His eyebrows shoot up. “That’s fantastic. I’m happy to work it into my schedule whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you for not pushing me,” I say.
He takes my hand in his. “We’re going to do this at your pace.”
“Ollie, I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” I say, looking at my engagement ring. “How did you propose?”
“Uh, well …” He glances down at the table, looking guilty.
“What is it?” I ask, feeling uneasy.
“I’m a bit embarrassed to say it wasn’t very spectacular,” he says. “We were both very busy. Always on the go. I, um, just blurted it out in first class on a flight back from Chile. Everyone around us applauded. I’m sorry it wasn’t more romantic.”
“It sounds plenty romantic,” I say.
“I’d do it differently now.”
“You would? Why?”
“Because you’re not the person you once were. And neither am I. I’ve changed too, Sara. I wish you could see that. Seeing you go through what you did has changed me.” He lifts my hand up and kisses it. “We both made mistakes before.”
“Mistakes?”
He plays with the ring on my finger and then studies me like he wants to tell me something.
He shakes his head. “It’s not important now. What’s important is we’re together. You’re coming back to me. I can feel it more every day. And one of these days, you’ll accept me fully. I’m willing to wait for that day. Because you’re worth waiting for.”
I look over at the couch, thinking of him sleeping on it night after night without ever complaining.
I take a deep breath. “Ollie, you don’t have to sleep on the couch anymore.”
His eyebrows shoot up.
“I’m not ready for that,” I say. “But if you want to sleep in our bed, it would be okay.”
He stands up, pulling me into his arms. “It will be more than okay.”
Oliver’s phone rings. I glance over to see whose calling. The caller ID reads: Benny.
He curses under his breath before he answers the phone. He kisses me on the head and goes to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. A minute later, he emerges, grabbing his wallet off the front table. “I have to go out for a bit.”
“Who’s Benny?” I ask. “Is that the same Ben who called you a few weeks ago? Is he your boss or something?”
“It’s nothing you need to be concerned with, luv.”
“But you look upset,” I say.
He shakes his head. “It’s just work stuff. I won’t be long.”
I realize I don’t really know all that much about what Oliver does. I know he’s an art dealer, but he doesn’t like to talk about himself. And it dawns on me that I know more about the firefighter who saved me than my own fiancé.
~ ~ ~
Later, when Oliver and I are settling into bed, he snuggles close to me, his front to my back. I stiffen for a second before I relax into him. He gently rubs my arm. After a minute, I can feel his erection poking me in the back side.
Kokomo curls up by my stomach. Then he works his way up to my chest, and then into the crook of my neck. He’s practically smothering me, almost like he’s vying for my attention now that Ollie is in the bed with us.
It’s dark in the bedroom, and Kokomo is restless. I almost think that if I could see into his eyes, he’d be staring at me. And I’d feel guilty because sometimes when I look into Kokomo’s eyes, it’s like looking into Denver’s. And I’d feel guilty that Ollie’s arm is around me.
Oliver falls asleep before I do, and I find myself inching away. Then I fall asleep and dream of Denver’s grey eyes. It’s the same pair of grey eyes I dream of every night. It’s like his eyes are looking into my soul, protecting me.
Suddenly, I awaken and sneak out of bed to my studio, the desire to paint overtaking my need for sleep.
Chapter Twenty-six
“No cheating,” Denver says.
I give him my best scolding look. “You can’t cheat at Dominoes,” I say.
“You can if you have tiles up your sleeve.”
I wave my arms in the air, showing him that nothing falls out of my sleeves. “Satisfied now? You should know by now that I’m not a cheater.”
His eyes catch mine and I realize what I said. We both stare at each other, no doubt thinking of the double entendre of my words.
“Um … at least I’m not now,” I say, looking away. “I don’t know if I cheated at Dominoes before. But I’d like to think I was an honest person.”
“Lydia told me the two of you used to date men for sport,” he says out of nowhere.
I almost spit out my drink of lemonade. I’m surprised by his crassness. I’ve never seen him so forward. It’s almost like he’s jealous of my past. Or maybe my present.
“You make it sound like I was a slut.”
He runs a finger along the side of his glass, wiping the condensation. “Were you?”
“Obviously not if I had a long-term boyfriend,” I say.
“But three years ago, back when you can last remember, were you then?”
I look down and play with a few of my domino tiles. “I wouldn’t say I was a slut. Lydia and I liked to go on double dates. But it’s not like I slept with all of them.”
“But you slept with some of them,” he says, blowing out a sigh.
“I suppose I did. But as far as I know, I was always responsible about it.”
“Right. Because you hate kids.”
“Because I didn’t want to get pregnant at twenty-one,” I bite at him, irritated by his irrational statements. “And I don’t hate kids. I often hang out with Joelle’s twins. I even babysat Ivy’s daughter on Tuesday.”
He looks surprised. “You did? But Oliver said—”
“I know what he said. But that’s all part of what I don’t remember. I like kids, Denver.”
“Do you think—” He looks away. “Do you think you and Oliver will have any?”
“I … I’m not sure.”
“Don’t you think you need to talk about that before you rush into anything?”
“I’m not rushing into anything.”
He stares at the ring on my left hand and it has me seeing my future. A future with Oliver in it. A future with kids in it—kids that Ollie says he doesn’t want. A future without Denver.
“Listen,” I say. “Can we talk about something else?”
He rakes his hand across the table, pulling all the dominoes into the box on his lap. “You’re clearly not into this game. What else should we play? Tetris?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m tired of Tetris.”
“I know you are, but it’s one of the best things you can do to help your visuo-spatial processing,” he says. “It also helps with critical thinking and problem solving.”
I cock my head to the side, impressed that he knows all those things.
“What?” he says. “You don’t think I’m listening when you go to therapy?”
It shouldn’t surprise me that Denver knows everything about my therapy. Since day one, he’s been the one who was by my side. He was there so much, he even prevented a mistake that was almost made by a nurse who wanted to give me medicine that would have killed me because it had already been given.
He saved me. Again.
Of course he knows everything about my therapy. He knows everything about me. He seems to be the only one who does.
“I have the highest Tetris score at the rehab center,” I say proudly. “You may not want to play me. It might make you feel like less of a man.”
He laughs. “Fine. No Tetris. Then what?”
I get up and retrieve the deck of cards he gave me. I put them on the table.
“Go Fish?” he asks.
“I know it’s a stupid kid’s game, but it kind of grew on me.”
I deal the cards with my left hand, knowing it’s what my therapists would have me do.
“Wait,” Denver says. “Something’s missing. We
need music.”
I grab the remote to my stereo, turning on the CD player. As the Beach Boys come through my speakers, he smiles.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
“You read my thoughts.”
“You don’t mind the Beach Boys?”
“They kind of grew on me,” he says with a wink.
We play a few hands before he asks me, “Do you ever write in your journal?”
In my mind, I turn the pages of my journal. The journal I write in every day. The journal that has become like another therapist. It listens but doesn’t judge. It doesn’t judge when I write about having feelings for two men. Very different feelings, but valid feelings nonetheless. It doesn’t raise its eyebrows at me when I write of my jealousy of Nora. When I pen my thoughts of the one and only kiss Denver and I shared. It doesn’t scold me when I scribe my dreams of the future. Dreams that are based on a schoolgirl crush that I shouldn’t have. And it doesn’t chide me when I talk of the guilt I feel when I lie in bed next to my fiancé.
I nod. “Every day.”
“And how’s the painting going? Are you still churning them out like there’s no tomorrow?”
“What can I say? I get inspired. I can’t help it. It’s an obsession.”
“What have you painted lately?” he asks.
I shrug. “Lots of things. Cats. Stacks of pennies. Hospital rooms. Eyes.”
“Eyes?” he asks, intrigued.
“Yeah. It’s pretty good, actually. I think it’s my best one so far.”
“Can I see it?”
Denver follows me into my studio and I pull out the picture I painted last week. I put it on a vacant easel and watch him study it. It’s two pairs of eyes looking at each other in a small mirror.
“Sara,” he says, turning to me. “That’s us.”
I look into his eyes—his grey eyes—and then glance back at the painting, realizing he’s right. The two pairs of eyes I painted are grey and brown.
“What a coincidence,” I say.
“It’s not a coincidence,” he says. “This was us the night of your accident. I was in the back seat of the car and the only way I could get you to calm down was to look at you in the mirror on the visor.”
“Really?” I look back and forth between Denver and the painting. “I dream about this every night.”
“So do I,” he says, running his hand along the edge of the canvas.
“You do?”
He nods.
“Can I have it?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. That’s one painting I’m not letting go of.”
Then he holds my stare, just like in the painting. I try hard. I try to remember the accident and the night we met. I try to remember everything. I miss knowing about that part of my life. I miss me.
Moisture fills my eyes. Denver puts a hand on my arm. “What is it?”
“I wish I could remember,” I say through my tears.
“I know you do.”
“I thought I was okay with it. B-but I’m n-not,” I stutter. I take a calming breath. “I know I was a bitch and maybe I deserved what happened to me. But I want to remember Joelle having her twins. The first time I sold a painting. When I met Oliver. I even want to remember the bad things like when Lydia and I had our falling out. I want to know who Anna Jorgensen was and what we were doing the day of the accident. I feel like I lost such a big piece of myself, Denver. Why did that happen to me?”
Sobs start bellowing out of me. Denver steps forward and pulls me into his arms. I lay my head on his shoulder and cry into him. I let out all the frustration I’ve felt since the day I remember waking up. I never once let myself break down. Not until this very moment.
“Shhh,” he whispers in my ear as I fall apart in his arms. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. It’s never going to be okay. I’m so confused. One day I feel … and then the next I want … and I just can’t … and I don’t feel like I belong anywhere.”
My broken sentences are punctuated by desperate sobs as he rubs a soothing hand down my back.
“It’s understandable that you’d feel this way, Sara. Expected, even. But let me tell you something,” he says, pulling away and looking me straight in the eyes. “You did nothing to deserve this. I don’t care what you were like before. What happened to you is not fate or karma or God punishing you. It was pure bad luck. It was a flat tire that happened at the wrong place and the wrong time. And you’ll be okay one day. I promise. But it will take time. You know that as well as I do. We both lost our parents. We didn’t heal right away. I’m not sure we ever will, but it got better. We got better. And this will get better, too. You have to believe that.”
I look up into his eyes, vulnerable and afraid, wondering if this is how we looked at each other the night we met.
He brushes a tear off my cheek. And then it happens. I’m not even sure if he leans down or I stretch up, but somehow, our lips come together. We stumble back against the wall as our mouths devour each other. He tastes even better than I remember. His hands are strong on my body. He cups my neck with one of them while the other embraces my back.
When we run out of air, his lips move to my neck. A moan escapes me. A sigh escapes him.
“Sara,” he says as he tastes a spot beneath my ear.
I’ve never been more lost in another person than I am right now. The confusion. The guilt. The frustration over the past. The worries about the future. None of that matters when his hands are on me. Nothing matters but us.
His lips find mine again and time stands still. I don’t ever want another minute to pass. I don’t want the hands on the clock to move forward. I just want to be in this moment forever. Because right now, everything is perfect. His lips. His hands. His kiss. Us.
The ringing of his phone startles me.
“Sorry,” he says, quickly reaching into his pocket.
He pulls the phone out and goes to shut it off, but not before I see who’s calling. It’s Nora.
I pull away.
“Sara …” He looks down at his phone and then at me, looking guilty.
Then I hear my name being called from the front door. I wipe my mouth and then any leftover tears, thinking about what a mistake we’ve made. This is wrong on so many levels. And there’s only one thing I can think of to try to fix it.
“Back here!” I yell. Then I turn to Denver. “I’m going away for a while. Ollie’s taking me to London for a few weeks.”
Denver runs his hands through his hair, looking more than a little upset. Over what just happened or my proclamation, I can’t be sure.
“When?” he asks.
“Soon.”
“There you are,” Ollie says, walking through the door to my studio. He comes over and kisses the top of my head as he often does.
He notices Denver, who is crouching in the corner, looking like he’s browsing through some of my paintings. I wonder if he’s trying to hide an erection. I get so mad at myself for allowing that to happen. How could we have been so stupid?
“Hey, mate,” Ollie says.
“Hi, Oliver,” Denver say from his place on the floor.
He doesn’t get up, and I feel my suspicions are correct.
Oliver looks between Denver and me. Then his eyes focus on my face. “You’ve been crying,” he says.
I wonder if he can sense what just happened. Perhaps my face is flushed or my lips are plump from kissing. He doesn’t deserve to find out this way. He doesn’t deserve this at all. He’s never liked my having a relationship with Denver, and now I’m beginning to understand why. Maybe he sees more than I gave him credit for.
“Just having a bad day, I guess. But I have good news,” I say. “I was just telling Denver that we’re going to London. And he’s agreed to watch Kokomo for us while we’re away.”
Oliver’s demeanor changes in an instant. He smiles brightly. “We are?”
“As soon as you can arrange it,” I say.
Ollie picks me up and t
wirls me around. “Brilliant! I’ll make the plans straight away.” He turns to Denver. “Stay for a drink to celebrate?”
Denver shakes his head. “I’ve got to head out, but thanks.”
“I’ll go pour one for the two of us,” he says, pinching my behind on his way out. “Don’t be too long.”
“You kind of blindsided me, don’t you think?” Denver says once Ollie leaves the room.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll find someone else to watch Kokomo.”
“It’s not that. Of course I’ll watch him. Don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty with the whole going to London thing?”
“Ollie says I love London. And I’m supposed to get back to doing the things I used to love, aren’t I?”
He gives me a reluctant nod. “Yes, but …” He glances over to the wall where he had me pinned moments ago.
“Don’t you have a phone call to return?” I ask.
“I’m not with—”
“Here you go, darling,” Oliver says, coming up behind me with a glass of wine. He nods to his own glass and then to Denver. “Are you sure you won’t join us?”
“Thanks, but I have to go. We’ll work out the details with Kokomo as soon as you have your dates set.”
“Thanks for helping out with him,” Ollie says. Then he turns to me. “I’m going to go draw you a bath. I know how sore your leg gets after therapy.”
“Thank you.”
I watch him walk away and then I look back over at the painting. I pick it up and hand it to Denver. “You should take it.”
“But you said you’d never let it go,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me.
“I know. But I have to, Denver. I have to let it go.”
He nods, taking the painting from me. Neither one of us says another word as he walks out the door.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The flight attendant comes over the speaker, asking us to stow our belongings for landing.
I put away the small puzzle we were working on. Well, I was working on. Oliver pretended to do it with me, but he let me fit all the pieces. In the past week, he’s been doing more and more of my therapy exercises with me. He even learned how to play Tetris despite the fact that he loathes video games.
Sparking Sara (The Men on Fire Series) Page 22