Page 82 of Present Tense

I have no other opener than the obvious. “Hi.”

He exhales and squeezes his eyes tight. “Hi, Jillybear. Here. Take this.” He hands me the umbrella and walks on ahead. I follow the stadium mustard blob up the driveway, around the walkway to the side of the house. He opens the door and gestures for me to come inside. As I do, he takes the umbrella from me and puts it into a stand shaped like a coil of rope. It’s super cute. I make a note to tell him that.

I stand in his tiny mudroom and look around. There are baseball hats, coats, jackets of varying thicknesses and purposes neatly hung on the hooks on the far wall. The room opens wide into a living room that’s the most inviting and coziest thing I’ve ever seen. Navy tuck furniture with traditional white piping and mounds of brightly colored cushions. But oddly, none of it looks nautical.

I feel at home here, but not with him. He’s still standing at my back. The air around us is rigid. I turn around, and he cuts me off with a glare.

“Don’t. It’s late. We’ll talk in the morning.” He pushes past me. There are two hallways off the living room on opposite sides of the fireplace. He heads toward one and gestures toward the other doorway. “Guest room is that way. Do you need something to sleep in, or are you comfortable in your gas station Vineyard gear?”

“Fletch.” My voice is so much shakier than I intend. And my heart is so heavy with all things I wanted to say. But mostly, I want to hold him. He looks so sad. I did that to him, and I want to take it away.

He shakes his head and disappears down the hallway. I stand, not knowing what to do. He reappears. “Come into the house, Jill. Uninvited. Unexpected. But somehow completely expected. Despite how I feel about you at this moment, Bev would kill me if I was inhospitable to guests.”

My stomach flutters. Bev knew he’d let me stay. He turns to go down the hall where he came from.

“Fletch.” His head whips around. I can’t stop the stupid-ass tears from streaming down my cheeks. I swallow hard, purse my lips, and exhale. I’m trying to get it under control.

“What?”

“Despite my greeting, I want you to know how I’m feeling. I’ll just say this and then we can talk in the morning.”

“Jilly, just let me go back to sleep.”

“Bullshit. You were awake.” I put my hands on my hips.

He forces a smile. He doesn’t go to sleep until well after one. He likes to sleep in. And without a schedule or me, I assume he’s resumed old habits.

I start again. I don’t move from the spot I’m in. I don’t want him to run from me. “There’s lots to say, but I’m sorry. I’m so lost without you. I know I shouldn’t be here, but I don’t belong anywhere else.”

He holds onto the doorframe and stares at his slippered feet. I love that he’s such a fuddy-duddy that he has slippers. I don’t recognize these. They must be his Vineyard slippers, and that makes me love him deeper, somehow.

“That’s the problem, Jillien. You only want to be here when you have nowhere else to be. It’s Christmas all over. Good night.”

I crumple onto the closest chair. It’s like I’ve been smacked down by one of the powerful waves crashing just outside this door. He disappears again, and I curl my legs underneath me. I can’t do anything but cry myself to sleep. He’s right. But he doesn’t know I don’t want just Christmas. I want it all.

49

LIAM

I’m not smoking dope anymore. I can’t take any more melatonin. I hear her sniffling for close to an hour, then silence. I never heard her walk to the bedroom. I didn’t hear the creak of the bathroom floor. I didn’t hear her get out of the woven chair that groans when you sit in it. I’m cruel. I thought I was protecting myself, but that was cruel. I’m not cruel, but I can’t go to that place again with her. I won’t be cast out. It’s too painful. But I ran at the first moment of trouble. I didn’t discuss stuff with her, give it time to sink in, and evaluate it together. I ran far and fast. But I can’t help but want her. She’s here and stealing every breath I try and take.

I want her in every conceivable way. I swear I can smell her fresh and uniquely Jillien scent waft through my bedroom. And my dick will not retreat. Fuck. I rip the covers off. I make my way to the living room. I have no sense of right or wrong. I don’t know what we should be doing or how to fix all of this. I need her like I used to need peace and quiet. She’s the volume in my life, and everything’s become so damn muted. I don’t handle loud noises well, so it won’t work in the long run. We won’t work. But I could use a little noise tonight.

I see her all squished up in the chair. Her head is resting on one of my cat throw pillows. Her neck is in an awkward position. Mascara tracks have stained her face from crying. I’m an asshole. By protecting myself from pain, I caused more than I can fathom. I mean what I say, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Seeing her this destroyed is the end of my vanity and pride. I go to my bathroom and get a washcloth. I soak it in warm water and a little bit of soap. I throw a dry towel over my shoulder. When I reenter the room, she still hasn’t moved, but I’m incredibly moved.

She will always be my weakness that somehow gives me a backbone. I was able to leave her when I wasn’t able to leave Nina. I was able to stand up for myself and push back. I was able to debate without the worry of her fighting with me instead of discussing. I was able to joke and mock her, and she was never once offended. I’ve never censored or pretended to be anyone else with her. That’s both empowering and terrifying. This soft spot in my heart will always belong to her, even if I cannot.

I kneel down in front of her and gently put my hand on her cheek. I feel our spark on a low roar throughout every inch of me. It’s like touching a metal lamp in the winter after you’ve been walking on the rug. Just a quick jolt. Nothing that could hurt you but simply wake you up.

“Get out!” she screams as she jolts awake. I laugh. She sits up and stares at me. I uncrumple her legs—they have to be asleep—and put both hands on her knees. She stares at me. “Sorry. Lately, I think someone’s going to attack.”

“And shouting ‘Get out’ is your weapon of choice?” She chuckles softly.

I reach up with the washcloth and gently rub the mascara smears. She doesn’t move, and she doesn’t look away from me. I wipe away the tracks of her tears. The ones I caused. Or our situation did. I don’t know. I wipe what looks like a chocolate stain off her neck. Then I wipe the corners of her mouth. There’s some sort of crummy mess. She pulls the towel off my shoulder and gently dries her face.

We’re watching every slight movement we each make as if we’re suspended in a thick gel of some sort. Every flick of a finger or breath that makes our chests rise and fall is weighted. Our breathing increases as we pay attention to each other’s tiny actions. And now there’s a force field holding me back. Keeping me at bay from things my body wants so damn bad. Her lap is right in front of me, and I know what’s under that short terry cloth skirt. I can smell her from here, and my cock thickens. I don’t mean for it to, but there’s no choice. He’s a slave to Jillien and always has been. Her eyes get wider as she rubs her thighs together, searching for some sort of relief.

I know she feels it, too, and until one of us crosses over the line, we’ll simply stay right here, desperately wanting each other. The air around us is charged with the ions of the ocean, the current of lightning outside, and the deep lust of a lifetime of wanting that I now know will never be sated.