The words hit all the right marks. All slotting into the places I’d left open in my fantasies of this very moment. I wanted to lean into that touch that lifted huge weights that I’d been carrying.
But then I thought of the little boy stomping his foot with a wobbling lip. And I hesitated. I knew that Lance was sincere. Whether that was naïve or not, I knew that he didn’t plan on leaving. That he wanted to give this, us, a go. But I didn’t know his history. The truth behind his pain. I didn’t know how far that would reach, if it wouldn’t stop taunting him, enough to make him leave again.
Because he was Lance, he saw my hesitation. He felt it. So he removed his hand from my arm. The loss of his touch was painful. I breathed through it. I’d have to be able to breathe through the loss of him.
Inhaling, exhaling. It’s simple. You can do it. Anyone can do it, regardless of pain. You’ve done it through childbirth, through broken ribs, through moments in your life so horrible that you don’t let yourself remember them.
My chest rose and fell.
Lance watched me breathe like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. Like he could watch it all day. Like he was committing it to memory in preparation for my rejection.
“It’s really hot out here,” I said instead of telling him to leave so I could protect my son’s fragile heart. So I could try and stop my own from shattering further.
He blinked, obviously expecting me to tell him something different than to point out the sweltering obvious.
“Inside is cooler,” I remarked, rifling through my purse for my keys. “And we have grape Kool-Aid in the fridge. I know it sounds lame, but it’s actually heaven on a day like this and we don’t have beer or anything because Nathan drank it all.” I looked up when there was only familiar silence coming from Lance. His face was blank. “Joking,” I added. “He prefers tequila.”
The corner of Lance’s mouth twerked slightly and warmth spread through my insides. I retrieved my keys and Lance stepped aside in order for me to unlock the door. It occurred to me that he could have done so if he wanted, this used to be where he stayed, first alone and then with me. He didn’t let himself in because maybe he didn’t expect to be let in at all.
The doorstep was not large. Lance was not small. His scent compounded my senses, and even more of those weights I’d been carrying toppled off. My body loosened with that familiar scent which had been the reason I hadn’t washed my sheets for three weeks.
His body brushed up against mine that made me take two tries to get the key in the lock. My own body’s muscle memory kicked in and everything in my brain and mostly my uterus urged me to forget everything but the fact he hadn’t been inside me for almost two months.
I managed not to jump him as we walked into the house.
Barely.
Turning around and seeing the look on his face told me he was having similar thoughts. I clenched my inner thighs against the pure desire on the face of a man who wasn’t pure at all.
We stared at each other for a long time.
He broke that stare about two seconds before I crossed the distance between us and kissed him.
Probably a good thing, I told myself as he looked around the living room.
A lot had changed.
I had been determined to keep myself as busy as possible. And considering my version of normal was busy, I had had exactly no time alone with my thoughts. Which was the point. When I wasn’t in the garden, working, throwing footballs with Nathan, hanging with the girls, I was combing antique stores, garage sales and online sale sites. I’d managed to get an old coffee table, side table, entertainment unit, rugs. I’d sanded them down, painted them white, going for a French Country meets boho chic, with colorful throws, candles, paintings a lot of which I’d found with my bargain hunting skills, the rest gifted from everyone who’d rallied around since the fire.
I wasn’t sure what Lance thought about my mish-mash of decorating styles, because he didn’t look at it.
He started speaking.
Not about the decorating style.
Not asking about the Kool-Aid I promised.
But about something else entirely.
Something that changed everything.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“It was Christmas Eve,” he said, the first time either of us had spoken since we entered the house.
I thought the long, tense silence was Lance’s way of telling me that he wasn’t talking anymore. That I had to lead it. Maybe it was just him, the strongest man I knew, finding the strength to start talking.
I never thought of that, that silent sentinel types might not be mean or scary, just unable to find the strength to tell their story.