The sound of our need fills the car. Our gasps, the shift of denim, the squeal of leather. I can taste the edge of losing myself, of letting go, right here.
And then the thought slams through the haze like ice water.
I tense, thighs clamping down around his hand before I wrench myself back. "Stop," I pant, chest heaving. My hands are still tangled in his shirt, but my fists push against him while my forehead rests against his. "Woody, we can’t."
I want to cry. This is all I want todo, but I know the momentary pleasure will lead to more heartache. I have to think with my brain, not my body.
We are both panting, struggling to catch our breath.
The air between us burns, packed with everything we almost let happen. My skin is still buzzing, my lips swollen, my body aching for more. But I force myself to think, pressing my back hard against the seat as if distance alone can save me.
Woody swears softly, his head leaning back against his seat. He doesn't argue. His hand stays on my hip, fingers trembling, but it doesn't move. His heavy breathing slowly returns to normal, and it's everything I can muster not to jump on top of him.
I stare at him, chest heaving, my skin on fire everywhere he touched. My body is a live wire, each nerve ending awake and screaming for more.
"Lane." My name on his lips sounds like a plea.
"Don't." I shake my head, swallowing hard. "Please don't say anything. I'm not strong enough right now. No matter what, this can't happen."
The need still pulses under my skin, but guilt and fear rush in to smother it. My body screams yes. My mind claws for distance.
You might show up, but you always leave.
My own words echo back, cooling the heat in my veins. Nothing has changed. We're still the same people making the same mistakes, circling each other like planets trapped in orbit, unable to break free or come together without destruction.
I turn away, bracing myself against the door, my pulse still racing. Even with my back to him, I feel Woody's gaze on me like a physical touch.
He pulls his hand away, and the ghost of his fingers lingers on my skin, trailing fire everywhere he touched.
My throat aches with everything I won't let myself say—that I still want him, that I'm terrified of him, that this is exactly how I get hurt again. Now it isn't just my heart on the line. It's that little boy who desperately wants his parents back together.
I swallow hard and look out the window instead, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. The rain has finally stopped, with droplets clinging to the window like tears. I take that as a sign. I need to get out now, before I'm not strong enough to resist him anymore.
My Christmas wreath on my front door is a blur of green and red. Home. Safety.
"Can I at least walk you to your door?"
"You don't need to do that, but thank you for the offer. Let's just put this behind us and try to remember why we divorced in the first place. I know we will always care for each other. It's natural, we share a son. But Woody, we both know it will never work. Let's just leave it there."
"But, that can't be it. Can't we at least talk?"
"It's been a long couple of weeks." I cut him off before he can say something that might break my resolve. "A lot of emotion. A lot of memories, the holidays, the working together on this emotional thing. It's just got us both a little tangled up and upside down. That's all this is."
I know it's a lie for me, but I'm assuming that is what this is for him. It's best to let that be both of our truths. I force myself to look at him, to meet those eyes that still see straight through me.
"We've been over for a long time." The words taste like ash. "We need to stay stable for Sanders. That's what matters now. Not making out in a car days before Christmas like teenagers."
His face tightens. "Is that all you think this is?"
My fingers twist in my lap. "I just knowthese last few days, since New York, have been hard because I let my heart go somewhere it shouldn't. I can't do that again."
I reach for the door handle, needing to escape before I crumble.
Woody's hand catches my arm. "Don't run away from this. We need to?—"
I pull away sharply, his touch burning through my jacket. "We need to say goodnight."
I shove the door open and stumble out into the night air, gulping the humidity down like I've been drowning. The cold hits my flushed skin, shocking me back to reality.
