My gaze drifts to the herd of people coming out of the automatic doors behind the boy’s father. I gape at them, absorbed for a long while. I shake my head, take a deep breath, and check my watch.
I should go before I show up on airport security radars as a suspected sleeper cell agent
. Ungluing my body from the seat, I start to walk toward the exit that leads to the parking lot.
Paid parking stub in hand, I buckle up and start the engine. Fragments of songs are blending into each other as I scan the channels, shifting the car into drive, and with nothing better to listen to, I leave the radio on a talk show. I roll my eyes at the idiocies that come out of the hosts' mouths. With a sudden urge for an iced caramel latte I start tapping my fingers nervously at the wheel. The swanky rental car in front of me doesn’t move, nor does it make any signs of moving soon. I inch forward, trying to see the driver causing this setback, and shake my head when I see a fluffy bob and a hunched shoulder that probably belongs to some older woman.
C’mon!
I honk once but it doesn’t seem to bother the person ahead.
Grandma, you of all people should know we live on borrowed time. Let the rest of humanity proceed with their lives. Urgh…
My impatience grows with every passing second, I step out of the car, slam the door, and, cursing under my breath, stride toward the hazard.
I thump the window in subject, looking ahead while composing a quick tirade in my head. My feet, with a mind of their own, irritably stamp the ground and I grimace, waiting for a reaction from the nursing home tenant on the run.
When she says, with the sweetest smile, “Yes sweetheart,” I just shake my head and return a sheepish grin.
I say, “Have a nice day ma’am,” then turn on my heels and take my shamed self quickly back to my car.
Okay Hales, time to get it together. You might be a total wreck inside but do not let that loose on the general public. Get a grip, and fast.
After I leave the oh-so-blessed Starbucks, gulping the much desired cold, sweet, caffeinated beverage, I head back to my parents’ house, though it's the last place I really want to be. A taxi that stops right outside their gate distracts me while I try to rear park the sedan in the narrow slot next to my mom’s hybrid.
STEVEN?
My heart speeds up at the thought. When I anxiously step out of the car the taxi’s passenger door opens and I gasp. Even though I'm surrounded by an infinite amount of oxygen, none of it seems to enter my lungs. I gape at the passenger as he leaves the vehicle, and for a beat I actually lose my balance. The world around me stills; I am cemented to the asphalt, unable to move or preform any action, including breathing, other than to watch him, hypnotized―as though he were a figment orchestrated by my wild imagination.
What the hell is he doing here?
If I weren't immobilized I would pinch myself.
Daniel takes a few cautious steps toward me. His eyes are tense, assessing me from a distance. It all takes barely a moment―one that drags sluggishly, that feels like a lifetime―during which my heart beats in double time, wildly pounding in my ears.
When he is finally a step away, I squirm absently, afraid my erratic heart will leap out of my ribcage. He halts inches away, gazing at me with his beautiful hazel eyes, just a thin layer of air separating us. I tilt my head up to look at him: Daniel, standing very much real right in front of me, his face stern, and his stare unfathomable. He crouches slightly, leveling his eyes with mine. There are countless emotions swaying over his handsome face. I try to take them all in til the most desired one appears and stays. The one I’ve been waiting much too long for.
“Tell me what to do, Hales.” He breaks the tense silence with his familiar, low, hoarse voice, capturing my stare firmer with his.
I watch him, dazed. My lower lip starts to tremble and I bite it to stop. Emotional tears prick at the corner of my eyes.
“'Cause I really don’t know what you want, and I don’t want to screw this up any further.” His voice is gentler as he watches me, searching for my reaction, his eyes clearly hinting at his anxiousness. To my astounded silence he adds, “I hope it’s not too late, and that I didn’t cross too many of your lines, and there’s still a chance to go back.”
I blink, while experiencing the most severe heart pang, silently, standing there before him.
He lets out a faint, soft sigh, “Please, baby, tell me what to do.”
“Just hold me?” I manage to say weakly through my trembling lips while my heart makes its way to my throat, full with an overwhelming need for him. The first cathartic touch of his body against mine sends wild currents up and down my spine. I let myself lean into him, dissolving into his firm embrace as he swaddles me closely. I take in every ounce of the familiar, incredibly indulgent scent of fresh, lust, and male that is him. I close my eyes and melt into his warmth.
“I thought it was over. I thought you gave up on me,” he whispers in utter relief into my hair, his lips fluttering gently over the crown of my head. He tightens his embrace around me too forcefully, as if he isn’t about to ever let go. But it is so welcome; I cling to it with every single molecule of my grateful body. And it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
“As if I’m even capable of doing that.” My words are a gasp of ultimate surrender, ultimate delighted surrender to my inner will, to him, to us. After two excruciating weeks I finally feel that I am exactly where I belong. And these fourteen days of painful eternity end in a single necessary, deeply desired embrace.
D, you are so my one in seven billion
.
“Steven is fine,” he says next in a soothing, low tone, still holding me close to him with my head resting over his hurriedly beating heart.
My eyes shoot up, pursuing reassurance of what I’ve just heard, staggered. He bobs his head once, the empathetic, thin smile on his lips backing his words. My eyes fill with a glossy layer of tears as I cock my head questioningly, still not fully believing.
“He's fine, Hales,” he repeats, calmly. My lips part reflexively in dismay. So many questions rush through my head. I can’t even catch up with my own train of thoughts.
What is he doing here? How did he know I would be here? How did he know about Steven? Where did he get the information about Steven being fine?
And before I can ask any of them, I am lost in the mixture of longing and relief transmitting through his eyes. They morph from hazel into something deeper. Something that stirs me deep inside. His lips slightly part, and his stare burns on my lips. He slowly inclines his chin toward me and with the slightest tilt of his head his lips drop to mine.
I gasp.
The first touch is feather-like, hesitant. He slants his head back just enough to look at me closely, seeking my consent, his breath caressing my face. Next his mouth crushes to mine fervently. I part my lips to allow his tongue inside so it can recouple with mine. Our encounter is affecting every part of my body. His tongue traces the length of mine, commencing a thorough, demanding, delectable tour of my depths, taking me over. And with one sole kiss I am again utterly drunk on his taste, on his feel. It’s like therapy.
Therapeutic recreation.
After long moments in which we are floating in our own bubble, physically reuniting, kissing each other senseless, we reluctantly break our intense contact to come up for air.
“What are you doing here?” I finally manage to ask, breathless.
“I came for you,” his eyes owning mine.
“You called me and you needed something, but I couldn’t reach you, so I came.”
I gape at him with various emotions twirling through my head; they all conclude with just how much I love him. Regardless of everything that happened, I simply love him.
“What was it that you tried to tell me last night?” He brushes aside a wayward golden curl that has landed on my cheek and deepens the intensity of his stare, looking right through every barrier inside me.
“That I needed you,” I answer in a quiet voice and return his gaze from under my lashes. He counters by squeezing me to his firm chest, wrapping me entirely in his calming hold. My head nestles comfortably in the nook under his chin as he breathes me in.
“How are you, Hales?” he asks into my hair.
I take in a deep, liberating, though still troublesome breath and bury my face against his chest.
“Everything is fine now, baby,” he whispers, pulling me closer, taking a firmer hold of me―an embrace that lasts many calming minutes.
Chapter 2: Addressing the Mammoth
“Um, how did you know about Steven?” I ask, breaking our comfortable silence.
“Let’s talk about it over brunch. I’m starving.” I get a feeling that he isn't inclined to discuss my question, and for the time being I let it go. As long as Steven
is
okay, it can wait.
I tilt my head up and smile at him. “Then let’s get you fed. I know just the place.”
Daniel looks at me, then his eyes stray to the house. “Don’t you want to go in?”
“Not now.” My answer couldn’t sound any more determined.
I need to be alone with him now, without any third-degrees or awkward introductions. As thrilled as I am, the both of us have too much to talk about alone. As I take his hand in mine, leading us both to the car, I feel a strange cloth around his knuckles. I lift our linked hands to see what it is, and to my surprise I find a bandage.
“What happened to your hand?” My high tone doesn’t leave any hope of masking my exaggerated, to put mildly, panic.
“Nothing special. Some side effects of boxing,” he mutters dryly, shrugging.
“Don’t you use gloves?” I rise the obvious.
“Not always,” he answers, smiling lopsidedly at my dubious expression.
I bring his hand to my mouth and kiss the wound. From the corner of my eyes I can see a broadening stretch on his lips.
Settling in the driver’s seat, I watch Daniel as he makes his way to the passenger door; he sports a grey knitted hoodie that molds to his wide chest, snug jeans, black combat boots and a messenger bag across his back. His golden waves are unruly, falling back to reveal every part of his handsome, lightly tanned face. I sigh pleased, leisurely drinking in the sight of him.
As we buckle up in my dad’s car, Daniel asks where we're going, and I tell him about one of my favorite restaurants in the area, “Tavern on the Rush.”
He nods impassively, confirming.
“If we take I-90 it shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes, and with the nice weather today maybe we can sit in the patio café,” I say out loud, though it's more to myself.
“Whatever you suggest works for me. You are the local. Just hurry!” he mutters, sending me a fleeting, wicked grin while folding his Dr. Dre Beats in their travel case. He puts on his aviators and sits back in his casual stance.
“What was the plan? Hop on a plane and take the risk?” I send a teasing glance over to him.
He twists his mouth into a scowl. “I called Natasha last night. She told me exactly how you were, and I decided I had to be there for you.” All traces of playfulness vanish from the planes of his face. Natasha, as in, my roommate-best-friend-eternal-soul-mate who happens to also be one of Daniel’s employees at his cyber security company.
“Oh,” is all I manage to say with the numerous thoughts casting about in my mind.
I guess that’s where he also got Steven’s details.
I suddenly realize that I haven’t told my parents the news about Steven yet. It should have been the first thing I should have done as soon as I heard he was fine. I guess the recent emotional whirlwind clouded my right mind.
“So, how did you get the information about Steven?” I ask. I need to have some background before making that call to finally let them out of their misery.
“Remember the Thai deal?”
How can I not
. It was the same deal that kept him so consumed and stressed for so long. I affirm nodding.
“Well...” He sighs. “When you deal with foreign ministries of defense you liaison on a national level. So, bottom line, I used some of my connections to get information about your brother.”
Judging from his expression as he concludes―the same one I grew to know so well―I am fully aware that this is the only information he will share with me on the subject.
I call my parents next and share the news with them. When they ask where I got the information I find myself trapped in a corner. I never told them about Daniel, so I can’t just say he told me. And even if he doesn’t want to, he'll be able to clearly hear my conversation. Soon he’ll find out that I’ve never told my parents about him, and I’m not sure what he’ll make of that.
When I tell them that I got the information from a good friend, Daniel’s eyes instantly dart to me, and he drops the polite pretense that he's not eavesdropping. I try to seem casual and shrug, but he doesn’t look like he's about to let it go.
“They don’t know about me?” he asks as soon as I end the call, staring at me sideways in clear disappointment. I squirm in my chair, all of a sudden very attentive to the open road ahead, as if I'm slaloming through heavy traffic.
“I didn’t want them to worry about me being upset, you know, with them having enough to worry about.”
He's too still, studying me through narrowed eyes. He doesn’t seem even remotely convinced by or satisfied with my explanation.
“And before that? Didn’t you tell them about me when things were fine between us?” His stare is unsettling; I can feel it figuratively boring into me.
Suddenly I feel bad about never telling them about him, especially considering that he made sure I met his mother and told her all about me right from the start. I try to make sense of my decision to remain silent and the answer becomes immediately clear: I wasn’t certain we would last long, or at all. I had so many doubts about his intentions; every sensible part of me felt that he would end up hurting me. And given the course of our intense, short relationship, I hadn't been that far off.