Pulled Beneath

by Marni Mann

“Oh no,” she said, leading me toward the laundry room. “None of that slinking off and chickening out shit. You’re putting on a jacket and leaving right now.”

  I stood in front of the washing machine, my eyes darting between my jacket and the door.

  “What the hell are you waiting for?” she shouted. She didn’t let me think. She wrapped the jacket around me, opened the door and pushed me through it. “Get out there and tell that beautiful man that you love him, dammit!”

  She always knew the right thing to say.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  I RAN STRAIGHT DOWN THE LAWN and to the peninsula, stopping only when I reached the section of rock that was directly across from Saint. He was in the middle of the water, his back to me, swimming toward the other side.

  I didn’t want to wait. And I didn’t want him to come to me.

  I wanted to go to him.

  I knew how cold the water was going to be, so I took a few deep breaths and tried to prepare myself for the shock my body was about to experience. Then I stripped off my sweatshirt to keep it from weighing me down. It didn’t matter how much air I sucked into my lungs to brace myself; nothing could have made me ready for the icy liquid that splashed over my face and drenched my skin when I dove in. My muscles locked as my chest heaved. My ears were ringing. But I pushed through it, streamlining as far as I could. I didn’t have goggles to help me see or a cap to keep my hair out of my face. I was a cold mess. When I finally surfaced, I squeezed the water out of my eyes, dolphin kicked with my legs, and swept my arms into a breaststroke.

  Saint had no idea I was behind him.

  He turned on the rock when he reached the other side, and he spotted me. He stopped moving instantly. I had reached the middle of the pool; the only light was the one from his boat, but it was enough for me to see him. The intensity from his golden gaze halted me.

  “Are you fucking crazy?” he yelled.

  He didn’t give me a chance to respond. He tucked his head into the water and sprinted at me, his arms crawling over his head. When he reached me, he wrapped his arm around my waist and swam me over to the rock. “You don’t have a wetsuit on. You’re going to freeze.”

  “I don’t even feel it,” I said.

  All I felt were his hands on my waist as he readied to lift me onto the peninsula.

  “Drew—”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t called you again…and I’m sorry I haven’t returned your last few messages. And I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting.” I didn’t think he was prepared for so much regret from me. “The only way I’ll let you take me out of this water is if you come with me.”

  I tried to make myself heavier, to hold firm so I could prove to him that I wasn’t going anywhere without him. But we both knew I wasn’t physically strong enough to make him do anything he didn’t want to do. I hoped he saw my reasoning and understood what I was telling him.

  He ran his hands through his hair. Then he clutched me again and hoisted me onto the rock as if I weighed only a few pounds. His hands lingered on my leg, thoughts crossed his face in the illumination from the boat light. Several seconds later, he climbed out of the water and lifted me off my feet yet again.

  He carried me to his boat; I said nothing. I kept my silence when he set me down on one of the chairs in his kitchen, wrapping a blanket over my shoulders and tucking in the ends. Then he left to find a blanket for himself. When he finally sat down across from me, his caramel gaze consumed me. It was his turn to keep silent.

  He was waiting for an explanation. A justification.

  An answer.

  I’d left the house and sprinted down the lawn without composing what I wanted to say. All I wanted was for him to know I was sorry, and now he did. I didn’t know what to say next. But being this close, his scent wafting from his suit, his eyes drawing me in, the words came without effort. Nothing else mattered at that moment.

  Nothing but him.

  “I was scared,” I said. “Scared of admitting what I really wanted, of wanting what I really wanted. And of giving in and being hurt again.”

  “I know, Drew. Gianna told me everything. Shane, Brady—all of it.” His hand found my cheek. I was thankful that he still wanted to touch me. It had been far too long since he had. “Don’t be upset with her. I needed to understand, and now I do.”

  “I’m not upset with her,” I said. “I’m upset with myself. I should have been the one to tell you.”

  He nodded, sliding his hand through my hair and tilting my head so our eyes were aligned.

  “Say it, then,” he whispered.

  “I’m staying.”

  His teeth sank into my bottom lip. “Say it one more time.”

  “I’m staying in Maine.” The words were muffled, but he still understood me. “I’m not leaving.”

  He sucked my lip into his mouth and his tongue danced around it. I jumped up and wrapped my arms around his neck, straddling my legs over his waist. He stood and lifted me with him, holding me against his body and carrying me. I had no idea where we were going; I was too busy clawing at the neck of his wetsuit, my fingers needing to feel his skin.

  More water rained down on us, warm and forceful from the shower as steam filled the air. He pushed my back against the wall and tore off my tank top and my sweatpants. I rushed to unzip his wetsuit. There was almost no separation between our naked bodies.

  His muscles flexed as I gently scraped my nails over his back. It was as if I could feel the bars of the traps that were inked on his skin, as if the pressure of my fingers was opening them to free us both. My lips skimmed over the waves on his arms. Despite the sensations that were pulsing through me, I couldn’t ignore the symbolism, what this meant and how far we’d come. There was nothing left to cage us from each other anymore.

  Not even us.

  “Tell me again,” he breathed over my chest, his lips hovering just above my nipple. “Tell me you’re mine.”

  I gripped his cheeks and pulled his face toward me. My legs tightened around his waist. “I’m yours. You have me…completely. Entirely.” My fingers glided around his neck as I reached for his hair, and I gripped it as tightly as I could. I wanted him to know I wasn’t going to let go of him again. “I’m yours, Justin…I’m yours.”

  The water ran down my chest, dripping toward every sensitive spot on my body. Saint carried me from the shower and threw me on his bed, his tongue following the trails of droplets as he licked everything, everywhere. His teeth circled each rise again and nibbled at them; his hands found my wetness and he used his fingers to fill me. Soft moans came from his mouth; louder sounds streamed from mine.

  He finally gave me what I’d desired, stopping just long enough to put on a condom. When he entered me, we moved together in a rhythm that allowed both of us to flex our hips and meet in the middle. We ground and circled each other. He sensed the pressing need from the other parts of my body and used his fingers and lips to give them what they enjoyed.

  His breathing was my guide. And when there was a change in his sounds, a quickening, it triggered something within me…a build. His lips crashed down over mine, my hands wrapped around his neck and tugged him even closer. We shuddered together.

  He didn’t pull away or leave me. He stayed inside, tracing my chin, my cheeks, my lips with the tips of his fingers. He was using his touch to show me his emotions. His love.

  I needed to know that he’d heard mine.

  “I love you, Saint.”

  I finally felt free enough to say it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  SAINT HELD MY HAND AS WE WALKED into Paul’s office. I didn’t know why he had requested this meeting or what he wanted to discuss. Maybe it was about the check that I’d asked him to write from the Coswells’ account and give to his son. Andy had spent so much time helping me with the renovations and preparations. Even though I’d decided not to sell the property, I wanted to make sure he was compensated for his time.

  “Where’s Bella?” the secretary as
ked. “I got her a treat.” She placed a rather large bone on the counter. It was a kind gesture considering how our initial interaction had gone.

  “She’s at home,” I said, savoring the significance of the word. “Sleeping, I’m sure.”

  The door to Paul’s office was open. He waved us in.

  Saint continued to hold my hand as we took a seat in the chairs in front of his desk. My eyes wandered around the office. I couldn’t help but recall the last time I’d been in here. It had only been six weeks earlier, but so much had changed in that short time. There was now a Maine driver’s license inside my wallet. Gianna had purchased a return ticket, but she would only be in Florida long enough to grab some of her things and her car. Then she was driving straight back to Maine. She wasn’t sure the move would be permanent, but she was falling in love with this state as much as I was. And because I spent every night on Saint’s boat, she basically had the house to herself. Not staying there made mornings much less awkward, since Shane arrived at the house to finish the renovations at the same time Saint usually left for work.

  Shane hadn’t taken on a protective father role yet, but my love life wasn’t something I wanted to throw in his face. He was getting a little edgier every day, a little less patient. It was because of Brady. He still hadn’t returned, and we’d had no luck finding him. Saint helped with the search, checking all the places his dad had hid out over the years before he’d gone to rehab. But Brady wasn’t in any of those locations. Until he turned up on his own, there was nothing we could really do.

  Still, it troubled us all.

  “It’s nice to see you, Drew.” Paul smiled, his eyes moving over to Saint. “And you, Justin.” He removed several sheets of paper from his drawer and placed them in the middle of his desk. “I have some final paperwork for you to sign. Since you didn’t use all the money that had been set aside for the repairs, I was instructed to transfer the remaining balance to you.” He handed me a pen and I signed my name in all the places he indicated. “Did you happen to remember to bring the folder?” he asked.

  “I have it right here,” Saint said, placing it on the desk. It was the folder Paul had given me when I’d come to his office the first time. I hadn’t even bothered to ever look inside of it.

  Paul took the documents that I signed, made photocopies of each, and clipped them to the ones that were already stapled to the top of the folder. That was after he peeked inside, scanning the sheets in the pile. “You never opened this envelope?” he asked.

  “What envelope?” I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “The letter your grandmother wrote you. It’s right in here, and it’s still sealed.”

  He slid the envelope over to me. I read what was written on the front: From Marilyn Coswell, your grandmother.

  My chest began to tighten and a wave of heat spread over my face. “Should I open it now?”

  “Only if you’re comfortable,” Paul said.

  I looked over at Saint for guidance. His fingers moved to my shoulder, massaging the muscles, giving me his warmth and courage. “Are you okay with this?” he asked.

  “I think so.” I tore the envelope and removed the letter, unfolding it without taking my eyes off him.

  “Read it out loud,” he said. His hand lifted to the back of my neck, and he kissed me.

  My eyes went down to the paper and I began to read.

  ***

  My Dearest Drew,

  It warms me to know that you’ve decided to come to our home. I don’t believe that was an easy decision for you to make, as I have to assume you didn’t know much about your Maine family. What little you were told probably wasn’t very favorable. The truth is, we weren’t the parents your mother deserved. My husband and I made a lot of mistakes, and there are many things I wish I could change. The way we treated Rebecca is one of them.

  I remember the day as if it was yesterday. I knew something was wrong; I could tell by the look on her face. She always had a sparkle in her eyes, but on that day the sparkle was from her tears. Full of pep and vinegar, she was. A crier, she wasn’t. So I knew whatever she had to tell us was extremely difficult to share. My heart broke for my child. God knows it did.

  My husband was demanding, relentless, and a very stubborn man. He never wavered, and he never showed remorse. He ran a strict household, and Rebecca had broken one of his many rules. How he treated her was entirely wrong, and I did everything in my power to convince him of that. Lord knows I tried. But in the end, I wasn’t strong enough to choose my child over my husband. So I didn’t. I kept her room exactly the way she had left it. That was the only piece of her I had, and I went into that room as often as I could, sitting on her bed, resting my head against her pillow to smell her memory. As a mother, a child’s smell is something you never forget. I never wanted to take a chance that I would.

  Through the years, I only heard from your mother twice. I kept her letters beside my bed. But I never wrote her back, and I regret that every day. I was too ashamed. Too embarrassed by my weakness to tell her the words she deserved to hear long ago. Some say better late than never. I say your mother was better off not having me in her life. I know I wasn’t better off for not having her in mine.

  I know it sounds like I’m asking for your sympathy. I’m not. And I’m not asking you to understand my side. I’m just explaining myself and reconfirming that your mother made the right choice. I, however, didn’t. My husband would never admit this, even if he could answer me from the other side, but the news of your mother’s passing was the beginning of his descent. Neither of us had been healthy. But the news really compromised everything. Now I’ve lost him and I know I’m on my way. My light is gone. I feel it. So I thought it was time to put my affairs in order. That’s what this is. My final confession, I suppose you could say. I feel no lighter for offering it, but I felt you deserved something from me by way of an explanation.

  It was Shirley’s idea to leave you the house, although I had planned on it anyway. She wanted you to have a piece of home, even if that’s a home you may never have known about. Maine was your mother’s favorite place. Maybe now it can be yours.

  I hope you and Shirley will be able to connect as I know she would really enjoy that. She never reached out to you out of respect for your mother, but now I hope she can find a place in your life.

  My last wish is for your happiness. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Hearing the way your mother spoke about you in her letters, it sounded like she made sure of it as she didn’t want your life to be anything like hers. She was so proud of you. I am, too. And I’m hopeful. The feeling is actually stronger than hope. It’s light. It’s your light, Drew.

  With Love,

  Marilyn

  ***

  The letter gave me more clarity than I could have hoped for. It was ironic that I’d been in possession of it since I’d arrived in Maine. Had I just faced the fear and opened the file, so many of my questions could have been answered from the beginning. It would have saved me weeks of sleepless nights and dwelling on the unknown. But maybe if I had learned the truth earlier on, I wouldn’t have stayed.

  Maybe I wouldn’t have had Saint.

  And because of that, I wouldn’t have taken any of it back. Not the tears, not the unknown, not the solitude or the bite of the frigid water.

  None of it.

  “Have you spoken to Shirley yet?” Paul asked.

  My eyes gradually rose and met his. I shook my head. “She left a voicemail, but we haven’t been able to connect.”

  “Shirley did push Marilyn to leave you the house. I thought you should know.”

  Maybe that was what Shirley had been referring to in her message when she said she had important things to discuss. I knew we would chat eventually and it would give me a chance to connect with her and to thank her for what she had done. Without her influence on Marilyn, I never would have had a reason to come to Maine and learn the truth, to drag myself out of that hole I’d been pulled into. Shirley
was a true part of my family and that meant something to me.

  More so now than ever before.

  EPILOGUE

  SAINT AND I STOOD ALONG THE ROCKY PENINSULA, wetsuits encasing our bodies and goggles covering our eyes. This time we weren’t facing the pool in front of my home. We were facing the one in front of his grandparents’. Saint hadn’t been able to swim in that water since his mother died. She’d taken him swimming there every day in the summer. It was their place, which was why he lapped across the Coswells’ water instead. It hurt less. I understood that perfectly.

  But it was time to dispel some of that pain.

  It was time to create new memories.

  I stared at him in the same way he had gazed at me while we’d been in Paul’s office.

  I’m right here for you.

  He looked back at me in a similar way. He wasn’t the only one pushing through his cage. I was, too. His hands moved over his head, preparing to dive in, and mine hung before me, gripping my camera.

  This was the first time we had been swimming during the day. I couldn’t help but appreciate how different his suit looked in the light. It hugged all the right places, wrapping the width of his muscles, the flatness of his stomach, the bulge that hung just beneath.

  “Are you ready?”

  “I think so,” I finally replied.

  I kneeled down to rest my camera on the rocks. Before it left my grip, he stopped me. “No, Drew, I want to remember this moment, and you’re going to make sure that I do by capturing it for me. We’re doing this together.”

  Together.

  “I’ll ask you again,” he said, smirking. “Are you ready?”

  I straightened my legs, shifting my feet to find the proper stance, and adjusting the settings for a daytime exposure. Everything had to be just right. I only have one chance to get this shot, and I wasn’t going to miss it. Not for him.

  Not for me.

  “I’m ready,” I said.

  “Wait…I have another idea.” He turned his back to me and pointed at the zipper. “Unzip me.”