Fire Heart (Broken Bottle Series Book 2)

by Taeuffer, Pamela

  "No, you don't." I sat up to face him. "You were a strong young man, Ryan; much stronger than you should have needed to be. Your mom was lucky to have you at home." I think you were lucky, too, in ways you haven't seen yet.

  “Back there in the hotel room? You caught it when he called me Romeo?”

  “That wasn’t nice." The anger kicked in my belly. I wanted to knock Chris on his butt for what he'd said. I wondered if he was trying to drive a wedge between mother and son so he'd have her all to himself and deny Ryan part of the love he needed.

  “That was all for show. He wants you to see me as a weak man who isn’t settled and can't be faithful to you. He's trying to cut me off so I won't have the chance to show you who I am.”

  “Well, he failed if that was his intention,” I reassured him. “That’s so far from the man I see. Strong and weak—what are those anyway? All I see in you is good. I've always bragged about how compassionate you are, Ryan. You have a gift of noticing what people need. It's unique, the same as you are. Your work at the Veterans' Hospital and SF State . . . Weak? No. You’re incredibly strong. I think that’s the gift your father left you. Because of what you went through, you’re able to have empathy for others in a way that’s really unusual.”

  Why is it so easy for me to see other people’s struggles and so difficult to peel back my own defenses?

  “Mom and I needed counseling. We didn't know it at the time.”

  I know that feeling.

  I wanted to take him in my arms and make it all okay and at the same time reassure him that he could be whole again.

  Before you can do that for someone else, you have to be whole yourself, Nicky.

  “Maybe it was too painful for your brother and he didn’t know what to do so he ran.” I wanted to go on, but I was afraid he’d stop sharing. I quieted once again and sat with my back to his chest, tucked into the envelope of his body and just listened.

  “If he just called once in a while . . .” He looked away.

  You were abandoned. I know how that feels.

  I rubbed his arm up and down only caring about the man it was a part of and not the physical excitement I’d felt minutes before when I stroked it.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I know I’ve had it better than most people being able to play professional baseball."

  "Thank God that Walter came into your life.”

  I felt his muscles bulge as he squeezed me tight.

  “If he hadn’t come to my high school . . .”

  “I really enjoyed meeting him at Stanford. Did I tell you he was late for our appointment because he was with a female athlete?”

  “No, you didn't mention that.”

  “I couldn’t believe it! The head of men’s baseball—the athletic director of the whole college—taking care of a woman instead of some stud male athlete . . . you two are a good match."

  "Thank you for saying that." He kissed my temple and let out a long sigh. Perhaps he was searching for answers even as we sat together, looking up and down the shoreline. When his cheek rested against my neck I felt him settle.

  "What was your dad like?" I asked, after letting more than a few minutes go by.

  A satisfied laugh rose from his chest.

  "How much time do you have?"

  "All the time you need." I held each of his arms and brought them around me. I leaned back and kissed his cheek, watched as he squeezed his eyes shut, took a breath and began to talk about his father, Christopher Tilton Senior.

  Chapter 22

  Memories in Softness

  “Dad was everything I thought a man should be.” Ryan's voice resonated with sadness and also admiration. “He was typical military—strict but always fair. Whenever he handed out discipline, my brother and I accepted it. He was usually right, but even if we disagreed, we didn’t dare challenge him. He was not a man to bullshit.” His eyes softened as if his heart was smiling at the memory.

  “That’s how it was with my mom.” I kissed the back of his hand. One of his fingers twitched. “She worked at juvenile hall with troubled teenage girls. She always said she’d seen it all. Trust me when I say there wasn’t a story we could make up that she hadn’t already heard. Not that I ever did anything much to rouse her anger, but when I did—wow.”

  “Yeah.” Ryan seemed transported back to his childhood. Perhaps his dad was right there with him. Maybe there was some ripple in the universe that brought us all together, and now his father was at his side to soothe his son’s feelings in this tender moment.

  “Dad pushed us in every way: school, sports, our chores at home; he sat with us every week and went over our personal goals. We didn’t have much downtime together but when we did? It was magical being with him.”

  “Do either of you look like your father?” I could see Ryan was still dreaming.

  “I do.” His chest swelled.

  “Your dad was a handsome man, then.”

  “Yes, he was." His body tightened in a squeeze around me. "Thank you for saying so.”

  He's like a boa constrictor!

  My heart beat hard.

  My throat closed as the revelation of our future came over me—I’d be leaving for college. Would I leave him the same way his brother had? As I thought about getting close and then having to say goodbye, I tried to keep the tears from spilling.

  “Is my story too sad for you?” Ryan wiped the tears from my cheek.

  “It’s not that." I turned to face him while on my knees. "I mean, it is sad. The thing is, you make me feel different. Here I made such a big deal about committing to you when we were in the hotel lounge . . . I'm really confused." I sat between his legs once again, my back against his chest. Perhaps my intimate reveal was something I couldn't do while looking into his eyes. "You get to me. It's like you're reaching inside me—like my heart can feel your hands, emotions, and all your hidden messages.”

  His arms insisted on surrounding my body in a sensual, powerful way. I felt like I was in a maze of love. I had no interest in finding the way out and I squeezed his biceps as they held me.

  “Nicky?”

  “Yeah?” I'd been looking out toward the water. I looked back at him. He lifted me onto his lap and closed his legs underneath me. Tilting his head, he sealed his sculpted lips over mine. It was as if I'd snuggled into a nest of power and he'd transformed into some sea creature, trying to swallow me in a passion that sucked everywhere on my body.

  When we finished kissing, we looked toward the oncoming darkness in front of us. The water crested in a steep wave as if it would crash on shore but then broke gently. The foam bubbled and coaxed open holes in the sand. It was as if the water gave nourishment to the life underneath, those little creatures that waited open-mouthed, ready for the chance to fill up.

  I was sure my heart worked overtime, trying her best to squeeze pools of blood into all of my extremities and moist places. Pulses began to form rhythms in my fingertips, neck, and face. When his muscles tightened, I knew I was in for a nice embrace or a wet kiss. As if answering him, my belly began its delicious aching. Liquid electricity surged from my chest, through my pelvis and down my legs. I was full of hope, like the night Ryan laid next to me in my bed.

  “Feed me again,” he requested.

  “There’s no food left."

  “No, Nicky. Let me taste you.”

  I closed my eyes and waited for Ryan’s kiss, anticipating the gentle press of his lips and the little beads of moistness on them that would make my mouth wet. I lifted my chin and raised my head with my lips spread open.

  He took them.

  Made them his.

  I was his.

  Too soon, his lips lifted from mine.

  Wanting to hold on a moment longer, I opened my eyes and lightly traced his mouth with my finger.

  He held it to his mouth, making a popping sound when he kissed it, as if the last bubble broke in the foam of a receding wave.

  We were trying to stay safe as we reached for love, two frigh
tened people sitting in the hope that our hearts might soon be free—perhaps even fly together.

  The breeze lifted my hair. I imagined a new promise covered me. Ryan and I sat until the fading blues above turned to the golden orange of an early evening. The cold wind swirled through the pine trees, their limbs straining and creaking behind us. A farewell gust swooped across the sand, lifting what had once been part of an erupting and furious Earth, now spread before us in fine grains, soft under our bodies.

  I felt as if the wind was the rise and fall of our dreams—blowing, swirling, twisting, straining to touch . . . and then becoming still and silent.

  My heart seemed one with the evening and elements of nature, floating on the water and flying in the wind—pulsing, fluttering, crashing, beating, the blood pushing through my body.

  Like the mouths of all the little creatures underneath the sand, I was opening. And the nourishment I needed—was Ryan.

  I wanted to tell him how I felt.

  But I was afraid.

  I held back.

  In the end, I decided to protect my heart from the inevitable pain to come. I kept the words I love you, to myself.

  “This is a night neither of us expected, was it?” I asked, rather than share how I loved him.

  “No.” His mouth rested against the side of my head. “I only hoped," he whispered.

  “I feel as if I’m slowly going mad with you. Beware, Ryan.” I giggled, too nervous to sit still or be serious for long.

  “How come?”

  “Because you make me feel open—too open. I don’t know what to do about it. My rooms are dark." I traced his arm. "Sometimes even the most brilliant beam of light can’t penetrate them. Everything I’ve held deep inside rushes to the surface when I'm with you. I’m sorry—it’s not fair.”

  “Not fair?” Ryan repeated.

  “I’m afraid of new relationships. You shouldn’t have to put up with someone who’s still discovering herself. You deserve a woman who’s gone through the things you have. I know we talked about this back in the hotel lounge, but you should really be with someone who already knows herself and wants the things you want right now, not in four years. I just can’t help but feel that you’re making a mistake.”

  He lay back on the blanket and pulled me down with him.

  Oh, this is so nice lying in his arms.

  I was on top of his body looking down at him. His eyes bounced from left to right as if deciding where to settle on my face.

  “I don’t want someone poised or knows how to maneuver in relationships. I'm not interested in a woman used to the spotlight. My job in baseball is temporary and so is the attention. What I want is a life with someone grounded. Someone real. I want you.”

  “But you've had all of that and more. You’re not jaded. Look at the women you've been with, the press, society, famous people—”

  “I'm not jaded because I knew who I was looking for; you, Nicky. I've always known. With you, I'm beginning again. That's the feeling that makes me want to kiss you in public and take you in my arms wherever we are. All I want is to be near your fiery heart. I love the way you explain your thoughts and how you stand up for what you believe. I welcome all of your dark rooms and look forward to opening your doors one by one. By the way, you’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known, man or woman.”

  His arms slid underneath my lower back.

  He turned so he was on top of me.

  I felt as if my insides would push out of my body as they tried to touch him. When he kissed me, my legs naturally rose against the thickness of his thighs.

  “I don’t want to go home.” He looked at me for several heartbeats. “There’s a bed-and-breakfast just across the harbor where we can lie together all night. If you want, we can even lay on top of the bed. I promise I’ll be a good boy. I just want to be with you.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I agreed.

  The little boy in him reached out to me. My intuition told me he needed to be protected, even if only for one night.

  I wanted to be that someone.

  Reshaped into a tender possibility rather than a night of dancing, our evening had become deeply intimate in every way.

  We trusted each other enough to share a part of ourselves that we’d never dared before that evening.

  We started to open a door—our door.

  Now, we needed to have the courage to step through.

  Chapter 23

  An Interlude

  The Harbor Inn Bed and Breakfast was a two-story Cape Cod style home with a white picket fence, painted in a sea green. Cream-colored shutters adorned its windows. Typical coastal accents—shells, statues of gulls, and netted glass balls—were strewn about a country garden. Flowering shrubs and grasses lined the walkway to the front door.

  We both agreed it looked inviting. Ryan rang the bell. The hostess answered, introducing herself as Paula and informing us she was one of the owners. She told us she had availability and invited us inside for a tour. While following her, she talked about the history of the home. She and her husband had remodeled it, converting the rooms into six guest suites.

  “Let’s take a look at this one.” She opened the door. "We also have one upstairs with a broader view of the coastline.”

  We could see the ocean immediately as we walked into the room. A sliding glass door led to a deck. Two Adirondack chairs were strategically placed near a small table, offering moments of relaxation and the chance for guests to enjoy both nature and the spectacular views. To the right of the sliding door was a love seat and coffee table, and in front of them, a large picture window.

  As we stepped further inside, on the right and in the bathroom, I saw a claw-foot tub, stall shower, and an old-fashioned pedestal sink. To the left was a king size bed. White sheets were folded over the top of a beautiful quilt of turquoise-green, and two creamy white knitted blankets draped across the foot of the bed. A nightstand and reading lamp were on each side.

  “The kitchen’s open twenty-four hours a day,” Paula said. “You can help yourself to bottled water, a glass of wine, iced tea, coffee or soda. I have some home-baked cookies and a fruit and cheese plate in the dining room right now.”

  Ryan looked at me with raised eyebrows.

  I nodded.

  “We’ll take it.” He followed her out to take care of the necessary details.

  After walking around the room and running my hands over the rich textures of the bed quilt, I stood looking out toward the ocean. Suddenly, the situation hit me: I'm spending the night with an experienced man. Am I doing the right thing? Is this too soon? I didn’t hear Ryan come up behind me. When his hands rested on my shoulders, I jumped.

  “Sorry,” his voice was soft and low. “Nice view, isn’t it?”

  “It’s beautiful. I’ll be right back. All those cranberry drinks . . .”

  “I’ll wait outside.” He smiled knowingly at my excuse and set two bottles of water on the coffee table.

  I closed the bathroom door and turned on the faucet, letting the cold water run so that it soaked one of the thick, white washcloths. I wrung out the excess and then laid it on my face. It was cool and refreshing.

  When I came out, I saw Ryan standing on the deck. He rested his elbows on the wooden railing as he looked out to the ocean. The orange light of evening was on his skin, making him look majestic. The sadness from earlier had slipped away, and calm seemed to cover his face. It was obvious to me he’d closed and locked the doors to his hurt.

  The light within the soft colors of the setting sun lit up the gold in his hair. A palette of reds, oranges, pinks, and violets were thrown across the sky and splashed on his body. He looked like he was part of an exquisite painting.

  I walked out to meet him and lay my head against his back. With a sigh of pleasure, I wound my arms around his waist. My hands flattened and rested on his stomach.

  “Ooh, Ryan.” I squeezed him. He laughed softly and put his hands over mine, covering them on his belly. “You
should see how your skin is all lit up.”

  His fingers laced through mine and lifted my hands to his lips. He kissed them and pressed them against his mountainous chest.

  “You feel so good," I admitted. "If I'm being truthful, everything about you feels good. You know, when you first called today, I thought you were breaking it off because of what I’d done.”

  He turned around to face me.

  I was held in his burning eyes.

  His soft kiss on my cheek made me feel like a wisp of love had touched me. When he gathered me into his arms, I was sure a slender, silken bond wove our sacred spirits together. There was some connection, bigger than this moment, lingering near us.

  “Breaking what off, Nicky?”

  “Well, um, your, uh, our, you know, our friendship.”

  “Mm-hmm.” His massive chest pressed against my breasts as he leaned closer. His muscles began their concert, flexing and gathering their adrenaline to move on my body. “You’re so close, Nicky. So close.”

  “Close,” I repeated in a tone that was barely audible.

  “Baby.” His breath went past my ear in a sigh, gentle like the evening.

  “Uh-huh.” I looked up at him. I knew he loved that.

  “You’re wonderful.”

  My emotions rose so joyously, I thought the sun might reverse its direction and bring a new day as it skipped over night's shadow.

  Finally, my heart was exposed.

  My inner core had revealed herself.

  It was as if I was shining.

  “Ryan, this is crazy."

  "What's crazy?" he challenged. "Being here?"

  "Not that," I laughed softly. "What I'm about to suggest . . . I know this is insane of me, but can we just lie next to each other tonight? You know, just be together?”

  “Of course, I’ll lie with you,” he anxiously agreed. “I already said—”

  “What I mean, God, I can hardly believe I’m asking, but—naked. I want to feel our skin touching. Is that too forward of me?” I nervously waited for his answer, but then started talking again. “I know it is, but can I feel everything about you without sex getting in the way? I want to rest with you like we’ve been friends for a lifetime. Did you know that I’ve felt close to you from when we first volunteered together?” I raised my hands and placed them on his cheeks. “I want to hold you and just . . . can I bring my head to your chest? I’ll . . . I'll . . .”