I won this round with another slammed door sounding upstairs and Cass’s pickup cranking up outside. The noise seemed to break Ransom and he blinked, dipping his head to run his long fingers through his hair.
“Shit, nani.” He managed to get up from the sofa with little effort, as though there was no issue with his ankle at all, but I noticed the mild limp as he walked closer to sit in front of me on the coffee table. He waited just a few seconds before he spoke, watching my eyes, looking for something he didn’t seem willing to ask me outright. And then, Ransom exhaled, rubbing his neck before he leaned forward. “I just…I couldn’t stand your pity.”
“Pity?” What an incredible idiot. “Is that what the problem was?” I sat up, making him lean back when I poked his shoulder. “Ala de traka! You incredible orto! Pity? As if I would ever pity you.” Frustrated, I stood, walking around the table he sat on, not hiding the scowl on my face, not letting him utter a word as I fussed. “When, Ransom, in all the time you’ve known me, have I ever pitied you? When have I ever treated you as anything other than what you deserved? Eh?” I poked him again and finally he stood, grabbing hold on my finger.
“Never,” he admitted. He didn’t release me, came too near me and I had to fight the instinct to pull that face closer to mine.
“Wi. Never.” I stepped back, reminding myself that I had wanted a resolution, not a repeat of what had happened the day after Ethan proposed. So I retreated, trying to ignore how my heart sped, how he followed me, stood right behind me as I walked toward the patio doors. “Pity,” I mumbled, head shaking as I tried to tamp down my anger.
“Makamae,” voice low, sweet, the small plea in that word went straight to my heart, “I was in a bad place. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
And just like that, he was forgiven. Not because of his apology. Not because of that smile that melted my heart. Forgiveness for Ransom was never too far out of hand simply because he was who he was, and when he stood behind me, lazily stroking his hand down my neck, to my shoulder, I recalled how effortless it was to love him. How a single touch from him could undo me. With Ransom standing behind me, whispering apologies I knew he meant against my skin, there was no point in trying to prove Ethan wrong. My feelings for Ransom had not changed in the months I’d been with Ethan. If I was being honest, I knew they likely would never change at all.
Accepting that though, was a dangerous thing.
“I’ve never pitied you,” I told him, hoping he couldn’t see how tightly I closed my eyes in the reflection from the patio doors.
“I know.”
“I’ve…I’ve only ever…” I couldn’t say it. Not just yet. Not with the distraction of his touch, the tease of his body heat so close to me. “I’ve…”
And then he deflated my fight completely. “You’ve only ever loved me.” He kissed my neck, pulling me right against him with one arm around my waist. “Right, nani makamae?”
“Ransom…” I couldn’t stop him. Not those lips along my neck. Not those fingers along my ribs. And when I leaned against him, when I didn’t hear anything in that house but the thundering beat of my heart and Ransom’s soft, sweet breath against my skin and then, the low, eager growl when I whispered “shoushou,” that’s when I let him kiss me.
One full minute I was not there, pushed against the glass door with Ransom controlling my mouth, taking my lips, my tongue like they were his personal possessions. I was not there. I flew high, along the crest of desire, of eager, eager need and he took me there, navigated my every thought, all my emotions and I let him, wanted him to possess and control.
One full minute.
There was only his mouth and taste and his greedy, desperate hands touching, gripping on my thighs, pulling me close, keeping me still. I could have stayed in that moment with no thought, no reason. I could have stayed there and only felt what Ransom gave to me willingly.
But that is not what happened.
Not for me.
Not for Ransom.
Not for anyone in that house.
Once, when I was twelve, Mark, Johnny and I were in a car accident. Music Valley Drive in Nashville is a crowded place, particularly at night. Especially on the weekends. The curve along McGavock Pike came at us too soon, while Mark and Johnny bickered over something I can’t remember at all now. Their voices were high, punctuated by the sudden, almost immediate silence that came in the small seconds between insult and the loud screech of metal and glass colliding.