I want her body. I want her mind. I want her heart. In many ways, I feel like it’s already mine to claim. In my sick fucking head I feel like Sadie Parker has always been mine for the taking, like she was made for me, intended for me.
The realization that I want her, all of her, only makes my guilt grow exponentially. I’ll just have to find a way to get the hell over that. I don’t want anything standing in the way of me claiming Sadie. Not my family. Not my past. Not her past. Not the reporters or tabloids. Not the string of scorned women that I’ve left behind me. Not even morals and values. The entire world can go right to hell. As long as I have Sadie, I don’t give a shit.
***
We’ve been on my balcony looking out over the ocean for hours now. With a makeshift picnic for us to pick at, we haven’t had to go very far except for to get a drink or use the bathroom. Sadie seems to like it most right where she’s at. She’s sitting beside me in one of my wicker chairs with a fleece throw draped around her shoulders and a glass of wine in her hand.
She’s spent most of our time out here looking out at the water. I’ve spent most of it looking at her. She’s been slowly offering up little details about her life the more relaxed she gets. The wine may be to thank for that. I wish I could reciprocate, but I can’t. I can’t even think about all of my secrets much less speak them out loud to Sadie. She’d run and I wouldn’t blame her. They’re my goddamn secrets and even I run from them.
“Jake wrote a letter for me to read,” she says with a sigh. “Before he died, he wrote this letter and I’m too afraid to read it so it stays in my purse.”
“Don’t you think you should read it?” I’m quick to reply. “I mean, it’s been two years, right?”
“Well—yeah—I guess I should, but it’s easier said than done, Zander.”
“No. I know. I didn’t mean it like that. I—shit, Sadie. I’m an asshole. Sorry.”
She stays quiet for a long time. She’s thinking about her beloved husband and I’m thinking about the fact that I’m a fucking asshole.
“I just think that maybe it’s time to read the letter. Maybe it would help, you know?” I add, sounding desperate.
“My parents brought me and my sister here when we were kids.” She finally breaks the silence and I’m relieved to hear her change the topic. “I remember building things in the sand and searching all over the beach for sand dollars. I looked and looked and never found one. I was so devastated. Thought it was the end of the world that I wouldn’t have one to show Jake when we got home. Seems dumb now, right?” she asks, bringing her deep brown eyes up to meet mine, a wry smile tilting up one side of her mouth.
“It’s not dumb,” I answer, never breaking eye contact. I hate that she’s so broken. Every territorial, protective male instinct in my body is screaming at me to guard her. To make her better. To help her. Somehow.
“I’ve known Jake since kindergarten. We grew up together.”
I say nothing, hoping that she’ll go on.
“When Jake would hug me, he used to twirl my hair at the nape of my neck with one hand. The other would rub up and down my spine. It was light. Barely there.” She sighs breathily. “I think it was more for him than it was for me. It was his thing, something that made him feel safe. He never told me that, but I knew that’s what it was.” She laughs ruefully, staring out at the water, so broken and so beautiful at the same time.
“What makes you feel safe?” I ask.
She seems perplexed by my question. Her brows draw up, creating that little wrinkle that I always want to smooth away. “I haven’t felt safe in a long time, Zander.” The way she makes her admission tugs at my heart. She looks so ashamed and sad. “But…I kind of feel safe here.” She shrugs and looks toward the lighthouse. A little stain of pink colors her cheeks and I feel like I’ve just won the goddamn PGA.
“If you could have anything in the world right now, at this very second, what would it be?” I ask, knowing that I’d give just about everything right now to know what would make her happy. If it’s something I can do, I will. I owe her that.
“To turn back the hands of time,” she says, looking at me with one eye squinted in the setting sunlight. “Even if I was told that it was just temporary, that for sixty seconds I could go back, I would. I’d go back.” She nods again, sure of her answer.
“What would you do?” I pry a little, hoping that she’ll open up to me just a little.
“I’d let Jake hold me. I’d let him kiss me and I’d soak it in so that when I had to lose him again, I’d be able to do it knowing that I soaked up everything that I could. Just to feel him again…”