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Leave it to John. I tilt my head, still swirling, against the door. “Why are you here?” My voice, unused for days, comes out scratchy.
“To check on you. You haven’t answered my calls.” His gaze flits in the direction of the shattered window.
“No.” He wasn’t uniquely ignored. My phone has effectively been on do not disturb. I haven’t used the actual setting, however, lest Jacob reach out.
His lips tighten in a way that indicates a mind at work. Before I realize his intent, he’s inside the apartment, closing out the post-sunset chill and latching the door.
Invading my space—and my pity party.
Staring, he fastens his hands to his waist, the action widening the expanse of white dress shirt beneath his sport coat. The tie he must have worn to work is gone, yet he still looks put together in gray slacks and loafers.
Always together. Buttoned up, composed, and in charge. Even amidst the fiasco with his family, he held it together.
Holdme…because I’m falling apart.
Choking down the absurd plea, I suddenly can’t find where the air in the room has gone.
A mind reader, he pulls me to his chest, stroking my hair. I allow it. I’ve no fight left. I’m so weak, and eventually, he’ll realize I’m not worth holding onto.
Whyishe holding me? Doesn’t he recall the unjust accusations? Bullying. Lying, when all he was really doing was guiding my wayward son?
Tears usurp my need for distance, and my hands clutch his lapels. I don’t deserve the kindness of his compassion, yet I consume it whole.
After wilting in his arms two nights ago, I was strong when I left him, fortified by anger. Then, hard truth overtook my foolishness, and I collapsed. So here I am again, a disintegrating mess even John’s strong arms can’t possibly contain.
Sinking onto the sofa and cradling me against his chest, he lets me cry. I’m trapped in his powerful arms, but that’s not how it feels. I’m where I want to be and where I’ll stay as long as he’ll let me.
I cry until the pain is over—over, like when my stomach is sick and I heave out the nastiness. I’m better for the moment, though I know the yuck will return soon enough. Gross, yes, and embarrassing to have witnessed.
John ducks to look into my eyes, his hand palming tickly hairs from my cheek. The band of his watch brushes my skin. “How are you, Hollie?”
I sputter out a desperate sounding laugh. I’m a wreck. Isn’t it obvious?
Instead of giving a real answer, I let my hand finds its way to his jaw. His shadowed jaw that’s solid, an icon of strength.
Strength. The word replays itself over and over in multiple contexts—but that’s what John is.Whohe is. The man has likewise known loss and injustice—but compare his life to mine. He functions and prospers while I barely hold what little I have together.
His fingertip caresses are soft, and with each one I feel a little less like I might expire. My finger slides along his jaw, slipping to the corner of his mouth.
I want to kiss him. Him to kiss me.
I think he wants the same—but what do I know of such things? I have no experience. Zero. The only frame of reference I have isn’t in the same universe, much less the same ballpark. I’ve feared a moment like this for as long as I can remember, yet suddenly, in John’s arms, close enough to see the wisdom lines about his eyes, the dash of silver in his beard, my error is clear. How could I ever have conflated what I experienced seventeen years ago with what I’m suddenly bound and determined to experience with John.
Heat inches up my throat. A kiss. That’s all I mean.
I drag my eyes to his and gasp. Yes, our thoughts are on the same path.
He cups my face, thumb dragging along my bottom lip. He inclines…then stops.
I’m inviting him with everything but words…why does he make me wait?
I color in the separating space until our lips feel the other’s heat, yet he balks again at the final approach. Am I doing it wrong? Misreading this foreign language?
“Are you certain, Hollie?” His breath whispers across my mouth.
I nod, words impossible.
His hands burrow into hair that hasn’t seen a brush in days, and he nudges away the remaining chasm.
