I See...Love (A Different Road Book 1) (18 page)

The wind picks up and nutmeg passes through my senses. It’s almost like Mother Nature did it on purpose. It’s a tug of war. I want to say the words to her to tell her that I want to give her and I a try, but every time I do, I see my mother’s broken spirit. I know I’ll do to Joss what my dad did to her. I just know it. I’ve been trained to be my father.

I feel like my heart is being torn in two. Why did I have to meet Joss in the first place? This was never supposed to happen.

“If being with me is that hard of a choice, let me make it simple for you. I’m not into playing games. Either you do or you don’t want to see me. But, I’ll let you off the hook, don’t worry about it. I don’t want to see you,” she says, and starts to walk away again.

“No!” I yell.

I’ll lose her. I know if I can’t do this right here, right now, I’ll never have another chance. As much as it kills me to allow myself to break her, selfishly, I want her in my life. Her footsteps come closer again, and like the last time, it feels like thunder in my heart as her hand gently presses over my chest.

“The decision is black and white, but how you feel isn’t,” she whispers, then removes her hand.

God, isn’t that the truth! Black and white is simple. Yes and no, left or right, I can do. The decisions I make are as easy as choosing one or the other. But these things Joss makes me feel, they’re in that grey, murky middle. I’ve never had to deal with the grey area. I was trained to deal in black and white and to feel nothing. Joss turns back around, walks up to the client’s door and knocks.

“Joss, you’re on my mind one hundred percent of the time and I don’t want you there,” I admit.

I wish I could see her face. That’s another thing I find myself wishing for more and more, to see the look on people’s faces when I talk to them. I hear her sharp, disappointed inhale of breath. I can only imagine my mother’s broken look plastered on Joss’s face. That look, among others, is one that’s been imprinted. I need to know if I put that look on Joss’s face.

“You’re on my mind, but I don’t want you there. I want you in my arms,” I find my mouth saying what my heart wants.

She tries to be quiet, but I hear her almost silent footsteps walk back over to me as the front door to her client’s house opens. I stand perfectly still, not knowing just what she’s going to do.

Ever so softly, her lips touch mine, and mold warmly to mine in a soft kiss. I raise my hand to touch her face. I need to feel what’s written on her face. Her hand comes to mine and stops me from touching her face.

“Pick me up at seven,” she says, and then she turns around and walks into her client’s house, then the front door gently closes.

But what she didn’t want me to feel on her face, I felt and tasted on my lips. She was crying. But was she crying because she was upset when I said I didn’t want her on my mind and she thought I was rejecting her? Or, was she happy because I then said I wanted her in my arms?

“We have a meeting we need to get to, River,” Josh says, behind me.

All day at work I argue with myself if I should show up at Joss’s tonight. Not only am I going back on every word I said about letting a woman into my life, this isn’t a great time to explore this with everything that’s going on with Kate. I should be devoting my time to her and her recovery.

If I let this go, I’m afraid I’ll never get another chance.

At seven, I have Josh drop me off at Joss’s. The shock in his voice when I told him to leave was worth listening to his disgruntled sighs the entire ride to her house.

I knock on the door and immediately smell her earthy perfume when she opens the door.

“No chaperone? I get to drive?” she asks, when she doesn’t see Josh.

“I’d like to stay in, and talk,” I tell her. 

There’s no way in hell I’ll tell her everything. There are just things that people don’t ever need to know. I’m in control, and I get to decide on my terms what to tell her. If she knows I’m damaged and that I’ll only end up hurting her in the end, then that’s on her if she still wants to see me. I’ll leave the decision up to her. I know how important those three little words are to a woman. She’ll never hear them pass over my lips. I never heard them from my father to my mother, or to any of us. I don’t even know what those three words mean. I’ve never experienced them and I sure as hell can’t give them.

“Alright,” she says, then turns around and walks inside.

“I don’t know the layout of your house. You mind giving me a little guidance,” I say, holding out my arm.

“Oh, my gosh, I’m such an idiot! I’m so sorry! Absolutely!” she says, as she comes back and takes my arm, then guides me inside.

She leads me through the house, then outside to her backyard. Here again, I find myself wishing I could see the things that make up Joss. I wish I could see her belonging and her surroundings. She leads me to a wooden chair and I take a seat. She noisily scoots another chair over close to mine and takes a seat, but she immediately stands back up.

“I’m a bad hostess. Have you eaten dinner? Can I get you anything to drink?” she asks.

“I’ve eaten, thank you. A beer would help,” I say.

“Um, what do you mean by help?” she asks.

Nothing gets by her.

“What I have to say to you,” I tell her.

“Right,” she replies.

She leaves the backyard and goes back into the house. I hear the refrigerator door open and the clinking of beer bottles as she takes them out. The tops are cracked off and thrown into a trashcan. She takes a deep breath, and then walks back outside. She touches the front of my left hand with the cold bottle. I wrap my fingers around the chilled, moist, bottle, and then I take a drink. Nice, it’s imported.

“Thank you,” I tell her.

“I really have to tell you that all the thank you’s and pleases are throwing me for a loop,” she says.

All I can do with that is chuckle. I’m not used to saying them either. I find myself saying them to Joss and I’m unaware that I do until the words leave my lips.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” she asks nervously.

“You said you don’t play games,” I say.

“Right, I don’t. I guess I’m not like most girls,” she confirms.

She can say that again. She’s nothing like any woman I’ve ever met before.

“So, I’ll just come out and say it.”

“That’s probably best,” she interrupts.

She’s nervous. She repeats what others say and she has a habit of interrupting people when she’s nervous. I don’t know how much she knows about me and my past, but I’m about to find out. Sebastien would have a heart attack if he knew the things I’m about to say without getting a non-disclosure agreement signed first. Technically, I guess Nina and Joss have both signed them, but those were specific to their job and what goes on in my home while they are there.

Her hand rests on the top of mine and my heart skips a beat. What are these feelings? Where are they coming from? Did my father have these feelings for my mother at one point? Joss’s hand squeezes mine and I open my mouth to explain just why I’m not the man for her.

“I’ve had a hard childhood,” I say.

“I know. Nina told me,” she replies, softly.

Both she and Nina have no clue. No one does, except maybe Sebastien, since he was the one who inflicted most of it.

“I’m sorry. Please continue,” she says, when she realizes that she’s interrupted me again.

“It didn’t start with the car accident. My dad…he was…not an easy man to be around. I’ve never had a good role model when it comes to how to treat a woman. My dad…he…was like a horse trainer training a wild horse. He wasn’t satisfied until he broke you. He broke my mother and all of his children. I’m not sure if the accident was a curse, because I lost my mother, or a blessing, because my father died. In order to get a blessing must you also receive a curse?”

Joss gets out of her chair and climbs into my lap, and then she wraps her arms around me. I start to breathe heavy with the feelings that are taking over. This is dripping with that grey area. The feelings I’m feeling about Joss and having to talk about my mother all at the same time, beg for my need to let it all go in a hot shower. I’m not weak. I can do this.

“Joss, I was trained to become my father. All I know is what I’ve been taught. I’m not good for you. I need to set you free. I’ll break you if I keep you,” I tell her, wrapping my arms around her.

The more I tell myself I need to let her go before I ruin her, the tighter I find myself needing to hold on to her.

“I’m not going to let you do that,” she says, placing her hand on my cheek.

“You’re already on my mind nonstop. I’m afraid you’ll become an obsession and I won’t be able to let you go, even though that’s what’s best for you. You’ll be ruined once you see how the demons inside of me make me treat you. They’ve made me the man that I am.”

“I won’t let you let me go,” she says, and kisses me softly.

We talk for another thirty minutes, and I avoid her deeper questions and answer others in a roundabout way, then she goes quiet.

“You got quiet on me all of a sudden. What’s on your mind?” I ask.

She sighs, then her tongue clicks on the roof of her mouth wanting to say something, but her mouth closes and she doesn’t.

“You can ask me anything,” I say, giving her a squeeze.

She can ask, but it doesn’t mean that I’ll tell her the truth. Like I said, there are things that will never be repeated.

“What’s it like being blind?” she asks so quietly, I almost don’t catch it.

I’ve never been asked that before. I don’t think anyone has ever had the nerve to ask me that before. It’s not something that’s easily answered. Someone can say because they close their eyes for ten or twenty minutes that they now know what it’s like to be blind. But first of all, they can open their eyes again and see.

I cannot.

Second, when they close their eyes, they can still see the light that filters in through their eyelids.

I cannot.

It’s total darkness. Darker than the darkest of nights you’ve ever seen. There’s no outline, no shading, no light, there’s just nothing.

“I’ll show you,” I tell her.

I pick her up and cradle her in my arms. I walk back through the sliding glass door into her family room. I count the steps that I took and just before I reach the doorway, I stop.

“Where’s your bedroom?” I ask.

“Turn left,” she says.

“Tell me when to stop,” I tell her, and count my steps to her room.

I memorize the layout of her house. Rooms and dimensions instantly form in my head with hallways and openings.

“Stop,” she says.

I stop.

“The door to my bedroom is just to your right,” she says.

“Is the door open or closed?” I ask.

“Open,” she answers.

I keep in mind that the usual door frame opening is thirty inches. Judging by how she feels in my arms, she’s maybe five foot five. I turn ninety degrees, slightly angle my body, and take a side step forward.

“Where’s your bed?” I ask

“Maybe six steps directly in front of you?” she answers with a question.

“Maybe is the difference between me setting you down gently or falling into bed with you and possibly hurting you,” I say, knowing it’s a total lie.

I’ve had years of practice and the front of my shins and thighs don’t feel pain anymore when I run into things. That’s mostly thanks to my instructors and their cruel lessons.

“Five steps?” she says, again as a question and not a statement.

I give her a little toss in my arms and she lets out a squeal, then she wraps her arms around me tighter.

“Five steps,” she says with a little more confidence.

“Do you trust me?” I ask.

If she’s smart she’ll say no. I’d never physically hurt her, but she’s guaranteed to be mentally hurt.

“I trust you,” she answers, foolishly.

I take five steps forward, and then slide my right foot on the floor until it reaches the side of the bed. She was right the first time; it took six steps. I gently place her on the bed, then take off my suit jacket and drop it behind me. I loosen my tie while I toe off my shoes. She pants heavily as she squirms on the bed. I know she’s squirming by the sounds she’s making against the sheets.

I place a knee on the bed and feel for her with my hands. I touch her arm, and her body is trembling with nervous anticipation. I slowly pull my tie from around my neck, then wrap it around my right wrist and grab the end securely in my hand.

“Sit up,” I demand.

She instantly obeys. I bring my hands to her face, but before I make my next move, I use the time to feel her features to see her face through my fingers. My hands see what my eyes cannot. She’s beautiful. Her eyelashes flutter as I gently touch her closed eyes. She has high cheekbones, very soft skin, and a slight bump in the middle of her nose. Her lips are soft, but I already knew that from touching them with my own.

“What color is your hair?” I ask, running my fingers through her soft hair.

“Brown,” she answers.

“And your eyes?”

“Brown,” she answers, again.

I run my finger across her forehead, then down her temple. I continue down her cheek to her jawline. I brush her lips with my thumb and they instantly part. Her head cocks to the side as she leans into my touch. It’s the second time that she’s leaned into my touch. It sets me on fire deep in my belly.

I unwrap my tie from around my wrist and place it over her eyes, then tie it behind her head.

“Can you see?” I ask.

“No,” she breathes.