Текст книги "Some Sort of Happy"

Автор книги: Melanie Harlow

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Every day that summer, she was the first thing I thought about in the morning, and the last thing I thought of before I fell asleep, whether she was beside me or not. And as the weeks went by, I wanted her beside me more and more. I missed her when she wasn’t there—her smile, her laugh, her smell, her voice, her kiss, her touch.

I began working full time for my father’s firm in June, and I was doing well. The workload was manageable, challenging enough to be interesting but not overwhelming; I went to the gym most mornings before work and felt physically as good or better than I had in years; and I kept my weekly appointments with Ken, sometimes going in for a last-minute lunch appointment if I felt like the voice was causing my confidence in myself, my work, or my relationship to falter.

Emotionally, I felt more stable than I’d ever felt. The obsessive thoughts weren’t getting in the way of being close to Skylar, and she had this way of getting me to open up without being pushy. She was so honest about herself, so accepting of me, that I found myself talking to her about things I’d never shared with anyone—my favorite childhood memories of my mother, my love for poetry, especially about nature, and how I sometimes envied my brothers their happy marriages and families, even though I’d never been sure about having one of my own. One hot August night I told her how it was more an envy of their faith in themselves—the way they were able to make a decision like getting married or having kids without all the constant second guessing.

“I know what you mean,” she’d said, sucking on a honey stick. I kept a supply of them at my house now. We were lying at opposite ends of the hammock, our bodies tucked alongside each other’s. “Those forever things are scary to me too.”

I chuckled. “Forever things?”

“Yeah. Marriage, family. I mean, I like the idea of a family but I’m not sure I’d be a very good mother. Natalie’s positive she wants kids, and I think Jillian does too—but whenever I think about it, it seems like something so far off in the future. Forever things are what real grownups do.” She laughed softly. “I’m not one of those yet. Maybe after I get a car I’ll feel more grown up.”

We were quiet for a minute, and I put my hands behind my head, hoping to sound casual. “What about marriage? Do you ever think about that?” To my surprise, I’d been thinking about it a little bit lately, imagining what it would be like to be married to her, contrasting the peaceful life we’d have here with the frantic, noisy one I’d almost committed to in New York. How had I ever thought that would be right for me?

“All girls think about that at some point.” She shrugged. “I suppose I’m no exception. What about you?”

“Nah,” I lied. She hadn’t exactly jumped at the idea, so I figured I’d better not sound too enthusiastic. Maybe she was thinking of us as a just-for-now thing until the real thing came along? The notion crushed me, not that I blamed her. She could do so much better. “I’d be a terrible husband.”

She took the honey stick from her mouth and pointed it at me. “I was totally gonna tell you that. I mean, you can’t cook, your house is filthy, and your dick is just meh.”

I lunged for her and she screeched, jumping off the hammock and making me chase her onto the dock, where I threw her over my shoulder and carried her back into the cabin. She laughed and squealed, beating against my back in a futile effort to escape my arms. “I take it back, I take it back. I meant to say your dick is mehgnificent.”

“Too late, angel. You ran from me. You know what that means.” In the living room, I tossed her onto the couch, where she grinned up at me, breathless.

“But you don’t have rope.”

“No,” I said, unbuckling my belt and sliding it off. “But this will do.”

Her jaw dropped. “It will?”

“Uh huh. Stand up.”

Poor little angel. I think her legs might have actually trembled as she stood naked at the end of the couch while I bound her ankles and bent her forward over the arm.

Mine did. They trembled with lust as I slid my fingers inside her pussy and then inside her mouth, listening to her suck them. They trembled with awe when I fisted one hand in her hair and teased her tight little ass with the tip of my cock, astonished at the way she let me desecrate her. They trembled with euphoria when I fucked her up against the wall, one hand rubbing her clit as she came and cried out my name over and over again.

My god, I love her, I thought as I flooded her body, my vision clouding at the edges. I’m so in love with her I can’t see. She’s fucking perfect.

Actually my entire life was pretty fucking close to perfect. I’d never been happier.

And I’d never been less sure that I could hold onto it.

“Come on,” I said, pouting. “Look at the sheet. Did I get it right?”

It was late August, and we were sitting on a blanket on the dock with a bottle of Abelard Pinot Gris, and Sebastian was supposed to be quizzing me on the tasting specs. Recently, Mia and Lucas had asked if I’d be interested in repping their wines in the Midwest, meeting up with distributors, shop merchants, and sommeliers since Mia would be too busy with three kids to travel. I loved the idea, but knew I had a lot to learn about the wines at Abelard and the industry in general before I took on that role.

“Yes, you got it right.” Sebastian set his glass and the binder aside. “But school is over for the day.”

“I have to learn this by the weekend,” I whined. “You said you’d help.”

“I know.” He took my glass out of my hand and set it next to the candle lanterns we had burning. “And I am. I’m going to help you relax.”

“Oh?” I leaned back on my hands, legs stretched out toward him. The mischievous glint in his eyes made my insides flip.

The summer was flying by in a happy whirlwind of work, wine, and great sex…definitely the best summer of my life so far. I loved the job at Abelard, I loved working for the Fourniers, and I grew more confident each day that I was doing a good job. Mia was an exacting boss, but fair and helpful and so organized I was in total awe. If I made a mistake or a miscommunication, she was understanding, and she was quick to praise when I did things right or took the initiative on something. She definitely had her own ideas about the way things should be done, but after we got to know each other a little better, she wanted to hear my ideas too, and encouraged me to be brave about voicing my opinions.

I functioned as both her personal assistant and assistant tasting room manager, and many of the ideas I’d had for Rivard were welcomed at Abelard. Lucas had loved the idea about creating a YouTube channel for informal videos about their wines, and he’d thought I’d be a natural in front of the camera. Together with his chief winemaker, a French import named Gabriel Allard, Lucas and I outlined the video series to coordinate with events Mia had planned throughout the summer. I stayed late many evenings learning about the wines, and I took home a ton of additional reading about the grapes and the soil and the winemaking process. Many nights I fell asleep with books resting on my chest or my laptop still open beside me.

Often I was in Sebastian’s bed.

We saw each other three or four nights a week, and on my days off, which were always during the week, Sebastian would try to come home early and we’d go hiking in the park or swimming off his dock or take the boat out on the water. When I’d worry aloud that I was encroaching on the solitude he’d claimed to crave when we first met, he’d hush me with a kiss or put his hand over my mouth, and once he just picked me up off the boat bottom and tossed me into the water.

He’d slowly opened up to me about his past, both his difficult childhood and the last ten years. I tried hard not to pry, but ate up every word he said, every memory he shared. Gradually his moods made more sense to me, and I’d learned when I could ask another question about something, when I could make a joke, and when I should just shut up and kiss him or hug him or better yet, do nothing but listen in silence. I became accustomed to his quiet moods, the occasional flare of his temper, and his infernal reticence about his feelings, and in turn, he endured my occasional insecurities about work, my eight million beauty products in his bathroom, and my ceaseless chatter about varietals, vintages, acidity, fruit, minerality and terroir—although he did tell me if I mentioned “floral notes” to him once more, he was going to ban me from drinking wine in his presence.

“Yes. Relaxing is very important for wine tasting.” He circled my ankles with his fingers and spread them apart before lying on his stomach between my legs. Then he moved up so his head was beneath my skirt. “Lift up your hips.”

Grinning, I did as he asked and let him slide my panties off, then I gasped when he pushed my thighs further apart and swept his tongue up my slit.

“Mmmmm.” He did it again, lingering at the top. “Absofuckinglutely delightful on the palate.”

I burst out laughing, dropping back to my elbows and bending my knees. “Is that right?”

“Yes.” He flicked and swirled and savored. “My God, this vintage is magnificent. Light and refreshing with a fabulous fruit profile and balanced acidity.”

“Oh Jesus.” I clapped my hands over my mouth, laying all the way back, laughing and moaning with delight at the same time.

He sucked my clit into his mouth and nibbled on it, making my legs tingle all the way to my toes, which curled into the blanket. “Mmm, yes. An incomparable flavor and exquisite aroma. Full-bodied and delicious.” Two fingers slid easily inside me.

“I thought you said it was light,” I breathed, widening my legs even more, my hands seeking his head.

“It’s everything I like. Do I even need to mention its elegant floral notes? And the lingering finish, well…it’s indescribable,” he teased as he fingered me deep and slow and my body arched off the dock. When he put his mouth back on me, I came so hard I yelled way too loud, my voice echoing off the water. I covered my mouth again, but Sebastian just laughed, licking up the lingering finish until there wasn’t a drop left.

“Oh Jesus, I’m so loud,” I whispered, embarrassed. “What if someone heard?”

“I really don’t give a fuck.” Sebastian got to his knees and undid his pants. “So come here and sit on my cock. I’ll hold my hand over your mouth if you want.”

I sat up, giving myself a moment to enjoy the sight of him there on his knees, his dick hard and waiting for me, his eyes dark and glowing in the candlelight. I loved the way his forearms looked when he cuffed his button down shirts. Crawling up on his lap, I put my hands on his shoulders and slowly lowered myself onto him, enjoying every slick, warm inch gliding deeper and deeper. When my ass rested on his thighs, his cock penetrating so deep I felt that wicked good twinge of pain, I wrapped my arms around his neck.

We stayed there a moment, eyes locked on each other, mouths open, breath mingling between us. The light, playful mood of a moment ago was gone, something heavier in its place. I threaded my hands into his hair, staring with wondrous disbelief at this man who was so beautiful, so smart, so strong, and yet still retained that sadness in his eyes, that lingering fear that he wasn’t good enough for me. My heart was pounding so hard, it echoed in my head. I felt so full, so deliciously full with him that I knew I was going to burst right then—not an orgasm, but an emotional release.

“I’m so in love with you,” I whispered, starting to roll my hips over his. “I’m so in love with you, Sebastian.” My eyes teared up, although it made me happy to tell him. I didn’t care if he said it back or not—I felt it and I wanted him to know it.

“Skylar.” He squeezed me tight, burying his face in my neck. “You’re all I want. All I dream about. I think I’ve always loved you.”

Tears dripped, although I smiled too. “Really? Always?”

“Yes.” He used his arms to move my body against his, a slow, undulating rhythm that had my core muscles coiling again. “Because I can’t remember what it feels like not to love you. Not to ache for you. Not to yearn for you.”

The words he used to describe his feelings broke my heart. “You don’t have to ache or yearn, love. I’m here.” I covered his forehead in kisses, pulling his head back to force him to look at me. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving.”

“You will,” he said, that inexplicable sadness in his eyes. “You should. I should suffer for you.”

“Shhh.” I kissed him before he could say anything more, plunging my tongue into his open mouth, wrapping my legs around him.

He straightened up so the base of his cock hit my clit and grabbed my ass hard with his hands, grinding me against his body. “Oh god,” I breathed against his mouth. “It’s so good, so fucking good.”

He groaned and thrust up hard and deep inside me one final time, using his arms to move me over him as we came together, our bodies pulsing in wondrous relief at the same time.

Afterward, he hid his face in my chest, and when a small sob made his shoulders twitch, my throat squeezed tight. Why was he so convinced I’d leave him? Why did he think he needed to suffer for me? Was it because no one had been understanding enough in the past? Had no one tried hard enough to break down his walls? Would he shut me out, retreat into isolation to protect himself?

“Sweet boy,” I soothed as his tears dampened my blouse. I ran my hands over his shoulders, down his back, pressing kisses to the top of his head. “You’ll never suffer for me. I won’t let you.”

“Don’t make that promise. You’ll regret it.”

“No, I won’t. What is this? What’s wrong?”

“Fuck. Sorry.” He quickly wiped at his eyes.

“Sebastian. Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing. I guess I just didn’t realize I was holding in a lot of tension.” He focused on pulling out of me, and the moment he did, I sat back and brought my legs together, covering myself with my skirt.

“Oh.” Well, this was a letdown. Was he really shutting down on me right now? After what we’d just said to each other?

“I’m sorry about your skirt. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

I stared at him, blinking twice. “My skirt?”

“Yeah. I got…stuff on it.” He stood and did up his pants.

“Jesus Christ, Sebastian.” I scrambled to my feet, feeling warmth trickle down my leg. “I don’t care about the damn skirt. I care that you’re closing yourself off from me, right after I told you I love you.”

“I’m not.” This without even glancing at me.

“You are. Why?”

He was silent for a second, staring out at the water, and I recognized the stubborn set of his jaw. He wasn’t going to talk.

“Fine. Be stubborn.” Instead of engaging in the argument, I leaned down to pick up my shoes and my binder and stomped off the dock and up to the cabin.

Inside the bathroom I cleaned up with a wet washcloth, fighting tears as I looked at myself in the mirror over the sink. This is him. This is what you’ll have to deal with every time your relationship hits a milestone that freaks him out.

But what milestones would there be? He’d just said the other night that he doesn’t want the forever things—getting married, having kids. I’d played that off, and then we’d gotten distracted with sex—amazing, hair-pulling, wall-thumping, name-screaming sex—but later, as we lay next to each other in his bed, I felt sad that there was a possibility he didn’t want those forever things with me. Maybe he was just scared of that kind of commitment—a lot of guys were. Or maybe he worried about passing his OCD on to his children if he had any. Maybe he’s scared he’d stab me with the cake knife at our wedding. But who the fuck knows, because he won’t talk to me!

A gentle knock sounded on the door.

“Just a second,” I said. “Actually, just come in. I don’t care.”

The door opened and a downtrodden Sebastian appeared behind me in the mirror. I met his contrite eyes before rinsing out the washcloth in the sink.

He entered and stood beside me, taking the washcloth in his hand. Without a word, he wrung it out and dropped to his knees, and turned me to face him. Then he gently ran the cool, wet cloth up the inside of one leg.

I sighed. “I already did that,” I said, although it was so sweet that he wanted to do it, I didn’t protest when he stood, rinsed and wrung again, and knelt down to wipe the other leg, and then tenderly washed in between them.

He looked up at me. “I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

I cupped his jaw with one hand. “Then let me in, and let me stay.”

“I want to.” The fear in his eyes broke my heart. “I’ll keep trying.”

I started slipping the night Skylar told me she loved me. I knew I would.

It was all kinds of fucked up, I knew that too. Because I’d spoken the truth—I did love her more than I’d ever loved anyone before. My heart knew the truth, but it was as if my head refused to cooperate. Refused to believe in a future with her. Refused to let me feel secure in the knowledge she was happy with me.

She hadn’t brought work clothes for the next day, so I had to take her home that night. Halfway down the driveway, I had to go back and check the locks on the cabin doors. The second time, we reached the road, and I had to reverse to check them again. A quarter of the way to the farm, I felt the need to go back and check them again, and I nearly turned around. I was so agitated, my hands shook.

“Hey.” Skylar put three fingers on my wrist. “Stop. You locked the doors. I saw you.”

I swallowed. “OK.”

“What’s going on with you? Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Is it…what I said? Maybe that was too much.” The worry in her voice was like a punch in the stomach.

“No, Skylar.” I glanced at her, saw her chewing her bottom lip. I took her hand and kissed it. “I’m so glad you said those words to me, and I meant what I said to you.”

Which was why I counted lines in the center of the highway, there and back.

And why I made sure I kissed her goodnight eight times and told her I loved her twice, praying she wouldn’t catch on to what I was doing.

It was why I counted as I brushed my teeth, made sure I stopped reading my book on an even page, and switched the lamp in my bedroom off eight times.

In the dark, I lay my head on the pillow and worried with an intensity like pain.

I loved her, and she loved me.

Now it was my responsibility to keep her safe.

keep her safe.

keep her safe.

keep her safe.

keep her safe.

keep her safe.

keep her safe.

keep her safe.

• • •

Three days later I saw Ken, and he knew right away something was off with me. “How are things?” he asked, eyeing me warily from his chair.

“Fine.” I kept all my answers short and offered nothing. When he asked about Skylar, I told him things were comfortable, and even as I spoke the words I tapped the side of my leg eight times, then dropped my head and blinked eight times. I’m sure Ken recognized I was not myself, at least not the self that I’d been in the past few months, but he didn’t push. When I left the building I made sure I took an even number of steps to get out to my car. I hated what I was doing, felt sick and shameful and loathsome, but I couldn’t stop.

Skylar was tougher on me than Ken.

“What’s with you?” she whispered two weeks later when she caught me rearranging the place setting at my brother’s house. I was trying to make sure the two forks were exactly the same distance from each other and the one nearest the plate was that same distance from it. Same with the spoon and butter knife on the other side.

“Nothing.” I gave her a smile when she reached over and took one of my hands under the dining table.

“Are you nervous about something?” By contrast, she seemed cool and calm, although she was meeting my entire family for the first time today.

“No.” Leaning toward her, I kissed her cheek to reassure her. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I had an issue bringing her around my family. I didn’t—in fact, this had been my idea. Well, mine and my sister-in-law’s. She and Skylar had met already because Skylar had arranged a meeting between Kelly and Mrs. Nixon about supplying her guest houses with products. Skylar had also arranged a meeting with Mia Fournier, and Abelard now stocked and sold Kelly’s honey-based products as well. Kelly adored Skylar, and had encouraged me to bring her to dinner to meet the rest of the family. My father was here with his longtime girlfriend, my brother David was here with his wife, Jen, and my nieces and nephews sat at a kids table in the kitchen.

Skylar was her usual self, beautiful, relaxed, and outgoing, and it was wonderful to see how she fit in with my family. Diana had come to Michigan twice in our two-year relationship, and neither time had I felt as comfortable or proud as I did tonight. In fact, I quite enjoyed the impressed looks on my brothers’ faces when they first saw her. My father, who’d met her once at the office, kept looking back and forth between us with a curious look on his face, and I wondered if he was thinking How the hell did a guy like you get a girl like that? Which is basically what I thought every time I looked at her.

“Your family is wonderful,” Skylar said later as I drove her home.

“They loved you.” I tried to sound relaxed, but I was horribly tense behind the wheel. Lately I’d been obsessing over her getting into a car accident. She’d purchased her own car last week, a little Mini Cooper, and I was terrified that it wouldn’t protect her. It was so small. Even in the truck, I was nervous about a crash. Then I felt awful for even having those thoughts because my brain convinced me I might cause the accident just by thinking about it.

“I love you.” She reached over and rubbed my leg. “Are you sure you’re OK? You seem distracted lately.”

“I’m fine. Just tired.” Inside my head were multiple voices screaming at me. One warned me that by shutting her out, I was avoiding the issue of relapse and contributing to the relationship’s demise, if not my own. Another cackled with I-told-you-so glee, finding delight in watching me fuck this up just as predicted. Another begged me to keep doing what I was doing because it was the only way to reassure myself that no harm would come to her.

“Seems like you’re more than tired.” Her tone was wary. “I—I’ve noticed a couple things in the last couple weeks, and I’m concerned.”

“Oh? Like what?”

She took a breath. “Like the checking the locks thing.”

I bristled a little. “I’ve always done that.”

“And the outlets?”

“I live in a cabin. I worry about fire.”

“And putting the knives back above the fridge?”

I’d been hoping she wouldn’t notice that. “I just did it to clear the clutter off the counter. I hate clutter.”

She didn’t say anything until we pulled up at her parents’ place. Right after Labor Day, she’d moved back into the guest house she’d lived in last May, and I’d spent a couple nights there, although I felt much more comfortable at the cabin. Being in my bed with her was the one place I felt completely at ease in my body—and in hers.

“Want to come in? I have to work early tomorrow, but I’d love for you to stay the night.” She took one of my hands in both of hers. “If you’re tired, we can go right to sleep, I promise.”

I smiled, with effort. “That rarely happens with us.”

“I know.” She gave me a wicked grin. “But I like it.”

“Why don’t you grab your stuff and come to the cabin with me?”

She considered. “I’ll need my car in the morning, though.”

“I’ll drive you to work and pick you up,” I said quickly. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’m not working.”

“No, that’s silly. I’ll get my work clothes and meet you back at the cabin.” She leaned over and kissed me quickly, and before she could get out of the car I grabbed her and kissed her again.

She caught on and grinned. “I know, I know. Two is better than one.”

“Busted.” I laughed a little, but inside I was dead serious.

Nothing could be done in odd numbers. Nothing.