“Yeah. Yeah. And Frank was my rock, before that. My grandmother and Frank. Then what he did…well, I couldn’t hate him for it, no matter how bad it seemed. Our Grandma Esteban couldn’t pay for his defense. And I…tried.” I huff out a sound that’s not even close to a laugh, remembering how I quit every one of my many extracurricular activities in order to wait tables. “Frank wouldn’t let me. He was so pissed when he found out I quit theatre and soccer. That fall, he made me go to college, as if nothing had happened. Like our whole world hadn’t been flipped upside down. Told me he wouldn’t take a cent from me.”
“He was proud of you, Kit. He still is.”
I shake my head ruefully. “Frank always hated Clark. Only met him once, when we went to visit, and still, heknew. But, Clark was a shoulder to cry on.Stability.I thought. The years went by and I pushed on and on, held him up, supported him while he went to school. We were going to make a family. I wasgoing to go back and finish my degree. And that fucking asshole didn’t keep asingle oneof his promises. I was the stable one, the supporter, the heart of everything. I tried. I mean, I worked and worked and I can’t even talk about how things were in the bedroom and… I’m forty years old and all I wanted, all I want, the only thing that matters…is love.”
When he lifts his eyes and meets mine, the shock of that connection reverberates right at the center of my being.
Love. That’s it. Love.
“Kiss me,” I whisper against his lips.
“Nowyou say it. Now?Here?” His eyes flick to the side and, for the first time in ages I hear the sounds that exist outside our little bubble. Crying baby, silent weeping, in the distance, a siren. From the back, a voice is screaming that someone’s stolen their eyebrow.
“No way. Not here. Nope. Come here.” He grabs my hand and stands. Together, we walk out the front door into the chilly night.
36
Jake
I drag her outside, take a quick look around and head left to where there’s a little green area with benches and bushes. It’s relatively quiet here in the predawn light. Early morning traffic sounds in the distance, the highway not too far off.
I push through a stand of bushes to a dark, private hollow between the shrubs and the hospital’s wall.
There’s nothing left. No barriers. Nothing but the yawning truths we’ve shared.
I press her to the rough red brick and lean in and our mouths come together like swords clashing. No, not swords, shields. Walls.
Her lips move under mine. They’re hesitant, almost, stiff. I press harder and then her fists are in my hair and mine in hers and we grind together, striving, forcing.
I release a frustrated growl, she whimpers, and then her hold moves to pull my shirt from my pants and I stop her. “No.”
She blinks up at me. I see shock on her face, embarrassment. She tries to turn away, but I lean down and put my forehead to hers like when we were inside and say, “Kit. Katarina,sweetheart.” Her name’s a caress against her face. I don’t know how to say the things pouring out of my soul, but I sure don’t want to do it by kissing her fast and rushed. By taking her quick and hard against the hospital wall like her body’s all I care about.
I force myself to go slow, to not rush, to take my time with this thing that means so much.
A kiss on her cheek, so soft against the skin of my lips. On her ear, precious and delicate and beautifully complicated. The side of her neck, which smells like her—like us—down to her shoulder. Goosebumps scatter out and I realize she’s not wearing enough clothes for this.
She tries to hold on to my arms as I lean back and take off the jacket I barely remember throwing on in my place while racing to get back to Travis, knowing she was down there with him. Knowing she’d come back.
After a brief protest, she lets me put the jacket over her shoulders, lets me wrap my arms around her, and hums low when I kiss her head, her ear again, place pecks along the other side of her throat.
I bend to skate more kisses over her collar bone, one and the other. Each is a gift. Her hands drop from my arms when I tilt her head back and nibble that sweet, velvet place below her jaw, using lips and tongue to travel up to her chin. I’m out of breath by the time I stare at the tip of her nose and put a kiss there, another at the corner of my eye. Each tender touch is an offering. Her forehead, where I linger, is a solemn benediction. Until finally, I bend to press my forehead to hers again, look her straight in the eye, and give Katarina Esteban my whole heart.
Along with the mouth to mouth contact we’ve denied ourselves for too long.
At first, it’s just a press, a delicate slide, slow, tender, so tender.
My lips move, stroking, brushing and pressing, my tongue urging, and then the wet tip of hers to mine. Questions and gliding responses.
The taste of her. The smell. The way my insides have broken loose from their moorings and there’s nothing holding me to earth but this connection. It’s fucking crazy how good she feels.
I didn’t know. How could I have fucking known it could be like this?
Another slide of our tongues and we’re playing now, dancing, enjoying this moment with a purity I’ve never experienced once in my life.
Maybe as a child. Maybe this sweet, innocent exploration is like learning to use your hands or to draw a circle or as natural as, fuck, giving your mom her first baby smile.
“Fuck, Katarina, you’re…you’re so strong. So goddamn righteous, sogood.” Each sound’s a dry rattle forced straight from my insides. “I’ve wanted you—loved you—since that first moment I walked in and saw those sad eyes. I know you can’t give yourself to a guy like me. I get that. I know I’m not the father you’d want for your kids, but let me hold you. Let me help you. Let me be the guy you don’t have to be strong with. Give me some of this weight from your shoulders so you don’t have to hold it up by yourself all the time.” Another kiss, quick, hungry, sipping from her, gathering up her taste in case this is the one and only chance. “Give me your pain, Katarina. Give me all the bad shit because you only deserve the good.”
