“That was awesome; thanks so much you guys,” I say, taking a bite of my hamburger.
“I’m so glad you called,” Jax replies, eyeing me over the top of her soda. I can see that she is itching to get something off her chest and, after only a moment’s hesitation, she comes out with it, “The truth is, Paige, well, after Kevin, we weren’t sure that you wanted to see us. I wanted to call, to come and visit, but you didn’t seem too keen on the idea and I didn’t want to push you.”
I pop a chip in my mouth and nod thoughtfully.
“I’m sorry. You’re right; I did withdraw. I couldn’t deal with it,” I shrug, “I crawled into a hole. I just missed him so much and I didn’t know what to do with myself.”
“And now?” Jax probes gently and I glance across at Tom before lowering my eyes.
“I’ve met someone,” I admit to her implied question.
“I knew it!” she exclaims triumphantly and I raise my eyebrows at her obvious jubilation.
“Paige,” she begins, wiping her hands on a napkin. “It's been two-and-a-half years. Kevin is gone. He would want you to be happy.” She looks across at Tom who nods in agreement.
“He would have wanted you to live your life Paige,” he smiles sadly, remembering his friend, and I feel my throat constrict.
“Well, she’s certainly doing that!” Jax claps her hands. “So Paige, surfing, travelling, I overheard your mom in the store the other day saying you were going swimming with whale sharks?” She opens her mouth in astonishment as I nod in confirmation. “What else have you been up to?” she laughs. I sweep all our rubbish off the table and into the bin before I sit back down and face them.
“It’s a pretty long story,” I say, raising my hand at the passing waitress, indicating that we are ready for our check. Jax leans back against Tom. As his arms come around her I instinctively find myself missing Adam.
“Spill,” she instructs, and I laugh before I start talking.
The afternoon with my old friends is cathartic. Being able to speak honestly and openly about Adam to a relatively impartial third party is like someone else taking some of the burden off my shoulders. I feel better after our discussion and I find that I am thinking more clearly and more positively than I have in quite some time. The sun and the fresh air have also been so good for me and by the time I get back home to mom and Frank’s, I am yawning and quite ready for bed. I excuse myself from dinner, take a long hot shower and, pulling on my PJs, I lie back on my bed, picking up my mobile phone from the bedside table.
There's a message from Adam. Opening it, I smile sleepily.
Goodnight beautiful. Hope you’re having a good time. xxx
New York is three hours ahead. I do the math, it's 9 o’clock there, he should still be awake.
Having a great time, babe. Going to bed, busy day. Miss you stax. Xxx
His reply comes through a minute later: xoxox
I smile at the phone then set it down on the bedside table and close my eyes, rolling onto my side and burrowing deeper under the duvet. I love that he is giving me space, he seems to sense that I need a weekend to just be me, without any complications. Adam is my life, but with the circumstances, everything is so intense that I feel overwhelmed at times. I wouldn’t trade what we have for the world but I need time-out to recharge my batteries and clear my head.
I enjoy my first unbroken sleep in months and I wake feeling refreshed and energised. I leap out of bed and head downstairs in search of coffee and possibly a doughnut. I know my mother is bound to have a cream cake stashed away somewhere. Sammy’s husband Dave is a realtor and he found tenants for my apartment shortly after my departure, so staying at my place now is not an option. It’s better this way, though. At least it gives me ample time to spend with my crazy family.
Today I’m going to see my dad. I fly out later this evening and I will be back in New York tonight. My heart leaps at the thought of seeing Adam. As much as I have enjoyed this time off I have missed him, and I am ready to go home. That is how I think of Adam and our small mismatched apartment now; it is my home. He is my home. I do, however, enjoy driving my little auto Chevy. It feels like no time has passed as I head east toward Fairview, the home that my father resides in. I pull into the parking-lot and feel suddenly nervous. I am apprehensive, I realise, and then I shake myself, mentally, for my silliness. This is my dad, after all, even if he doesn’t remember it. There is nothing to be nervous about. I take a deep breath and step through the automatic glass doors into the cool, air-conditioned interior.
“Hi Dawn!” I greet the receptionist on duty. Dawn is a striking African-American woman with mahogany skin and yellow braids. She is unbelievably empathetic and is brilliant with all the residents of Fairview. Tall and slim she could have easily made it as a runway model, but she claims that it is a privilege to work with the elderly and that when Jesus calls, Dawn answers.
‘Paige!” she calls, jumping up and making her way around the massive reception desk to come and give me a hug. “How’ve you been, girl?”
“Good,” I smile and hug her back.
“You back for good?” she asks, raising her brow.
“No,” I sigh. “Just a visit.”
“Oh, okay. Well don’t take too long, y’hear. Your daddy misses you.”
It’s good to hear and I wave back as I walk toward the gardens, feeling slightly more confident.
I find my dad sitting at our usual table, an empty Scrabble board in front of him. My heart contracts with pity as he glances around looking confused. I make my way to him slowly, giving him plenty of time to notice my approach. As I reach the table he looks up expectantly.
“Hi there!” I say, meeting his eyes.
“Hello,” he answers politely, not a spark of recognition in his familiar brown eyes which are so similar to my own.
“May I play?” I ask, gesturing at the board.
He glances around uncertainly.
“Um, I think I’m waiting for somebody...” It is almost a question and I smile.
“Well, maybe I could play until they get here?” I ask tentatively and after a moment he nods, reaching deep into the bag and extracting seven tiles. I see the plain face of a blank tile between his fingers and I smile. My dad loves to win.
“Seventy two points!” he declares triumphantly, playing out the word 'taxing' on a triple letter for both 'taxing' and 'ex'. I grin at the smug smirk on his face.
“So,” he continues, “this young man wants to get better. Well that’s something at least. Although I must admit, I don’t envy you this remarkably strange situation that you’re in.”
I sigh. It didn’t take long for my dad to feel comfortable with me – it never does. I always take that as a good sign, that on some subconscious level he still knows who I am. Once we started chatting I proceeded to unload my whole sad story on him, needing to tell someone who would give an unbiased opinion and just desperately wanting some advice.
“It’s not easy,” I admit, “but he desperately wants to get better. He wants what I want – a normal life.”
“Bah!” my dad scoffs. “Nobody wants a normal life. That’s ordinary. You should strive for extra-ordinary. For exceptional. That’s a life worth living.”
“I do try!” I laugh and he chuckles.
“Yes; the surfing, the mountain climbing and the paragliding. You're quite an exceptional young lady. Your parents must be very proud of you.”
“They are,” I smile sadly.
“Do you love him?” he asks.
“Very much,” I nod, placing my tiles down on the board and marking my pitiful 13 word score on the scorecard.
“I loved a woman once,” he says wistfully and my back stiffens. My father often refers to my mother like this and it never ends well. “She was the most beautiful woman I ever saw.” He gazes out at the trees, lost in his memories. Then his eyes cloud over and he looks at me, a flash of fear in his eyes. “I don’t remember her name,” he says, sounding panicked. I p
lace my hand over his.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. Why don’t you have your turn?” I point to the board and he stares down at it. I breathe a sigh of relief as I see his shoulders visibly relax and his eyes start to move back and forth between his tiles and the board. The storm has passed.
“You know what I think?” he starts talking again as though nothing has happened and I know that he has reset - he has probably forgotten our entire conversation.
“Yes?” I ask.
“You seem like a lovely girl, Paige,” he shuffles the tiles around on his tile-slate. “I think this Adam is lucky to have you and I think you should do everything in your power to help him.”
I nod, even though he is not looking, he is completely focused on his remaining tiles.
“Just be careful not to lose yourself in the process,” he adds, finally playing out his last tiles, including the second blank tile and winning the game by over 100 points.
Chapter 16
Seeing Adam again is heaven; like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. His eyes are so blue that I have to consciously remind myself to look away or I would just stand staring up at him for hours, grinning like the village idiot. Apparently he has not had any blackouts over the long weekend, so presumably no alters have made an appearance while I’ve been gone. By the time we get home it’s late and I’m shattered. I don’t even have the energy to pull on my pyjamas I simply drop my pants and my T-shirt next to the bed and crawl between the covers. Adam chuckles and scoots in beside me, curling his body up against my back. I hold both of his hands which are around my chest, over my heart, and I am asleep within minutes.
It is pitch black when I wake up and for a second I am disoriented, not quite sure what has woken me. Then I grin, leaning back.
“Babe!” I mock-scold, feeling his need pressing against my lower back. I am hardly surprised. I was amazed when he didn’t try and instigate at bedtime, particularly since I had gone to bed naked.
“Hmm?” he murmurs in my ear huskily, and I squirm, goosebumps rising on my back and neck.
His hands roam freely over me just skimming my body and continuously moving, not actually settling anywhere. I arch my back and press back against him, wanting him to focus his attention, but he continues his sensual assault. I move my hands behind my back and feel him shudder as my hand brushes over him. I grin, feeling empowered.
Eventually, when I cannot take it any more I roll over to face him, my mouth opening against his and his tongue sweeping into mine.
One minute we are getting hot and heavy, and necking like a pair of hormonal teenagers, and the next I bring my hand back and release it, landing a ringing, open-palmed slap on his left cheek. He buries his face in the pillows for a minute, a low growl escaping him, and I leap out of bed, flicking on the bed-side lamp as I do.
He rolls over, stretching his arms and then resting his head on his hands and grinning up at me.
“What gave it away?” he asks, seeming completely unconcerned. I note with a flicker of satisfaction that his cheek is bright red where I hit him.
“You kiss differently.”
“Ah,” he nods knowingly, “I’m better, obviously?”
I roll my eyes.
“Go back to sleep, Kyle,” I sigh. He pats the bed next to him.
“Why don’t you join me? I won’t bite,” he winks at me as he adds, “unless you ask nicely.” I can’t help it and I giggle. Kyle is a pig but there is something attractive about his sarcastic, overly confident manner. I am wide awake now and I know that I will not be able to sleep for some time.
“How about some coffee?” I offer. “Why don’t you go and have a cold shower and I’ll make it?”
“What if I want to go out and have some fun?” he threatens, watching me closely for my reaction.
“You’re not going anywhere at this time,” I scoff, calling his bluff. He looks only mildly irritated for a moment and then he swings his legs off the bed and gets to his feet, yawning widely.
“Three sugars, sweet cheeks.”
He pads down the passage after me, cold shower forgotten, yawning widely. I make the coffee, watching him surreptitiously. He is lounging on the couch, his legs up on the coffee table, flicking through the Sports channels on the TV. Eventually he settles for watching professional poker.
I finish the coffee and make my way across to him. I hand him his mug and then settle down next to him on the couch. He glances over at me, a brief look of surprise crossing his features before he resumes his unconcerned expression and turns his attention back to the TV. We watch in silence for almost an hour. To my utmost surprise when the tournament is over Kyle flicks off the TV and turns to face me. I wait but he says nothing, just gazes at me steadily.
“More coffee?” I ask; for want of something else to say. I am feeling slightly uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze.
“Sure.” He shrugs, standing and stretching his legs. He follows me to the kitchen, lounging back against the wooden counter and watching me contemplatively.
Under his scrutiny I flush unbecomingly and am suddenly completely uncoordinated.
“Dammit!” I curse, as I spill sugar all over the counter.
Kyle chuckles, unnerving me even more.
“What?” I snap, feeling foolish and irritated. I just want Adam back.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head and those piercing blue eyes meet mine and hold my gaze. I refuse to look away first and after a minute or two Kyle steps forward, crossing the kitchen in three slow strides.
He stands over me, taking the spoon from my hand and placing it on the kitchen counter. I force myself to take slow, calming breaths and not to flinch when he suddenly raises his hand and pushes my dark hair out of my eyes and behind my ear.
I stare up at him, lost in the beauty of the face that I love.
“You’re very pretty,” Kyle murmurs, gazing down at me. I say nothing, I do not have an answer to that and there is a lump in my throat that I am struggling to swallow down. A part of me is terrified that one of my biggest fears may be about to come true – the way that Kyle is looking at me is making me nervous. Another part of me, however small, is exhilarated, which makes me feel guilty at the same time. The moment seems to be dragging on forever and neither of us has said a word.
Kyle stares at my mouth unabashedly and I fight the urge to lick my lips. Almost as if in slow motion, his head drops down towards me and I unconsciously tilt my chin up to meet him. In the instant that our lips are about to meet I close my eyes. It takes only a moment for me to register the change, there is a flicker of light and my eyes fly open. Kyle has moved a few steps away and is regarding me disbelievingly, a small smile playing on his lips. I flush scarlet in mortification and quickly turn back to the counter to busy myself with finishing the coffee.
“Any time,” I hear him murmur, and I turn to glare at him, embarrassment making me even more angry.
“What?” I snap, and he smiles at my loss of temper.
“I said, any time, love,” he answers, knowingly. “I can have you any time I want. It’s like a moth to a flame.” I want to slap him and wipe the smug smile off his face. I am about to argue but then I realise, what would be the point, and I pick up both mugs and make my way back to the lounge. I set both steaming cups down on the coffee table and then I sit down, curling my legs underneath me.
Kyle sits down next to me, slightly too close for comfort. I think he enjoys making me uncomfortable and invading my personal space.
“It’s only because you’re wearing that face,” I say wearily. “I love the man that face belongs to. It’s hard to separate it all in my mind, you know?” It is true. I have an immense physical pull to Adam’s body. Our relationship is certainly not based on lust, but there is no denying that there is an enormous physical attraction. Unfortunately that doesn’t entirely go away when Adam is absent from the situation.
He regards me steadily, saying nothing.
“What
stopped you?” I ask, morbid curiosity getting the better of me. There is no point in denying that I would have kissed him back if he had followed through in the kitchen and I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why he hesitated. He seems slightly taken aback by my question but he soon recovers his usual cockiness.
“I’m not entirely sure,” he answers, shrugging nonchalantly, “maybe I just don’t like the idea of you being in love with him.” He speaks of Adam with such disdain and I force myself not to react defensively.
“What is it that bothers you so much about Adam?” I ask.
“He’s weak,” he answers without hesitation. “He can’t deal with life; he just lets other people fight his battles.”
“And by other people you mean you?” I point out.
“Yeah,” he grins, “me.”
“What do you mean by 'he can’t deal with life'?” I ask innocently, taking a sip of my coffee. I catch a glimpse of the clock, it is well after midnight and I stifle an automatic yawn.
“He can’t,” he frowns, as though it's a stupid question. “I wouldn’t be here if he could. Obviously.”
“So, what was it that he couldn’t deal with in his childhood?” I ask, mentally cringing. Could I be any more obvious? Kyle, of course, sees right through me and laughs.
“Nice try, Paige but I’m not going to tell you that.” He shakes his head and leans forward, placing his cup back on the table. I sigh in frustration and settle back on the cushions.
“This can’t go on forever,” I say, eyeing him steadily.
“Why not?” he asks, sounding almost bored.
“Because Adam needs to get better; he needs to be whole again.”
“That sounds like a cheesy line from a bad chick-flick,” he says and I heave a dramatic sigh.
“Stop sulking.”
“I can’t,” I admit, knowing I am being childish but unable to help myself. “I’m tired of this mess.”
“So you’d be happier if I simply bowed out, gracefully?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.
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