by Dianne Drake
He stiffened, pulled away from her. But she reached over and laid a reassuring hand on his arm. “Palloton told me. No details, but I know you’ve had that kind of love in your life. That kind of commitment. I haven’t, and I know, better than anyone, that I put on the front that I don’t want it. That’s because I don’t know what it is. I have no idea how to find a place for it yet. And I say yet because I want someone in my life, and I want to reconcile all these things in me that keep me pulled away, because I’d love to be in love. Or have the friend you have in Palloton. Or someone like Priscilla.
“Being alone really is the thing that will hurt you the most, Jack. It’s something I know better than you, because you have people around you who do care. I never have, and I know that pain. You don’t deserve it, no matter how much you think you do.” Carrie stood on tiptoe and brushed a light kiss to his cheek, even though she knew he wouldn’t want it. But she did. It felt right, and in her world if it felt right, she went with it. That came of a world that, for a long time, had never felt anything but wrong. A world she didn’t want back but that always loomed over her as a threat, telling her how close it really was. “I don’t know what your demons are, but I hope you don’t let them win.”
“They already have,” he said sadly as he headed up the steps, alone. But halfway there he stopped, turned around and went back to her. “What I did, Carrie...” He paused, shook his head. “I was the one who caused the loneliness. For my wife. My daughter. I saw what it did to them. Saw what I did to them. So, now that they’re gone...why would I deserve any better?”
“We all do things we’re not proud of. Things that hurt others. Or ourselves. We all have our lists, but what we do with those lists—” she reached up and brushed her hand across his cheek “—can make us better or destroy us.”
“What makes you so wise?” he asked, catching her hand as it brushed his cheek and simply holding it there.
“I could say I’ve been there, done that. But that makes light of something that causes a lot of pain. What I know, I know from experience. But no matter what, I’ve always chosen to move on, because if I didn’t I’d have spent my life stuck in a place I didn’t want to be.”
“But have you ever known where you wanted to be?”
“In an idealistic sense, maybe. In reality, I’m working on it. You know, a work in progress.” She started to pull her hand from his, but he didn’t let go.
“You’re doing things to me, Carrie Kellem.”
“Even though you just told me we can’t do this?” She smiled. His touch, the night air, the stars, the distant howling of a wolf...so perfect. Was this romantic? She didn’t know. But it didn’t matter because in her narrow world this was the way she had pictured it. Wanted it.
“Did I say that?” he asked as he pulled her into his arms.
“Someone did,” she mumbled as he lowered his head and his lips pressed to hers.
His kiss was gentle at first. Then harder. More demanding. The kiss of a starving man, and she responded to it, and kissed him back every bit as hard as he kissed her, because she too was starving. Twining her hands around his neck, she pulled him closer, wanted to feel more of him. Every inch of him pressed to her. Instantly igniting her in ways she’d never been ignited before. In ways that totally shocked her. She’d never felt need like this. Or desire. Or the pure, raw pounding of want. Hadn’t known it existed. Didn’t know what to do with it other than what she was doing. Kissing him back. Enjoying the sensation of his hands skimming her body, her back, her hips. Enjoying the arousal she could feel pressing her pelvis.
She would have taken more, much more—everything he offered, in fact—his kisses, his passion, his body. And returned the same. But all too soon he broke away from her, stepped back and simply stared at her.
“I suppose I should apologize for that,” he finally said. “It wasn’t appropriate.”
“I know. Because we can’t do this,” she said, running her fingertips lightly over her already swollen lips, trying to push back the throb of emptiness, the torture of unfulfilled expectations. The letdown that went somewhere far beyond her physical frustrations.
“No, we can’t.”
But they had. And while he might be denying it to himself, he knew he wanted it. Maybe not in the permanent sense, like happily-ever-after. She wasn’t even sure she believed in that. But for the moment it was good, since that was the way she’d always lived. Moments added up, though. And maybe, just maybe, they might have more moments to add. She hoped so. Because she felt safe with Jack. He wasn’t demanding anything. Wasn’t taking anything. And that was something new to her. “Do you ever give in and let the real Jack Hanson come out? The one who enjoyed our kiss and accepts it for what it was—a nice moment between two people who aren’t set on making it out to be anything else?”
“A kiss between friends?”
“Something like that.”
He shook his head. “We live in different worlds, Carrie. In mine, friends don’t kiss like that. And that’s the problem because we did, and we can’t.” That said, he bounded up the steps and into the house, slamming shut the screen door behind him.
Carrie didn’t follow him in right away, however. Instead, she stood on the porch, smiling. Then whispered into the night, “Yes, we can. Because we just did.”
* * *
Jack was standing in the hall when Carrie finally went inside. He was outside the bedroom doors looking...normal. Looking like he hadn’t almost ravaged her on the steps outside. How could he be so cool when her lips still ached? How could he switch himself off so quickly when her pulse was still erratic?
Because he was Jack, and Jack was a master at controlling his switch. Well, most of the time. And that little bit of insight gave her hope. Not for a long-term relationship or something deep and meaningful as much as the glimmer of a better prospect for her future. With Jack? Probably not. And while having something more with him might be nice—the two of them, working side by side, loving each other, taking care of each other...
No, she wouldn’t go that far because she doubted Jack would. But she would go far enough to admit that she really didn’t want to be alone. That she wanted the things everybody else did. Happiness, love, that special person. She’d denied it in various ways for a long time, but seeing Jack in that same denial made her realize that wasn’t who she wanted to be. And for now she did have that little spark of hope that she wouldn’t turn out that way.
She feared for Jack, though. His denial was bigger, tougher. All-consuming. And that made her sad.
“Two bedrooms down the hall,” Jack said, looking down at Bella, who’d wandered in and found her spot, then plopped down right on his feet. “The larger one should be on the left, the smaller on the right. Bathroom’s at the end of the hall.”
He wasn’t complaining about Bella? That was odd. And his words were rushed. Coming faster and faster. She could hear the breathiness as he spoke. Sense the tension. And...regret? Did he regret not taking her when she’d so obviously been willing to be taken? Or did he regret that he’d come so close? Had he actually felt something?
“Jack, we need to—”
“Choose whichever bedroom you want,” he interrupted. “Make yourself comfortable while I run back to the car, grab our bags...”
He was almost choking on his words now, and she could see his panic. See his frantic need to get out of there. All over an intimacy that hadn’t happened? What was wrong with him? What was wrong with her that his regrets were so harsh and immediate? “Are you OK?” she asked. “Can I do something for you?” He looked on the verge of a panic attack. “Get you a drink of water maybe?” Or were his demons nipping too close to his heels right now?
He shook his head. Drew in a ragged breath. “I’m good. Be right back.”
With that, Jack literally ran out the door, and didn’t stop running until he was all the way d
own to the road. She watched him. Saw him stop and simply stand there, like he didn’t know what do. Silhouetted against a yellow porch light, she saw his shoulders slump. Saw him drop his head into his hands. Saw him drop to his knees and stay there. Not moving. Saw the way his shoulders moved up and down. Heavy breathing. Or sobbing.
This was a man in trouble and she wanted to go to him, to help. Not as someone trained to respond but as a friend. Only she couldn’t. Something stopped her. Stopped her from moving. Or even watching. He wouldn’t want that, and he’d probably shut her out, which was what he was good at doing. Shutting people out. Shutting her out. So she closed her eyes to Jack, then turned away from the open door. Whatever he was going through, whatever he was feeling or experiencing, he hadn’t given her the right to be privy to it. Not even the right to watch it. In fact, just seeing what she’d seen made her feel like she’d betrayed his trust. She didn’t understand why or how. But what she did understand was that Jack didn’t want to include her. And that hurt because she wanted to be included.
“Well, girl,” she said to Bella, who was stretched out on her side on an oval-shaped rag rug, thumping her tail on the floor, “how about we go find out which bed is the most comfortable?”
Taking one final look out the door, she could see Jack was still on his knees. It killed her to turn her back on him—on his suffering. She did, though. And brushed away a tear sliding down her cheek as she did so. A tear shed for something she didn’t understand. And something she did.
* * *
Jack glanced up at the moon and sighed. He had to go in there. No, this wasn’t his home, but it was identical to the house where he and Evangeline and Alice had lived for the year they’d come back to Saka’am. Built by the same builder at the same time, and just like half the houses up and down the road. He hadn’t counted on it hitting him so hard when he’d walked in the door, hadn’t counted on the way he’d felt after he’d kissed Carrie either. Like something was trying to be reborn. Something he didn’t want to let out. Then one step inside, one memory of his own home there, and it had all slammed him down. Almost to the point where he couldn’t breathe. So many reminders...
Then there was Carrie. A different kind of reminder. He was attracted to her. More than he wanted to admit. In another place, another lifetime he would have responded to her in a heartbeat. Even this evening he’d thought about it. To put everything out of his head for a little while and take what she was offering. He was a man after all. A man with needs that hadn’t surfaced in a long, long time. But that wouldn’t be fair to her.
Yes, she wanted him. He wanted her. Maybe it was simply physical, maybe more. He didn’t want to explore that. Didn’t want answers to anything. To take the step that would make him want to find out...who knew what would happen on the other side of it? More guilt to consume him? More memories of what he’d lacked with Evangeline? No, Carrie didn’t deserve that.
He did. And that was the point. He deserved the suffering, the misery, the denials. He lived quite well with it now, because the alternative was ugly. Getting back into life? Maybe into a relationship? He knew the final page of that story, and he wasn’t willing to drag anybody else onto that page with him. He’d had his shot—loving wife, beautiful daughter. But he’d made other choices. Now he had to live with those choices. That was the only way he could see his life going forward. The only way he wanted his life to go forward.
But Carrie...damn—Why her? Why now? And why didn’t he want to let her into the ugliest part of himself? It was simple, really. He didn’t want her to see that side of him. The ugly side that had been the cause of his family’s death. He wanted her to think better of him... “Better,” he said bitterly. Did he think how he’d just rejected her would make her think better of him? He wasn’t worthy of anything better. Didn’t want it either. Yet Carrie came so close to making him want it that it scared him. “Carrie Anne Kellem, what are you doing to me?” he asked, as he approached the front door. “What the hell are you doing to me?”
She was making him face himself. That was what. And she didn’t even know it. Wouldn’t know it either, because he was going to put himself back in order, to sort what he knew he deserved from these feelings creeping in, and put everything where it belonged. Easier said than done, but since when did he merit easy?
* * *
Pushing open the front door, Jack stepped inside the Yazzie house, drew in a deep breath, and braced himself for that short walk down the hall. The lights were out, except for the one in the kitchen, which cast enough of a glow down the hall that he didn’t need to turn on another light by which to see. Besides, he had the layout of this house memorized. So he padded quietly, not sure which bedroom Carrie had chosen. He peeked in the first bedroom, the smaller one, and discerned the outline of her in the bed. Ever so quietly, he placed her backpack inside the door, backed away and proceeded on to the next bedroom, where he crept in, lights off, pulled off his shirt, dropped his jeans to the floor, and eased himself into bed. He heaved a sigh of relief when he raised his feet off the floor and lay back. He was glad he hadn’t awakened her because it meant no explanations for now, and he’d let the morning take care of itself.
But as he rolled onto his left side, his normal sleeping position, he was greeted with a scream, what seemed like a dozen flailing arms, then an attack from the rear. All in the span of about two seconds. Then the light came on, and he saw Carrie standing on the floor on the other side of the bed, clutching the blanket around her, while her damned dog pinned him flat on the mattress. Licking him in the face.
“What are you doing?” she yelled, backing away until her back was pressed to the wall.
“Get the dog off me,” he yelled.
“Why were you in bed with me? Did you think that we—After you pulled away from that kiss, did you really think that you could just come back in here—” she glanced at the clock on the bedside table “—three hours later and pick up where we left off? You turned me down, Jack. I was willing to do something I don’t do, and you made it quite clear you weren’t interested when I was. Then when you decide you are interested...” She shook her head. “Just leave. I don’t want to deal with this.”
“Get the dog off me,” he yelled again, trying to push Bella away. But Bella thought it was playtime, and wrestled him back. “Carrie, I swear, if you don’t get this dog...”
Jack managed to roll out from under Bella, which landed him in the middle of the bed, even closer to Carrie, who took a couple of sideways steps, trying to get away from him. “Look, Jack, I don’t know what you were expecting here, but when someone turns me down, I walk away from it. Put it in my past.”
“Right. You move on. I get that. You’ve made it perfectly clear,” he said, still wrestling with Bella. “But I wasn’t expecting anything. I thought you were in the other room. I looked in. I saw you there.” Or, at least, what he’d thought was her. Or... “Damned dog. She sleeps in a bed, doesn’t she?”
A smile began to spread across Carrie’s face, and she started to relax. “Most of the time. Usually, she snuggles in with me, so I don’t know why she went in there.” She giggled. “Maybe she was waiting for you. She does like you, you know.”
“I don’t care what she likes,” he grumbled, suddenly realizing he was sprawled out in the middle of the bed in nothing but his briefs. Quickly, Jack pulled the bed sheet up over him, not that he was modest but because this was just damned awkward. Everything about tonight had been awkward. “How about I go to the other room, you keep your dog in here with you, and we both try to make the most of what little bit of night we’ve got left? Oh, and so you know, if I wanted a woman—which I don’t—I wouldn’t have to sneak into her bed.”
“You mean like you just sneaked into my bed?” she asked, laughing.
Jack slid toward the edge of the bed, where Bella was already stretched out and snoozing. And wouldn’t be budged when he tried. “On secon
d thoughts, you go take the other bed. And take your dog with you.” He looked her straight in the eye, grateful she hadn’t asked him why he was only now crawling into bed, and what he’d been doing for the past few hours. Because, truthfully, sitting alone on the side of the road, intermittently crying then cursing himself, wasn’t something he wanted to admit to. “Oh, and turn off the light on your way out.”
She did. But before she left, she paused for a moment, and gave him the most sympathetic look he’d ever seen in his life. “Whatever it is, Jack, I’m sorry. If you need anything, please let me know. I don’t have a lot of friends in this world, but I do know how to be a good one.”
Her words drew him in and wouldn’t let him go to sleep, even though his body was exhausted. They were words that made him wonder, even more, why he wanted to be around Carrie as badly as he did. But he did. That was the thought that eventually floated him off to sleep. He liked being with Carrie. As a friend. Maybe even...
And, yes, he’d had that other thought when they’d been kissing. The same one she’d had. The same one he was having right now, that was shoving him out of bed and down the hall to a cold shower and a long night of restlessness.
Chapter Six
THE DAY ARRIVED too early, and so did the patients. By the time Jack had finally managed to doze off, a stray rooster outside had been crowing its morning welcome, very obnoxiously. “Damn,” he’d muttered, refusing to open his eyes to the light creeping in through a parting in the curtain. He was used to rough nights, but the one he’d finally escaped had been rougher than any that had assaulted him in the past five years. Things he hadn’t dreamed before, hadn’t thought of since then had come back to him. And new things...
This morning he felt worse than if he’d drunk out half a tavern. Except he hadn’t drunk. Didn’t touch the damned stuff because he knew that if he did, he’d never stop. He’d get himself lost in the bottle and never find his way back out. Probably wouldn’t even want to because... Too much. Too much Evangeline here. Too much Alice. His home. His family. Too much of everything that had ever meant anything to him that had been gone in the blink of an eye while he’d slept in. Unforgivable.