Chapter Eleven
Time hada funny way of speeding up exactly when you needed it to slow down. I'd spent hundreds of flights watching the seconds tick by and willing every minute to pass faster than the one before, but it was as if that was a different type of time altogether. It wasn't the same as the moments I had with April. I wanted to slow it all down, and draw it all out until I forgot about everything waiting for me on the other side.
But that wasn't happening. Our time was passing more quickly than I could comprehend, each hot day sliding into another steamy night in April's bed, and the end was approaching. Saturday had faded into Sunday—our first day uninterrupted by work—and it was the most wonderful collection of hours and minutes I'd experienced. I was certain more days like this would be headed my way, perhaps even better ones, but until then I was holding it as the standard by which all others would be measured.
We'd lazed in bed long past sunrise, and that allowed us to miss the morning rush at John's Pancake House. We'd wandered around Montauk Plaza after eating, and stumbled into a bookstore with a respectable romance section. Several titles worthy of ourbook club meets try out the sex scenesendeavor were purchased. Later, we'd walked along the beach, sharing the stray bits of self that emerged when people were really open with each other.
Her loathing of reality television came up when I asked whether she was aGame of Thronesfan. I didn't correct her misunderstanding. She was too adorable as she went on about pop culture's dueling obsessions with royalty and semi-scripted competition shows. Instead, I shared my inability to commit to rooting for a single football team. I was a purist, and loved the game but hated the franchises. We agreed thatStep Brotherswas a remarkable film, and Adele's music was too emotional and complicated for us.
She had a love/hate relationship with her sarcasm as it often got her in trouble when people couldn't determine when she was being serious. I begged her to keep every ounce of that snark. I had a love/hate relationship with my scowling and death stares as they got me in trouble when people assumed I meant to murder them. She begged me to keep on glowering.
Neither of us could count a great number of true friends but the ones we had were irreplaceable. I admitted that I felt the need to solve certain—most—problems by myself, and never ask for help. I worried that, in thirty years, I'd be the eccentric uncle who took up residence in Shannon and Will's guest room. Or worse—living in a retirement community alongside my mother and her cadre of suitors. April expressed that she loved the freedom and flexibility in her life, but still found herself with the urge to put down roots.
I'd almost offered her some roots in the form of me, any way she preferred. I would've, too, if she hadn't stripped down to her swimsuit and charged into the waves. We'd spent the late afternoon pawing each other under the water and reading on the beach, and that was the makings of my best day.
I felt refreshed and, if it was possible, alive again. I didn't know when I'd transformed into a lifeless drone, but April brought me back. For these brief days, I hadn't been completely weighed down by business issues or the bullshit with Jocelyn and Renner. It was like I'd been marching through the desert in full combat gear, and then April helped me strip some of it off.
We'd tucked ourselves around the wide coffee table in her loft that evening, drinking wine and sparring over the proper way to complete a jigsaw puzzle. The evening had been warm, with the sea breeze offering only mild relief, and she'd asked me who I wanted to be when I grew up.
"Yours," had been the only answer.
Then I'd loved her over and over, letting my body speak promises my tongue couldn't yet form.
It'd been perfect, and everything I'd never known I needed. The thought of this ending brought me physical pain.
For the first time in memory, hustling wasn't my priority. I was due in Texas tomorrow, but I couldn't muster the motivation to prepare for the meeting with Representative Brattis. Not that I couldn't coast through a basic protection services meeting, but I never showed up without doing all of my homework and everyone else's, too. It wasn't my style.
In the back of my mind, I knew I could send one of my protection experts to Corpus Christi in my place. Dashing off some talking points and handing it over didn't sound like the worst plan, especially when that plan would give me another night or two in Montauk.
I would've done it. I would've off-loaded my meetings and duct-taped over the other burning issues, but April required space. That wasn't exactly what she'd said, but that was what I heard while walking her to the bakery this morning. She mentioned that, since I was leaving early tomorrow and she was teaching a late yoga class tonight, it would be best for us to spend the night apart. She made this notion sound reasonable, and maybe it was. My objectivity was long gone when it came to her.
I headed to the kitchen for another beer and then retreated to the back porch. My laptop was around here somewhere, but I didn't want to deal with the Brattis background materials or rehearse the same goddamn security spiel I gave every politician, CEO, and stray billionaire with a sack of dirty laundry.
It was just me, my beer, and the thunderstorm. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't construct a meaningful metaphor with any of it. I sat there, drinking and watching nature's pyrotechnics, waiting for a distraction from the knowledge that April was a stone's throw away and she wanted to be there alone.
Or was she?
The thought wasn't even fully formed before I was cursing myself for being such a jackass. It was possible for a woman to not want my company and also not have another man's balls slapping against her chin in my absence.
"Fuckin' Jocelyn," I muttered.
I closed my eyes and listened to the drum beat of rain and thunder overhead. The rumbling served as a beautiful chorus to the lonely thump of my heart. I was on the verge of falling asleep, the exhaustion of meandering down well-worn paths of bitter loneliness heavy on my shoulders, when I realized the rumble wasn't only coming from the sky.
I made my way through the cottage, beer in hand, and stared at the front door. I figured it was Will. He'd always had a knack for inviting himself in and being annoying. Turning the handle, I asked, "What the fuck do you want, asshole?"
It wasn't Will.
It was April, and she was soaking wet. Clothes, hair, skin, everything. She was small and shivering, and her dark eyes were saucer-wide. I gazed at her, feeling my aggravation drain away and curiosity take its place. Curiosity and a healthy appreciation for the wet t-shirt look, of course.
"I tried," she said. "I tried to make it easy, but I couldn't do it."
I set the beer bottle on the closest surface I could find and beckoned her inside. "Get over here," I said. She came to me, chilled and soggy, and shaking down to the bone.
"I thought it would be better if we had some breathing room," she said as I folded my arms around her. "My life is here, and yours isn't, and we can't change those realities."
"But I'm here now, April, and I have enough resources to change anything," I said, my lips brushing over her ear. "You name it, and I'll make it happen."
"Everything will be different," she said. I was certain I heard her teeth chatter as she spoke.
