Chapter 32
Miles shut his eyes, her promise like a lifeline. One he was going to hold on to.
“On a scale of one to ten,” she said, tone quiet and soothing, “with ten being the worst, where are you at right now?”
Keeping his eyes closed, he focused on the sensations in his body. The twisting and turning in his gut. The muted whooshing sound in his head. The sense that each breath was too short. Too shallow.
But it wasn’t the worst he’d experienced. Not even close.
“Four.”
“Okay, good. We’ll try the 5-4-3-2-1 method. It’s to help you focus on neutral things to regulate your nervous system. Are you ready to start?” Eyes still closed, he nodded. “Tell me five things you can see.”
He opened his eyes, noting the rain dotting the windshield. The bright pink of Mrs. Johnson’s umbrella as she loaded her groceries into her car. That the green Ford exiting the parking lot had a rear brake light out.
It didn’t help.
He jiggled his leg. Shifted in his seat because he couldn’t sit still, not when it felt like he’d explode if he didn’t move. But there wasn’t enough room in the car, the warm, humid space was closing in on him, pressing against skin that already felt too tight. Too suffocating.
And through the roaring in his ears, he heard his name being called, as if the person calling for him was drifting away, farther and farther, until they disappeared.
It was just like his nightmare. The reoccurring one where his mother called and called for him.
Cold sweat prickled along his nape. His stomach turned and he breathed through his mouth so he didn’t throw up. Took short, choppy breaths that made him feel lightheaded.
He was drowning, drowning in panic and regrets and guilt. Being pulled under by his mistakes when all he wanted was to make things right.
But then he felt something warm and soft press against his arm. Breathed in something sweet and floral, and realized Tabitha was leaning across him.
A moment later, he heard the soft whir of his window going down. Cool, damp air washed over his heated skin. He inhaled, long and deep and slow. Held it until his lungs felt like they would burst, then slowly, slowly exhaled.
And when Tabitha started to ease back, he wrapped his hand around her upper arm, stopping her. She pressed her hand against his chest to maintain her balance, but she didn’t pull away.
He skimmed his gaze over her face, taking his time, lingering on the arch of her eyebrows, the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips.
“You,” he murmured gruffly. “The first thing I see is you.”
She gave his chest a soft, encouraging pat. “Good. What else?”
“I see you,” he said again. “Your beauty. Your innate kindness. Your courage and resilience.”
She stared at him, her eyes wide and wary, her jaw slack.
Yeah, he’d really fucked up with her if his telling her some of the positive ways he saw her stunned her into silence.
But that was all part of him doing what was right. Fixing the mistakes he’d made.
And maybe, someday, he’d be able to forgive himself for them.
She cleared her throat, but when she spoke her voice was husky with some unnamed emotion. “Maybe I didn’t explain it correctly. You’re supposed to name five physical things you can see. The store or that tree across the street or the steering wheel.”
He took another slow, deep breath. Nodded. “I see your hair, the gold of it sparkling with rain.”
“That’s not—”
“I see the green of your dress,” he continued, the grip his panic had on him only moments before relaxing more and more with each word he spoke, “and the rosy blush in your cheeks. I see the blue of your eyes and the pink of your mouth.”
“Again, this isn’t exactly the way this technique is supposed to work. It might not be the best idea for you to focus entirely on me.”
“I disagree,” he told her quietly. “In this moment, it’s imperative I focus entirely on you. You are what’s keeping me steady. You are why I’m able to breathe.”
She exhaled shakily. “Oh.”
“Is there more? To this method?”
Nibbling on her lower lip, she nodded. Swallowed. “List four things you can feel.”
“Your hand holding mine,” he said instantly, glad she hadn’t let go of his right hand.
He slid his left hand to her shoulder. Brushed his fingertips up and down the side of her neck. “I feel the softness of your skin.” Lowered his hand to cover hers, still on his chest. “I feel the warmth of your palm through my shirt. And I feel my heart beating.”
“I feel that, too,” she whispered, edging closer. “What are three things you can hear?”
“Your voice. I recognized it,” he admitted, gaze on their hands as he played with her fingers, gliding his touch across the twisted silver ring on her forefinger. “That night at The Cockeyed Chameleon. I knew it was you before I turned around.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t get up and walk away without a backward glance.”
“I considered it.” Lifting her hand to his mouth, he met her gaze and admitted yet another truth. “I’m glad I didn’t.”
And he pressed a warm kiss to her palm.
She gasped softly.
“I hear that, too,” he murmured, his lips moving against her palm. “The catch of your breath. The unsteadiness of it. And I can still hear the way you moaned when you came on my tongue.”
That rosy blush deepened, and she shifted, as if she, too, was remembering that exact moment. “You seem to be feeling better. I’m not sure we need to keep going.”
“We should,” he said, settling her hand back on his chest. “In case I’m alone the next time. That way I’ll know what to do.”
She made a humming sound, either of agreement or because he was sliding his hand up her arm, his fingertips skimming along her skin. And when she spoke, her voice was husky. “What are two things you can smell?”
“The rain,” he said, proving he wasn’t only focusing on her. But then he leaned in, pressing his face against the side of her neck. Inhaled. “And your perfume. It’s different,” he added, rubbing his nose up and down the length of her neck, “than what you used to wear.”
She nodded, and a few silky strands of hair above her ear caught on his whiskers, pulling free of her ponytail. “There’s a lot about me that’s different. So many things I needed to change.”
Lifting his head, he tucked those loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I see you. Here. Now. As you are now. Who you are now.” He slid his hand around to cup the back of her neck. “What’s next?”
Eyes locked on his, she licked her lips. “One thing you can taste.”
His heart kicked, hard and heavy in his chest. He remembered their first kiss. The sense of anticipation. The nerves and thrill of finally pressing his mouth to hers. How right it had felt. Like they were destined to be.
He remembered their last kiss. He’d been running late to class and had given her a quick peck on the cheek only to have her stop him as he was opening the door to leave.
She’d kissed him, there, in that doorway, a long, warm, lingering kiss. Then she’d wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. She’d held him. No, she’d clung to him, holding on longer and harder than she’d ever hugged him before.
As if she hadn’t wanted to let him go.
He’d thought that kiss, that embrace meant she was finally opening up to him. That she loved him back.
When what they’d really meant was goodbye.
He hadn’t kissed her since.
Even after everything they’d done, after all the truths she’d shared, the ones he’d confessed, he’d still held back. Too afraid of what a kiss between them would remind him of.
What it would mean.
What it would change.
He dropped his gaze to her mouth. Her lips parted on a soft sound of expectation and he slowly lowered his head, giving her plenty of time to pull away, to stop him if this wasn’t what she wanted, too.
She slid her hand from his chest to his shoulder and edged closer. They stayed that way, the moment heavy with anticipation and still a sense of ease he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Heart racing, he held her gaze, watched her eyes widen as he dipped his head. Saw the blue of them deepen when he brushed his mouth against hers. Her fingers tightened on his shoulder, her lips parted on a hushed exhale, her breath washing across his mouth.
“You,” he whispered against her mouth. “I taste you.”
And because she tasted so sweet, because her lips were so soft and warm, and because her eyes fluttered shut and she tipped her head back in clear invitation, he did it again.
And again.
And again.
Gentle, barely there brushes of his mouth against hers until her fingers dug into his shoulder. Until her breathing grew faster and faster. Until she whimpered, the sound a mix of impatience and need.
He grinned against her mouth and she made another sound, this one pure irritation.
And then she licked the corners of his mouth, a quick swipe of the tip of her tongue on each side that had his fingers tightening on her neck. He sat there, stunned and thrilled and breathless, as she sucked his lower lip into her mouth only to release it far enough for her to capture it lightly between her teeth.
She bit down gently, the sting of it going straight to his dick. He went rock hard.
Christ, but he loved it when she took what she wanted from him. What she needed.
Lifting his hand to her ponytail, he tugged on it, forcing her head back until she slowly dragged her teeth along his lip before releasing it.
Once again, their eyes met and held.
And then she smiled, so pretty and so fucking pleased with herself, he let out a growl and slammed his mouth to hers.
He’d been worried kissing her would drag him into the past. But the moment his mouth touched hers, it was as if the past no longer existed. There was only now. No memories. No regrets. No lies.
It was as if they were experiencing something completely new. Something true.
Something they could build on.
He went wild for her, even more so than he’d been last night in that closet. There was no coaxing, no slow, sweet seduction, no patience, or finesse whatsoever.
He devoured her.
Their kiss was unlike anything they’d ever shared before. It was close to brutal. Bordering on dark. But it wasn’t a punishment. Wasn’t his way of getting payback. Wasn’t him trying to prove anything.
It was his salvation.
Still, he realized, in some far recesses in the back of his brain, that he should slow down. But she was kissing him back just as hungrily. Just as deeply.
And when she made another sound, this one a rumble of satisfaction from deep in her throat that reverberated straight through him, he angled her head to the side and kissed her even harder.
It didn’t matter that they were making out, hot and heavy, like a couple of teenagers in his car in a public parking lot. Or that his phone was still buzzing with texts. That his family was waiting for them.
It didn’t matter that he was out of control over a kiss, unable to stop, or that he was pouring his heart and soul into the kiss, letting her see just how badly he wanted her.
How much he’d missed her.
How hard he was falling for her again.
All that mattered was having her back in his arms and that she was kissing him back. Pouring just as much of herself into their kiss as he was.
He dragged her across the console so that she was lying against him, her breasts pressed against his chest, her body twisted at an odd angle. Tightened his grip on her hair, his other hand sliding under the hem of her skirt, touching her knee. Then moving up her inner thigh, dragging the material up, exposing her bare legs as he went higher, seeking her heat. Needing to touch her again. To make her feel good again.
Only to freeze when she clamped her hand over his wrist, yanked her mouth from his and sat back in her seat in one motion.
“Sorry,” she said breathlessly as she reached for something on the floor in front of her. “I have to check this.”
And she straightened with her phone in her hand, making him realize that while he was lost to anything and everything that wasn’t her—the taste of her kiss, the feel of her skin, the scent of her perfume—she’d remained cognizant enough to hear her phone ringing.
Talk about an ego killer.
But then he noticed her eyes were glazed and her face flushed, that she blinked several times staring at her phone as if trying to remember not only why she’d picked it up, but how it worked.
He shifted and sat up, trying to find a more comfortable position, one that would accommodate his raging hard-on, when Tabitha spoke.
“It’s Verity.”
His boner deflated just like that.
“You gave her your number?”
She shrugged. “She asked for it. And I like Verity. Plus, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but she doesn’t exactly take no for an answer.”
“I’ve noticed.”
He and his brothers had always taught her to go after what she wanted, no holds barred. To stand up for herself and others when the situation was warranted. To not back down.
That had come back to bite them in their asses.
The phone stopped ringing and they both sighed in relief.
Only to have it start ringing again almost immediately.
And his phone buzzed. And buzzed.
And buzzed.
His fucking family.
“You don’t have to answer that,” he told Tabitha. “She probably just wants to know when we’re going to be there.”
She frowned. “Are you sure?”
He nodded and after a moment, she put the phone back in her purse, then turned in her seat to face him. “Are you okay to drive?”
“I’m good.” The panic, while not completely gone, was controlled enough that his thoughts were clear.
But he couldn’t take her home to meet his family. Not yet.
Not with so much left unsaid between them.
“I should have invited you home with me,” he admitted quietly. Hoping it wasn’t too late to tell her one of the many things he should have said ten years ago. “When we were together before. I should have told my family about us. About you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
A dozen excuses ran through his head. Each one valid. Each one reasonable. Each one real in a way.
But only one was the truth.
“I was selfish.” He leaned his head back against the seat. Stared out through the windshield. “Everything was so fucked up. My parents were dead and Urban had to quit school to take care of the rest of us. Toby helped out as much as he could, but he was still a kid, too, and Silas was struggling, getting into trouble, acting out. Eli was going through puberty and Verity was practically a baby. And I wasn’t there to help.” He let out a long breath, one he felt like he’d been holding for ten years. “I didn’t want to be there.”
He hadn’t wanted the responsibility of taking care of anyone else but himself. Had wanted a break from unrelenting grief and sense of loss.
“And I knew,” he continued, “if I told my brothers about you, if I brought you home with me, I’d feel guilty. And I didn’t want to.”
“Guilty because you’d kept me a secret from them?”
“Guilty because Urban and the girl he thought he was going to marry had broken up, while I was with someone I loved. Guilty because my family was struggling, trying to find a new normal, surrounded by memories of how life used to be, while I lived this new life in a new town with new people. Guilty because Urban and Toby took on so much responsibility, always trying to figure out a way to take care of Silas and Eli and Verity.”
“Guilty,” he continued, “because when I was in Pittsburgh, with you, I could pretend none of that was happening. I could go days without thinking of anyone in my family if I didn’t want to. The longer I pretended, the easier it became. And more important to keep my life divided into two neat parts. My life with you in Pittsburgh. And the one with my family here.”
“You were barely an adult yourself,” Tabitha reminded him. “You did the best you could with a difficult situation.”
“I should have done better.”
“We both made our fair share of mistakes.” She bit her lower lip. Frowned. “Is this another one?”
“What do you mean?”
“This” –she gestured between them— “Us being together. Are we holding onto something that’s long gone? That should be kept in the past?”
“I don’t know if this will be a mistake. But I do know I have no desire to turn back time. I’m ready to move forward. And I have no idea what that’ll entail or if it’ll even go anywhere. All I know is that I want to spend time with you. I want my family to meet you. And I want to get to know you. The person you are now. I want to hear about what your life was like over the past ten years. Your goals for the next ten. And when you’re ready, I want you to tell me more of those secrets you kept ten years ago.”
She kept silent, staring down at her hands in her lap, and he wondered if he’d blown it with his pride and stubbornness and everything he’d done and said since she’d come back into his life. With all the things he hadn’t said or done when they were together.
All the things he still hadn’t said.
But then she took a deep breath, lifted her head and met his eyes.
And this brave, resilient, amazing woman who had a million reasons not to trust anyone—and at least a dozen not to trust him—smiled softly at him.
And trusted him anyway.
“I’d like that, too.”