The Stillness Of You

by Julie Bale

  But most of all, right here in this moment, I hated that the differences between us weren’t visible. That the thing that was wrong with me was like a sick joke because on the outside I looked all fresh and shiny, like a new penny. But on the inside, without those pills that I disliked more than I could articulate, I was as much of a mess as Travis was, if not more so.

  And now we were here. Arrived at some kind of half-truth, some small glimpse into the real me and I’d probably blown it.

  Seamus is my therapist.

  If that wasn’t a line that would send a guy running for the hills I don’t know what was.

  “Therapist,” he said softly, his right arm snaking around my shoulders and pulling me into his side. “I hope he’s a hell of a lot uglier than that guy back there.”

  The breath in my lungs expelled and I was limp. I was done.

  “He’s bald,” I offered quietly melting into his side. “And he’s got really bad teeth.”

  Ben rubbed my wrist, his warm fingers warm and gentle. “Good,” he murmured kissing the top of my head. “I can live with an old, balding, bad toothed, Seamus.”

  And with those words, Ben Lancaster fused the parts in me that were broken. I knew that it was a temporary fix. That those pieces would continue to shift and move and diminish, but for now it was enough.

  For now I could pretend that things were going to be just fine.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ben

  I hung up the phone and strode outside onto the deck. It was close to five in the afternoon and the guys were finishing up the last bit of landscaping around the pool.

  They’d worked like dogs for two weeks around the property, but had to wait for the old concrete monster to be removed and the new fibre glass pool installed, before they could finish up back here. The place was starting to look great and fuck if I could believe it was mine.

  Holy shit. I felt kinda grown up.

  “Mr. Lancaster, what do you think?”

  “It’s Ben,” I said shaking my head. I hated being called Mr. Lancaster. Christ, that was my dad’s name and I wasn’t ready for that kind of shit yet. I wasn’t even twenty-five.

  Mike, the owner of the landscaping company I’d hired, Green Thumb, was a good guy. He reminded me a lot of one of my old coaches, back when I was still playing junior hockey in Canada. He was a rough looking, no-bullshit, Italian with a temper and a hard work ethic. He wasn’t cheap either, but as I glanced around the small paradise he’d created in my back yard, the guy was worth it.

  “It looks great.”

  He nodded. “We’re just cleaning up and will be out of here in a few minutes and then you can,” he winked. “Have some time with your girl.”

  My girl.

  I nodded but didn’t reply.

  At the moment I didn’t know what Georgia was. Something had shifted and changed the night we’d come back from golf. On that ride home, she’d shared a chunk of what was inside her. A small chunk. A crumb really.

  But she had shared it and we’d come back to my place and spent the entire night together. And if I thought our first night was incredible, it was nothing compared to that night. I thought having her, being inside her was enough, but the connection we’d achieved heightened everything and fuck me, but I thought I was falling in love with this girl.

  The shit thing was that was the last night she’d spent with me. She came every day, spent her time in her barn painting, with frequent sex breaks, but she refused to spend the night again.

  She’d told me that it was because we were moving a little too fast and she preferred going back to Matt’s. And I got that. Hell, I wrote the book on that shit.

  But it didn’t mean I liked it. I hated waking up alone. I wanted her there with me. So what did that make me? Pathetic? Hopeful?

  What did that make Georgia? Was she a fuck buddy? Was she my girlfriend?

  I rubbed the stubble on my chin, my dick already getting hard at the thought of her, but it was tempered by the knowledge that even though she’d given up something personal—Seamus—she had shut it down the next day.

  I was no closer to knowing what made her tick or why she was seeing a therapist than before, and it was starting to piss me off.

  “We’re done, Mr…ah, Ben.”

  Distracted, I nodded. “Okay, Mike, send me the final invoice and I’ll get it looked after.”

  “So.” Mike shoved a pencil behind his ear. “I gotta admit I wasn’t happy when the Flyers traded McKinskey, Reynolds, and a future draft pick, to bring you out here.”

  “Yeah?” That got my attention.

  Mike was serious, but then most hockey guys were.

  “McKinskey was a popular son-of-a-bitch you know? He had future Captain written all over him. He had some legs on him too, but his hands needed work. I see that now. You’ve got soft hands, good stick handling hands and speed to match. But a lot of folks including myself thought you were just too damn young to fill McKinskey’s shoes.”

  I didn’t say anything. Mostly because it was nothing I hadn’t heard before. I’d always been the youngest. Always been the fastest, the most accurate. I could nail the top shelf, hit any corner more consistently than any guy I knew.

  So, I got what he was saying. I also got that he was wrong and he knew it. I was gonna do more than fill McKinskey’s shoes. I was going take them all the way to Lord Stanley this year.

  Mike held out his hand and I shook it.

  “I’m impressed,” he said with a wink.

  “Thanks, I’ll do my best to deliver.”

  He yelled out to his guys and then I was alone.

  I thought of the phone call earlier and moved toward the trees, my thoughts not so easy anymore.

  The barn was quiet, the far corner lit up with these big ass lights Georgia had brought in. Canvases were piled up along the wall to my left, some empty, most of them filled with dark images. She was good, but I wasn’t exactly into the stuff she was painting. It was too dark. Too raw and it fucking confused me.

  How could someone so light and beautiful produce these images of abstract faces with slashed eyes, some covered as if they were prisoners, some not, and mouths open in silent screams?

  Hell, I didn’t know anything about art though even my untrained eye knew they were good. But they were creepy.

  The thing of it was, I’d hang one up in my front hall if she asked me too. I’d hang one of those fuckers up in every single room in my house if she asked me to. I’d put one above my bed, or over the mirror in my bathroom. Hell, I’d hang one on the front door if she would just explain them to me.

  They meant something, I just didn’t know what, but considering they scared the shit out of me, I had a feeling it wasn’t anything good.

  Tense, I shook out my hands and watched her.

  The canvas was on an angle and I couldn’t see what she was working on, but her nose was wrinkled up something fierce, her hair a mad pile on top of her head. Smudges of dark color slashed across her cheeks, and the white tank top she wore had ridden up so that her belly button peeked out.

  Her cut off shorts were damn sexy and I think I might have growled like an animal—a fucking dog—because suddenly she glanced up and my body went still at the look in her eyes.

  “Don’t come closer.” She shook her head slowly and put down her brush. “I don’t want you to see this. It’s a surprise.” The smile that fell across her face was one I would keep in my head forever. It was unguarded. Pure.

  And at the moment it was all for me.

  “Hey,” I managed to say.

  “Hey yourself,” she replied with a soft giggle and then she ran toward me and didn’t stop until she was in my arms with her legs wrapped around my waist.

  The girl was covered in paint and still smelled like summer. How the hell was that possible?

  She kissed me, her mouth hot, her tongue insistent and all coherent thought flew out of my head. It was gone. Everything was gone except Georgia. I was so hot for
this girl that she could reduce me to a pile of aching need in seconds.

  My hands splayed across her ass and I held for as long as I could, our mouths taking from each other as if we hadn’t kissed in days. Or weeks.

  I managed to break contact and tried to speak. I think I might have said something like, babe, we gotta go—or not—because she slid down my body, her hands gripping my shorts and pulling them with her as she went.

  That was all it took. It was game on and I was more than ready.

  Her cheeks were flushed, her hair had fallen out of the clip thing on top of her head and she was reaching for the edge of her tank top as I stepped out of my shorts and moved toward her. I didn’t give her time to completely undress. The sight of her perfect, round tits was enough to make me come apart and I yanked open her shorts and pushed them down enough for me to get a glimpse of her.

  She was fucking commando. Again. Jesus Christ, this girl was killing me.

  “Condoms,” I said roughly, my hand between her legs, my fingers already inside her.

  She stared up at me, breasts heaving, and groaned as my fingers found her spot—the one that made her tremble—and it was the hottest sound ever. I gotta tell you, there’s nothing better for a guy than knowing you could make your girl sound as if she was losing her mind when your hands were on her.

  “Front pocket…shorts,” she managed to say on a gasp.

  For the past two weeks we’d been going at it like sex was new. Like we were never going to see each other again and we had condoms stashed all over the place. My bedroom. The kitchen. The bathroom. The deck. The barn.

  Her shorts were halfway down her thighs, and I reached inside the pocket, found a condom and then yanked her shorts all the way off.

  Georgia didn’t say anything. She just looked up at me with this unreadable expression and I exhaled roughly as I struggled to get the condom on my dick. I was so hard and ready and—I glanced at her again—anxious.

  Her fingers reached for me and she finished the job in silence and when she looked up it felt as if my world had just tipped a little off its axis.

  She made this sound in the back of her throat, the one that could bring me to my knees, and I gave my head a shake, needing a bit of clarity as I reached for her, wanting her so badly it was all I could think about.

  Being inside her. And sure, I was going all Tarzan on her, but I wanted to claim her. Brand her.

  I didn’t want anyone else touching her.

  I backed her up to the wall and just as her mouth opened beneath mine, I brought her knee as high as it would go and then I was inside her.

  I groaned into her mouth. “God, babe you feel so fucking good.”

  Then I deepened the kiss, though I kept my eyes open—I couldn’t take them off her—because something was happening. Some shift in the universe…some crack in my heart.

  I watched as her pupils dilated, as her tongue licked the edges of her mouth. I watched as her breasts rose and fell every time I drew out slowly and then thrust back inside her body.

  There were no words. Just the feel of her frantic heart, the look in her eyes, and the vague notion that something was different. That something had changed.

  I brushed a long piece of hair off her forehead and kissed her face as I continued to lose myself in her. I felt her nails in my shoulders, then down my back and then digging into my ass, urging me to go faster. Harder.

  Something about what we were doing felt desperate. Hungry.

  I leaned my right palm on the wall behind her, her leg wrapped around my hips and I gazed down into her face as I brought it home. I felt her tighten around me and she started murmuring all kinds of things, but I didn’t know what the words were.

  I could only hear what was inside my head.

  I fucking love you.

  And then we came together and I held her, panting and confused. Holy shit. Was this it? Was this the real deal here in my arms?

  Tenderly, I let her fall away from me and still there were no words between us. Only touch. Her hand on my face. Only looks. My gaze glued to hers.

  I got rid of my condom, enjoying Georgia as she leaned back against the wall, her body covered in sweat. Her body covered in me.

  I reached for her, wanting to keep this feeling for as long as we could when a very distinct voice echoed from outside.

  “Benjamin! Where are you?”

  Georgia froze in my arms and glanced up at me, her mouth pursed, her eyes wild.

  Shit.

  “Who’s that?” she whispered as she pushed past me and grabbed her clothes off the floor. She tossed my shorts at me and I caught them, sliding into them as fast as I could go. From the sound of it we didn’t have much time.

  “Benjamin?”

  Not much time at all.

  “Ben?” Georgia whispered, pulling her shirt over her head and struggling to do up the fly on her shorts.

  “It’s my mother.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Her head snapped up so fast I swear I heard her neck crack. “Your…” She ran her fingers through her hair, wincing at the tangles. “Oh my god, she’s going to smell it.”

  She was freaking out and looked so damn cute I wanted to kiss her all over again.

  Wait. What?

  “Huh?” I asked as I reached for her hand.

  “Sex, you idiot! This whole place smells like sex! It’s probably seeped into the floors and the walls and…oh God, we’ve had sex in here so many times that I…”

  A small cough sounded behind us and she froze, her eyes huge as she peeked behind me, whispering, “shit, fuck, and shit,” as she did so.

  “So those are your parents.”

  “Yeah.”

  “They probably heard everything I just said.”

  I tried to keep the grin off my face but judging from the way she stomped on my toes I don’t think I did a very good job.

  “It’s possible.”

  She pinched me and I grinned wider.

  “Uh huh. Okay you better turn around and fix this right now or I’m leaving,” she whispered fiercely.

  I bent forward and kissed her mouth and then grabbed her hand as I turned around. My parents stood just inside the doorway, Dad in a plaid shirt and khaki shorts, Mom in a red sundress. My dad had a grin on his face and I could tell by the quick perusal of my girl, that he liked what he saw.

  My mom looked a little uncomfortable, probably because Georgia was right.

  It did smell like sex in here. What the hell. I decided to put it all out there. I just hoped Georgia was down with taking the next step in our relationship or I was going to look like a clueless asshole if she called me on it.

  “Benjamin?” Mom said slowly.

  Here went nothing.

  “Mom, Dad, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Georgia.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Georgia

  I watched Ben grilling steaks with his father, outside on the deck. I watched the easy camaraderie they had—the way his dad, Jason, couldn’t keep that goofy, proud, smile off of his face whenever he looked at his son. Or the way Ben ate it up. The way they touched each other and joked around.

  His mother, Eve, was in there too and it was obvious she was happy to have both of her guys in her circle. If she didn’t have her hand on Ben, she was hugging her husband. Resting her chin on his shoulder, or stroking his back.

  She loved her boys and they loved her back. They were a complete unit. Their own little triangle of love.

  So what was I? The bad corner of a square?

  I leaned back in my chair swallowing the lump that stuck to the back of my throat like glue, and shifted in my chair so that I gazed out at the fresh gardens around the pool instead of Ben and his parents.

  They were sweet—especially his dad. His mom was friendly, but not overly friendly. I knew she was checking me out. Evaluating. Contemplating. Wondering.

  She’d pretended not to notice the stash of condoms left on table beside the pool, even though m
y face had turned so red I was sure I looked like a damn tomato. But so far she’d been pleasant enough.

  Girlfriend.

  God, I hadn’t seen that one coming.

  And though it made me happy to know he thought of me that way—that he introduced me to his parents as something more than just a girl he’d hooked up with—I should have been happier.

  I should have been over the moon or at the very least, I should have been scared out of my tree.

  For the last two weeks I’d been telling Ben that we needed to slow down. After I shared Seamus with him and he’d been so incredible, I kind of froze up. I was so scared that when he found out why I saw Seamus he would bolt. Who the hell wanted a girlfriend that was crazy?

  And even if he did—if he was willing to overlook that fact—was it fair to him?

  I didn’t know where this was leading. Us. Us and my illness. And for the moment I was content to just be with him and not think about the rest.

  And yet here I was. Not scared. Or happy.

  I was pissy.

  And not because I felt left out of their little club—I knew I didn’t belong in it. It was because I was jealous of what Ben had with his parents. Of their love and their need to be together. Of knowing that neither one of them would ever hurt each other.

  What did it feel like to have such complete trust in your parents? To know that their love was strong and true? To know that when your mother slid into bed and stroked your hair, singing an odd lullaby, she wasn’t hiding a steak knife behind her back?

  What did it feel like not to have to watch your father finally give in and fall through the bottom of every vodka bottle that crossed his path?

  For a moment I drifted off and disappeared inside my head. Inside the memories from a past littered with ghosts and bottles of vodka and hidden steak knives.

  “Georgia, I don’t want to get up. Leave me the fuck alone.”

  I looked at her small body beneath the mess of covers and the even larger mess of clothes on her bed. Her hair was ratty and greasy and her eyes scared the crap out of me. They looked dead. I was shaking but I didn’t want her to see because it would make her sadder than she already was.