Chasing the Tide
Page 9

I could hear Murphy’s frantic barking inside the house, alerting everyone within a ten mile radius to my presence. I turned off the engine and grabbed my purse. I took a deep breath and readied myself.
I was nervous. So incredibly, irrationally nervous.
I was reminded of the first time I had shown up here after Flynn had moved back to Wellston. I had been more than a little wasted and angry that the boy I had blamed for all the wrongs in my life was back, turning my world upside down.
I had been hateful and bitter. And Flynn had only given me unconditional friendship and acceptance.
He took my resentment and my viciousness and he returned it with his love. He had saved me. He had empowered me.
He had shown me the person that I wanted to be.
“Are you going to sit there all day? It’s cold. Aren’t you cold?” His voice startled me and I jumped.
I put my hand over my thumping heart. “Shit, you scared me.”
Flynn stood on the other side of my car door, hands in his pockets. He still wore the khakis and button down shirt that I had come to associate with him. His dark hair was still on the longish side, falling messily across his forehead. He looked both different and the same.
His shoulders, that had always been slumped, as though he wanted to fold in on himself, were now straight. He stood upright. And his green eyes, dark and untroubled, stared straight into mine. They didn’t look away.
“I’m coming,” I said, opening the door and grabbing my bag, throwing it over my shoulder. Murphy jumped up, his large paws landing firmly in the center of my chest. He knocked me back into my car door.
“Oomph,” I gasped, scratching the dog behind the ear just as I knew he liked it. I loved this giant ball of fur almost as much as I loved Flynn. Our connection was just as strong as any I had ever had with an actual person. It had been a special kind of fate that the dog I had cared for at the shelter had found his way into Flynn’s life.
Murphy’s tongue came out of his mouth to lap at my chin and I turned my head to avoid a face full of dog saliva.
“Get down, Murphy,” Flynn’s deep voice said flatly as he tugged on his dog’s collar. “He’s happy to see you,” he pointed out.
I wiped the slobber from my face. “The feeling’s mutual. Though I could do without the spit bath.”
Flynn didn’t say anything. He didn’t move away and he didn’t bridge the gap between us. The air was cold but I barely felt it.
My eyes found his again and clung to deep, soulful green like a lifeline.
This is what I came back for. Standing here in front of me.
This was worth everything.
We stared at each other for an endless minute. The reality of the moment hitting each of us with an intensity that filled the silence with unspoken words.
“You’re home,” Flynn said, his unemotional voice at odds with the hopeful gleam in his eyes. I had never seen his feelings so clearly expressed on his face. His thoughts and needs were there, painted on clearly for me to see.
His words struck me with a resonance that I felt deep in my bones.
Home.
No word had ever sounded so foreign to my ears yet felt so right in my heart.
Home.
Because I knew that I had finally, after all this time, after the years of searching, found a home, a place to belong, in the waiting arms of the boy who had once, long ago, promised me his friendship. And who now promised me forever.
I smiled. An expression that still felt strange on my lips. I had spent most of my life not having much to smile about. But with Flynn it was easy to grin. It was easy to laugh. It was easy to feel pretty freaking fabulous.
“I’m home,” I repeated.
He reached out and took my bag from my shoulder, his fingers brushing against me. He didn’t shy away. The days of hesitant touching were over, but the shadow of old insecurities remained. He didn’t pull back but he didn’t push for more either.
He started walking towards the house, my bag over his shoulder, clicking his tongue at Murphy so he would follow.
“Wait,” I called out, grabbing ahold of his arm before he could go any farther. I gave him a slight tug. Flynn turned to face me, and I quickly wrapped my arms around his waist.
Flynn instinctually stiffened. “I want to kiss you. I’ve missed you,” I whispered, the wind picking up my words and enfolding them around us.
“Okay,” Flynn replied, smiling for the first time.
I rose up on my tiptoes and carefully pressed my mouth against his. His lips were warm and dry, and I couldn’t help but trace my tongue along the seam. His arms came up to encircle me in return and he pulled me tightly against him.
His mouth opened beneath mine without hesitation and within seconds we were kissing as though we would never have the chance to again.
As though it had been a thousand years since we had seen each other.
As though he were my air and I was his beating heart.
Kissing Flynn was an experience unlike anything. No two kisses were ever the same. Some were soft and tentative. Others were hungry and almost violent.
But this kiss was special.
It was passionate and tender and uncontrollable.
It made me want to cry. It made me want to laugh. It made me want to hang on and never let go.
I broke the kiss after a few minutes when snow started to fall; icy, wet kisses on our skin.
“I love you, Flynn,” I told him, resting my forehead against his chin.
He didn’t give me the words back. He never did. And while I accepted this limitation in him, it still hurt. I wondered if it always would.