Pocketful of Sand
Page 48

I feel sick. Physically ill, like someone took a hot poker and jumbled up my guts. Can I be with him knowing that there is no future? Knowing that there isn’t a tomorrow? That we will never be more than we are right now?
I don’t know.
But can I let him go? Can I walk away? Let him go, right this minute? Move on and never look back?
I don’t know that I can do that either. I don’t know any of the answers. I only know that when he leans into me, when he brushes his lips over my forehead and pulls me into his arms, I feel like there’s more. I feel like this can be more. If I only give him time.
I tilt my head and press my lips to his chin and then to his mouth. Hard. I hold him to me like I don’t want to let go. Because I don’t. I can’t. Not yet. We just need time.
I hear his breathing pick up. I feel his hands grip my arms. It’s my only warning. That and the pause. His stillness. His way of telling me that if I’m going to stop him, do it now.
Only I don’t. I don’t stop him because I don’t want to. Instead, I reach under his shirt and I press my palms to his warm skin. And then we’re on fire. We are two flames, raging out of control. Licking, burning, engulfing.
I don’t know how we get undressed, but suddenly his hot, smooth skin is all I can feel. Against every inch of my body. Sliding, grinding, pressing.
And then the couch meets my thighs. And he’s spinning me around. And he’s bending me forward. And his hands are in my hair. And his mouth is at my shoulder. And his hips are pressed to mine.
And then he’s inside me.
Forceful. Possessive. Undeniable.
He takes. I give.
He asks. I answer.
Finally, I am glass. Splintering. Separating. Reflecting.
A hundred colors. A thousand lights. A million emotions. Flying. Colliding. Swirling.
This is when I know without a doubt that I’m in love with Cole Danzer.
I’m lying limp against Cole’s side. I didn’t ask him to stay. He didn’t tell me he was leaving. He just picked me up when I couldn’t stand anymore and carried me over here to the rug. Our rug.
I trace the letters that dance gracefully up his ribs on his left side. Always. I’ve admired his tattoos many times, but since I’ve been close enough to ask him about them, I’m always too absorbed with his presence, with his touch to ask. But now I have to know. Even though I’m almost afraid to ask about them, I’ve come too far to stop now. If I’m to find a way to keep him, I need to know everything. I can’t fix it if I don’t know about it.
“What does this mean?” I ask quietly, the first word spoken between us since he told me there was nothing else he could give me. I still disagree. I just have to make him see it.
“It’s for Charity. She’ll always be closest to my heart.”
I gulp. Another reiteration of how he will never let me any closer? I don’t know, but I have to make him understand that Emmy and I will never replace his daughter. I would never want for us to. But surely he can love us all. Surely.
“You don’t need words on your skin for her to be close to you. She’s your child. You’ll never be without her. Not really. She’s a part of you. Just like Emmy is a part of me. Nothing and no one could ever change that.”
But that doesn’t mean I don’t have room to love someone else, too, I add silently, wishing he could read my mind.
I swallow my sigh when he makes no comment. “What about the other side?” I ask, referring to the script I’ve seen there. Never. “What does it mean?”
“Never means a lot of things,” he says enigmatically. Another hint at what we will never have? What he can never give?
“What does it mean to you?”
“Never forget. Never again. There are a lot of nevers in my life.”
I feel tears sting my eyes. “Am I a never now?”
“I think you always were.”
TWENTY-SIX
Eden
THANKSGIVING WENT BY in Miller’s Pond practically unnoticed. Emmy and I just had turkey pot pies at the house. But Christmas… Christmas is another matter altogether. I know the instant I open the door at Bailey’s that this is a town that loves Christmas.
“Ho ho ho, ya hoser!” Jordan greets merrily from behind the counter. She’s wearing a risqué Santa costume that includes a Santa hat, a cleavage-flaunting red top trimmed in white fur, and skin-tight black leather pants. Her wide black belt has a buckle as big as Emmy’s head and it’s encrusted with flashy faux diamonds. She’s very…eye-catching. And very Jordan.
“Hi, Jordan,” I call as Emmy and I head for the long bar. I told her we’d get a grilled cheese for lunch and then do our shopping.
The only two empty stools are between a guy named Cody that I’ve seen here before and an old wino that I’m not sure ever leaves. I put Emmy beside Cody and then I slide onto the stool beside the wino. He’s swaying slightly, evidently already obliterated at quarter til twelve on a weekday. The best thing I can say about him is that at least he doesn’t stink. Granted, he might actually bathe in alcohol, as strongly as he smells of it, but that’s better than body odor.
He gives me a bleary smile and then returns his attention to the flat screen mounted on the wall that separates the bar from the kitchen behind it. Cody smiles and nods at me when I turn to help Emmy out of her jacket.
“Ladies.”
I smile in return. Emmy leans toward me, slipping her thumb into her mouth. She at least smiles around it, though, when Jordan comes slinking down to take our order. She smells like alcohol, too, but at least she’s more functional than the old man beside me.