Page 35 of Falling For Alaska

He inhales deeply. “How d-did you learn… How did you know…I n-n-needed that?” he murmurs, his mouth so close to mine I sense the scent of mint coming off it and bite my lips to stop myself from indulging in it. Boys I’ve kissed. But a man like Jack… A man like Jack would ruin any kiss for me forever.

“I don’t know… I’ve never done that,” I admit. “Instinct,” I murmur back, and he lets out a rough chuckle, his calloused palms covering mine and lacing his fingers above my scars. The usual cold I feel from anything touching them eases away, as Jack’s hands slowly take them in his huge palms.

Then he does the thing I never thought anyone would ever do.

Jack

Instinct, she said. The word is familiar. A compass I’ve used ever since I became a cop. One I heard my dad tell me so many times. Instinct, son, it never lies. I take her small, cold hands in mine, taking my time, making sure she’s okay with it, and then I turn her hands palm-down. I caress her knuckles as softly as my calloused hands can. She shivers but doesn’t back away, her gaze locked on mine with an intensity I’ve never encountered.

You’re here for a year.

You won’t stay.

Only it’s too good, the intimacy, the unknown promises, the familiar closeness of Alaska. More than that, there’s her cinnamon scent, her voice, her PJs that leave so little to the imagination. It’s in the small things, the way she grounds me with her presence alone, how she seems shaken and out of breath at the same time. Right now, I don’t care that I’ll have to go back to Minneapolis soon, or that there’s so much I still don’t know about her, or that I haven’t found a way to get rid of my stutter. Right now, all I can think of is her and the hurt I wish I could erase from her porcelain skin. I may not know what happened exactly, but I can try.

So I start kissing each finger, taking my time, making sure to cover each of them with my lips, my stubble brushing against her skin as I hear her breathing pick up. I mark her hands with the unspoken words stuck in me, each knuckle on her left hand, and then on the other. She doesn’t back away, nor does she tell me to stop. Her skin is velvet against my mouth, her fingers curling ever so slightly. I kiss the war etched into her skin. The battlefield may have healed, but the trenches are still there. Ready to split open again, screaming beneath the surface. So close, you’d have to be blind not to see it.

After worshipping every inch of her delicate fingers, I flip her hands, and her breath hitches as I press my lips one last time to the center of her palms. Leaning back, I look at her. She’s trembling, only it isn’t from fear. I know that, ’cause she leans in a bit, not much, but enough to confirm my gut feeling. There may be a storm out there, crashing at the walls and windows, but here, on her small sofa, time has stopped.

“You’re shaking,” I murmur, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.

“I’m…” Her blue pools drown in mine, stripping away every layer of worry and stress I’ve been carrying. I can’t hide, no matter how much I try, I always end up finding my way back to her. Her gaze bores into me, brutally honest, so raw it makes my stomach churn. She exhales, barely above a whisper. “...I like you, Jack.” The words sound like they scare her and they strike me like a fist to the gut.

She likes me.

Alaska Jenkins, the girl with the scars, the one I haven’t been able to get out of my system for weeks, likes me. Damn, if that doesn’t make my broken, dark heart skip a beat.

“But I can’t…” she whispers, her body betraying her as her hands find my chest and fist my vest like a life jacket. She says she can’t, but she’s not pushing me away, holding onto me like she’s scared I’ll disappear if she lets go.

“Alaska…” My voice is deep, my teeth aching from how tight my jaw is. She’s so close, I can’t think straight. “It’s m-me… I’m not right f-for you,” I manage to say, the admission tearing through my chest. There’s a sense of intimacy here I’ve never felt with anyone, one that goes far beyond flesh. “I-I tried to st-stay away… I really t-t-tried.” I blink hard for a second, one hand drifting to cup the side of her face as she leans into me, embracing my touch like gasoline meeting fire.

“Jack, I…I’m the one trying to stay away from you,” she says. “But I…I can’t. Since I saw you, you’re-”

“All I think about,” I finish for her, my hand brushing her soft skin, wanting to run my fingers through her caramel locks.

“Yeah,” she breathes out. “Constantly.” Something squeezes inside my chest, sharp and cold, similar to diving into the waters of a frozen lake.

“With you, I-I don’t feel like a-a-a…” I stop. “A f-f-failure.” A tiny whimper slips from her, her gaze burning with frustration, maybe even anger.

“Don’t say that,” she murmurs, pushing a hand against my chest. “Never say that again.” Teary eyes meet mine, and I want to hold her in my arms. I hear her take a deep breath, her hands slowly tracing up the sides of my neck, so close I can barely breathe without inhaling her apple-pie scent, the one that’s slowly driving me insane.

“I want to… I want to p-protect you from whatever d-did this,” I confess, running my fingers over hers. She freezes at the touch, shaking her head.

“You’re…you’re a good man, Jack,” she says, her tone sad and resolved. “Too good for me.”

“I’m n-not—” I start, but she cuts me off. Only this time, I know that it isn’t from impatience.

“You are a good man,” she insists firmly, showing me a side of her I hadn’t seen yet, stronger, certain. “And I’m…complicated is written on my forehead, Jack. That’s the truth. No one should bear the burden of trying to be with me. I’m not worth it. You have to believe me.” She pleads, her small hands squeezing softly at the sides of my neck, her touch quieting the spasms beneath my skin.

“I think…” I clench my forearms, fighting the waves, pushing through the stutter. “I think you’re more than w-w-worth it. If anything, I-I’m the one unworthy of you.”

“What are you talking about? All the single women in Lakeside have eyes on you. You’re young, smart, about to become sergeant⁠—”

“First of all, no woman in Lakeside is even remotely, uh, interested, and-and e-even if they were, I’m not.” My thumb runs over her lower lip. “And s-second of all, I’ve got complicated written on my forehead too. Just ’cause you don’t see it right away doesn’t mean it’s n-not there.”

“Tell me.” She frowns, not believing me.

“I need to get r-r-rid of my stutter. It’s,” I clear my throat, “ruining my life and my opportunities at work. Most-most of the time, I don’t even speak so people don’t have to hear me, but it, it s-s-sucks. I’ve spent a lifetime with people finishing my sentences, getting imp-impatient. It’s not a-a-a big deal,” I pause, releasing the tension in my neck, “but at the same t-t-time, it k-kinda, kinda is. My father always admired cops, so I b-became one. I gotta become the best I can, that’s what he’d have, he’d have wanted.”