being here, in this small town where everything is frozen in time, makes my head spin.
My eyelids begin to droop, heavy with alcohol and the need for sleep. I can only hope that a night of rest will bring clarity for tomorrow.
The ceremony is gorgeous and goes off without a hitch. Well, there is a tiny hitch. Ivy freezes dead in her tracks halfway down the aisle when she sees Corey standing near the best man. I’m able to give her a friendly bump in the butt with my bridesmaid bouquet, and she shakes out of her funk long enough to make it to her place in the front of the church with the rest of the bridal party.
As for me, I move with confidence. I look fantastic. This gunmetal gray bridesmaid dress fits me like a second skin. My hair is cooperating, my makeup is dramatic yet daytime-event friendly, and I have the perfect smile plastered on my face. I’m ready to see Michael Tazman.
Except when my eyes meet his from where he sits near Landry, I almost come to a full stop in my tracks as well. I somehow had forgotten the effect those aquamarine eyes have always had on me. His hair is back to its natural brown shade, and I nearly combust when he gives me a genuine smile and a knowing wink.
Somehow I maintain my calm demeanor and get through the ceremony and bridal party pictures; although, I’m sure once developed they will show my pale skin betraying my confidence with a pink blush.
As Sarah and I finish hugging, I feel a tingle run up my spine. My heart races as I see him, leaning against a tall wooden pillar with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a tumbler of amber liquid. He looks like a model in a navy blue fitted suit like he walked straight out of a GQ magazine. Our eyes meet, and I feel the peculiar juxtaposition of nerves and a strange sense of security in his presence.
Our eyes lock in a silent competition, both of us unable to break the tension. My stomach churns with a mixture of excitement and nerves. With determination, I take the first step toward him, ready for whatever comes next.
“Hey, Sash.” Deep and smooth like melted chocolate, his voice sends a shiver down my spine as he greets me. I raise an eyebrow at his attempt at nonchalance.
“Michael,” I reply with a smirk, “it’s been a while.”
He shrugs indifferently. “Has it? Sorry, time flies when I'm not thinking about you.”
I can't help but laugh at his cockiness. “You’re looking positively average,” I retort playfully.
“And you’re looking more hideous than ever,” he fires back with a grin.
Our witty banter flows easily, but there’s an underlying tension that neither of us can ignore.
“What are we doing?” I say breathlessly as Michael pulls my nipple into his mouth. My once-perfectly fitting bridesmaid dress is pulled down to my waist as he works my breasts with his hands and mouth.
“What we do best,” he says as his hand drops to my knee and runs up my inner thigh.
“Is this a good idea?” I moan when his fingers meet the apex of my thighs and pull the fabric of my lacy g-string undies aside.
“It’s the best idea,” he growls before capturing my lips in a blistering kiss.
My mind ceases to work when he’s this close to me. I’m completely at the mercy of his touch.
My head rolls back against the cold tile in the bathroom, causing him to abruptly stop and grab my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.
He sucks on my neck gently as his hands explore my body. The intensity of the music outside and being forced to watch his large hands map my curves makes my skin tingle with need.
Once his hand cups my pussy, I almost come on the spot. He slides his fingers through my wet slit, causing me to tremble with anticipation. With a cocky smile on his face, he slips his middle finger inside and begins to pump in and out.
“You need more?” he asks with a satisfied grin.
My reply is breathy and desperate. “Yes, please.”
He adds another finger while dropping his head to suck on the spot between my neck and shoulder, hard enough to mark me.
I drop my hand to cover his, and he begins to circle my clit with his thumb.
“You’re so wet for me,” he whispers in my ear. “Do you want to come on my fingers or my tongue?”
“You’re tongue,” I pant, barely able to speak. “I want you to eat my pussy.”
Taz drops to his knees and throws one of my legs over his shoulder. He doesn’t move at first, devouring me with his eyes. Looking up at me with a smile, he circles my clit with featherlight sweeps of his tongue, driving me insane with need.
I grab his head and grind myself against his face as he increases the pressure. He growls as he flattens his tongue and then sucks my clit into his mouth while pumping his fingers inside me. I fight the urge to close my eyes as the sensations take over my body.
“Please, Taz,” I mewl as he increases the pressure on my clit and curls his fingers, massaging my sensitive inner walls. The sucking sounds of his tongue and fingers working my pussy fill my ears, drowning out the music in the background as I climb higher.
My orgasm hits me like a truck as my legs quiver, and my breath is stolen. I come with my entire body. All of my muscles tighten and contract from my toes to my forehead. My pelvis convulses against him, and he licks and laps up the evidence of the orgasm, his finger slowly pumping in and out.
Our eyes lock as he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean, lingering on my salty taste. His voice is husky when he speaks, “Tastes like home.” He winks before turning away, his voice echoing behind me. “See you soon.”
What?