Tru Love (13 page)

His voice is heavy with intention.

“So you’re going to save me from my fall,” Genny says.

“Yes. I’m going to try.”

So that he can live with himself afterwards.

And then what happens?
Genny wonders. When his need to save her is satisfied, will he move on to the next person poised above her death?

“I’ve learned to look for the markers, to follow my instincts when something seems familiar. I learned that life holds so much promise, but living is no guarantee.”

He turns to her. “You’re going to live, Genny. I’m going to make sure of that.”

She believes him, but wonders, Will she live with him or without him?

Chapter Eighteen

              They leave the picnic basket in the truck and walk silently toward the trail head. White and orange flowers are in bloom, scattered on the hillsides, but Genny barely notices them. They had a lot of rain this winter and the trees are full and pressing against each other. Their foliage crowds the path and in some places it’s impossible for two to walk abreast. When this happens, Truman hangs back and allows her to precede him. He pushes branches out of the way and points out poison oak. They don’t talk much. Genny doesn’t know what to say and Truman has already said so much. They don’t touch, unless it’s by accident, their arms brushing. And twice Truman steadies her when Genny trips over exposed roots.

              “Are you OK?” he asks.

              The shock is wearing off gradually. She knows it’s sadness, at such a profound level, that holds her in its grip now. She didn’t know his sister, only Truman’s loss as it’s imprinted on his heart. He wasn’t responsible for Siobhan’s death, but she

understands how he could feel he is. Genny would feel responsible, too.

              She shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts, break free of Truman’s nightmare so she can see beyond it. But that’s not possible now. She and Truman are connected and his pain is hers. When he revealed his bruised but healing heart, Genny fell in. She feels closer to him now than she did before knowing.

             
How does a person live with that kind of loss?

              By living the best life possible. By living every minute like it’s a gift. She thinks Truman is right about this. He
should
be using his sight to help others. To save them, if he can. Genny included.

              And if he’s pulled in other directions, if he leaves her with life, isn’t that enough, given the alternative?

              Her heart kicks in protest, but she holds onto the thought, knowing she might need it someday.

              She slips her hand into his, gathers strength from the familiar rub of his calloused palm, from the warmth of his skin enveloping hers. She listens as his breath bottles in his throat and then rushes out in a burst of relief. His hand tightens around hers briefly.

              “Thanks,” he says.

              He was worried. She hears the remains of tension in his voice.

              Genny doesn’t have what she needs to make sense of his sister’s death. She doesn’t know that anyone, no matter how old they are, could ever find sense in something so horrible. But she knows Truman’s heart.

              “I don’t blame you,” she says.

              “I know.”

              “I wish you didn’t blame yourself.”

“Losing Siobhan hurts worse than anything else ever could.”

              “But you want to remember her life.”

              “Someday,” Truman says. “Maybe I’ll be able to do that. Hear her laughter and not hurt for more of it. But I’m not there yet.”

              Because he’s still punishing himself, she thinks.  He’s so intent on making every moment of his life count for his sister that maybe he’s not really living it for himself. But she doesn’t say this aloud. She doesn’t want to test the calm that’s growing between them. She needs it as much as he does, to move as far away from his tortured memories as possible for now.

              She pulls on his hand. “Come on,” she urges. “I smell the ocean.”

              She’s been on this path before. In about a quarter of a mile it will curl around the sloping hills and the Pacific Ocean will roll out blue-green beneath them, spouting white caps whipped up by the trade winds. They’ll be able to hear the gulls from there and might even spot an Eagle or a condor.

              “What’s your hurry?”

              She can hear the smile in his voice, feel his body ease into a smooth jog beside her. The further they get from his truck and his revelations, the closer he is to returning to the Truman she’s known. The Truman who is confident and willing to be happy. That’s her hurry.

              They follow the path around a bend and the salt air grows thicker, the wind picks up, cool and damp and pressing against her skin. She’s always loved the water. There’s energy in it. Life.

              She turns and catches his gaze. When she smiles, full of the moment, the remaining shards of sadness evaporate from his eyes. He smiles back and she forgets all about breathing.

              He takes the lead, pulling her gently behind him. The citrusy scent of his skin mixes with the salt air, fills her lungs, makes her chest flush with warmth. She watches the wind flow through his t-shirt, lifting it from the waistband of his jeans, revealing a strip of golden skin. Her body reacts with a clutch of muscles, a sudden thickness in her veins, slowing her. They round the next curve in the trail. The hills fall away west of the path, revealing the jeweled ocean below, so stunning that it would steal her breath if watching Truman didn’t already do that.

              He stops in mid-stride. Her reflexes are no match for him and she’s preparing to slam into him when he turns and catches her in his arms.

              “Beautiful,” he says. He’s staring at Genny, his voice low in his throat and almost a purr. “But no match for you.

              There’s something wild about the moment, something so close to life it’s almost death. She supposes it’s the day’s revelations that make her more aggressive than is her nature. She never feels more alive than when Truman is kissing her. And right now she needs that. She rolls onto her toes, pushes her hands into his hair, and pulls his mouth to hers. His lips are cool, softer than they look, and, at first, unmoving. She runs her tongue over them, catches his gasp in her throat and chuckles.

              “Genny,” he murmurs against her mouth.

She closes her teeth gently over his bottom lip. His reaction is physical. His lips push hers apart and he gathers her close, his hands sweeping down her back, curving over her hips and holding her so that not even a breath of air could stand between them.

The kiss is more than anything Genny’s experienced before. It’s like she’s burning from the inside out. Where their bodies touch, they change. His is harder, hers softer. He is stone; she is liquid. That’s what she feels like, as fluid and graceful as the flow of water over rock, so completely natural that she can no longer distinguish where her person ends and his begins.

And then he’s gone. His warmth fades quickly from her skin, the cool air raising goose bumps.

She’s frowning before she opens her eyes. Truman is standing out of reach, his hands shoved into his pant pockets, his chest rising rapidly. She can see the definition of his muscles through the thin material of his shirt and decides that he doesn’t play fair. There’s just too much about him that makes her want to reach for him.

“Why do you do that?” she demands. “Push me away?”

He did it earlier, too, but then his mother was close by and she understood his actions. Right now he looks as moved as she is by their contact, but also reluctant.

“I’m not pushing you away,” he says. He tips his head back and inhales sharply. “You don’t know what you do to me. It’s not normal,” he complains, speaking toward the sky.

She feels suddenly as if her skin has grown thinner, easier to pierce, and his words are little daggers.

“What isn’t normal?” Why does being with him seem so natural to her but not to him?

She watches him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His shoulders lift with his next breath. When he lowers his head and meets her gaze she clearly reads regret in his eyes.

She turns away from it, crosses her arms over her stomach and stares out over the Pacific Ocean. It doesn’t seem so soothing now.

Regret
. He regrets kissing her? Or telling her about Siobhan? Either way, it leaves her with the chills.

She paces to the edge of the trail, steps through the brush and closer to the cool air rising up from the water. She stops several feet from where the earth falls sharply toward the ocean and watches a couple of gulls bank in the air currents below her. They squawk and it’s so raucous, so out of place in the quiet beauty, she wonders if it’s really the sound of the sky tearing.

“Genny.” His voice is barely above a whisper. She feels him behind her, probably close enough to touch if she turned to him. But she won’t.

“What isn’t normal, Truman?”
What’s wrong with her?
“You tell me you’re attracted to me, you act like you’re attracted to me, and then you can’t get fast enough or far enough away from me. Is that what’s not normal?” She turns around then and lets the anger in her eyes burn him. “That doesn’t seem normal to me, but I think you’re talking about something else. Like maybe you’re not so attracted to me after all.”

He shakes his head and his face turns thunderous. “No, Genny. That’s not it. I don’t want to let you go. What’s not normal is how fast you get to me. How easy it is to forget that we’ve known each other only five days.” He takes a step closer and runs his finger down the slope of her cheek and over her lips. “That kiss was leading to more. And we’re not ready for that yet.”

              “More?” She wasn’t thinking beyond the moment. The kiss was hot and close and all she wanted was to get closer.

              “Have you. . .”

              Genny watches the color in his cheeks deepen as his thought ends abruptly.

              “I know where we could have ended up,” he says. “I’m not saying it would have happened, but it was definitely on my mind. That’s what touching you is like for me,” he explains. “It’s a little overwhelming. I’ve never felt this strongly before. I’ve never
needed
this strongly before.”

              He watches realization dawn in her eyes.

              “You mean sex,” she says.

              “Yes. I’m not saying I was ready to jump you. That won’t ever happen, Genny,” he promises. “I have better control than that.”

              Genny takes a step back and stares at his face. Is it the effort to control his feelings that makes his eyes that intense shade of hazel? His chest lifts rapidly, his nose flares slightly, and Genny knows he’s still as moved as she is.

              He wants her but he’s willing to wait. He’s insisting on it. That should be fine with her, and in another moment, one not charged with their feelings for each other, she would appreciate his discipline. She might not even feel cheated by his ability to remain clear-headed.

              “I want to do this right,” he says. 

              She knows what he’s saying is true. No matter what their bodies are saying, no matter how right it feels, they need to slow down.

              “You’re right. We’re not ready for that yet.” She feels her color rising but pushes forward, “I guess I was a little slower to realize it.”

              “I’m pretty good at reading my body,” he says.

              He’s more experienced than she is. By a wide margin. It’s not just a matter of how many girlfriends he’s had, but how involved he became with them. Genny doesn’t like thinking of him with other girls, especially like
that
, but it’s something she should consider. What does it mean to her? She doesn’t want to be just another girl. She wants to be
the
girl.

              “You’ve had sex already,” she says, cringing inside because the idea of it really bothers her, and his affirmation doesn’t help. 

              “Yes.” His eyes remain steady, watching for her reaction, and she must have given something of her feelings away because his lips thin into a frown.

              “I haven’t,” she admits.

              “I know.”

              “Does that bother you?”

              “Hell no, but it does come with a lot of responsibility. And I take my responsibilities seriously, Genny.”

“Good, because that’s the kind of girl I am,” she says. “Serious. Someone you think about. Someone who comes first.” A girl you would fight for, she thinks. “Yes, I’m definitely that.”

Too bad being with Truman makes all common sense shoot out her ears. She needs to work on that.

              “That’s what I’m doing,” he says. “And it will always be that way.”

              She remembers his comments about earning trust and how that’s the only way it should happen.

              “Have you been in love before?” her voice is thready, her words tremble and she’s pretty sure if he tells her yes, it’ll be a hit she’ll need time to recover from.

              He steps closer, until there are mere inches between them. “No,” he says. “Never. Until now.”

              His declaration makes her feel dizzy, breathless, and about as light as a ray of sunshine.

              “How can you be sure?”

              “Right now it’s all feeling,” he says. “In time it’ll become more, if we let it grow into that.”