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“Is it good?” she asked, wincing like she already knew the answer.
“We’re not without some comforts out here in the boonies,” he said. “And I spent some time in LA, too.”
“Then yes please.” Her smile was radiant.
“You want to see my room?” Casey asked, yanking her toward the stairs.
“Of course I do,” she said. “I’ll take room service with that coffee.”
But these minutes of peace, they didn’t come without a cost. Not for the Stones. Not for him. Even as part of him was happy watching her go upstairs, part of him could see the disaster that would come.
Sunday evening Walter found himself shaking with the need for a drink. His throat burned for one. His stomach ached. This thing with Ben, the way everyone was acting like he was cured, a different man, all of it made his sobriety seem ridiculous. He wasn’t a sober man. He was a drunk.
It was the thing with the kid. It wasn’t going to go well. Every time Ben smiled Walter felt as if there was some nail being hammered in a coffin somewhere.
And Lucy hanging around? Talking about the past. The past he barely remembered. The past he’d squandered. He liked those memories dormant. Drowned under the sea of booze he’d consumed.
Having them bob to the surface was like being haunted by a thousand ghosts. Regret and nostalgia wouldn’t let him sleep at night.
What had he been thinking letting this kid be his “nurse?”
Every single thing he touched, he ruined. Why had he thought this would be different? Because he wasn’t drinking? Because they’d asked him to help?
Everyone should know he couldn’t do this shit.
Christ, I want a drink.
He paced the house, hoping he could walk off the craving, but from the shadows outside the kitchen, he saw Sandra standing at the stove. Steam from whatever she stirred wreathed her head, turned her cheeks pink. Pink to match the blouse she wore that floated around her like a cloud.
She lifted a spoon, dripping red sauce, to her lips and took a taste. Her pink tongue darted out to catch a drop.
His control snapped and the need for a drink ran rabid through his chest, his head. Every voice in his head screamed in exaltation.
Yes!
One of the guys in the bunkhouse would have a bottle. Hell, why didn’t I think of this earlier?
He got as far as the front door, nearly running, paying no attention to how loud he was being.
“Walter?”
He stopped, barely swallowing the “leave me alone” he wanted to bark.
“Walter?” Sandra’s footsteps echoed through the stone foyer as she came closer.
“Stop.” His voice was a guttural moan.
Of course she didn’t listen. The stubborn woman.
“Are you all right?” she asked, and he felt more than saw her arm reaching for him. He turned and grabbed her hand.
Her mouth opened, a small gasp, and he didn’t know if it was because he was holding her hand too hard or if she, too, felt the lightning and flare between their skins. Years of expectation and desire and thwarted, painful feelings filled the foyer like smoke.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
“I—” His jaw shook, his throat squeezed the words, not letting them out. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?” He could tell in the iron edges of her voice that she knew what his failure was. He shook his head, wanting to keep his shame private. Wanting to carry it alone despite the fact that it was breaking his back.
“Talk to me, Walter.” Her hand shifted in his grip, her fingers, strong and smooth and cool, linked through his. Their palms pressed together and he could feel her heartbeat through her skin, pounding against his. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
Blood churned through his veins, a storm of desire and longing.
Unable to help himself, he looked at her, all the parts of himself, scattered and loose, small and large, suddenly gathered under the force of her magnetism.
He could lean on her. It was the fundamental truth about this woman. It was one of the things he loved about her.
Her other hand cupped his cheek, and the sensation tripped through him, ricocheting through his chest, around his head, sparks growing into fires.
His fingers, laced through hers, tightened and slowly he pulled her toward him. She stumbled slightly, off balance, unsure, and he ignored that, dropping his cane to wrap his other hand around her thin waist.
She was small, smaller than he’d ever perceived because her personality was so big, but against him, she was tiny. Perfect.
“Walt—”
He kissed her. Pressed his dry lips to hers and swallowed her gasp, tasted the tang of the tomato sauce in her, the sweetness that was her. She was a willing participant in a kiss he’d never in his life dreamed would happen. He stepped forward too, meeting her in the fevered middle.
