14
Gunnar rode back to the hotel in the taxi with Julie. How in the world could she forgive him after what he’d done? Guilt ate at him, calling him a coward. He never would have associated that word with himself before. It fit.
When it came to Julie, he was terrified. Instead of facing his fear, he’d always ran. Pushed her away. Promised, for the good of the many, that they had to “sacrifice.”
That word ate at him just as much as the guilt. Leaving her behind, cutting all ties, hadn’t been a sacrifice. It’d been a panicked retreat. One that cost both of them. He glanced at her across the backseat. It’d cost her more than him.
He didn’t deserve her forgiveness. Not by a long shot. But he’d do everything he possibly could to not let her down again. How he would manage that, he wasn’t sure. If the Air Force gave him nothing else, it gave him the keen ability to solve problems. He just hoped he could hone that skill for fixing their friendship.
The car pulled up to the curb. As he pushed the door open, the wind whipped the handle out of his hand. This would be a beast to deal with tomorrow when they took off for the North Pole if it didn’t let up.
“Wind’s bad.” He touched Julie’s hand to stop her from opening her door, then snatched it back. “Slide out here.”
She scooted toward him, and he thanked the driver before getting out. He stood next to the car, blocking as much of the wind as he could from hitting her. One good gust and Julie would be down the block.
“This better blow over before tomorrow, or the reporters won’t be happy.” Julie hiked her bag up on her shoulder, tucked her head, and beelined for the door.
Her soft squeak sounded a moment before her arms pinwheeled. Gunnar wrapped his arm around her waist, shifting his own feet as they slipped beneath him. The wind battered them, yanking his feet out from under him. They were going down.
He twisted as they fell and pulled Julie close to his chest. The unyielding concrete slammed into his back. He grunted as she landed on top of him and the air whooshed from his lungs. She was safe. That was all that mattered. Her body shook as her giggles floated through the air.
She pushed her hands against his chest to peer down at him. The soft peach light from the streetlamp haloed her, throwing shadows on her face and making her blush stand out on her cheeks. A strand of her chestnut hair had escaped from under her hood and tickled his cheek where the wind teased it.
Man, seeing her hurt.
Not in the this-is-going-to-suck hurt, though it might. No, this pain was the kind that cut away infection. The sharp, stabbing burst opened the dying part of himself in the way that made him think he might actually find wholeness again.
He lifted his hand and slid the strand of hair behind her ear, rubbing his thumb across her cheek in the process. If he cupped his fingers around her neck, he could pull her in and taste the lips he’d dreamed about for more years of his life than not. Her gaze dipped to his mouth, ratcheting his desire up to new levels. He wanted to give in, to promise her he’d never let her down again.
The wind pummeled them, dousing him with frigid reality. He couldn’t be promising her anything. Not with how colossally he’d screwed up last time.
“You okay?” He sat up, lifting her with him.
“You took the brunt of that fall. Are you okay?” She scrambled off his lap to stand.
Holding his hands on her hips until she had her footing firm, he tried to keep his mind off of how good it felt to have her near. To touch her, even with layers of winter gear on. She’d always been calming to him, his eye within the storm. She hooked her bag across her chest, then reached her hand down to help him up.
“Peachy.” He shook his head at her hand and eased onto his feet.
He didn’t want to take the chance of pulling her down. After getting his footing, he wrapped his hand around her elbow and headed for the entrance. They both stomped their feet when they got inside, and the front desk attendant looked up from her book.
“Sidewalk’s slick.” Gunnar pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Needs sand.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I hope you weren’t hurt.” The employee set her book down and glanced past them to the doors. “I’ll get someone to take care of that right away.”
“Thanks.” Gunnar’s reply had Julie peeking up at him.
Her eyes sparkled, and a smile played at her mouth. What did she find so amusing? He thought back over his words but couldn’t figure out what could possibly be funny. They got into the elevator, and she still fought to keep her lips from smiling.
“What?” He nudged her arm with his elbow. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing.”
“Something is.” He turned so he could face her.
After fifteen years conjuring her in his mind, he wanted to stare at her. Find all the little things that had changed and memorize them. Like the small scar along her right cheekbone or the few crinkles next to her eyes.
“It’s not funny. Not really. It’s just your ability to string as few words together as possible and still get the point across is commendable.” She peeked up at him and let her smile go.