“I mean it. Now. Tomorrow, I damn well mean it.”
For some reason I believed him. It was in that soft smile and the quite passion smoldering in his eyes. Ethan would never expect me to have his back. That’s not what a partner does. Equal partners flank, they don’t support. That realization and the promise I saw in his eyes gave me pause and the smallest amount of hope that I could walk away from the past; that if I made a real effort, I could be happy with Ethan.
He kissed me then, nothing dramatic or out of control like the earlier kiss. Just his soft, slightly swollen lips against mine and the smallest brush of his tongue touching mine. It was nice, easy. Sweet.
Maybe we would have gone on like that with Ethan dissolving the guilt that had chased me from his bed with kisses that were gentle and promises I could almost believe, but then my phone at my side vibrated and the moment got fractured in my urgency to check my messages. I was a hypocrite. How often had Ransom made me angry for doing the same thing to me? How many apologies would I have to make before I stopped sounding like him.
I tried not to look at the message, but my eyes caught his name, then the swift, sweet message wishing me a good morning and I couldn’t keep a smile from ghosting across my mouth. Ethan caught both, but he didn’t get angry. He didn’t ask me to ignore Ransom’s message or to remember whose ring I wore.
Instead, Ethan kissed my forehead and stood, walking toward the door. “I’m going to get some work done in my office.” And the door slipped closed before I could stop him, before my weak apology left my mouth.
Would this be our lives if we did marry? Would that flame Ransom carried for me burn so brightly, so hot that Ethan would get burned? Could a marriage survive a past that wouldn’t let go? A voice sounded deep inside of me, a warning I didn’t need to hear, something biting and cruel.
No, Aly. It can’t.
Today, I sold my heart.
The price was paltry.
It cost me everything.
Five
When I ran, my world drifted. It went from me with each grunt and pull of my body doing what it knows and handles automatically. Exerting with the climb of the hilly pavement and the thunder of loud music in my ears—strong bass lines and profane words that somehow distracted me enough that I didn’t tire myself out too quickly.
Every slap of my trainers against the dark road beneath me was a rhythm my body set and marched right along with my ragged panting. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth as Weezy or Ice Cube or whoever else that filled up my Old School play list shouted, rapped or sang into my ears. More white nose that kept me from my thoughts or the exhaustion I knew I was headed for, that I willingly embraced. And just as I thought my world would drift away completely, just as my focus shifted to all those random thoughts, straight to nothing but that beautiful white noise, it came back to me.
My world.
Into focus.
Sitting on top of her car hood waiting for me.
Blinking didn’t help. It didn’t make that image fade away. But it also didn’t explain how Aly could be there waiting in front of my parent’s house with that soft, curly hair that reminded me of sunset over the lake, the golden brightness of the sun slipping into the murky dark clouds, cascading around her face. The closer I moved toward her, the sharper she came into focus.
Her wild, green-eyed gaze moved from my face, went down my body, over my slick chest where my gray tee had become soaked with sweat. Then my imagination got the better of me. I half convinced myself that the look on her face transformed right in front of me. She’d worn it so many times when she had looked at me, wanting me—lids heavy with the weight of the craving I could read so clearly. I kept the grin from my mouth, shelved the pride buzzing in my chest because even if it was there, it would not last. She would toss that look from her features like a dropped penny. But before she did I imagined what it could mean. If she were free, if she wanted me still, would she take those long, thin fingers to pull my face to hers? Would she let me pick her up, uncaring about the sweat on my body or how it would wreck the crisp, white jeans she wore, how my big, clumsy hands would muss that thin, draping sleeveless shirt so that I ripped it from her supple body?
Would she let me tell her how much I loved her? Would she believe me if I made promises I swear this time I’d keep? Would she say yes if I asked her just one more time to be mine?