That was the one thingIwas quickly running out of.Theidea ofAurorapacking up in a few weeks and giving me a taillight goodbye was a notionIcouldn’t stomach.
“I feel fine,”Isaid, conceding for the moment. “Icould ditch the sling, butIknow you’ll yell at me about it.Theburns suck the most.”
“How’s your breathing?” she asked as she smoothed her hand over my chest.
“It gets harder and harder every time you’re near,”Isaid against her lips.
“Then maybeIshould go,”Aurorawhispered back.
“Baby,Ican still toss you over one shoulder.You’renot going anywhere,”Iretorted.
Aurora glanced at the clock on the wall. “Istill have some thingsIneed to get done . . .”Shechewed on her lip. “AndIwant to write a little.”
I wanted to ask more about the bookAurorawas working on, but she was cagey about it.Iwasn’t the creative type, soIdidn’t entirely understand the sanctity of the process, butIrespected it.Partof me wondered what she would do when she wrote the last words.Publishit?Shelveit?Keepit in limbo?
She was too good to keep it to herself.
The spark was back, butIwanted to see her consumed by her passion.
“But you’re comfortable, andI’msuddenly wondering whyIwant to do all those things,” she said as she closed her eyes.
“All part of my master plan,”Isaid. “Getyou over here, make you drowsy, and take a long nap like two retirees.”
“I’d feel so guilty ifItook a nap.”
“Why?Napsare the best.Especiallywhen you have someone to nap with.Besides, in a few weeks when real life comes knocking, you won’t be able to.”Ikissed her temple. “Napwith me,Roar.”
She laughed. “Youdon’t want my paint clothes in your bed.”
“Go steal something from my dresser.Orwear nothing.I’mfine with either.Frankly,Iprefer nothing.”
She laughed as she crawled off my lap and headed into the bedroom.
I adjusted my dick asIlistened to her rummage around.Itsounded like she had found the drawer with my t-shirts, but everything fell silent.
“Jack?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”Ireplied asIscrolled through my phone.Mostof the unread messages were texts from the guys at the station, sending their well wishes.
She appeared in the doorway wearing nothing but an old charity kickball tournament t-shirt, and was cradling a photo album in her arms. “What’sthis?”
“You been snooping?”Iteased asIeased off the couch.
Aurora rolled her eyes. “Itwas sitting on top of your dresser.Idon’t think that’s considered snooping.”
I readjusted the sling that suspended my arm enough to pull the pressure off my healing shoulder. “It’san old photo album that my parents gave me to hold on to when they downsized.Apparently, old memories were too much for them to take with them.”
Her expression softened. “I’mso sorry . . .”Sheturned to put it back on the dresser, butIstopped her and took it from her.
We convened on the bed,Aurorasitting between my legs with the album on her lap.Thefirst few pictures were baby photos.Aurorateased me about my chubby cheeks and busted-can-of-biscuits legs.Therewere pictures of early birthdays and milestone moments.WhenIwas four,Lucasjoined the pages.Thetwo of us were thick as thieves, always testing our parents’ patience and sanity.
“You started to look more like yourself here,”Aurorasaid, pointing to a picture of me on the beach.
By my guess,Ihad been somewhere around nine or ten. “Thatwas a good summer,”Isaid asIperused the photos over her shoulder. “Webasically lived on the sand.”
“You didn’t grow up in this house, did you?”
I shook my head. “Welived a little way down the beach.Thathouse was destroyed during a hurricane a few years after my folks moved out.Atthe timeIwas living withDrewsoIcould save up to buy this place.Probablya good thing in hindsight.Thestorm took away the sad memories.Butthis has always been our strip of sand.Wespent every waking moment on the beach when we were kids.”
