Authors: Joey W. Hill
He stopped, a breadstick halfway to
his mouth. He’d
been focusing on pul ing her out of
her
comfort zone. He’d
put her into an environment she
craved yet was an entirely
new world, outside her vivid yet
passive fantasy life. He
hadn’t thought about handling her
in
her comfort zone,
opening her mind and letting her see
what was possible
from that perspective.
The stool rocking stopped. “I got it,”
he said. “That’s it.”
Matt’s firm lips curved, and he
flicked opened Jon’s
steaming pasta primavera, gesturing
to his fork. “Good.
Eat, so I can tel Cass I fed you.”
“She’s such a mom.”
“Wel , raising five siblings wil do
that to you. Tel me how
you need us.”
“I think this wil be just the two of
us.” But as Jon took up
his fork, he gave Matt a look. “Stil ,
thanks for al of it.
Thanks for being here when I needed
it. As usual.”
“I wil not be hugged,” Matt said
sternly.
Jon considered the food. “You’re
awful y nurturing for
someone who doesn’t hug.”
“Eat it and shut up, or you’re fired.”
Chapter Eighteen
Rachel hung her sweater up on the
hook on the back of
the studio door and considered the
tranquil space, the stray
beams of sunlight coming through the
rice shades. The
adjacent fitness club was quiet this
early Sunday morning. It
was good that the first thing she was
doing in the “real
world” since the Club Surreal fiasco
was this private with
Mrs. Hannenburg. She was in her
eighties, and did
beginner yoga to keep her joints
flexible. Because of how
slowly she moved, she preferred a
private, and any
conversation she offered were easy,
automatic response
topics, like the current weather or
whether her
grandchildren would visit soon.
Calming, more aligned with
Rachel’s reality. So different from
last Sunday, her private
session with Jon.
Savannah had been calming, though
in a different way. In
the morning, she’d embarrassed and
yet comforted Rachel
by making her a simple breakfast of
organic scrambled
eggs and fruit. She’d asked her about
her schedule for the
next day or so, but said nothing about
what had happened
in the parking lot or anything about
Jon. Rachel couldn’t talk
about Jon yet. Just thinking about him
set her body to
yearning, remembering every single,
explosive second
they’d shared at the club, and the way
he’d taken her down
in the limo. She’d never anticipated
such sexual
ruthlessness from Jon, but she’d
welcomed it, embraced it,
even as it had drained and destroyed
her at once.
She needed him desperately, enough
that when she’d
taken a shower this morning she’d
felt the shakiness of it in
her lower bel y, in the empty clutch
of her hands. But she
was too afraid. That was her whole
problem, wasn’t it? Jon
thought she had courage, but he was
wrong.
She closed her eyes, her throat
aching. Savannah had
left her this morning with a warm
hug, a long look and the
press of her elegant hand. It was odd
how the woman had
probably said less than twenty words
to her, yet Rachel felt
as if Savannah had understood al of
it. But she stil didn’t
know how to interpret the woman’s
parting long look.
Simple compassion? Or like
Savannah was looking into a
mirror of her past, wishing she could
tel that image
something that it wasn’t ready to
hear?
Wel , she’d have plenty of time to
think about it alone,
wouldn’t she? She’d walked into this
eyes open, knowing
this would happen. She wouldn’t lean
on anyone to help,
particularly Jon, because it wouldn’t
be fair to drag
someone like him down into that. He
deserved so much
more than a woman who was already
past the best
moments of her life, who was mired
in a history she didn’t
have the strength to overcome.
She went to a ful lotus position on
her mat, stared at the
emptiness around her. When she
couldn’t bear that
anymore, she closed her eyes, began
her breathing, hoped
for Mrs. Hannenburg to get here
soon.
In one nostril, out the other, clearing
the sinuses. Back
straight…she remembered how Jon
required her to keep
her back straight as she sat by his
chair. The cool touch of
the studio air slid over her breasts
and she recal ed his
touch there, the way his hand slid
between her legs, parted
for his pleasure…
She squeezed her eyes shut more
tightly. See? Just sex.
The spurts of arousal were a virus, a
malady she’d
contracted. Jon had given it to her.
His absence was the
cure. In time, her libido would shut
back down, with al its
unattainable desires.
But it was more than her libido. She
remembered how
he’d curved his body protectively
behind hers here, sharing
the same mat. How he’d talked to her
at the coffee shop.
The way he’d draped his arm loosely
over her shoulders,
holding her close as they strol ed past
the shops. The
crease in his brow and his intent
absorption among al his
workshop dust and tools as he
created a new marvel that
drove a woman insane.
For the past year, he’d been a
constant presence in her
life, whether in her mind or physical
y in her class. A
presence
she
anticipated
like
buried
treasure,
rediscovered every week for an hour
or two. She
remembered everything. The way he
laughed when the
other women teased one another or
him. The intent way he
looked as he did the postures. The
way he focused on her.
She slowed that thought down,
replayed it. Every moment
he’d been in her class, he’d had his
attention on her in
some way, big or smal . It had made
her feel better about…
everything. Now that she’d seen the
way he looked at her
when his desire was completely
unleashed, she couldn’t
help but recognize traces of it earlier.
That desire, that total
attention, had been simmering in his
gaze from the first
class. It had been given wings the
moment she asked him if
she could touch him, and he’d given
her permission.
He hadn’t come back weekly because
of his desire to
join a yoga class. He’d come for her.
Only for her. And
she’d grown addicted to him long
before he’d found out she
wasn’t married.
“Oh Jon.” Her hands, pressed in
prayer
mudra
in front of
her sternum, turned and curled
against her aching heart. “I
can’t give you what you want.
Though I want to. I real y, real y
want to. It’s too late.”
“No, it’s not. Because you already
have given me what I
want.”
She opened her eyes, somehow not at
al surprised to
see him leaning in her doorway,
wearing the familiar tank
and cotton trousers for his practice.
The sight of the leanly
muscled body, the serious set of his
mouth, those silken
dark strands of hair that fel over his
high forehead, were al
capable of making her breath hitch,
but it was the look in
his blue eyes that took it away
entirely.
“Did you kidnap Mrs. Hannenburg?”
Though she wanted
to sound calm, her voice was barely
a whisper. His eyes
dwel ed on her face, the gemstone
color so deep and stil
she could feel it reach out to her,
draw her in, so that she
didn’t real y want to speak. Or move.
Or do anything but
gaze at him avidly.
“Ben is taking her out for coffee and
homemade pastries
even as we speak. She seemed wil
ing to be kidnapped,
particularly when we told her we
were surprising you for
your birthday.”
“My birthday isn’t for some time.”
She tried to remember
she couldn’t have him, and al the
reasons why. “And I try
not to notice it anyhow.”
“Wel , that’s going to change.
Because I intend to
celebrate every year you’re a part of
my life. It also depends
on how you define birthday. For
some people, it can be the
day they decide to embrace
something new, take their life
in a whole new direction.”
“Jon.” She looked down at her hands,
despairing. She
wanted him so badly the need ached
in her joints like a flu.
“You real y pissed me off the other
night. And you scared
me.” When she lifted her gaze, she
saw he was masking
nothing. His expression reflected
those volatile feelings,
their aftermath. And something
deeper, that came through
now in the roughness of his velvet
voice. “If you ever tried to
hurt yourself, sweet girl, I don’t
know what I’d do.”
A lump formed in her throat, and she
looked back down,
curling her fingers together. “I didn’t
mean to scare you. I
should have explained more…but I
was so tired, and
embarrassed and surprised that you
knew. That day I did
that…the day the gun went off…” She
sighed, closed her
eyes. “You know they say women do
poison or something
like that, something that won’t
destroy their face, because
we’re vain, even in death. But at the
time, al I thought was
that I wanted to destroy my face,
because even that wasn’t
pleasurable to him anymore. Or to
me. I saw a mother who
wasn’t a mother, a wife who wasn’t a
wife. I thought, ‘I’l just
destroy it al ’.”
She shook her head. She could feel
his increased
concentration, the fierce emotions her
words were stirring
in him, but he stayed silent, let her
say it. “It was soon after
my son’s death, and I was…in
despair. But whatever angel
guided that bul et, told me I stil I
wanted to live.”
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her
attention to his face.
What she saw there—anger,
compassion, love—nearly
stole her voice, but she had to say the
rest. “You know what
the best day of my life was? I was at
the beach with my son.
He was two. I played in the surf with
him, sat in wet sand
and dug in it with a little plastic
shovel. He painted my
calves with splotches of it while
sand got into our swimsuits.
I cherished every move, stored every
laugh in my heart.”
She paused, swal owing the ache. “I
brought our chair down
to the tide line and held him in my
arms while he fel asleep
against my neck, and I dozed with
him, amazed that Cole
and I had created this perfect thing, to
house this precious
little soul…”
She stopped. There was no way she
could go from there
to what had happened to that perfect
creation, that precious
soul, but fortunately Jon knew, and
she could leave it. But
her mind wouldn’t. She remembered
Kyle’s soft baby hair,
and the horrific moment at the funeral
home, when his body
had been delivered there in the
sealed casket. She’d
screamed at Cole, beaten on him
because she wanted that
casket opened and he didn’t. She had
to see his body, no
matter how mangled or decomposed,
so she could stroke
that soft hair from his forehead one
last time. They’d both
cried, even as Cole held her at arms’
length, not able to
bear holding her, even then.
“I know I’l never be that happy again,
I’m sure of it…” She
swal owed against the far too
familiar dul pain in her heart,
tasting her tears on her lips. “When I
final y realized that, I
could accept al the rest. It didn’t
matter. And I knew I’d
never try to take my life again.”
Jon cocked his head, his blue eyes
bright with pain for
her, but his mouth set in a determined
line she knew too
wel . “And yet, despite your
acceptance of that, I not only
feel your body yearning but your
heart and soul as wel .
There’s more, Rachel. There’s more