Running in Place (Mending Hearts)

by L. B. Simmons

  “Noah -” I start, but he silences me with his fingers as he places them gently on my lips.

  “I don’t know what is going on between us, but I’m definitely going to have to start practicing some restraint.” A calculating smile spreads across his face. “Which is why, no matter how much you want me to, I am not going to touch you. Tonight is about us getting to know each other, without any replay of what happened in the cooler — no matter how truly amazing that moment was.”

  My head lifts off the seat as I sit straight up, barely able to contain my laughter.

  “First of all, you’re an arrogant asshole if you think I’m going to be overcome with the need for your touch this evening.” His grin gets almost as wide as mine as he shrugs his shoulders, conceding that he is indeed an arrogant asshole.

  Chuckling under his breath, he holds his hands up and proclaims his innocence. “Hey, you started this game at the bar. Turnabout is fair play.” Leaning in closer to me, he adds, “I guarantee by the end of the night, you will be begging for me to touch you.”

  My brows almost hit my hairline in response. “Really? You think so?”

  “I know so. Your second point?” he inquires, backing out of my personal space.

  Slowly, I run the tip of my tongue across my bottom lip and once his eyes fall to my mouth, I reach into my pocket, retrieving the last of my cherry suckers.

  “Second of all, you just upped the ante, my friend.”

  Okay.

  So, I might have touched her without her asking me.

  Like, when I wrestled that damn sucker away from her in the Jeep, I quite possibly might have grazed my hand just barely alongside of her breast. And while making dinner together, it very well may be the case that I pressed myself against her ass as I reached over her shoulder to grab the salt. And it could also be said that my lips have found themselves on the back of her neck while she was mixing the salad on their own accord. That one awarded me a giggle before she pushed me away.

  And now on the couch, it could also be noted that I’m drawing an infinity sign on the skin of her lower back and running my fingers through her hair as she lies in my lap. Arms crossed under her cheek, her head facing the TV, she laughs out loud at the episode of Friends we’ve been watching for the last twenty minutes. I, however, have no idea what’s going on because my eyes have been glued to her angelic face since the beginning of the show.

  The sight of her smiling, so happy and relaxed, is a vision that I never want to forget. Her blue eyes shining so bright with joy, sorrow no longer casting its shadow. I know it won’t last forever, but knowing that I brought her here, gave her this moment of reprieve from the memories that so often haunt her, makes my heart swell with relief and pride. Relief because I now know there’s hope for her; that the childlike innocence that was stripped from her when she was young is still there, it’s just hidden deep among her memories. And pride because for some reason, she feels comfortable enough with me to let that innocence show, leaving herself completely vulnerable and exposed.

  Once the end credits start, she rolls over and places the back of her head on my thighs, then looks up at me. My finger continues my infinity, just now on her bare stomach. She lets out a giggle and grabs my hand with hers, interlacing our fingers, and sets them on top of my favorite Ramones t-shirt that she’s wearing. Sweeping the hair away from her eyes with my free hand, I watch her smile fade as she gazes at our joined hands.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

  I chuckle under my breath. “Yeah, Ross and Rachel will do that to ya.”

  She laughs again and breaks her stare from our hands, her eyes finding mine. “I’m serious, Noah. You know so much about me. I know nothing about you.”

  “What do you want to know? Ask me anything,” I respond softly, once again running my fingertips across her forehead.

  She glances up at me with a smile on her face.

  “Your favorite color?” she asks.

  “Blue.”

  “Favorite number?”

  I laugh as she continues anxiously waiting my answer, looking like a little girl on Christmas day. My grin fades a little when I begin to wonder if she ever experienced a real Christmas.

  “Three.”

  She takes a deep breath in through her nose as she looks towards our hands. “Mine too.”

  Glancing back at me, she continues. “Brothers or sisters?”

  “Nope. Just me,” I reply, shaking my head.

  She begins to doodle on the top of my hand, thinking about her next question. “How long have you been working with Blake at the duplexes?”

  “Since last summer. They needed help when he started up, so, I offered. I enjoy working with my hands.” I lean back a little further as I speak. “Plus, I like to keep busy. Idle hands, idle mind.” I exhale deeply. “And that’s completely unacceptable behavior in my family.”

  Her eyes dart to mine as her smile falls. “I know you lost your mother, but your father, what’s he like?”

  I shift underneath her, cringing internally at the topic of choice. “He’s an asshole. That’s about it.”

  She rolls her eyes Tatum-style and narrows them in my direction, peering at me from beneath her lashes. “You owe me more than that, Noah. I shared my entire world with you, even the darkest parts. You can’t give me just a small glimpse into yours?”

  I draw a long breath before I respond. Unpleasant memories surface quickly, searing through my mind as they release from the dark recesses where I keep them hidden. Tearing my gaze away from her, I stare at the ceiling, setting my head on the back of the couch as I speak.

  “Well,” I begin, “We were the all-American family. My father was a successful oncologist and mom was the typical devoted wife and mother. God, she was beautiful.” The recollection of her contagious laughter, her loving smile, and her compassionate eyes filter like beams of sunshine through the painful memories, their warmth temporarily blanketing the hurt. I stop and look back down at Tatum. “You remind me of her in a way. She had that striking beauty that just was. It exuded from her without her ever having to try. Just like you.” Clearly uncomfortable with compliments, she responds with a shy smile. After grazing her cheek with the back of my hand, I once again look back toward the ceiling.

  “Ironically enough, they found a tumor in her brain stem when I was five. Because of the location, surgery wasn’t an option, so my father decided the best course of action was to shrink it with radiation. She became so ill after her first treatment that after it was over she refused to proceed, arguing repeatedly with my father that the quality of her remaining life was the most important thing to her. He couldn’t control her decision, he couldn’t heal her, and he blamed himself when she died a year later. Still does, I guess.”

  Tatum squeezes my hand as I reach up to wipe a tear as it rolls out of the corner of my eye. “She made each day with me count. Those memories I hold very close to my heart. But, my father was a lost cause, his fury creating a barrier between them that she could never break through, no matter how many times and different ways she tried to explain it to him. And after she passed, he transferred that anger and his need to control to me. From that point on, I lived the life he wanted me to live, excelled in whatever areas he demanded, and succeeded at everything he pressured me to do out of fear that his anger would rear its ugly face. Which would happen quite often, regardless of how outstanding I as was at pursuing his achievements.”

  A soft sniffle pulls me from my past. Glancing down, my eyes are met with crystal clear blue pools of tears. My eyebrows draw together, surprised by the tenderness and sincerity of her reaction. Running my hand across her cheek and then into her hair, I try to comfort her. “Tate, that was a long time ago.”

  She shakes her head. “But you still hurt.” She lets out a whimper as she speaks. “I can feel it right here,” she places her palm flat on her chest, “in my own heart. Your pain.”

  My throat constricts as I watch her cry for my pa
st. After the hell that she’s been through, here she is, lying in my lap crying over what happened in my life. Her heart absorbing my hurt on top of her own.

  “Tate.”

  Releasing my hand, she covers her eyes with the crook of her arm, hiding her tears.

  “Tate.”

  I pry her arm away from her face, and so help me, I can’t control myself. Emotions waging a war inside my mind, I take a look at her quivering lips and cup the back of her head with my hand, bringing her face to mine. Surprised, Tatum’s eyes shoot open, setting more teardrops in motion down her cheeks.

  “See, there you go,” I say with a smile, “Just begging me to touch you. Although, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

  As she wipes the moisture from her face, I watch the left side of her mouth barely tip up.

  “Noah, you’ve been touching me all night.”

  “I know, but those touches were for me. This one’s for you.” Closing the distance between us, I lean forward and press my lips against hers, giving her a soft, gentle kiss. Slowly I make my way away from her mouth, trailing butterfly kisses along her cheek until my lips find their mark right beside her ear.

  “Don’t cry for me, please. My heart can’t take it. I need you to deal with your past before you start worrying about mine, okay?”

  I feel her nod against my cheek before I slowly lower her head, placing her face just inches away from mine, my eyes on hers the entire time.

  “Thank you, Tate. You’ve revived a part of me that I thought I’d lost forever. Your heart, your compassion, your strength, just…you. You inspire me to be a better person, to be a better man.”

  Our eyes still locked, I hold her stare until she glances away, clearing her throat.

  “Your music. The reason you don’t pursue it is because of your father? He wants you to follow in his footsteps and be a doctor. Am I right?”

  Setting her head gently back into my lap, I scoot toward the edge of the couch, my hands folding across my chest as I lean back. Her head turns towards me as her eyes search my face for the answer. When I nod that she is correct in her assumption, disappointment flashes across her features before she twists her neck away from me toward the television.

  Sighing out loud, she begins watching the next re-run episode of Friends.

  After a couple of seconds, she sighs louder, trying to get my attention.

  “Yes?” I ask.

  Agitated, she rustles around in my lap until she finds the perfect position, her eyes pointed at the ceiling that we both can’t seem to stop staring at this evening.

  “Well,” she draws out, nervously fidgeting with her nails, “It just seems that from what you’ve shared, your mother was very adamant about the quality of her life. She challenged your father to get what she wanted, which was to have quality time with you, forgoing her treatments for that very reason. Regardless of the cost, she knew what she needed, and she fought for that time.” She breathes in deeply before twisting her neck, once again her blue eyes latching onto mine.

  “I guess, it’s just — I hope that someday you’ll find something or someone worth putting up the same fight for. Because it seems to me, right now, your quality of life isn’t what it should be. I think that would make her very sad.”

  As though she’s looking right through me, she adds, “Your music is important because it makes you happy. If that’s what you want to do with your life, then you should do it. Fight like she did, to live the life that you want to live. She had the strength. You do too, Noah.”

  And with her last statement, I’m the one to break eye contact because I can’t bear for her to see the uncertainty and cowardice rising to the surface.

  While she’s right about the love that I have for my lyrics and my music — she has absolutely no idea that it pales in comparison to the way that I feel about her.

  But the inevitable truth still remains.

  Regardless of how much she inspires me to be a better man, I will forever be my father’s son.

  And deep down, I’m afraid that even if I do possess my mother’s strength, it won’t be powerful enough to break his hold.

  Ever.

  Waking up next to Noah, well, it never gets old. His hair is always extremely messy, which I love, the stubble on his face makes him look even sexier, and his mouth falls into the perfect pout, one which I can’t help but kiss every single morning.

  But my favorite part?

  Watching him sleep.

  I always wake up before he does, so a couple of minutes before I kiss that perfectly pouty mouth, I set my chin on his bare chest and just watch him. I’m always amazed at how peaceful he looks — the worry erased from his features, the pain from his past no longer etched into his face, the hard lines of intensity vanished. Just him. And he’s beautiful.

  When I’m done observing, and ready for him to wake up, I’ll doodle on his chest, or draw a maze through the ridges of his abs with my finger, or sometimes, I even sketch an arrow along the “V” that defines his hip. He’s really ticklish, so as I outline whatever I choose to that morning on his skin, he holds out as long as he can before he gives me his sexy smile. As soon as it breaks across his face, that’s when I pounce on him, giving him his morning kiss. At least, that the routine we’ve had since we started seeing each other about a month ago.

  But even though we sleep together, we still haven’t slept together. We do make out like crazy, but I think for both of us, we know that there’s no going back once it happens. The knowledge that he’s leaving soon is also always in the back of my mind. Sex will just complicate things, things that I don’t even want to think about right now.

  So, I don’t.

  Finishing up my morning artwork, I watch the sides of his mouth twitch as he fights the smile threatening to crack his straight-laced features. After a three-heart chain down his stomach, I grin as his lips finally lose their battle. Drawing my legs underneath me, I fling my body onto his and land straddling his waist, with my forearms on each side of his head, my face suspended just above his as he chuckles lightly. After giving him my usual peck on his lips, I scoot down and lay my head on his chest when I’m done. Just the sound of his breathing and beating heart cause my eyes to fill with tears. Not sad tears, but the never-want-this-to-end kind. We both have our share of trauma-filled pasts, but these moments when it’s just us — no worries or pain or guilt — my eyes have no choice but to release the overflow of pure joy that fills my heart.

  Curling his fingers under my hair, Noah sweeps it off the back of my tank top, and then moves his hand to my shoulder where he doodles his trademark infinity symbol.

  “Morning, beautiful,” he says, his voice still gruff from sleep.

  I smile internally because there’s no sound sexier in the morning. “Morning.”

  Lowering his chin, he brushes his lips across my forehead.

  “What’s the plan for today?” I ask.

  “Up to you I guess, no work for either of us. I do need to wash Betsy today. You’re more than welcome to help…braless, in one of my white t-shirts, of course.”

  Laughing, I set my chin on his chest as I speak. “First of all, I can’t believe you named your Jeep. And second, I can’t believe you named your kick-ass Jeep Betsy. She needs a cooler name. Like Falcon or Sasha. Something sexier. And third, in your dreams.”

  His body shakes with amusement and it makes me smile. “Well, maybe we should focus on naming your car then. What do you think? Minty?”

  “Oh my God,” I burst with laughter. “Could you be any less original?”

  Finally opening his eyes, he looks down at me with a sexy grin on his face as I glance up to meet his eyes. “No more Friends for you. You’re starting to sound like Chandler Bing.”

  “Point taken,” I say through more giggles. “Maybe we should name her P.O.S.”

  “And you call me unoriginal,” he laughs, digging his finger right under my arm, the one place he knows is my most ticklish spot. As I begin to fl
ail around, asking for mercy, he hooks his hand over my shoulder and pulls me off of his chest. My back lands on his bed as he rolls on top of me.

  Arms on either side of my body, his lips find the hollow of my neck as I trail my fingers lightly over his back, releasing a soft moan as he runs his tongue across my neck to my shoulder, nipping my skin in places along the way. Once my shoulder has received ample attention, his soft lips leisurely make their way down my chest toward my stomach, sending my heart pounding beneath my chest. While slowly lifting the hem of my shirt, his brown eyes find mine and hold them as he drags his tongue just under the waistline of my shorts.

  My hips buck underneath me in response, his touch now controlling my movements. Threading his hair through my fingers as he rises, his mouth travels upwards, kissing his way back up my body, his fingers still grasping the bottom of my shirt bringing it along with him. Sitting up, my arms rise above my head on their own accord as he pulls the tank up and then off my body, sending it sailing across the room. He wraps one arm arm delicately around my waist and my arms fold across his shoulders just as he aligns my body flush with his, sliding us up the bed. As soon as our bare chests touch, a jolt shoots straight to my core as it pulsates, my body responding to his as it has with no one else. Leaning forward, he lays me gently back onto his bed, releasing me as my head hits his pillow, and then sits back on his heels between my legs.

  “Noah, what are you doing?” I ask, knowing exactly what he’s up to. Lifting my hips off the bed, I assist him in removing my shorts.

  “Well,” he lifts and kisses the inside of each of my legs before continuing, “Since we have all day, we might as well make good use of it.” Hooking his fingers into the side strings of my panties, he pulls them so slowly over my thighs that my legs tremble with anticipation. No longer in control, my hands run themselves unhurriedly up my own body, my fingertips slowly tracing the curvature of my hips and then along the outline of my breasts as they make their way above my head, where I cross them at the wrist. Lips parted as he watches, Noah’s brown eyes darken as he takes in my naked body, the very body that I’m offering to him.