Back To Us

by Rachel Hanna

  “Dawson…”

  “I felt so guilty that you fell out of that tree.”

  “Guilty? I’m the moron who chose to climb up there.”

  He finally looks at me. “I should’ve seen you sooner and stopped you. Or I shouldn’t have walked out that morning just because you said what you did.”

  I lean up enough to touch his arm. “I shouldn’t have abandoned you on Thanksgiving. I felt so bad that you were alone, but I couldn’t come over there and face you.”

  “I wasn’t alone.”

  My stomach clenches up at the thought of him spending the day with a woman, a sensation I wasn’t expecting. I sent him away, after all. How can I be jealous?

  “Oh?”

  “I volunteered at the soup kitchen,” he says. My body relaxes again. That’s just like Dawson - giving to others even when he’s hurting himself. “And you?”

  I clear my throat and look down at my hands. “We went to Kent’s house.” I see him slowly nod his head and turn slightly. “He has this thing every year where he invites people that have nowhere else to go… Other teachers mainly…”

  “Well, that was very nice of Kent. I’m sure you had a good time.” He stands up and adjusts the blinds again, although they don’t need to be adjusted. I can feel the tension in the room.

  “It wasn’t like that, Dawson.”

  He turns and runs his fingers through his hair. I can see his jaw clenching from across the room. “Wasn’t like what?”

  “There’s nothing going on between me and Kent. He’s an old friend. That’s all.”

  “Look, Indy, your love life isn’t any of my business.” I don’t know why that statement feels like a stab in my heart, but it does.

  “You know what? You’re absolutely right about that.” I turn onto my side and close my eyes. “I need some rest. Can you just give me some time to myself?”

  He doesn’t say a word, but I hear the door close quietly a few moments later. I’ve never had such a whirlwind of feelings inside, and right now none of them feel good.

  My stomach is growling which indicates that it must be getting close to dinnertime. I didn’t mean to sleep this long, but rest is the only thing I’ve been instructed to do by the doctor. I can see shards of pink and orange light peeking through the mini blinds that Dawson kept rearranging before I fell asleep.

  Dawson.

  I feel horrible about the way we left things. I bet he went home and decided to just leave me alone.

  “Good evening, sleepyhead,” I hear him say from across the room. He’s sitting on the floor, his back against the closet doors, watching me.

  “How long have you been sitting there?”

  He ambles up to his feet, grunting like an old man as he stretches his lower back. “Long enough to realize I’m getting too old to sit on the floor.”

  I smile sleepily and rub my eyes. “Where’s Harper?”

  “Doing her homework and eating a grilled cheese sandwich.”

  “You’re a regular Mr. Mom,” I say, easing myself up to a seated position. “I’m sorry I cut you off earlier.”

  He walks over and sits next to me on the bed. “No, that was totally my fault, Indy. I just… Well, knowing you spent Thanksgiving with Kent made me… jealous.” I can tell saying the words are hard for him.

  “Jealous? But why?”

  “Don’t you get it?”

  “Apparently not,” I say, getting frustrated. I feel like he’s talking in riddles.

  He takes my hands in his. “I’ve loved you since the day I met you, Indy Stone.”

  I can’t breathe. Maybe I have a blood clot in my lungs that they didn’t catch because I truly can’t breathe in or out. I’m frozen. Just great. I’m paralyzed. The sexiest man in America just told me he loves me, and I look like one of those wax figures at the museum that creep me out so much.

  “Indy? You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I manage to eek out, my breath finally returning to me. “Love?” Now I can only speak in one word sentences. That should make the rest of my life interesting.

  He smiles, and I suddenly notice the stubble that has formed around his chiseled jawline. Dang, that’s nice.

  “Yes, love. When I saw you in my classroom… God, I thought I was hallucinating. I could barely breathe. I tried to be cool, but there you were. Indy Stone. In the flesh. And every single emotion and feeling that I’d tried to push away since I was twelve years old came rushing back. It was like my life was this big puzzle with one missing piece, and there it was.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you,” he says with a laugh. He looks down and rubs his thumb across the top of my hand. It feels nice. “And when I saw you talking to Kent that day… Well, some other feelings came back. Fierce protection. The desire to punch his lights out…”

  “We were only talking, Dawson.”

  “I know. And I get that I have no right to tell you who to love.”

  “What? I don’t love Kent. I never did. He was just my prom date,” I say with a laugh. “He wore a tuxedo with a glittery teal bow tie. He got drunk at the after prom party and threw up on my shoe. I can assure you I do not love Kent.”

  He smiles, but only slightly. “I know you don’t love Kent Akers. But he definitely likes you as more than a friend, and hearing that you spent Thanksgiving over there… Well, it just felt like a knife in my heart.” He stands up and paces across the room, running his fingers through his hair again. “But see, I also know that I can’t offer you what you want, so I’m having a hard time reconciling my feelings here, Indy.”

  “What do you think I want?”

  “Marriage and all the stuff that comes with it.”

  “We literally just saw each other again. I’m not ready for marriage. To anyone.”

  “No, but you said it yourself the other day. You don’t want to start something with me when we both know it won’t end the way you want.” He stands up and walks to the window, staring out at the nothingness.

  My stomach is churning again. I hate when he says stuff like that. And I hate that it bothers me so much. I’m a grown woman. I’m a professional therapist. I don’t need a man to be whole. But I sure do want this one. I always have.

  “You’re right. I did say that. And I did mean it.”

  He looks at me as if he’s expecting me to say more, but I literally bite my tongue inside my mouth to keep from going back on what I said. After all, how bad would it be to date without worrying about marriage? Maybe I could change his mind at some point?

  Jeez, I need a therapist myself.

  “I’m going to put on my therapist’s hat for a moment.”

  “Oh great.”

  I pat the edge of my bed, and he sits back down. “You don’t love me, Dawson. The twelve year old little boy who needed a friend loves me, but you don’t. You’re a grown man who has been to war and is now rebuilding his life. I’ve been a blast from your past, and it has stirred up intense emotions, but that doesn’t mean it’s love.”

  “I do love you. I know what it feels like, Indy.”

  “Just hear me out,” I say, wanting to kiss him hard but pushing my own feelings away. “I think you’re afraid of losing this - our bond - all over again, so you react a little badly when you think someone might take me away from you. But I’m here, Dawson. I’m not going anywhere. And we’re adults now, so you never have to lose touch with me again. We’re friends…”

  Before I can finish saying anything, he leans in and kisses me hard on the lips, preventing me from talking. It’s not a sexual kiss, but one to basically shut me up. When he pulls back, he puts his index finger over my lips.

  “No. I love you. Period. End of story. And it’s okay that you don’t feel that way about me, Indy, because if somebody has to get hurt, I’d rather it be me. And I’d rather have you in my life and always ache for you to love me back than to not have you at all.”

  I want to tell him I love him, but what good would that do? Because he’s right - we
want different outcomes, and I’ve experienced enough heartbreak in my life. So friendship has to be the only bond we have, even though it’s quite apparent that we both feel more.

  “Dawson, I…”

  “How are you feeling?” Harper says from the bedroom door. I smile at the sight of her. It’s hard to believe, but when I see her I don’t think of her as my niece. I truly think of her as my daughter.

  “Hey, sweetie. I’m feeling better this evening, actually,” I say. It’s a lie. My body feels a thousand pounds heavier than normal, and I’ve got a splitting headache over my right eye for some reason.

  “I made chocolate chip cookies if you want some,” she says, holding up a plate piled high with cookies.

  “Yum,” Dawson says as he reaches over to take one.

  “Ladies first, Mr. Woods!” Harper corrects, pulling the plate back. Dawson laughs.

  “You’ve been well taught, young lady. I was going to give this one to your…”

  “Mom?” Harper asks. The room falls silent for a moment.

  “Aunt Indy,” I say, not wanting her to feel pressured.

  “I like Mom better,” she says softly before turning and walking back down the hallway. My eyes bug out of my head, and I can’t help but grin from ear to ear.

  “Mom,” I say to myself, and Dawson just smiles at me.

  When I open my eyes again, I can see it’s almost eleven at night. The TV is still flickering with a rerun of Friends, and Dawson is on the floor with his head hanging to the side, eyes closed.

  “Dawson,” I whisper loudly. He doesn’t budge. I toss an extra throw pillow at him, nailing him directly on the top of his head and scaring the bejesus out of him. He looks around in confusion for a moment before realizing where he is.

  “You okay?” he asks, rubbing his eyes. “Need more water?” Why does he always assume I’m dehydrated?

  “No. I need you to go home and get some sleep. You’ve been here since early this morning.”

  “I’m not going home. I’m not leaving you until you’re all healed up,” he says as he starts to close his eyes again.

  “Dawson, you need rest, and my floor isn’t restful. You’re going to have an awful crick in your neck.”

  “Well, I won’t rest if I don’t know you’re okay anyway.”

  I consider the living room sofa, but it’s so modern with its hard edges that there’s no way Dawson would even be able to lie down on it. I look around my bedroom. There’s really nowhere for him to relax. My room is small, a side effect of a 70’s ranch house. I don’t even have a reading chair in here. But I do have a queen sized bed.

  For a moment, I consider Harper and what she might think if she sees her teacher snuggled in my bed. But I know she’s asleep, and a freight train won’t wake that kid up. Tomorrow she catches the bus at eight AM, and she’s careful not to wake me up, opting to get herself ready and fed before running to the bus that stops right in front of our house.

  I can’t let him sleep like this - on the floor in a heap like a homeless person outside the airport. All he needs is a pile of newspapers to use as a blanket and he’d fit the part quite nicely.

  Yet there’s a part of me that knows it would be dangerous for both of us to be that close.

  “Dawson?”

  “Yeah?” he says, startled again.

  “Come up here and get in bed with me.”

  His eyes pop open. “Excuse me?”

  “If you insist on staying here, then you need actual rest. So either go home or get in this bed.”

  “I… um…”

  “Relax. We’re friends, remember? And I’m in far too much pain to be the sex goddess you’re dreaming of right now anyway.”

  He smiles. “Fine. But try to keep your hands off me.”

  He stands and locks the door, probably thinking about Harper. Then he does something I don’t expect. He strips off his t-shirt and walks to the bed, his chiseled muscles on full display. When did he start looking like that? All I remember is the gangly boy I once knew. He has definitely filled out since then.

  Thankfully, he keeps his jeans on because I don’t know if I could resist him in boxers or briefs.

  This is going to be the longest night of my life.

  Chapter 11

  The room is dark, minus the sliver of moonlight peeking through the mini blinds. I can hear Dawson breathing lightly next to me as I check the clock. It’s 3AM.

  I’m normally a great sleeper, but I’m no longer used to sleeping next to a man. Especially not a man that I find almost impossible to resist. And there he is with his well-defined chest muscles and actual six pack.

  David never had a six pack. He’s tall and thin and wiry, and his stomach caves in. He’s more of an academic type, so I can’t imagine a time when he would’ve focused on being in shape. The thought of him makes me want to throw up, so I push his image from my mind.

  It’s so hard to get comfortable with my injuries, and I can tell the ibuprofen wore off long ago. I can’t take anymore tonight, so I have to find a way to get settled. I slowly turn to my left to face the door of my room, adjusting my pillow as I turn.

  But when I do, Dawson rouses and turns with me, mumbling something in his sleep. I freeze in place, not wanting to wake him up, but I have to finish my turn because right now it hurts. So I roll as quickly as I can and before I know it, he’s wrapped around me.

  His arm is around my body. His lips are pressed to the back of my head. His leg is slung over mine. I’m wrapped in a cocoon of Dawson. And I’ve never felt so incredibly peaceful as I do right now, like no one and nothing can ever touch me. Protected. Loved.

  Ugh. I’ve got to stop this.

  I can feel his warm breath on the back of my head. He pulls me tighter, a moan escaping from his lips. I feel like his own personal stuffed teddy bear as he grips me into a strong embrace.

  But now I’m finding it a little difficult to breathe. I don’t want him to move. I love this feeling. It gives me a moment to pretend we’re a couple. A normal couple in love, and not one that can’t be together. It lets me live inside of my own fantasy, romance novel world. Doing this while he’s awake would be a recipe for disaster, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing right now and I want to enjoy the sensations.

  Only I really can’t breathe well.

  “Dawson?” I whisper as I slightly turn my head. He immediately wakes up and lifts his head.

  “Everything okay?” he says, his voice gruff and gravely.

  “Yeah. Well, no, actually. You’re holding me a little tight…”

  I can see out of my peripheral vision that he suddenly realizes what he’s done, and he lets go. He moves back a good foot.

  “I’m so sorry, Indy. Did I hurt you?”

  “No. Not at all. I was just having a little trouble breathing,” I say as I turn to face him. He looks horrified.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I reach out and touch his arm. “Dawson, I’m totally fine. I was actually…”

  “What?”

  “Enjoying it. I enjoyed having you wrapped around me like that.” I should not have said that. I immediately regret sending him a mixed signal.

  “Oh yeah?” he says in a low voice, taunting me. “You kind of liked being my personal teddy bear?”

  What is he, reading my mind?

  “Good night, Dawson,” I say, turning back toward the door.

  I can feel him sliding closer until my back is pressed against his front. I’m trying to ignore certain “reactions” his body is having to mine, but it’s not working. He doesn’t put his leg over me, but he does slide his arm back around me and then lays his cheek against the top of my head.

  I turn my head just enough to look into his eyes. We freeze there for a moment. He leans down and kisses me slowly on my forehead. Then he moves to one cheek and then the other. He looks at me for a moment, lingering awfully close to my lips. And then he lightly kisses the tip of my nose instead.

  “Good
night, Indy,” he whispers before he kisses the top of my head and then lays his head back down.

  I’m not sure I’ll ever sleep again.

  When I wake up the next morning, Harper has already gone to school and Dawson is missing from my bed. Not a good start to the day.

  The doctor was right about me being more sore as the days go on. There is no way I could’ve worked this week with the level of pain I have. Who knew falling out of a tree could be so painful?

  I struggle to sit myself up in bed just as I hear a knock at the bedroom door. Dawson never knocks; I think he’s hoping I’ll be changing my shirt or something, so he always comes barging in with a big grin on his face.

  “Come in,” I say, assuming it’s Lisa coming for a visit.

  Instead, I see a face I haven’t seen in years and one I didn’t expect to see at all. Amy.

  “Amy? Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?” I ask, genuinely shocked that I’m happy to see her. I convince myself that it’s always nice to see a familiar face.

  She looks overwrought with concern, her eyebrows squished together with worry. It’s weird because she was never concerned about me when we were kids.

  “Oh, Indy! Are you okay?” she asks, running to my bedside like I’m dying of some terrible disease and have just minutes to live.

  “I’m fine, Amy. You didn’t have to come all the way across the country…”

  “When I saw Lisa asking for prayers on Facebook, I couldn’t believe it was about you…” She puts her hand to her chest and sits down and then starts rubbing her hand across my forehead. It feels motherly, and I haven’t known this side of her. At first, I wonder if it’s an act, but then I remember what a horrible actress Amy was. She literally got kicked out of a high school play for being what her theater teacher called “unable to properly relay human emotions”.

  “Lisa asked for prayers on Facebook?” I had no idea my falling out of the fig tree was such big news. Welcome to Peach Valley.

  “What did the doctor say? What can I do?”

  She seriously seems distraught, and I feel worse for her than I do for myself.

  “Amy, listen,” I say, holding up my hands. “I’m okay. You’re really overreacting for nothing.”