Writing on the Wall

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Writing on the Wall Page 27

by Jenna Rae


  When Del came back the next morning, she was carrying a paper bag. “I stopped at your place. Figured you might want some of your own things.”

  Lola gulped out a thank you. She wanted to talk, but Del said she had to get back to work. As soon as she was gone, Lola rushed to dress and walk to the store—there was nothing to eat in Del’s cupboards or refrigerator but a wide variety of leftover spicy things, most of which appeared to be weeks old. Lola made a face. They’d been in the hotels for almost two weeks, so everything in the fridge was older than that. She grabbed the trash bin and started cleaning up.

  ***

  Del was wiped out. She came home wishing she’d thought to order a pizza. But she smelled food cooking—had she ever walked in and smelled cooking in this house before? She doubted it. She started to head for the kitchen, sniffing like a puppy, and then there was a sound, a cough.

  Del looked up and grinned at the sight of Lola in a pretty white dress at the top of the stairs. She looked like a fairy, a princess, a bride. Her hair was down around her shoulders, glowing in the light. She was pretty, if you didn’t let your gaze linger long enough to see the bruises that showed even through the makeup she’d used to try to hide them. She wasn’t smiling. She stared down at Del as though the two of them were strangers. The shadows settled in the bruised hollows under her eyes, at her temples. God, they were everywhere. Her cheeks, her mouth, her throat. Her arms too. Distinct, overlapping finger marks showed on her upper arms, her wrists. Even her hands were bruised.

  Del’s grin faded. I let that happen.

  Lola didn’t speak, didn’t move.

  She’s worried, Del realized. She let her smile show her pleasure and saw Lola’s response build by tiny degrees. Del suddenly felt shy herself. She wanted to race up the stairs and take Lola in her arms right there and then. She just watched Lola come down the stairs with care—she was still in pain, obviously, and still trying to hide it.

  “Uh, I, uh.” Lola laughed. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Del wished she could think of something to say, but she was tongue-tied. God, when was the last time that happened? Maybe never.

  “Do you like my dress?” Lola’s voice shook.

  Del shook her head. “No.”

  Lola’s eyes widened.

  “I like you. The dress is just a dress.”

  Lola smiled again, her real smile, the one that took Del’s breath away. Lola flushed bright red, and her eyes searched Del’s and dropped away, and she went pale again. That made the bruises look darker, and Del frowned.

  What was wrong? Why was she so—Del shook her head. Lola was unsure of Del’s feelings for her. But how could that be? How could she not know? Del inhaled deeply, tried to figure out what to do. But her mind was a blank, and she could only stand there and shake her head.

  “Del, I don’t know how to say this. I mean, I don’t know what to say.” Lola faltered. Her mouth tightened, and her gaze dropped.

  Del didn’t think. She didn’t plan. She took Lola’s hands in hers and kissed them, careful not to hurt her.

  Lola didn’t respond. She was still looking down.

  Del carefully tilted her face up, crooking a gentle finger under her chin, and smiled into her wide, searching eyes. She ignored the bruises as much as she could and looked past them at Lola. Del kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and finally, finally her lips.

  She forced herself to stay slow, to not scare her. She felt Lola’s lips soften against hers and part, and her heart beat faster. Desire made her feel drunk, shaky. She kissed her for long minutes, not allowing herself to do more than this. She knew that Lola was attracted to her, but she also knew that Lola was afraid. She would have to be careful. It was like petting a wild doe that’d bolt at the first sign of danger. Del remembered the hunting trip with her father and sound of deer hooves dancing through the underbrush like little bugs lighting on flowers and zipping away.

  She felt the same thing now that she had that day so many years past, that same connection with Lola she’d once had with her daddy. There were a million invisible threads holding them together and making them a part of each other, and she felt an ache inside her body ease, as though some part of her that had been holding its breath for a thousand years could at long last let go.

  She felt dampness on her cheek and thought Lola was crying—she cried a lot, it seemed like—but then she realized that it wasn’t Lola who was crying but she herself. When was the last time I cried? She couldn’t remember. Did I cry when Janet—no, I didn’t. I’m sure I didn’t. I think the last time I cried was at Mrs. Wendell’s. What was that, thirty years ago? She pulled away and allowed herself a small smile at Lola’s uncensored look of disappointment.

  “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “No,” Lola said, her voice hoarse. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She smiled, a flirty little grin that made Del’s heart jump.

  Del kissed her again, a whisper of a touch that tickled and teased, and she felt Lola’s intake of breath and felt her body ease toward Del’s. It was uncalculated, that shifting forward, and Del deepened the kiss until she felt Lola start to tense up. She pulled back again.

  Lola’s smile was tremulous, and Del reminded herself again to take it slow.

  “I smell food.” If they stayed here one more minute, she wouldn’t be able to control herself.

  Lola’s eyes widened. “The bread!”

  She hurried to the kitchen, and Del followed more slowly.

  Lola bustled around, occasionally stopping, a shadow of pain crossing her face. She talked a blue streak, explaining what she’d made, why she’d chosen this recipe, why she thought Del would like it. She was nervous as a cat, filling the silence with chatter, and Del just made the appropriate noises. This wasn’t a conversation. It was a defense mechanism. How many was that? How many more were there? In a lot of ways, they were unsuited for each other. All the reasons why flitted through her mind like cards in a Rolodex. But they went by too quickly for her to read them. Or, she thought, maybe she just didn’t want to.

  She wanted Lola. But it was more than just desire, and that was the scary part. She felt like something not quite in her control was in motion, like she was being carried by a wave to some inevitable destination. Everything changes now, she thought. That thought left her breathless.

  ***

  As they ate, Lola chatted about her day, about the food, about Marco and Phil’s upcoming trip to Florida. She knew she was acting like an airhead, but Del’s stony face and distracted air were unnerving her. What was she thinking? What was she feeling? If only she would say how she felt, she could stop this breathless, meaningless tide of stupid words about nothing.

  But Del didn’t. She ate, clearly without tasting a thing. She nodded and frowned and pretended to listen, but she was miles away. Was she thinking about Janet? Was she bored? Lola’s stomach hurt. Every part of her body hurt, as a matter of fact, and she was becoming more aware of this by the second. This uncertainty was unbearable.

  I’ll go back home, she thought. I don’t want to. I’m scared to, even though there’s no reason to be, but I can’t take this. Another hour of this and I’m going to just take off my head like a cartoon character and run off to the hills and let it scream and scream for an hour and then come back and she’ll still be sitting there like a statue.

  ***

  Del looked across the table. Lola was just sitting there, looking at her. How long had it been since she’d stopped talking? She wanted Lola with a kind of desperation, like there was something in Lola that she needed or she would die. It seemed melodramatic, even childish, but it was true.

  Then Lola laughed at something—who knew what? It was yet another defense mechanism, probably, and Del forgot her questions and her fears. I want to hear that laugh a million times. I want to taste and touch and smell and love every single bit of this woman. She wanted to let the wave take her where it would, as long as it took h
er with Lola, whose laughing eyes did something to Del’s insides. Don’t be afraid, she told herself. Love her. Love? And she was afraid all over again.

  Lola acted like she didn’t notice Del’s preoccupation. Once or twice, though, Del thought she saw Lola watching her, assessing her.

  After dinner, she stood in front of Del and looked her square in the eye. If it had been anyone else, it would have seemed confrontational.

  “Del, I haven’t thanked you.”

  Del shook her head, surprised by a burst of frustration and regret and anger. “Jesus, Lola, thank me? For—for what? Letting James beat on you? For not believing you when you said you saw him? For not telling you about the cameras? How about for not getting there faster? I let you down. You might want to pretend you forgot that, but I haven’t. I never will.”

  Lola gaped at her. “Are you kidding? What—you saved my life! That man was crazy. He was going to kill me, and you and Tom saved my life.”

  Del shrugged and crossed her arms. “If you want to see it that way, fine. But—”

  “But, nothing.” Lola rested her hands on Del’s forearms. “Listen to me: no one could have done a better job than you. Period.”

  Del made a face. “We can agree to disagree.” She knew she was being sour, and she knew this wasn’t fair, but she couldn’t change that. She was pissed and she couldn’t have said whether it even had anything to do with James.

  Lola grimaced. “Adele Savannah Mason, I mean, come on! You are human, you know.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You don’t have to be perfect. You aren’t perfect. You get to be imperfect and human and feel things, just like the rest of us. To make mistakes and be scared and all of it. Don’t you?”

  Del nodded. Somehow, the wind had gone out of her sails, and she was tired of fighting all of the craziness inside of her. “I was scared, Lola. I thought he was going to kill you.” Her throat was trying to close, but she forced her voice through it. “I saw how scared you were, and it was my fault.”

  “No,” Lola protested, “I was scared for you.”

  Del frowned, nonplussed.

  She told Del about her nightmare. “I thought it was a kind of premonition or something. That’s why I went to the house, to keep you from getting hurt. And that only made things worse. Oh, Del, I’m so sorry!”

  Del kissed her to quiet her.

  “We’re okay, Lola, we’re both okay, and the bad guy is locked up and he can’t hurt you ever again.”

  “The what?” Lola got up on her toes to peer into Del’s eyes.

  “The, uh, bad guy.”

  Lola’s laugh made Del smile. “Is that the official police term?”

  Del smirked. “You bet it is.”

  “Silly.” She was flushed pink and grinning and looked lighter and happier than Del had ever seen her.

  “I want you.”

  Lola’s breath caught. She was terrified and excited and impatient all at once. What if this was a mistake? What if Del kept getting angry all the time? What if she decided not to like her after a while? What if she still loved Janet, after all? What if—but Del was watching her, and her eyes were that amazing, hypnotic blend of greens and blues and desire and intensity, and Lola heard herself say the words, “I want you too.”

  They kissed again, easing together with agonizing slowness and care. What happens now? I’m scared. God, I’m so scared! What if she hurts me? What if I hurt her? What if I’m not good enough? What if—I want this. I need this. I need her. And their bodies took over, impatient with the nonsense that their brains put in the way.

  It was Lola who broke the kiss. She pulled away. “I’m scared.”

  “I know.” Del ran a finger slowly down Lola’s cheek, easing back a strand of hair and steering around a large bruise. “Me too.”

  Lola frowned at her. “I want this, though. I want to be with you and get close to you and find out everything about you. I want you.”

  “I’m yours.” Del shrugged, spreading her arms out and grinning. “Take me.” She dropped her arms to take Lola’s hands. They were shaking. Were her own?

  “I promise to be honest with you.”

  Del smiled. “I promise to be honest, too.” She swallowed hard. “I promise to not walk all over you.”

  Lola’s eyes widened. “You—okay. I promise to be brave. And strong. And not to depend on you too much.”

  Del squeezed her hand. “I promise to listen to you.”

  “I promise to listen to you. And talk to you.”

  “Even if it’s uncomfortable.”

  “Yes.”

  “Me, too.”

  Lola made a goofy face. “Can we just promise to try? Is that enough for now?”

  Del let out the air she’d been holding in. “Yes, for sure, absolutely. And we’ll probably screw everything up for a while. You know? But we’ll keep trying.”

  “Sorry. I’m a sap.” She rubbed her teary eyes.

  “Hey,” Del whispered, pulling her hands away. She used her thumb to lightly blot the skin under Lola’s eyes. It was so delicate, that skin, soft and fragile and already bruised. Tears had washed away the makeup and exposed the purple and black, and Del’s hand shook. She felt like her thumb would tear right through that skin if she weren’t careful.

  But she was careful, and she didn’t hurt Lola, and Lola smiled at her with her guileless eyes unclouded by fear. She was so trusting! It was overwhelming, knowing that such soft stuff was in her hands.

  “Be careful with that face,” Del said, her voice breaking. “That’s a face I happen to like.”

  Lola smiled. She couldn’t speak. Instead, she reached up and kissed Del’s soft, soft, lips. She tried to let go of all of her fear and feel only her courage and desire and hope, and then she forgot about all of that and could only feel Del’s lips and Del’s hands and Del’s loud, hammering, fragile heart.

  She pulled back to look into Del’s eyes again. “One other thing.”

  “What?” Del breathed through the thrill of fear that ran through her.

  “I want a ride.”

  “O—kay.”

  “No.” Lola gave a wicked smile and raised an eyebrow. “I want you to take me out on the bike and show me how fast we can go.”

  Del grinned, and the grin turned into laughter. “Oh, darlin’,” she drawled, “you’re gonna get the ride of your life.”

  Women. Books. Even Better Together.

  www.bellabooks.com

  C

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

 

 


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