Redeem

by Rachel Schurig

  “Are you hungry?” he asks, and I jump, embarrassed at the direction of my thoughts.

  “I could eat.”

  Anything to break this tension, I think. To my dismay he yawns. “What do you think about room service? I’m pretty beat and the hotel does an amazing steak sandwich.”

  “Okay.” I can handle sharing a meal with Cash in our suite. Feet away from my bed. No biggie.

  But when we get there, once he’s called room service, he goes to his room and changes into sweat pants and an old Styx t-shirt. There’s something so comfortable about the look, his feet bare, his hair mussed, that I have to turn away to keep from touching him.

  I’ve found Cash sexy for far longer than I’ve actually known him. Sharing that night together has only increased the appeal, of course, because now I knew what he feels like, what he can do with those hands of his, besides play guitar. But tonight he has somehow passed from sexy to irresistible. Maybe it had something to do with the honesty he’d shown me, the vulnerability when he admitted to his mistakes. Or maybe it was knowing that he cared enough about me to plan the absolute perfect weekend to cheer me up. Maybe it was a combination of all of those things. But regardless of the reason, I was now finding it acutely painful to be in the same room as him.

  We eat dinner on the couch while watching old SNL reruns. I try to focus on the skits, force myself to laugh where appropriate, but I know it’s coming across as false. I’m not sure that Cash notices. He spends most of the meal staring out the window at the city lights.

  “Finished?” he finally asks, smiling at me. He looks a little shy and I wonder if he’s embarrassed about before. He takes my plate and goes to tidy up. I can’t keep my eyes off of him—the way the muscles of his back move when he walks, the casual flick of his head to keep the hair out of his face as he bends to set our plates on the room service tray. After he’s done he looks up and sees me staring and I blush, looking away.

  “Hey.” He comes back to the couch and sits close to me, way too close.

  “Hey.”

  “Look, Sam. I need to…I really appreciate what you did back there. At the house.”

  “I didn’t do anything, Cash.”

  “Yes you did. You listened to me. You were there for me. That’s, uh, something that I’m not really used to. It means a lot to me.”

  I look down at my hands. “You’ve done the same for me. Look at this weekend—”

  “This weekend has been perfect.”

  I look up to smile and realize that he’s staring at me, his eyes dark. My stomach flips. “It’s been almost perfect,” I whisper before I can stop myself.

  His forehead creases in concern. “Almost?”

  I nod, staring at his lips, willing myself to just lean forward and go for it. He seems to realize what I’m getting at and his eyes widen. “Sam.”

  I start to inch toward him but he reaches out to take my face between his hands, stills me. He stares into my eyes and I feel faint with desire and the best kind of fear. “Are you sure?” he whispers.

  “Yes.”

  Still he waits. “You mean too much to me to risk messing this up.”

  I thought that him verbalizing my greatest fear would kill the mood, remind me of all the reasons I said no in the first place. But it doesn’t.

  “We won’t mess it up. Maybe…” I gulp. Feeling shy. “Maybe we’ll make it what it was supposed to be all along.”

  I have just enough time to register that his eyes are widening before he’s pulled my face to his, and then he’s kissing me with the desperation of a man who has waited a very long time to do exactly this.

  It’s not enough to kiss him. I need to feel him, strong and vital beneath my hands. I grip his arms, pulling myself closer. Cash seems to get the hint, lifting me onto his lap. Now my body can press flush against his and I moan at the contact. Even with two layers of clothing between us he feels so damn good.

  The first time we were together was like an explosion, hurried and desperate. Tonight we alternate between fast and slow, like we both want to take our time to savor the other but keep getting distracted by how fantastic it feels. I kiss him desperately, like I can’t possibly get enough, and he slows me down, dancing soft kisses across my face, my neck, my chest. I take off his shirt, running my hands slowly across the dips and planes of his muscles and he hurriedly rips off my tank top and bra, like he can’t possibly wait another moment to see me.

  “I want to lie down with you,” he murmurs against my skin. “I want to lay you down on the bed so I can see every inch of you.”

  “Yes.”

  So he lifts me in his arms and takes me to my bed. There’s no fear in my chest, no guilt. When he sets me on the mattress, trailing a path of kisses up and down my skin, I marvel at the peace I feel. There’s no desire to be numb or distracted. There’s only Cash, only this moment, the two of us together. His body on top of mine, moving in me, my lips on his. Our hearts beating together as we get closer to our release, my name on his mouth, a whisper. For the first time in a long time I realize that I’m not running away from anything, not hiding from anything.

  As Cash hovers over me, his eyes intent on mine, I decide that for once in my life, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

  ***

  I wake up the next morning smiling. It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve found myself in a man’s arms come sunrise without panicking. He sleeps steadily next to me, snoring just a little, his brown hair down over his face. Gorgeous.

  I wait for the guilt to kick in. Wait for the worry or the shame. It doesn’t come. Watching Cash breathe in and out, his chest rising and lowering between my head, all I can feel is peace. I’m actually happy. When was the last time I was happy? Without fear or recrimination?

  Cash wakes a moment later, grinning immediately at the sight of me. We make love again in that big white bed, the sunshine beating down through the glass, and I’m still happy, still at peace. We order room service breakfast, which I eat on his lap, and the panic is still absent. We shower together, laughing as we both attempt to stay under the spray of water to keep from freezing, and all I feel is joy.

  During the flight home we make use of the bed in the back, and I start to think that this feeling might last. That darkness isn’t necessarily hovering in the background.

  Cash drops me off at home so I can get ready for class and I release him reluctantly. I want nothing more than to pull him into the apartment with me, but not so he can silence the ghosts who live there. I want him there with me because I want him, plain and simple.

  He kisses me one last time and climbs into the car, promising he’ll see me in the morning. I go inside whistling, almost scared of how happy I am.

  And then Alice Warner calls and changes everything.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cash

  I’m way too keyed up to sleep that night. I see her face, over and over in my mind. The way she had looked when she told me the weekend wasn’t perfect yet. How intense her stare had been on my lips. The realization that she wanted me the same way I wanted her. Maybe we’ll make it the way it was always supposed to be.

  I hate that I had to drop her off. In my perfect world she would have come back to the cabin with me so we could replay those scenes over and over again. But I won’t ask her to skip class, refuse to do anything that might have a negative affect on her. I’m determined to be the one that helps her, the way that she helps me, and if that means dropping her off for class when my entire body is screaming to hold onto her, then so be it.

  In the late afternoon I take a hike with Lennon and Daisy and we barely speak, letting the sounds of the forest around us take precedence. It’s funny how much more I can hear now. What I would have once considered nothing more than background noise now has a pattern, a rhythm that I can easily pick out. The birds overhead, the soft buzz of cicadas, the breaking of branches as somewhere nearby some living things make their way across the forest floor. When we get ba
ck to the cabin the buzz from earlier has settled into a steady hum in my chest, no longer distracting or disquieting.

  I want to play.

  So I pull out my guitar on the little deck off my room and I pluck out the chords as the sun settles over the mountains in the distance. Eventually my random plucking begins to grow into something more, a melody I can feel right down in the bottom of my soul, though I’ve never heard it before. This is a new song, never yet played, and the knowledge of that lights up my mind in a way I haven’t felt in years. Not since we were green teenagers, discovering the joys of creating something new together for the first time.

  But this time, this song, is all my own.

  I don’t know if she knocked—I probably wouldn’t have heard it, anyhow, as involved as I was in what I was doing. So when she slips out on the balcony, when her hand brushes across my shoulder, I’m caught off guard.

  “Sam?”

  “That was beautiful.” It’s dark on the balcony now and I can’t read her face—but there’s something in her voice. She sounds different than she did this afternoon, tense. Like she’s doing everything she can to keep her voice even, to keep it steady. I’m immediately worried.

  “Thank you.”

  “What is it?”

  I set the guitar aside. “Something new.” Reaching for her hand I try to read her eyes in the darkness. She surprises me when she takes my offered hand, clinging to it tightly, pulling herself closer to me.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. “I thought you had to study after class—”

  “I changed my mind.” The hand that isn’t clutching my own darts out and brushes against my cheek, so soft I think maybe I imagined it. I close my eyes automatically, leaning into her fingers.

  And then she kisses me.

  The idea of her kissing me is still new enough that it surprises me, so much so that I don’t kiss her back right away. Her mouth is hard against mine, her lips pressing, insistent. She releases my hand and brings both of her palms to my hair, tugging gently as she deepens the kiss.

  “Why aren’t you kissing me back?” she whispers against my lips, breathless. “Don’t you still want this?”

  “Of course I do. I just…Are you okay?”

  “I told you—I changed my mind.”

  “Sam—”

  “I need you, Cash.”

  Her words act on me like a magnet and I’m kissing her back before I can catch my breath, pulling her down onto my lap. I’ve wanted to feel this all afternoon, her lips on my lips, the feel of her skin below my fingers, her body pressed tight against mine. I think it might be even better than I remember it from the night before, and I’m running my hands up into her hair, rubbing the strands between my fingers, sighing in pleasure. I want to feel every inch of her, experience every millisecond of this kiss. I don’t ever want it to end.

  It’s a full minute before I realize that something’s wrong. She’s kissing me back, sighing against my mouth, moving her hips on my lap in a way that makes me pretty sure I’m going to lose my mind. It’s everything I’ve wanted from her since the day we met. But it isn’t right.

  “Sam?”

  She buries my question in another kiss, her lips frantic against mine. Too frantic. Just like her hands, running up and down my arms and through my hair like she’s afraid I’ll stop her. Her breathing is ragged, and something about it makes me think of the word desperate.

  Maybe it’s just passion making her act this way. I’d like to think that’s the truth. That her strange breathing is a product of being turned on. That her frantic movements just signal desire for me. I could easily pretend, close my eyes and let this happen. Connect with her again just like in the hotel room, on the plane, even our first night together. She clearly wants me. As she presses her chest into mine it’s obvious that she’s more than okay with what’s happening.

  But I know Sam. And I know that she’s not okay.

  “Wait.” It takes every ounce of resolve to pull away, to gather her hands in mine and keep her from touching me. She’s breathing hard and fast and now that my eyes have adjusted to the dark I can see that her eyes are darting across my face, frantic and refusing to meet my gaze. Almost like she’s scared. The polar opposite of how she looked when I left her.

  Shit.

  “Sam, what’s going on?”

  “Am I not being clear?” She smiles but it looks forced to me. She leans in for another kiss and I pull on her hands, stopping her. She scowls. “Cash, I want you.”

  How do I resist that? Two months ago I wouldn’t have. Two months ago I would have taken that declaration as all the permission I needed. But there’s something in her eyes that scares me—and that matters a hell of a lot more to me than the nearly overwhelming desire to continue what we’re doing.

  “I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”

  “There’s nothing wrong.”

  “Bullshit.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Did I misread something here? Because I was under the impression that you spent the last four weeks trying to get back in my pants and the last twenty-four hours grateful that I relented.”

  Her words sting so bad I draw in a sharp breath. “That is not what happened and you know it.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Could have fooled me.”

  “Sam, come on. Talk to me.”

  She abruptly rips her hands from mine, slamming them into my chest. “I don’t want to talk! Jesus, Cash, that’s why I’m here. Because I’m tired of talking, okay? I just want you.”

  “I want you, too,” I tell her through gritted teeth. “You have no idea how bad. But there’s something going on, Sam. And I need you to tell me what it is.”

  She moves her hands to her hair, tugging at the roots, a suddenly crazed look on her face. “Why can’t anything just be easy? Why can’t I just forget about it all, just for a little while? That’s all I want—I just want to forget.”

  “What—”

  But then she’s crying, big, shuddering gasps that leave me stunned. I’ve never seen her cry, never seen her lose control like this. I pull her into my arms and she goes straight to my chest, clutching the fabric of my T-shirt in her fists as she sobs against me.

  All I can do is hold her. The sound of her sobbing rips through my chest like a blow. I want to kiss away her tears, take away whatever pain it is that’s making her react this way. A cold fear grips my stomach. “Sam—Wyatt?”

  “He’s fine,” she says immediately, and the relief makes me feel slightly dizzy.

  “Sam, you’re scaring me. Please tell me what’s going—”

  “They found his body.” I freeze, my hands still against her back. “Well, his remains anyway. Something about an abandoned insurgent camp and a shallow grave… he’s been dead for so long, you know, it couldn’t have been more than… But they were able to do a DNA test and…and…it was definitely him. It’s official now, no room for doubt. He’s dead.”

  My mind is whirling and I have no idea how to respond. I can’t begin to imagine what this must feel like for her. I know that she mourned for Doug years ago, know that she’s considered him dead for a very long time. But to finally have that confirmation, to know the details at long last…I pull her more tightly to my chest, resuming the path of my hands over her back, trying to soothe her.

  “I’m sorry, Sam.”

  She goes very still and then—“I’m not. I’m fucking relieved.”

  The sound of her voice breaks my heart, filled with self-recrimination and shame. When she pulls back to look into my eyes, I read those emotions clear in her expression. It’s like she’s disgusted with herself, the guilt a visible mark on her face.

  “Isn’t that the most fucked up thing you’ve ever heard? I loved him for years, Cash. Years. He was my family—the father of my child. But when they told me today, all I could think was, finally. Finally, I would be able to move on.” Her face crumpled. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you, Sam
. Nothing at all.”

  She grimaces. “You have no idea. No idea what I’ve done. No idea how many mistakes I’ve made.”

  “We all make mistakes.”

  “Not like these.” A spasm crosses her face. “He would be so ashamed of me.”

  “Doug?”

  She nods, wiping roughly at her face. “He would have never reacted the way I did. He was so much stronger. So much…he sure as hell wouldn’t have tried to get laid the day he found out about my death.”

  I hated hearing her describe it like that, confirming that she had planned to use me as a means to an end. Just like the first time, a little voice whispers in my head, but I tamp it down. She needs me right now, and there’s no room for my wounded ego.

  “I very much doubt he would be ashamed of you.”

  She shakes her head. “How do you know? You’ve never met him. You don’t know anything about him.”

  I shrugged. “So tell me.”

  She draws in a sharp breath, as if I’ve surprised her. “Tell you…about Doug?”

  “I’d like to hear about him. If you want to talk about it.”

  She’s silent for so long that I’m sure she’s going to refuse. Then she turns on my lap, facing away from me, and I feel a sharp pain in my chest—she’s going to leave it like this. But she relaxes back against me, bringing my arms up around her middle so I’m cradling her. The relief is intense. She’s not leaving. She wants me to hold her.

  “I met Doug Warner when I was six years old,” she says, her voice quiet but clear. “We were in the same kindergarten class. Even back then you could tell that he was a special kid. Everyone else flocked to him, and he was nice to them all. That’s really rare, you know? For someone to be so kind to everyone at that age. Usually kids are such jerks.” I nodded against the top of her head, thinking of some of the jerks I had gone to school with.