by Lily Velden
“Tomorrow? You be here tomorrow?” I hiccupped, fighting the weight of my eyelids, suddenly frightened he’d leave once I’d fallen asleep.
“Yes, baby. I’ll be here tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, kissing the back of my neck.
With his words I succumbed to my exhaustion, secure in the knowledge that when I woke Robert would be there. He said he’d be there, and Robert never lied.
AWARENESS CAME too early. Far too early. And with it came a flood of sensations, none of which were welcome. Not the knowledge I’d slept in what was now Jon’s bed. Not the queasy hollowness to my gut. Nor the lingering sour taste of stale vomit mixed unpleasantly with mint which my swishing and swallowing of what little saliva I had in my mouth failed to dispel. And most definitely not the pounding inside my head, which felt as if someone was inside trying to chip their way out via my eyeballs.
My memories of the previous evening weren’t any more pleasant than my physical symptoms.
I’d made a fool of myself in front of Robert.
Tentatively, I shuffled my ass back a little—it was one of the few parts of me that wasn’t suffering—and when I didn’t feel him behind me, a small flicker of relief ignited within me. Perhaps it had all been a bad dream.
Slowly, as if their lids were weighted, I opened my eyes. One glance across the room doused my flame of hope—Robert’s trench coat was draped over one of the chairs.
He really had been on my doorstep.
And I really had bared my soul to him. Freely and willingly, I’d given him the tools with which to shatter what little was left of my already broken heart.
For once, I wished I had no recollection of my drunken antics. Ignorance would most definitely have been bliss.
The faint wooshing sound of the bedroom door opening called a halt to my self-pity. I was tempted to pretend to still be asleep, but what would that accomplish? Merely a prolonging of the pain, so I drew in a breath and opened my eyes.
The sight of Robert framed in the doorway, bearing a tray and looking happy just added to my misery.
“Hey, sunshine, I’ve made you some raisin toast. Think you can get it down?”
I flinched at the familiar endearment and wondered at the ordinariness of his first words to me. It was as if, in his mind, the preceding four months hadn’t happened.
My stomach rolled uncomfortably at the thought of food, but I knew if I was to have any hope of getting through the next hour or two, I would need all the strength I could muster—both physically and mentally.
Rather than answer Robert, I shuffled up the bed, ignoring the way the movement exacerbated the pounding in my head, until I was seated with my back to the headboard.
With an impossibly sunny smile gracing his handsome face, Robert crossed the room, settled the tray on my lap, and seated himself on the edge of the bed beside me.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, noting he’d also poured me some juice and made coffee. I reached for the juice first, accepting the painkillers Robert held out to me.
When I placed the glass back on the tray, Robert reached out and brushed the hair back from my face before leaning in to kiss my forehead. I recoiled, instinctively trying to protect myself from the person most able to inflict pain on me. He frowned, looking surprised.
“Suffering?”
I nodded. I knew he was referring to my hangover, but my nod was about so much more than merely my current state of health.
Hesitantly, I bit off the corner of the toast, praying my stomach wouldn’t rebel at the mere idea of food before I’d even had a chance to chew. Despite the tons of butter Robert had lavished on it in his usual fashion, it tasted as dry as sawdust in my mouth, and I needed to take a sip of my juice to wash it down.
In silence I continued to force myself to bite, chew, sip, and swallow, only allowing myself brief looks through my lashes at Robert. Each glance provided me with the same picture—Robert smiling gently at me. That look hurt. It hurt because I wanted it so much. I wanted him so much I ached.
When I’d finally swallowed the last bite, Robert passed me my coffee, slipped the tray off my lap, and placed it on the floor.
“Better?” he asked softly, shuffling a little closer.
My heart took off at a gallop. I smelled his delicious aftershave and thought of mine, shoved into the far reaches of my vanity where I wouldn’t have to see or smell it. Where I wouldn’t have to think about it or remember the wonderful day I’d created it—one of many beautiful days that summer, when I’d been living in a fool’s paradise.
I inhaled slowly, wanting so badly to nuzzle my face into his neck and breathe in the scent of him which I’d missed so much. I wanted to taste and touch and hold and be held. His proximity made it hard to remember sensible thoughts. Practical thoughts. Made it hard to remember that continuing to love Robert would only mean more heartache in the long term.
“Why are you here?”
“Because I couldn’t stay away a moment longer.”
I pressed my lips together to seal inside the words of love and gratitude that wanted to spill over them.
“Noah, I know my attitude, my words, wounded you. You have no idea how much that pains me. I hate that I did that to you. I am so fucking sorry. You mean more to me than anything or anyone else, and I hurt you. I know I broke your heart with my stupidity, but your silence… fuck, love, your silence has broken mine.”
“Robert—”
“Your silence spoke louder than any words you could have uttered. Your silence told me I love you. It told me I need you. Please forgive me, Noah. I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
“I do forgive you, Robert. I forgave you before I even left England, but I need you to go now. I need you to leave.”
“What? Why? I don’t understand. I thought—”
“You thought wrong.”
“Noah, I don’t understand. Last night—”
Robert’s confusion was palpable, as was his hurt. I swallowed down my reluctance to cause him pain. I had to guard my own fragile heart—he’d said it himself months ago: love wasn’t for him. He wasn’t marriage material.
“Last night I was drunk.”
“Last night you spoke the truth. Last night you told me you loved me,” he shot back at me, then more quietly, “and I told you I love you.”
“For how long, Robert? How long before you’re bored with me and go looking for a new conquest?”
My words pained me, but they needed to be said. He’d always valued honesty. Now was the time to give him just that.
“I haven’t been with anyone since you left,” he whispered. “That life has lost its appeal. You were right. I was always looking for more. I just wouldn’t let myself acknowledge it. I want that ‘more’ with you. Only you.”
“I can see you believe that. And that right now, you mean it. But how long would that last, Robert? One year? Two?”
“For the rest of our lives.”
“Do you really believe that?” I asked, doubtfully.
“Yes. Yes, I do. I’ve missed you so much. I don’t want anyone else anymore. You’re all I think about. I love you, Noah.”
“Perhaps in your own way you do, but you’re a variety type of guy, Robert, and I’m a one-man man. That makes us like oil and water.”
“Reformed rakes make the best husbands.”
My answer was to raise my eyebrows at him.
“Just look at Warren Beatty,” Robert offered.
“Or we could look at George Clooney, Gerard Butler, and Leonardo DiCaprio,” I rebutted.
“Noah.” I could hear the beginnings of desperation leak into his voice. “You love me. I know you do. Even now, even as you’re trying to send me packing, I see it in your eyes. I hear it in your voice.”
It was pointless to deny his words. They were the truth. “Yes, I love you. But loving you isn’t smart. Loving you isn’t good for me. And with time and distance, I’ll stop.”
“And t
hen what?”
“And then maybe I’ll meet someone who can give me what I want, what I need: love, monogamy, and maybe even a family.”
Robert reached out and cupped my cheek, his gaze fierce, and I had to brace myself not to melt into his touch.
“I can give you those things, Noah.” Seeing my look of skepticism, he continued, “I can. You just have to give me the chance.”
“I don’t think you can,” I whispered, trembling in my effort not to lean into him.
“Then you underestimate me.”
Before I could reply he lowered his lips to mine, and all fight left me. I slid down the bed, my brain screaming at me to put a stop to the kiss, but my lips parted in welcome regardless. Robert clambered onto the bed, not breaking contact, moaning into my mouth, and I responded in kind.
He didn’t devour me with greedy dominating kisses. He seduced me with gentle reverential ones.
Robert’s tongue made love to mine, and I lapped it up the way the dry summer earth soaks up the autumn rain. My world narrowed to his taste on my tongue and his body covering mine. I hardened. He hardened, grinding himself into me. I parted my legs, encouraging him to settle more fully over me. My need shamed me, yet I whimpered, cursing his jeans and the bedcovers that separated us.
“Noah.” Robert dropped his face into the crook of my neck, my name a pained groan on his lips. He kept his fingers in my hair, clutching me and anchoring my head to the pillow.
When he lifted his head, his gaze locked with mine, and I could see his inner conflict in his eyes.
“Noah. Love.” He dropped his forehead to mine and scrunched his eyes shut. When he spoke again his voice was little more than a strained whisper. “Noah, I think we both know I could have you right now. And Lord knows I want you so goddamn bad it hurts. I’ve missed you so bleeding much. But I don’t want to take you. I don’t want to seduce you. I want you to come to me willingly, happily… not because your body betrayed you. I want you to come to me because you trust me and believe in me.”
He kissed me again, and this time I kept my eyes open, surprised to see a glimmer of moisture on his lashes. The kiss wasn’t a seduction—it was a savoring. He sucked my bottom lip into his mouth, skimming his tongue and tasting my inner lip and cheek, before, after one last swipe of his tongue against mine, he withdrew, gently releasing my lip.
He puckered and pressed his closed mouth to mine, his kiss achingly gentle. It lasted for but the briefest of moments, and then he lifted himself from me. With his weight gone, I immediately missed it. Its absence left me feeling cold and naked. Vulnerable.
He leaned over to press his forehead once again to mine. “For you to be ready, I can be patient, Noah. For you I can wait.”
“It’s too late,” I croaked, pushing myself back into a seated position.
“It’s never too late.”
“But it is. I leave in a few days to move to New York.”
Surprise was written all over Robert’s face, but he recovered quickly.
“Doesn’t matter, Noah. I’ve taken a leave of absence from work. I’m going to do this the old-fashioned way. I’m going to court you. Doesn’t matter if that’s here, London, or New York. Wherever you are, I’ll just follow.”
“Some might call that stalking,” I murmured.
Robert chuckled. “Yes, some might. I prefer to think of it as persistence. I’m declaring my intentions. I’m going to woo you until you believe in me.”
“The question remains, though, Robert. For how long? How long before I’m not enough for you?”
Having shrugged on his trench, Robert paused, gloves in hand.
“Noah, I understand your reservations. Truly, I do. On paper, I am a bad proposition. But I’ve changed. You changed me, or, rather, my loving you did.”
“A leopard cannot change its spots.”
“Maybe a leopard can’t, but a human can. They just have to have the right motivation. You made me realize I wasn’t screwing all those guys because I needed the variety. I was doing it because I was searching. Searching and not finding. That is, until I met you.”
“What makes you so sure you found whatever it was you were looking for in me?”
“For starters, because just thinking about you makes me smile. Just knowing I can talk to you makes me feel lighter. And when you’re in the room, any room, you’re all I see.”
I wanted so badly to believe him, but fear of more pain at his hands held me back.
“How can you be so sure your feelings will last?” I whispered.
Seeing my uncertainty, he ran his fingers through his hair, a small V of concentration between his brows. “God, Noah, trying to explain to you how I know my love for you will stand the test of time is like trying to describe the taste of water. Impossible. I just know. Your question could just as easily apply to you or to anyone. No relationship comes with guarantees. All any couple can do is go with how they feel today and hope and pray and work toward growing closer together, rather than allowing themselves to drift apart. And I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that today, I love you more than anything or anyone. I can tell you I can’t imagine a future that doesn’t have you by my side. Somehow, I have to figure out a way to convince you I mean every single word I’ve said last night and today.”
As he pulled on his gloves, I could sense his hurt and disappointment, but also his determination.
“Tomorrow is Christmas, Noah. Would you allow me to drop off my gift to you in the morning before you head over to Mitch and Miranda’s?”
I nodded, unable to speak. He wasn’t to know I wouldn’t be spending Christmas with my brother and his family.
“Till tomorrow, then. Get some sleep, love.”
I heard the front door click behind him and slid back down the bed, exhausted. But no matter how tired or hungover I felt, sleep was impossible.
My heart, of course, longed to take Robert at his word. My brain, though, had other ideas. It reminded me of the pain and heartache and loneliness of the previous four months. It made me remember his words—love isn’t for me—playing them as if on a loop. It showed me pictures of him pleasuring and being pleasured by at least a dozen other men, and that was only his home movies.
How could I, my heart asked me, believe he would ever be content with just me?
Neither my heart nor my head had the answer.
AFTER ONE last glance around the master bedroom to confirm I hadn’t overlooked anything in my setting the room back to right for Jon, I closed the door and walked down the hall to the guest bedroom.
I felt restless. Other than my cleaning of Jon’s room and the adjoining bathroom, nothing had been able to hold my attention all day. I couldn’t bear to watch the television, where it seemed every single channel had some kind of Christmas-themed schedule of shows, and the movie I’d put on hadn’t managed to grab me, either. I couldn’t concentrate on the new James Patterson book I’d bought, nor listen to any of my music collection. How could I listen to music when even the silence seemed deafening?
My head ached, but I wasn’t certain if the remains of my hangover or my thoughts were causing it. Probably a combination of both.
I was no closer to making a decision about Robert than I’d been in the morning. Could he change? Could he be satisfied with just me? I wanted to believe him. My God, how I wanted to believe him, but memory after painful memory remained fresh in my mind. Heartbroken barely covered how I’d felt since leaving England. And that was after having only spent a summer with him. How much more would it hurt if he was unfaithful to me or left me a few years down the line? The mere thought of it made my gut churn and a vise clamp itself around my chest.
Would I be better to cut the ties now? Start over in New York in a Robert-free existence? The idea of never seeing him again made me feel like I was drowning, my lungs burning for air.
I slid between the covers, settled on my back, and stared at the ceiling. I was exhausted. The same questions had chased themselves in
my mind all day, like a dog chasing its own tail. And I still had no definitive answer.
Rolling to my side, I reached out to switch off the bedside lamp. I closed my eyes and prayed for sleep. Perhaps the morning would provide me with the wisdom to know what my decision should be.
MY PHONE ringing jolted me out of a deep sleep. I’d tossed and turned most of the night, only falling asleep in the early hours of the morning, and so I answered my cell somewhat groggily.
“Noah?” whispered Miranda.
I sat bolt upright, all thought of sleep evaporating in an instant. While shuffling back to lean against the headboard, I ran my free hand over my face and through my hair, trying to gather my wits.
“Yes.”
“We have to be quick. The boys and I are awake, but Mitch is still sleeping. I couldn’t let Christmas go by without making contact and letting the twins say hi.”
“Thank you,” I croaked before clearing my throat in an effort to dispel the lump of emotion that had suddenly lodged there. That Miranda would risk Mitch’s displeasure in order to let me speak to the boys touched me deeply.
“Uncle Noah?” The achingly familiar high-pitched voice sounded tentative.
“Yes, Ricky. It’s me.” I recognized his voice immediately. Despite them being twins, there was a certain softness to Ricky’s voice that was lacking in Jared’s.
For a moment there was silence, and then the sound of snuffling filled my ears, and upon hearing it, tears welled in my eyes. I couldn’t bear to hear him crying. “Hey, little man. Merry Christmas. Just think, as soon as Daddy’s awake you’ll be able to find out what Santa brought you.”
“He didn’t bring me what I asked for.”
I could barely breathe hearing the heartbreak in his voice.
“How do you know? He might have. Sometimes he’s kind of sneaky and disguises presents.”
“Nuh-uh. I asked for you and Daddy to be friends again.”
I pressed my lips together to suppress my groan of pain.
“I’m afraid that wasn’t something Santa could give you. That’s something your daddy and I have to work out between us, Ricky.”