Hannah’s attention returns to the television, but my eyes are drawn to the photos on the wall. Her servant’s heart is such a natural part of who she is. Birthed from a place of hurt she managed to turn around for incredible good. Learning of everything she’s done for my grandfather over the years, getting a front-row seat at the VFW yesterday—something’s been settling hard against the jagged edges of my grief ever since.
“Since we’re sharing...” Her gaze flicks to mine. “I was thinking about doing a service for Pops after all. Next week maybe, at the lake house.” She pushes to a seated position, but the nervous grip I have on her foot won’t relent. “Just something small. I thought his chess buddies might like to come too.”
Hannah breaks free and messily rearranges herself on the sofa until she’s straddling my hips. Two arms curl around my neck, her mouth against my ear as she breathes, “Thank you.”
I hug her tight, crush her chest to mine. “I should be thanking you.”
“I told you to stop doing that.”
I’d said before that Pops wouldn’t want a memorial and that’s probably true. But what Hannah’s made me realize is it’s not necessarily about honoring or dishonoring his wishes. Itcanjust be about creating a space where the people who loved him can grieve their shared loss and celebrate his life…together. Nana would tell me joy could be found somewhere in the mess of it all. I think she’s right.
And I’d like to find it.
The low murmur of the television fades into the background as we cling to one another. Arms still wrapped tight, the scratchy overgrowthalong my jaw brushes over the smoothness of her own as we pull back, like neither of us can bear a moment of lost contact.
Our lips collide and her satisfied sigh wraps itself around my windpipe. My fantasies are filled with a thousand ways I could pull that exact sound out of her time and time again. Sweet, soft, andsinful. I clutch the back of my hoodie she’s wearing with both hands, all of my self-restraint harnessed within my fists.
I want to explore the skin of her legs with my palms the way I did on the back of my truck last night. But now she’s on top, thighs open above me. All the power to find out how hard I am for her lies right there in one small buck of her hips if she so chooses.
And that’s just it.Shehas to choose. I can’t push this. I won’t let myself.
Her hands cradle my face as our mouths move and our tongues tangle. I feel her heat through my pajama pants, the thud of her pulse vibrating against my sternum. Electricity courses straight to the base of my spine when she rakes her fingers through my hair, angles her head to kiss me deeper, more thoroughly.
Hannah’s steady hips remain in a hover above mine. With every sweep of her strawberry lips, my iron will to not chase the friction my body craves is pushed to the limit.
She whimpers and I groan, pressing against her mouth for another taste. And then another. Richer, more desperate, a man in darkness chasing the light. Chasing his sun.
I’m lost to the pursuit when I notice a half second too late.Too goddamn late.In the blink of an eye everything changes. Hannah shifts on her knees, the adjustment bringing her in direct contact with my raging hard-on.
She sucks in a sharp breath as she rips her lips away. “Stop!”
Panic crashes in like a bucket of ice water and I yank my hands off her. “Stopping. I heard you, okay?”
A gravelly moan of pleasure escapes her mouth when she unintentionally does it again in an effort to create distance between our lower halves. She’s at war with herself, I realize, her body and her head battling for control.Hell, I’m in the same fight. The feel of her,the raspy little sound she makes—my head falls back, eyes pinched shut.Stop. She said stop.
Her forehead falls to my shoulder, chest heaving. Propped on her knees, her lower body sways in a holding pattern above me. I don’t know if I should hold her or keep my hands where she can see them.
“Hannah. Baby, I’m so sorry. I let that go too far.”
“No,” she whispers, a little broken. “It’s my fault.” She eases back slowly, carefully enough this time not to touch or look at me. It’s agony. “I’m sorry. I just need a minute.”
My eyes are wild, hands desperate to reach for her as she peels herself away. “Are you okay?”Please, God, let her be okay.
But she doesn’t answer. Hannah disappears down the hall to her room. A door slams. The shower kicks on. I bury my head in my hands.
I’mthe one who told her to wear the tiny sleep shorts.I’mthe one who should have slowed things down when I knew—I knew, goddammit—she may not be ready for anything physical yet.
I’mthe one she ran away from.
None of this is her fault. It’s all mine.
34
please stay
Hannah
Rowan’ssoft footsteps echo through the house. I stare at my cloudy reflection in the bathroom mirror, fogged over with steam I can’t seem to find the energy to wipe away.