Page 25 of Wrapped in Hope
He shrugs. “Whatever you want.”
“Well, I don’t really want to talk about any of it.” I want to avoid it, try to forget that it happened, try to ignore the hole that’s been in my heart for five years.
He lets out a deep breath. “Look, Hope, I know these last five years have been hard on all of us. But I think if you look at the three of us, I’m the only one who’s trying to move on. You and my wife, you two are avoiding it. Things don’t heal if they’re ignored.”
He’s right. Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting Dean. It’s something I owe myself. Do I deserve to be happy? I can honestly say that I’ve never really tried letting go of Dean. I mourned his loss, but didn’t let go. I need to let go, heal.
With a deep breath, I tell him about the drive to the cabin. I tell him about how we had sex for the first time practically the moment we walked inside. I laugh when I go into how the spaghetti was burnt, and I cry when I get to the crash, the last moment I spent with Dean.
He sits and listens to all of it. He doesn’t interrupt or judge me. He doesn’t say I was wrong by doing this or that, he just listens.
When I’m crying more than breathing, he reaches over and takes my hand in his, his thumb gently stroking my skin. “Shhh, calm down. Breathe.”
I let his touch soothe away all the negative feelings like Dean’s used to do, but it does so much more than that.
When I’ve quieted down, cried out every drop I have, he stands and goes to retrieve me a bottle of water.
“Thank you,” I say before taking a drink. Already, I feel a little better. My chest doesn’t feel as tight and my heart doesn’t feel as heavy. All it took was purging the words and letting the fit of tears come as they may.
After I drink half the bottle, I replace the cap and sit it down. We sit in silence for a long minute. I feel relieved, but also a little uneasy. I’m still feeling this connection to him even though I know it’s stupid and wrong, that it will never happen. I feel the need to say something, break the tension between us. “Is there anything you need to talk about?” I ask, wiping the tears from my cheeks.
“Me?” he asks, questions written all over his face.
I shrug. “You listened to me. It’s only fair.”
He lets out a soft laugh while shaking his head. “I don’t have much to tell.”
I study him for a moment, wondering if I should bring it up. “You don’t want to talk about the death of your adopted son, your wife’s depression, or how that’s left you alone?”
His eyes snap to mine. “That’s not for you to worry about,” he says, leaning his head back against the couch while rubbing his forehead, trying to ease the lines that have formed.
The tone of his voice isn’t a friendly one and I know I should back off, but I don’t. If I have to talk about Dean, he has to talk too. “How’s she doing anyway?”
He lifts his hand to his side and lets it fall back to the couch. “Who knows what she’s thinking. She refuses to talk to me. She won’t even leave her room if I’m home. She comes out long enough during the day to get something to eat, but even that’s not enough. She’s lost a lot of weight. She’s just lost, and she won’t let me show her the way back.”
This time, I reach for his hand. “I’m sorry. That must be really hard dealing with everything all on your own.”
“I’ve tried to help her. I have, but she just won’t let me. Do you know how angering that is? To want to help someone who just wants to die? I can’t fight this fight for her. She has to do it.”
The vein in his forehead is damn near pulsating. His chest is rising and falling quickly with his anger, and every muscle looks rock hard.
I scoot closer to him, hoping to comfort him the same way he did me. Just our closeness creates this pull between us. “It’s not your fault. You can only do so much. She has to want to get better.”
He turns to look at me and we’re practically nose to nose. I didn’t realize I’d moved this close. His breath blows across my lips, making me wet them. His eyes flash down to my wet lips and back to my eyes. Something is popping and cracking between us. A tingle forms in the pit of my stomach and my heart hammers away. The intensity of his eyes lights a fire low in my stomach that burns a trail to the junction between my legs.
My body wants to move in and kiss him, but I can’t let that happen. He’s not a man I can have. He’s married. He’s my dead boyfriend’s adoptive father and uncle. This is wrong on so many levels.
Just touching his hand and being this close to him has sent tingles through my body that I can’t control. Everything about him is familiar, yet different, even more electrifying than Dean was. That makes me want him and hate him. How could I feel this strongly about him when Dean was the only one I’ve ever loved? The one I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with.
I see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His jaw flexes and every muscle in his body is tense like he’s fighting against something. Suddenly, he clears his throat, causing me to blink. It’s enough to break the spell I’m under.
“I’m sorry,” I drop his hand and stand, moving toward the kitchen where I know Jenn keeps a bottle of vodka.
I pull it out of the cabinet and reach for a glass, pouring a little in the bottom. I don’t want to be drunk, I just want to numb these feelings that are consuming me, burn them away if I must.
I throw the drink back with my eyes closed, feeling nothing but the sting. When I open my eyes, he’s standing directly in front of me, scowling at me. The look causes fear to fill me, but also makes that fire burn even hotter.
“Drinking won’t help you.” He takes the glass from my hand and sets it in the sink.