It’s peaceful, like the rhythmic waves of the ocean crashing against the shore. It’s gentle, like hands through my hair.
It’s like that foreign feeling ofhome.
Nothing like I’ve felt before.
I would never be so naive to think that time would stopfor a bastard like me, but here in this moment, I’m convinced it has.
She tastes like strawberries as her tongue tentatively meets mine. I angle her head to deepen the kiss, needing more of her. She obliges, her lips soft against the roughness of my own. The blood in my veins heats as I shift on the sand to be able to run a hand over her exposed thigh. Her skin is hot beneath my palm as I knead her leg.
A delicate moan escapes her and I swallow it up. Fueling my desire, I tangle my fingers in her hair as I kiss her again and again, never wanting to stop.
But it does.
She pulls back and my hand falls lifelessly between us, our breaths mixing in a ragged rush. I suddenly grow cold by the lack of contact and it sparks something akin to anger inside of me, but I rush to shut it down. Because I see it on her face.
I feel it. Her hesitation, her walls rebuilding brick by brick. Something shutters behind her eyes and it surprises me how desperately I want to reach out and tear them back down.
“I’m scared,” she admits, and I know where it’s coming from. It’s the same fear that seizes my chest and threatens to ruin every good thing in my life.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I know me saying you can trust me isn’t going to squash it, so I’ll just continue to show you that I’m not going anywhere. Not again.”
“I don’t trust people easily.”
“Me either.” I laugh sadly. But being scared is what has pushed away the people I care about. And I’m sick of that happening. Sick of it ruining things. “That’s what we were taught. But let’s both do something that scares us and trust each other, okay?”
Here we sit, side by side, equally terrified by good things happening because we were taught to never trust that they’d last. Two kids abandoned by their parents and who made their way to the city of dreams to make new lives for themselves…and we somehow found each other again.
Terrifying to free fall with one another? Absolutely.
But exhilarating to do so anyways? I think so.
20
Reid
Well, I did just that the next day. I texted Walker.
He didn’t respond for four days. Four fucking days.
And when he did, all he said was,what do you want?
I asked if he was willing to meet for a drink.
After another three days, he finally responded,why?
It only took a few more texts back and forth to get him to agree to meet me out for one singular drink, and he said he had shit to do after, so he couldn’t stay long. I’m not sure if that’s actually true, but I’ll take what I can get.
So now I’m sitting in On Tap in the middle of the day, with Penny behind the bar cleaning glasses, and two older men in the corner playing cards over their coffees.
We needed neutral ground to meet. If this goes south and explodes into an argument, at least there aren’t a lot of people around to witness and leak it to the media. Buthaving it at either of our houses wouldn’t have been great either. We need to have equal footing going into this, even if I do feel slightly more at ease with Penny’s presence.
She actually suggested we meet here, and I’m grateful for the suggestion. Even though she’s not a part of this conversation, it’s still nice knowing she’s here. That I have someone in my corner.
Hayden’s out of town on a shoot with Carter, and it’s probably for the best that I tackle this shit one by one. Depending on how this conversation goes today, I’ll figure out what to do with him next.
A whisper of wind tickles the back of my neck, the only indication the door opened. But I feel his presence like a familiar ghost and I peek over my shoulder. The solid six-two mass that is my best friend, Whisper Me Nothings’ drummer, James Walker, strides inside. He’s dressed in all black, like he’s preparing for a funeral, with his sticker tattoos out on full display on both of his arms.
His face is stony and unmoving, even as he sees me. I give him a small nod, beckoning him toward the open barstool to the right of mine where he folds his large frame into it with surprising grace.
