“Sand everywhere,” he said. “In places you don’t want it. Making sandpaper out of body parts that have no business being abrasive.”
“Ouch,” she said breathlessly, a little curious to know what that would feel like, but she wouldn’t admit that to him. Mostly because it would make him think of her.
Would Dawn have to spend every moment with him watching what she said so she didn’t set off Sara triggers? Was he even worth that much effort?
Hell yeah, he was.
Kellen removed the condom and disposed of it among her waded-up attempts at musical scores in the wastepaper can. She pretended not to be affected by watching him do something so intimate. Every little thing he did fascinated her for some stupid reason. She’d probably weep at his masculine beauty if she watched him shave. Sheesh, she was glad the man could not read her thoughts. It was bad enough that he knew how quickly she’d become physically attached to him—if he had any idea that she was already making an emotional attachment, she wouldn’t be able to gaze at him for long, because he’d be gone.
“Making love on the beach seems as if it would be romantic,” she said.
“Romantic, yes, but also uncomfortable.”
She chuckled as he approached the piano again. “Apparently, making love in uncomfortable locations turns me on.”
He laughed and lifted her from the piano, cradling her head against his shoulder. Her arms automatically circled his neck. She expected him to set her on her feet, but he carried her to the sofa and sat with her on his lap.
“Tell me about your parents,” she said.
“While I’m naked and holding you in my arms?”
“Yep.”
“My mom had a drinking problem and I never met my dad. Tell me about yours.”
“My mom has a stick up her ass and my dad makes sure she keeps it there. I see them twice a year.”
“Christmas and Thanksgiving?”
“Lord, no. They spend the holidays on their private island in the Bahamas. No way am I marooning myself in their company when I’m supposed to be feeling good will toward man and thankful for my gifts. I see my father for a week in April. He reviews my financial situation with his tax attorney. It’s great fun. And I also get the pleasure of their company at the family reunion each year in July. That’s when they all get together and talk about which politician they’re currently courting and who has the most expensive yacht.”
“Can’t even begin to relate to that.”
She chuckled. “Me neither.”
“Didn’t you grow up in that environment?”
“Not really. I had a piano teacher and a variety of tutors, a housekeeper who made sure I was fed and clean, but mostly I had me.”
“You must have been lonely. I can relate to that. My grandfather owns a piece of land outside Austin. He lived in one trailer, and my mom and I lived in another. I made sure Mom was fed and clean, and grandpa tried to teach me how to find peace through connecting with the earth. I learned a lot from him before he died. He was half-Comanche and had a unique way of seeing things. When he passed, he left everything to my mom, so she started buying top-shelf vodka. Then my senior year in high school, she met some guy and left me on my own. I was eighteen, and she decided I’d rather finish school in Austin than follow her and Henry to Florida.”
“Did she ask you how you felt about that?”
“Nope, but she was right. I preferred to stay on my own. But her not giving me the choice made me feel unwelcome and unwanted.”
She squeezed his arm reassuringly. She’d never felt wanted either. But she wanted him and hoped that he wanted her too.
“I’ve never admitted that to anyone,” he said. “Not even Owen. When my mom moved out, he and I made it out like it was a huge party. I guess I needed that lie, that I was glad Mom left. Owen tends to dwell on the good and pretend the bad doesn’t exist. He keeps me going most days.”
“I think I’d like to meet him. It’s hard to find a good optimist.”
He laughed. “Yeah, Owen wears optimism like a shield.”
“Do you know who your father is?”
“Yeah. I never met him though. He contacted me when I was sixteen. Sent cards and letters, but I didn’t want to have anything to do with him. I was too angry at him for abandoning me.”
“You’ve never met him? Not even once?”
“No. He got killed in a car wreck before I could allow myself to forgive him. And then it was too late. I didn’t even find out about his death until a week after the funeral. I’m not sure if I would have gone had I known.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Before Sara was diagnosed, that was my sole regret in life,” he said. “Not getting to know my father when I had the chance. When Sara got sick, my list of regrets grew exponentially.”
“You don’t regret knowing her, do you?”
“Never. I regret not making her last months more about living and less about dying. I regret letting her convince me that the lump I found in her breast was probably nothing. Did you know that when breast cancer is caught early, it has a near one hundred percent cure rate?”
Dawn hated that he carried that guilt. How was he supposed to know what was going on inside her body?
“They didn’t catch it early, did they?”
He shook his head. “It had already metastasized into her lungs. Breast cancer doesn’t even run in her family. She didn’t smoke. She ate healthy and took care of her body. So why did it happen to her?”
“It was just chance,” Dawn said.
“I don’t believe in chance.”
“You believe in destiny,” she said.
He nodded slightly.
“So you think she was destined to die at… how old was she?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Jesus,” Dawn said, sudden tears springing to her eyes. No one should die that young. “Does it make it easier or more difficult thinking she died because it was her destiny?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I just really can’t bring myself to believe that she suffered like that for no reason. But even though I’ve tried rationalizing her death, I can’t come up with any sound reason for her to be taken so young.”
Dawn didn’t believe in destiny or fate. She believed in chance. So it was hard for her to understand where he was coming from. In her mind, there was no reason for Sara to die other than her cells had become cancerous, due to some chance event that would never be identified, and she’d died. She knew Kellen wouldn’t find that any more comforting than not having the sound reason he sought. And Dawn’s beliefs weren’t important here. She didn’t want to convince him that she was right and he was wrong. All she wanted was for him to find that comfort he needed, even if she wasn’t the one who gave it to him.
“Ouch,” she said breathlessly, a little curious to know what that would feel like, but she wouldn’t admit that to him. Mostly because it would make him think of her.
Would Dawn have to spend every moment with him watching what she said so she didn’t set off Sara triggers? Was he even worth that much effort?
Hell yeah, he was.
Kellen removed the condom and disposed of it among her waded-up attempts at musical scores in the wastepaper can. She pretended not to be affected by watching him do something so intimate. Every little thing he did fascinated her for some stupid reason. She’d probably weep at his masculine beauty if she watched him shave. Sheesh, she was glad the man could not read her thoughts. It was bad enough that he knew how quickly she’d become physically attached to him—if he had any idea that she was already making an emotional attachment, she wouldn’t be able to gaze at him for long, because he’d be gone.
“Making love on the beach seems as if it would be romantic,” she said.
“Romantic, yes, but also uncomfortable.”
She chuckled as he approached the piano again. “Apparently, making love in uncomfortable locations turns me on.”
He laughed and lifted her from the piano, cradling her head against his shoulder. Her arms automatically circled his neck. She expected him to set her on her feet, but he carried her to the sofa and sat with her on his lap.
“Tell me about your parents,” she said.
“While I’m naked and holding you in my arms?”
“Yep.”
“My mom had a drinking problem and I never met my dad. Tell me about yours.”
“My mom has a stick up her ass and my dad makes sure she keeps it there. I see them twice a year.”
“Christmas and Thanksgiving?”
“Lord, no. They spend the holidays on their private island in the Bahamas. No way am I marooning myself in their company when I’m supposed to be feeling good will toward man and thankful for my gifts. I see my father for a week in April. He reviews my financial situation with his tax attorney. It’s great fun. And I also get the pleasure of their company at the family reunion each year in July. That’s when they all get together and talk about which politician they’re currently courting and who has the most expensive yacht.”
“Can’t even begin to relate to that.”
She chuckled. “Me neither.”
“Didn’t you grow up in that environment?”
“Not really. I had a piano teacher and a variety of tutors, a housekeeper who made sure I was fed and clean, but mostly I had me.”
“You must have been lonely. I can relate to that. My grandfather owns a piece of land outside Austin. He lived in one trailer, and my mom and I lived in another. I made sure Mom was fed and clean, and grandpa tried to teach me how to find peace through connecting with the earth. I learned a lot from him before he died. He was half-Comanche and had a unique way of seeing things. When he passed, he left everything to my mom, so she started buying top-shelf vodka. Then my senior year in high school, she met some guy and left me on my own. I was eighteen, and she decided I’d rather finish school in Austin than follow her and Henry to Florida.”
“Did she ask you how you felt about that?”
“Nope, but she was right. I preferred to stay on my own. But her not giving me the choice made me feel unwelcome and unwanted.”
She squeezed his arm reassuringly. She’d never felt wanted either. But she wanted him and hoped that he wanted her too.
“I’ve never admitted that to anyone,” he said. “Not even Owen. When my mom moved out, he and I made it out like it was a huge party. I guess I needed that lie, that I was glad Mom left. Owen tends to dwell on the good and pretend the bad doesn’t exist. He keeps me going most days.”
“I think I’d like to meet him. It’s hard to find a good optimist.”
He laughed. “Yeah, Owen wears optimism like a shield.”
“Do you know who your father is?”
“Yeah. I never met him though. He contacted me when I was sixteen. Sent cards and letters, but I didn’t want to have anything to do with him. I was too angry at him for abandoning me.”
“You’ve never met him? Not even once?”
“No. He got killed in a car wreck before I could allow myself to forgive him. And then it was too late. I didn’t even find out about his death until a week after the funeral. I’m not sure if I would have gone had I known.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Before Sara was diagnosed, that was my sole regret in life,” he said. “Not getting to know my father when I had the chance. When Sara got sick, my list of regrets grew exponentially.”
“You don’t regret knowing her, do you?”
“Never. I regret not making her last months more about living and less about dying. I regret letting her convince me that the lump I found in her breast was probably nothing. Did you know that when breast cancer is caught early, it has a near one hundred percent cure rate?”
Dawn hated that he carried that guilt. How was he supposed to know what was going on inside her body?
“They didn’t catch it early, did they?”
He shook his head. “It had already metastasized into her lungs. Breast cancer doesn’t even run in her family. She didn’t smoke. She ate healthy and took care of her body. So why did it happen to her?”
“It was just chance,” Dawn said.
“I don’t believe in chance.”
“You believe in destiny,” she said.
He nodded slightly.
“So you think she was destined to die at… how old was she?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Jesus,” Dawn said, sudden tears springing to her eyes. No one should die that young. “Does it make it easier or more difficult thinking she died because it was her destiny?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I just really can’t bring myself to believe that she suffered like that for no reason. But even though I’ve tried rationalizing her death, I can’t come up with any sound reason for her to be taken so young.”
Dawn didn’t believe in destiny or fate. She believed in chance. So it was hard for her to understand where he was coming from. In her mind, there was no reason for Sara to die other than her cells had become cancerous, due to some chance event that would never be identified, and she’d died. She knew Kellen wouldn’t find that any more comforting than not having the sound reason he sought. And Dawn’s beliefs weren’t important here. She didn’t want to convince him that she was right and he was wrong. All she wanted was for him to find that comfort he needed, even if she wasn’t the one who gave it to him.
