Don't Let Go (5 page)

His eyes filled with liquid that had nothing to do with the rain. “Yes,” he choked.

“How do we take care of that?”

He reversed our hands so that mine were back underneath. “Feel that?” he said, fat tears falling from his eyes. I couldn’t breathe. “How do we walk
away
from that?”

I opened my eyes to realize there were hot tears rolling down my face. That was the last time our baby had been ours. Two minutes later, my water broke, and I went into labor, setting off a comedy of errors to get to the hospital. And said good-bye to everything.

How do we walk away from that?
Those words had haunted me ever since.

I swallowed hard, blinking my tears free to see his profile, and turned around. I walked as quietly as I could back up the path, thanking God I wasn’t wearing heels to clack on the sidewalk.

Was he remembering that same night? Was he thinking about us? Of course not, I chided myself, wiping my eyes. He was back here with a gorgeous girlfriend and plans for the rest of his life. He wasn’t concerned with the nostalgia of an old flame. That look on his face earlier had been totally natural. We both were a little taken aback for a second at seeing each other again for the first time, that’s all. Had he stayed in town, we’d have become dulled to the other’s presence after a while, as all breakups go. We never got the chance to dull. So now—twenty-six years later—we’d have to awkwardly do that.

My cell buzzed as I got to my car, and I checked to see a text from Becca.

Out 2 eat wth Lizzy & Darlene. Spnding nite with L.

I leaned against my car and steadied my breathing, still feeling the burn behind my ribs.
Why was he back? Why couldn’t he just stay gone?

I cleared my throat and shook the thoughts free. I had other issues
. It’s a school night,
I texted back, in full words, rebelling against the text-speak. I remembered her troubled expression from earlier and felt a stab of concern and curiosity. And wondered what she was really up to. I remembered seventeen. Way too well.

They go 2 school 2,
was her reply.
Quizg 4 the govmt test. L mom said ok.

Quizzing, my ass. She’d forgotten she’d already copped to that. But too tired to pick that particular battle, and remembering I’d dumped her at lunch with her dad, and knowing Lizzy’s mom was somewhat of a Nazi June Cleaver in workout clothes, stricter on Lizzy than I could ever be accused of, and would probably feed her a four-course breakfast in the morning and personally supervise homework, I broke my own rule and gave in.

Loves,
I texted. Our trademark word since she was little.

Loves :).

I got in, fixed my eyes, got my shaky nerves under control.

And called Patrick.

• • •

Patrick was a guilty pleasure, unlike anything I’d ever done before. Never in my life had I had a one-night stand. I’d gone from Noah to a rotation of random losers to Hayden. After my divorce I went solo for a very long time. Deciding that I was clearly not cut out for relationships, I focused on being Becca’s mom. Once I did start dating, it was small-time. Only one ever got close to being serious, and when it did, I doused it. I wasn’t looking for another husband, or even a significant other. So when Patrick sidled into my world with his no-strings-attached, let’s-just-have-fun sexual whirlwind, I was ripe for the picking. And he was fun.

Fun.

Like taking off on a motorcycle and feeling the wind whip by at eighty miles an hour, just to stop and eat pizza and have sex in a field kind of fun. Okay, we really only did that once, but it was so outside my box that I’d never forget it. Ever.

We didn’t talk about our personal lives, other than the obvious surface things like he knew about Becca and he knew I owned a bookstore. I knew he had no kids and headed up a construction crew.

That about summed up what we needed to know to make small talk during rest periods. Because we didn’t hook up for the stimulating conversation.

I crawled back in bed, propping up on an elbow so I could stare at him. The new morning light peeking through the curtain was just enough to highlight all I needed to see. One arm was thrown over his head and his face was relaxed in sleep. He’d shaved for me because he knew I couldn’t stand the scratchiness, but the darkness was working its way back onto his jaw.

Patrick exuded raw sex appeal. Anyone could say anything they wanted about his crude language and rough exterior, he was hot. And was a product of the life he chose. Construction guys don’t worry about what wine goes with what entrée, they are just happy that there’s wine. And they don’t call it an entrée.

The sheet was tangled around him, a leftover result of the monkey sex we’d had around two. I traced a finger down his chest, in awe as usual of the muscle definition that continued into his abs. He was my age, roughly, or so I assumed. That was another thing we’d never actually defined, but although his body didn’t look it, I felt like he was in his mid-forties.

He drew in a deep breath as the touch stirred him from sleep, and he opened his eyes slowly and blinked at me.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said.

“Hey, yourself.”

He wound a finger around one of my locks and pulled me to him for a kiss. I dropped a light one on his lips and he chuckled.

“You’ve already brushed your teeth, haven’t you?”

I snickered. “Of course.”

He nodded, eyes drifting back closed with a lazy smile. “Of course.”

“Want some coffee?” I asked. “I just made some.”

“Not just yet,” he mumbled. “I’m gonna go see if I can hit this dream up again.” I ran my lips lightly along his arm and then moved to his stomach, kissing the parts the sheet didn’t cover. “Mmm, but if you keep doing that—”

“What will you do?”

“Probably not much till you make me go brush my teeth.”

I gave his stomach a nip and laughed as I pushed off the bed. I was restless. I’d already had two cups of coffee and showered, and aside from being naked was nearly done getting ready for work. Two hours earlier than necessary. It was like my skin couldn’t be still.

I eyed Patrick’s flannel shirt where it lay over my chair in the corner and opted for my big floppy warm robe instead. As sexy as wearing a man’s shirt felt, that struck an intimate chord with me that I wasn’t interested in pursuing. I took the stairs softly, stepping around the creaky spots out of habit. Hearing the familiar
ka-thump
, I turned to see Harley, our pit bull, exit from Becca’s room. The giant brindle-coated teddy bear slept in Becca’s bed every night whether she was there or not. Although she could put on quite the guilt trip when she felt like the girl abandoned her.

“Hey, Harley-bear,” I whispered, scrubbing her neck. She looked up at me with a doggie grin that warmed me like nothing else could. “Wanna go get some coffee with me?”

I ran a finger along the bottom of three framed photos on the way down. One of Becca, Mom and me right after Dad died. Another one held Becca’s school picture. And the last one was of me and my parents when I was around ten, with my weenie dog Duchess in my lap. It was there on the wall my whole life, was still there when I moved in, and was one of the few things I couldn’t discard when I redecorated. Duchess was buried in the backyard, under a Texas-shaped pavestone in the flower bed.

I opened the back door for Harley, poured myself another cup of coffee and turned the machine off so I’d quit, and then just—stood there—soaking in everything. The countertops were granite now instead of the original Formica. The blue-and-white-checked linoleum floors and shag carpet had been sacrificed for natural stone tile. While I’d changed everything I could afford to change and replaced the old furniture with our own, it was still my mother’s house in many ways. I’d even arranged the furniture differently so it wouldn’t feel the same, but it still came down to the same old shell with the same old ailments it always had. Creaky stairs. Noisy plumbing. And too many memories in the bookshelves.

That was another thing that hadn’t changed much. In my mother’s will, after leaving me her house, she’d requested that her books remain in the wall-to-wall bookshelves that stretched across the living room. By “remain” I took that to mean anywhere on those shelves, so I’d taken out all the knickknacks and shoved them all together on one side so that my books would fit. I thought it was fair. I mean, what a bizarre request.

Regardless, I complied, just like I always had. Feeling the jolt of memories that came attached to each and every book I touched. Each one had a story behind the story. And sometimes it was better that those stories stay right where they were rather than pull all my crap to the surface. I figured there would be time enough to deal with all that if I ever decided to remodel or sell. In four years it hadn’t been a priority.

At the familiar scratch on the back door, I let Harley in and sank into the couch, curling my legs under me and pulling pillows onto my lap. She jumped up as if she were a little lap dog, the couch sinking where she planted herself, squirming half onto the pillows on her back. I chuckled as I rubbed her belly and all her taut muscles melted into mush, legs sprawled and head thrown back. Harley didn’t know about her breed’s reputation. Nobody told her she was supposed to be fierce. She thought she was born for belly rubs and bacon treats.

The room was dim except for the early light streaming from behind the curtains at the front window. It was quiet. Too quiet. It was odd, not having Becca there making noise and griping about what clothes she couldn’t find or homework she’d forgotten to do. I was used to the chaos, and the lack of it had my ears ringing and my thoughts working way too fast.

A light knock at my door cut them off, and I set my mug on a nearby side table as I checked the wooden clock sitting on it. Seven thirty-five.

Harley contorted herself back upright and her ears went on alert.

“What, did you forget something, Bec?” I said under my breath. “Like your key?”

I got up shaking my head, the responsibility lecture already booting up in my head. Assuming it to be Becca, I opened the door unchecked, grateful I hadn’t opted for Patrick’s shirt. And felt every pore in my skin wake up. That last swallow of coffee sat in my stomach like mud.

Noah stood before me with tired eyes, hands crammed into the pockets of a black leather bomber jacket. His gaze took me in quickly, but I had the feeling he could have passed a test on what he’d filed away in that two seconds.

“Morning.”

Chapter 4

Morning? Really?
I opened my mouth to say something back, but nothing came out, so I licked my lips and fidgeted with my robe like a crazy woman.

“Too early?” he asked, as if that were a normal thing to say to me as well.

A laugh-scoff-snort thing fell out of my mouth, which I chalked up to rounding out the perfect start to the day. I coughed and cleared my throat.

“No, I’m—just getting ready for work.” I stepped back so he could come in and held on to the door for dear life as I glared at Harley for just sitting there on the couch like a diva. Some guard dog. She should have had his leg chewed off by now. “Come in. There’s still coffee if you want some.” Oh, what the living hell was I babbling about?

Noah stepped in hesitantly, as if maybe he hadn’t thought things out that far. Maybe he expected me to slam the door or not be home or God only knows what. He gave me a sideways glance as he passed me, and I caught a subtle whiff of soap and shaving cream. I stared at the door as I closed it, as if it had betrayed me too, and then I turned on my heel and put myself in motion.

I walked straight past him to the open kitchen, trying not to really look at him. I knew he’d follow. He knew the way around my mother’s house. My house.

Harley’s curiosity finally got the better of her and she followed on his heels, making him turn around to check out the beast stalking him.

“Hey there, killer,” he said, holding out a hand for her to smell him, and then scratching her ears. “Are you nice?”

“That’s Harley,” I said. “I’m afraid growing up with two women has made her a big wuss.” I took a deep breath. “Coffee?” I asked again, opening a cabinet.

When he didn’t answer, I turned around, and felt my heart slam against my chest. He was standing on the other side of the big island from me, where I’d seen him so many times before. Except he was a man now. With something in his eyes that resembled lost.

“What?” I asked, though not much of the word came out.

Noah shook his head and his expression cleared a little. “Just weird being back here, I guess. In this kitchen.” He gestured with a small hand flick. “Seeing you here.”

“I know the feeling,” I said softly, turning back to grab a mug whether he wanted one or not.

“Linny told me you were living here again,” he said. “Sorry to hear about your mom.”

My hands shook as I poured the hot black liquid and turned to set his mug on the counter.

“Thanks,” I managed to push out. “Sugar and creamer are right there,” I said with a gesture.

“Black’s fine,” he said.

I nodded and headed into the living room for my cup.
Shit, Jules, breathe.
I planned to come back, but he followed me.
Shit.
The kitchen felt more stable. We could stand up in there. Have the island between us. The living room was cozy and said please sit and stay a while. Granted, I did have to go to work—in an hour and a half.
Shit
.

I licked my lips again and sat back down where I was earlier. Feet curled beneath me. Two pillows on my lap for security. I felt every centimeter of my nakedness under the robe and wished for more clothing, but it was big enough for him not to know that. I just thanked God for giving me the wisdom to get ready early and not be sitting here with wet hair or raccoon eyes. And then I mentally kicked myself for caring. He didn’t. I wondered if his woman knew he was paying me a visit. Or if she even knew who I was.