Page 110 of A Dark Fall
“I was going to tell you,” he says again.
I sit back. “When?”
He bites his lip. Searches my face. Pleads with his eyes. Finally, he shakes his head and looks down, defeat creeping over him.“I don’t know.”
Well, at least he doesn’t lie.
I look down at where our hands are joined—he took hold of them again at some point, though I don’t remember when—and marvel at how steady and smooth and strong his feel in mine. Still. Like our mouths, our hands fit together so well. Our bodies have always fit together so well. But perhaps that’s the only part of us that fits. Maybe he’s right. Maybe we’re too different. That doesn’t feel true though. Yes, we’re different, but what drew us together was always so strong, so powerful, it seemed to eclipse that. Maybe it’s why his secrets and mystery always seemed surmountable to me. Nothing else mattered.
Even now, exhausted and drained, my body wants him closer. He lied to me and kept things from me—huge things—but it doesn’t seem to matter because physically, the pull is still as strong. Stronger perhaps.
Somehow, my voice finds its way out of my body.“Is there more?” I ask.
He looks up, and a darkness flashes across his face. His lips press together as though he’s trying to stop something from breaking out of them. I feel him grip my hands a little harder. Still, he hides.
When it’s clear he isn’t going to speak, I nod and drop my eyes to our hands again. “So, I still really don’t have the first idea who you are.”
“You do,” he says. “You know who I am when I’m with you.”
I smile sadly as the tears well up behind my eyes. With me, he’s who he wants to be. That’s what he said. That’s not the same thing. That doesn’t mean anything. It’s just some romantic notion that sounds good and for a while excused his mysterious hidden side. I know that now at least.
I slip my hands out of his grip. “I think I should go.”
He moves forward quickly. “Alex, please don’t.”
I shake my head, unable to meet his eye. “I need to, Jake. I need to go. I need to think.” I sound clumsy.
As I go to stand, he grabs a hold of my hands again, pulling me back down to the couch. When I finally do look at him, it only confirms to me that Idefinitelyneed to go. I’m tired, drunk, and emotional, and he is still so tempting to every single part of me. So bloody beautiful. I still want him a frightening amount. The sheer intensity of which scares me half to death.
But everything else feels as if it needs time to settle.
With his hands still holding mine, I try to stand again. I don’t pull my hands out of his because he releases them before I need to.
“Could you call me a taxi, please? I need to use the bathroom,” I say, leaving him sitting there.
I sit down on the toilet lid feeling leaden and heavy from too much knowledge, yet at the same time, not enough knowledge. Twenty-four hours ago, I was in love with him—with some manageable reservations. Six hours ago, I was standing face-to-face with the woman I thought he’d cheated on me with. Half an hour ago, he told me she’s a woman he has a child with. I try to rationalize it for a moment, to consider if he did have a right to keep this to himself until he was ready to tell me. Maybe. Yes. But with Jake, it’s a pattern. He’s never wanted to share any part of himself with me—nothing outside of the physical anyway. And there’s more he isn’t telling me, I’m certain of that, but I’m not sure I can handle knowing about it. So maybe this time, I’ll let him keep his secrets.
At the sink, I run my hands under the cold water and pat my cheeks, my forehead, the back of my neck. Then I tilt down to drink a few cold, welcoming gulps. I suppose I could look a lot worse after the day I’ve had. I pinch my cheeks and flatten some of my eye shadow before licking my lips.
I wonder why I’m bothering, but deep down, I know why. When I walk out of here in the next ten minutes, I want him to feel as if he might have lost something.
When I come out of the bathroom, I stop dead in my tracks, traitorous body roaring at the sight of him. He’s standing in front of one of the ceiling-height windows with his back to me. His T-shirt is tight around his upper body, the undeniable strength in his arms defined and pronounced. I want them wrapped around me.He’s resting his head on the glass as he looks out at the enviable view of Tower Bridge from the east side of his living room. He doesn’t seem to be looking at it though; he looks miles away. But if I asked him where he was in his mind, he probably wouldn’t tell me.
“You called a taxi?” I ask quietly.
He turns around and stares wordlessly for a few seconds before nodding once. He has a beer bottle in his hand, and as he lifts it to his mouth, his T-shirt rises, and I see a flash of inked skin on his stomach.
“The tattoo. It’s for Caleb,” I say with a nod. The Roman numerals are his date of birth, presumably.
He nods. “Yeah. Had it done the day he was born.”
“I always thought that tattoo was for a girl. It made me jealous of her.” I smile, feeling as pathetic as I always knew I would if I ever told him that.
He walks toward me, depositing the beer on top of one of the shelves on his way past. As he walks, I look down at his feet, and my stomach somersaults at his hairless, tanned skin. It gives him a softer edge, making him vulnerable somehow.
When he stops in front of me, the heat from his body settles around me like a blanket. “And what if I told you no woman ever meant anything to me before you? Would you believe me?” His eyes are glittering and serious.
“I’d want to believe you,” I say, my gaze dropping to his mouth. It’s wet and bitten red, and I almost ache from how badly I need to feel it on mine.