Obsessive Compulsion (17 page)

“Wonderful,” Kyle huffs at Brandon. “Told
you to use the twenty proof.”

“I panicked,” Brandon shrugs while staring
into my eyes. The whisky added to the lingering medication in my
system is already making me see double, and I’m trying so hard not
to laugh. He takes my shoulder into his big hand and gives me a
small shake. “Why’d you go and suggest something like that so
soon?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” I mumble. Fuck. My
bottom lip is going numb. I’ll be drooling in no time. “Going to
her place for Christmas. Road trip. Catholic parents. Dad has a
shotgun. No sharing the bed, lest you be faithfully wed!”

I laugh maniacally at that last part.
Funniest shit my brain has heard in forever. “So I say to Charlotte
– I said… Well, why don’t we just get married? Clever, right?!”

“So,” Kyle’s trying not to laugh, but I
think the fact that he’s holding his ribs and wincing has more to
do with his restraint than my slipping hold on reality. “You were
just joking?”

“Not in the least. I love her more with each
second that passes, and I know that she’s the one for me.” I manage
to string those words together rather well, but it’s a fleeting
moment of coherence before my civility takes another rain check. “I
wanna marry my Charlotte!”

“Shh,” Brandon tries to hush me while his
head raises over the bar top. “Clubroom’s empty, but she could come
back at any moment. We best get you upstairs.”

“Your fault, you carry him.” Kyle stands
back up then lists to the side against the bar. “Not that I could
help anyway.”

I laugh at that, too, because knowing Saul
kicked Kyle’s ass just improved my day significantly. Serves him
right for eye’n my Charlotte while he had no plans of quitin’
Sarah.

Shit.
I bet Saul’s gonna ask me if I
knew. I bet he’s gonna hit me when I tell him the truth. We
all
fuckin’ knew.

“Shit’s fucked up, boss,” my numb lip aint
doin’ shit to smooth over my west Texas accent. Fuckin’ peachy,
that is. Right fuckin’ peachy. Rule number two why I don’t drink.
Makes my voice sound like my piece a’ shit, coward ass, football
lovin’ father. “Shit’s so fucked up.”

Brandon hoists me up with his shoulder under
my arm, his tall height forcing him to stoop his bulky frame to my
level. With unsteady steps, he starts guiding me out the door and
to the stairs. With my last little bit of sanity, I’m prayin’ to
God that Charlotte stays put in that kitchen, because I have no
idea what might fly outta my mouth if I see her.

“Left, right, left,” Brandon walks me up the
stairs then practically tosses me onto my bed. He eases my boots
off then leans down over me. “Sleep it off, buddy. I’ll go check on
Charlie, then we can get it all sorted in the morning.”

“I done fucked up.” Damn, the bed smells
like me and her. “Why I gotta fuck everything up all the damn time,
Brandon?”

“We’ll get it sorted,” he says again and I
believe him. “Get some sleep.”

“Yes, sir,” I sigh, slightly relaxed by his
confidence. I don’t know how he does it, but if Brandon says it’ll
get sorted, we always know it will. After the door closes behind
him, I wallow and curl into the sheets, inhaling her scent and
letting the memory of her in my arms follow me into sleep.

I’m having the best damn dream ever. Lucid
remnants of my hopes swim through what remains of the whisky and
this afternoon’s double dose of Lorazepam. I can smell her, like
she’s right there next to me. Tickling flutters dance over my brow,
sweeping my messed up hair out of my face and making me snort my
stupid laugh. The vision of her smiles at me with gentle love in
her eyes and responds with a soft giggle. It’s the most beautiful
dream I’ve ever had.

Her smile – that brilliant light that’s
become such a stabilizing force in my life. If I could just see
that every day, I’d know that everything would be okay. Who knew a
girl named Tornado Charlie would become the rock I cling to?

But, now… Now I’ve clung too close. Why was
I so…
me
? She’s slipped away and all I can do is hold tight
to these sheets that smell like her and this haunting vision
smiling at me.

It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. I’ll
never get over this – this death of a dream. My beautiful, foolish
dream.

My beautiful… “
Charlotte…”

“Shhh,” her whispering ghost sooths my ache.
“I’m here, sweetie.”

My one open eye widens and tries to focus on
the hazy image in front of me. She’s lying next to me on the bed.
Maybe. It’s so hard to tell what’s real anymore.

“Charlotte?” It’s the only word my brain can
produce. It’s all I have left. That one word, keeping me centered
and just this side of sane.

“Sleep now,” she coos, sending warm ripples
over my skin as her gloved hand palms my cheek. “We’ll talk in the
morning.”

The leather, normally my saving grace,
offends me. With uncoordinated jerks, I manage to get my hand on
top of hers, then I start picking at the glove’s fingertips. She
seems to catch on, because she slips her hand free, removes the
glove then palms my cheek again.

Instead of overwhelming my senses, her warm
skin brings me a peace that lets me sleep again after a long sigh
to repeat what’s echoing through my heart.
“
Charlotte
...”

Ugh
. Rule three for why I don’t drink
– I wake up feeling like I was run over by a dump truck carrying a
load of jackhammers. My mouth tastes, and probably smells, like ass
and whisky with a side of cotton balls, while my brain throbs in an
attempt to escape the pain via my ear canals. One drink and this is
what I’m reduced to.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this warm,
though. A deep heat surrounds my entire body, taking away some of
the hurt. My limbs curl around it more tightly, basking in it like
a tangible sunbeam. The sunbeam moves, yawns then squirms in closer
against my chest.

Charlotte
. Crust breaks along my
eyelid as I peek one eye open to confirm my dream is real. Her
naked body is pressed into mine with one of my legs draped over her
hips and my arms hugging her torso.

Wait a second...
I force my other eye
open to peer through a mess of red waves.
Well, that doesn’t
help. No, don’t start counting the fucking strands, Rider.

I close my eyes again and use my hands to
test what my sleep-filled vision told my brain. My
bare
hands. Holy shit, my gloves are off and I’ve got my hands all over
Charlotte’s exposed skin.

My leg twitches, tucking her ass further
under my knee. My knee that can
feel
her ass. My knee that
is
not
covered in the leather pants I got tossed into bed
wearing last night.

Breathe in, Rider. Breath in and do not
freak out.

A stuttered intake of air manages its way
into my lungs, but then it hits me. I’m not freaking out at all.
Not even a little. I’m touching her body, skin to skin, and my mind
isn’t imploding in on itself. If anything, I’m relaxed. What the
heck did Brandon put in that whisky?

“Mmmrrsstop fidgetin’,” Charlotte mumbles
into my shoulder.

Oh God, that’s so damn adorable. Her accent
is heavy and her voice is husky. That’s not just adorable. Okay,
now I’m wide awake and so it everything else.

I’ve never woken up with a woman in my arms
before. It’s the most incredible thing. Making love to her last
night – yeah, that was amazing – but this… This is so close to
something normal that it makes me feel like I’m not all fucked up
inside.

I lightly trace my fingertips up her spine,
amazed at every new sensation that doesn’t send me crawling for my
meds. She squirms with a bubble of laughter then stiffens at the
same time I do. I want her, need her. All my blood shifts south,
leaving my mind drowning in her scent.

“
Charlotte
…” I can’t stop the moan
that erupts.

“Hey, sleepy-head,” she groggily replies
then places a soft kiss against my shoulder. “Are you okay? Should
I move away?”

“Fuck no,” I immediately tighten my hold as
I growl. Did I seriously just growl? Clearing my throat, I try to
temper the heat in my blood. “No, please. I’m good. A tad confused,
but I’m good.”

A soft laugh puffs heat against my shoulder,
raising goosebumps and making me shiver. “You don’t remember
anything?” she asks.

Her question sends an alarmed shudder
through my mind. “Uh… Not exactly,” I reply cautiously. “I remember
talking with you and Emma at the bar about going to Oklahoma for
Christmas.”
And saying we should get married.
“Then I…” but
I can’t say it. Part of me wants her to think it was a joke, but
part of me wants her to know I was being serious.

“Brandon said you had a panic attack,” she
lifts away slightly, the movement an obvious request to look at
her.

With a deep inhale, I open my eyes. “I did,
and I can explain.”

“You don’t have to, sweetie. I never
should’ve pushed you into agreeing to go to my parents place. It’s
a big step – a leap even, and that’s just for…” her words trail
off.

“For normal people,” I whisper.

“I’m sorry,” she sighs heavily, shutting her
eyes and burying her face back into my shoulder. “I aint no more
normal than you are, Ian. Don’t ever think that I… That I’m judging
you for any of this. What the heck is
normal
, anyway?”

Good question, but I don’t want her to think
that any of what happened last night is her fault. “Waking up in
bed next a beautiful woman is a piece of normal I could get used
to.”

She nuzzles in closer. “I’m surprised you’re
okay with this. The touching, I mean.”

“Me, too. I think, perhaps, my brain has
become used to you.”

More like obsessed with you
, but hey,
at least I’m not shaking, right? I’ve started tipping the other way
with Charlotte – where it’s not her touch, but the lack of it, that
sends my mind into a downward spiral. I’m not sure that’s any safer
for us, but I’m not going to complain just yet about being able to
lay naked in bed with a woman for the first time in my life.

I kiss her brow then snort as the whole
situation sinks in. “Though I
am
curious as to what happened
to my pants.”

“They’re over there… somewhere…” She lazily
motions to the foot of the bed then wraps that arm back around my
middle. “You kept taking things off’a me, so I thought it was only
fair. ‘Sides, you were tossin’ and turnin’ ‘till I took ‘em
off.”

Her thick, morning accent has me aching, but
her words give me concern. “I took your clothes off?”

“Damn straight,” she laughs. “You were all
Mr. Grabby-Hands last night.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Charlotte.” I lift away
and she rolls onto her back, taking me with her. Hovering over her,
I try to make sure she’s not upset. “I don’t remember much.”

She blows a puff of air to get strands of
hair out of her face, revealing her blushing cheeks. “You didn’t do
anything except hold me, Ian. I’ve got no complaints ‘bout
that.”

Moving more of her hair away from her face,
I run a finger down the bridge of her nose. “So beautiful,” my
heart is awestruck.

Her lips smile, drawing my attention, then I
let my gaze continue down. Two perfect breasts tipped by two
perfect, erect nipples has my mouth watering. My eye widen as
something else, equally beautiful, captivates me.

“You have a tattoo,” I muse, tracing my
finger over the colorful butterfly that’s flying near her right
breast from an empty cocoon inked along her right ribcage.

“Mmm,” she nods, her eyes watching me.
“That’s Emma’s tattoo. It was the first serious watercolor I ever
did. That little butterfly is my little Emma.”

The tattoo’s significant meaning compounds
its beauty. “Back when you found her, when you were kids?”

“She was the cocoon then,” Charlotte smiles.
“All messy curls, not talking, wrapped up in a shell the world had
put her in.”

I’m nearly overcome with emotion as it hits
me. “You helped her become a butterfly.”

“No,” her correction confuses me, as does
the way her gaze has shifted to the side. “She did that all on her
own.”

It’s obvious Charlotte still blames herself
for what happened, so much so that she refuses to accept how much
she’s truly done for Emma over the years. “That’s not how Emma
tells it.” I tilt her chin back towards me. I see it so clearly now
– the incredible, compassionate spirit of this woman. It takes away
my breath, while at the same time it gives life back to me. “You
find cocoons, Charlotte, and then you help give life to
butterflies.”

“Ian,” she sniffles as a tear beads from her
eye to glide along her cheek.

I catch the tear with my lips then kiss any
remaining protests away. I’m not even counting the seconds as our
kiss deepens into unquestionable emotions of butterfly wings, warm
sunbeams and the most perfect moment of my entire life.

I’ve been in my cocoon so long, Charlotte.
Do you know? Do you know how you’ve given life to me? How you’ve
given me wings?

…
you help give life to
butterflies.

Ian’s words haunt me through the kiss,
making my heart tremble. The way he’s kissing me now is so
different than all the kisses before. He’s not counting or pausing.
He’s just kissing me with all he has to give, and I want to take
everything he’s offering.

You should be runnin’, Charlotte. You know
you’ll just end up hurt, or worse, you’ll hurt him.

Charlotte? Are you even listing to me?

No. It’s too late. I’ve been fighting a
battle I lost three months ago when Ian knelt down in front of me
to dry my tears; when he sat beside me for hours in the hospital;
when he helped me remember how to laugh and when he trusted me;
when he didn’t hold my failures with Emma against me; when he
smiled and snorted that very first time - I lost.