“No shit!” She huffed a half-chuckle, half-scoff.
Her wrist was still in my hand. I smoothed my thumb over her soft skin, feeling her pulse. It beat in the same rhythm as my heart.
I reached out my other hand and cradled the side of her face and neck. Her hair was damp, her skin rainy. I took a step closer. “Stay with me tonight and go with me tomorrow.” My eyes were deadbolt locked on hers.
“I can’t,” she repeated, this time in a whisper. She swallowed. Was she afraid of me? I couldn’t blame her if she was, especially at the state she had found me in—half-drunk, alone, in the rain, on an empty street, startling women, and then being taken somewhere to sleep it off, asking them to spend the night as if it hadn’t been four years.
January grabbedmywrist, the wrist of the hand that was holding her face. She ran her thumb over my pulse point like I had done hers just a moment before.
“Oliver, you’re strong and good, and you don’t need him, just like you didn’t back then. Just walk away, like you did in the past, like you and Iknowyou can do. You’re everything you want to be.Youare everything. You’re Oliforever. Remember?”
I held on to her eyes, to her words, to her touch. I wanted to hold on to her. With my hand still tangled in her hair, I moved closer and leaned my forehead against hers. We breathed together. Our bodies touched, our eyes drifted shut.
“Oliforever,” she whispered. I felt her body surrendering to mine.
I shifted and placed a kiss on her temple, then trekked my lips across her skin until I could whisper into her ear, “I want to lose myself inside you and never find myself again.”
I felt her breath on me. It was as quick and uneven as her pulse. She wanted me to do what I just said I wanted. I could feel it. I began tipping her mouth to mine. My other arm curled around her waist. I was hard for her.
But then the fingers she still had around my wrist clutched it, and her other hand stopped my arm from wrapping around her. January pulled her face back from mine. “Oliver, trust me; I’m not the solution. You can do everything, but I can’t.”
“Why not?” My eyes were still fixed on what I could see in hers. She meant every word, and I believed her. I would follow through and walk away and build my life away from the element that weakened me—my father—away from the element that strengthened me—her. But at that moment, I grappled to understand. She had appeared out of nowhere that night. I wasn’t even sure if I wasn’t drunkenly hallucinating her.
“I’m married. I have twin boys; they’re two years old. Will and Lennox.”
If I had been dreaming or hallucinating, this had been the slap that sent me right back to reality.
“What?” I mumbled, finally averting my gaze from hers and looking at her hands that were both now holding my forearm, the one she made me drop from her face. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
“It’s … I lost it. Doesn’t change the fact.” She was looking down at her fingers, too, following my gaze.
We both looked up, and our gazes found each other again. I could see in her eyes that if I was struggling, she was, too. I couldn’t tell if it was because of me or him, or her or what, but there was pain there that I wanted to take away, to love it out of her. Obviously, that was out of the question now.
“Are you happy?” I asked, the words turning to sand in my mouth.
Strangely, she had looked happier before, when she was helping me. She didn’t now, when she told me about herself. Now it was my turn to make sure she was okay.
“Because I want to be happy for you, ifyouare.”
“I’m happy I have my kids.”
“They have the best mom.” Not that I knew what a best mom looked like, but if there was one, it had to be someone like January Raine.
“Thank you.” She looked toward the door. “I waited till they were asleep so I could go and get their lactose-free formula from Sarah’s pharmacy. Their dad is … He can’t handle them when they’re both awake, so …”
This, and her reply to whether she was happy, gave away part of what my mind had been trying to untangle when she’d said, “Trust me; I’m not the solution.” She sounded like she was facing a problem as big as mine.
“Can I help? Is he … ?”
“Oh no, nothing like that!” The way she exclaimed it told me that she was thinking of my own father. I probably did, too, but that wasn’t exactly what I meant. “He’s just … They’re fine. I’m fine. He’s fine,” she added with a small smile.
“A lot of fine. That’s good, I guess.”
She chuckled. I had to settle for making her smile.
“I mean it, January. If he’s … or regardless of him … if you need help—any kind of help—let me help you. Please. And if he’s not treating you—”
“It’s nothing like that, I promise. I’m good. I totally got this. But thank you. I appreciate this.”
