Page 35 of Carte

“Damn straight,” Chace chuckled, but it was short lived. “I’ll call if there’s an update.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, before nodding. “Thanks, brother.”

Before he had a chance to say anything else, I cut the feed and the call.

Sitting in silence, I tried to steel myself for another assault on everything Harley. I was tired. The sleep was coming harder each night. And when I did manage to get a few hours of shut-eye, my dreams were filled with my roommate.

I don’t know how long I sat in the office I barely used anymore. I just knew if I went out, there was no chance in hell I could resist her pull.

I was playing with fire, and all I could do was hope I wouldn’t get burned.

I lied to Harley.

Well, technically, I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell her the truth.

When she said this cabin looked like a home, I kept my mouth shut, even after hearing her say that it did feel like I managed to climb Mount Everest.

Truth was, this wasn’t just any cabin in the middle of nowhere. This was my cabin.

My home.

When we were little, it was our family’s cabin. Our parents loved bringing us here. They seemed happier here, more at peace. It was like the pressure of their jobs just slipped away.

Once Dad was killed, we stopped coming. I guess the pain of the memories that were between these walls were too much for my mom to take. I could understand that. But, I still miss this place.

So when we all got older, and with our lives, I broached my family and asked them to buy them out.

Even after I failed them so spectacularly, they wouldn’t hear of me paying them. They just gave it to me.

I spent almost a year renovating it, taking it to its former glory, to try and bring back those happier times.

It took bringing Harley here to realize that I was choosing a dream that could no longer be a reality. Her being in my home brought the whisper of that dream, but the feeling that came when she stepped over the threshold was stronger in potent than any other I felt when I was here before. Even when I made it my home base.

It was as if the house finally settled because the second half had come home.

“Fuck, man, you need to stop with the sentimental shit,” I muttered to myself, running a hand through my hair, and pulling at the roots. “You shouldn’t have brought her here.”

I needed to change our location.

Resisting her pull has become harder with each day she’s been in my space. I didn’t know how long I had the strength to shout out all that was her.

Just then, as if she was mocking me, calling out my weakness, soft strands of music drifted through my closed door.

Like she had a direct pull of my limbs with each plucked string of the guitar, I was powerless to resist her siren’s call.

I stood up, and without thinking, went to the door, and into the hallway.

Slowly, I walked down the hallway until I came to the mouth of the hall.

I stopped there, and hid in the shadows of it, and saw her.

She was sitting on the ottoman in front of the fire crackling in the fireplace. Her back was to me, her long hair all around her. She was singing softly of longing, and want so acute I could taste it on my tongue. Even though I haven’t tasted her, I was positive that I could taste her.

The voice, the words, the vulnerability wasn’t like anything she put on the stage. This was really Harley. Bared and stripped down of all the layers she protected herself with right there in my living room.

I fisted my hands in an attempt to stay put. I begged my legs to turn around and take me away, into the office where I was safe from doing something reckless. Something that would ruin this fragile peace I was able to give her. Something that would bring satisfaction to both of us, over and over, until we were left in an exhausted state.

But even then, my body betrayed me.