He’d practically asked her if she loved him. Why? Because, even if he didn’t know his own feelings, he was desperate to know hers? So he could run or…not run?
He didn’t know what to say. What he should or even could say. So he crushed his mouth over hers, desperate to pour out everything he felt and couldn’t say. He took in the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her pulse thundering under his lips at her throat.
He saw the undisguised emotion when he filled her in one deep stroke. Felt it himself. Everything about being with her was so fucking perfect, so right, he was raw with it.
Her eyes started to glaze and her lids fluttered. “Don’t close your eyes.”
And with her eyes locked with his, he claimed her and she let him, holding nothing back. Giving everything. She arched against him, fingers in his hair, heels digging into the back of his thighs.
He kissed her gently, then watched her face when she came around him. Still so innocent of her own pleasure, her own desires. But even innocent, she tore him apart. The way her eyes looked deep into his. The way she sighed his name. Like he was the only one. Her only one.
He buried his face in her neck, drove one last time, and came so hard he thought he must be leaving a part of himself inside her.
His heart. More likely his very soul.
—
Stephen followed the long, winding drive through Pleasant View Cemetery. Long oaks stretched across, offering shade and companionship to those who came to sit beside their loved ones.
A squirrel darted out and he slammed on his brakes, sending the flowers on the seat next to him crashing to the floorboard. He retrieved them, twelve red roses wrapped in plastic. His usual offering.
A part of him had thought to send Hannah flowers. But since today was the fifth anniversary of his fiancée’s death, another part of him spoke louder. The part that said he should feel guilty. And he did. For his time with Hannah, because he didn’t regret it, and even more, for not wanting to come today. It hurt to come here, but wasn’t it supposed to?
He pulled over to the edge, parked, and got out. There were more dirt mounds every year. More tombstones. More flowers. He treaded lightly on the grass between them, passing names that had become as familiar to him as his own.
He didn’t come so much anymore, but there’d been a time he’d come every day, sometimes more than once. Sometimes he’d stayed all night, more at home with the dead than the living. They seemed to understand him, didn’t ask for more than he could give. Sleeping. Silent. Echoing how he felt inside. Or how he used to feel, before a chance meeting at a grocery store.
And the guilt crept in like dark mist.
He walked a little farther, up a gentle rise, and found the one he’d come to see. He stared at the letters carved into gray stone that spelled out her name and the short time she’d spent in this world.
Over the years, coming here had become more and more about nursing his anger and less about being close to her. He didn’t feel her here. Feared she was beginning to fade altogether. What did it say about him that her killers’ faces were still burned into his brain in high resolution?
He remembered his fiancée as a happy-go-lucky girl. They’d both been like that. The golden couple, never thought a bad thing could happen. So different from Hannah, the bright sunny girl he’d fallen for who knew exactly how bad people could be.
He leaned the forgotten bouquet against the stone, wondering if he should apologize for wanting to live again. For not wanting to be that man anymore that her death had left behind. Stephen dropped his chin to his chest, suddenly so weary he could barely stand under the weight of his own hatred. Maybe that was the problem. He’d never been able to separate the two. His rage and his grief. His love for Tracy and his hatred for her killers.
He’d nursed it until his fury was a living, breathing thing, so much a part of him he was afraid of what might happen if he let it go. For too long it had been the only thing to keep him from crumpling into a pile of dust.
The flowers slid onto their side and the cellophane flapped in the breeze. All this time, he thought he’d been healing, keeping himself contained and controlled. But he hadn’t been. Not until Hannah. The very one he’d feared would drag him back to a time when he most hated himself had slowly pulled him into her light.
And he wanted to stay there.
—
Hannah held the phone against her ear as she wiped off the counter and talked to Mia on the other end. She’d called to check in, since they hadn’t gotten a chance to talk yesterday. “How are things with Stephen?” Mia asked.
Ah. And now she figured they were getting to the real reason for the call. But she didn’t mind. It reminded her of a time long ago, when Mia had been more like a big sister. “Good. He actually left a little while ago, but he’s coming back with dinner.” He had an international conference call and was bringing takeout after. She peeked at the brownies in the oven and smiled, thinking how Stephen liked to describe the wicked things they could do with chocolate.
“I haven’t talked to you alone since your trip.” Mia paused and Hannah could practically feel the give-me-details raised eyebrow.
“It was good.”
“And?”
“And it was really good. We…well…you know.”
“Yes. I know. I would ask how that went, but by the sound of your voice and the look on your face yesterday, I take it it was good.”
“Better than good.” Hannah pulled the brownies from the oven. She liked them slightly gooey in the center. So did Stephen. Whom she’d expected by now. She brushed the curtains aside and realized there’d been a long pause. “Mia?”