“Have you talked to him tonight?” Marshall asked me, controlling his voice with effort. He was jealous, as I well understood, and jealousy was a difficult thing to control.
“No,” I said quietly, closing my eyes, willing Liam to hang up before I screamed. At last my phone fell dark again, and I rolled away, covering my face.
“Come here,” Marshall said. “Don’t be upset. Please don’t be upset. You haven’t done anything wrong. I won’t let you feel that way.”
“Haven’t I?” I whispered, unable to allow myself to roll back towards him. He curled one hand around my waist and kissed my shoulder.
“No,” he said with certainty. “You haven’t. Tomorrow you can call him and tell him that you’re breaking up.”
“So now you’re telling me what to do?” I asked, not meaning to sound so confrontational. I was scared and ashamed of myself, and my default emotion was anger.
Marshall’s warm naked body seemed too far away. I longed to scoot back against him but I didn’t dare. He said tightly, “Of course not. But I think I have the right to expect something from you after today.”
My phone interrupted us again, this time with a text message.
Shit, I thought, and then Marshall moved without asking me and handed it over, though not without reading it first.
Liam had written, I’m worried. Call me, sweet pea. Love u. How’s Tish?
I cringed and felt a stinging whiplash of guilt, hot as boiling water to the face.
I told myself viciously, Look at how you’ve acted and what you’ve done.
There is no way to avoid hurting someone who doesn’t deserve it. And it’s your fault, Ruthann, all yours.
Marshall’s tension was nearly visible, emanating from him in fiery-hot waves. He whispered, “He calls you ‘sweet pea’?”
This could have come across sounding insulting and deriding; instead I heard only barely-controlled pain in his voice.
“It’s from a movie he likes,” I said back inanely, tears scraping the edges of my eyelids.
“It suits you,” Marshall said, and his throat sounded raw. He acknowledged, “He loves you.”
“He does,” I said, hardly a whisper. I tried desperately to explain, “I don’t want to have to hurt him. Oh Marshall, I’m not in love with him, but I do care for him. And I will hurt him so much when I break up with him.”
“You need to tell him the truth,” he said intently. “You owe yourself that.”
“I hate to think about hurting him,” I said again, and it was true. “He’s been my boyfriend for the last four years. I owe him more than this.”
“Such as what? Such as, you owe him yourself?” Marshall demanded. He rolled to his forearms and said hotly, “You don’t owe him that much. Besides, I won’t allow it.”
“Allow it?” I stormed back. Our voices were growing louder.
“Call him right now and tell him that it’s over,” Marshall insisted.
“Don’t tell me what to do!”
“Then everything you just said to me is bullshit, is that it? About us being right together,” he said heatedly.
“No!” I half-yelled, before throttling my voice down with real effort. I hissed, “None of it was bullshit! It’s more real than anything I’ve ever felt! And I know you know that! You’re being deliberately mean right now!”
He drew an angry breath, taking his temper in hand with real effort, I could tell. At last he admitted in a whisper, “I’m just so fucking scared, that’s all. I’m scared you’ll feel bad enough to go back to him.”
I whispered, “I’ll tell him, but my own way, all right? And you can’t get so upset with me. I won’t have that, do you understand?”
“Ruthann,” he said, and the edge in his voice had washed away. Softly he said, “Come here. Please, come here. I do have a terrible temper, I’m sorry.”
I could no more refuse than I could stop the sun from striking the earth tomorrow morning. I went, gladly, into his arms and the warm scent of him, burying my face against his neck. I clung and he held.
“I know you didn’t expect this, but it happened. And I am not going to let you go without a fight, do you understand that?” he whispered into my ear. He caressed my hair, my spine, my shoulder blades, his fingers seeming to trace the bone structure beneath my skin.
It struck me what he’d said and I whispered, “Do you mean you expected it?”
“I’ve known we’d be together since I saw your picture that first night,” he whispered back. “And I will fight dirty if I have to, I don’t care. You need to know that.”
“Marshall,” I breathed, despising the thought of him fighting at all. I admitted, “I never get mad. I was almost yelling at you.”
He made a soft sound, almost a laugh but not quite. He whispered, “Maybe it’s about time you actually got mad once in a while.”
I flicked his earlobe. He snorted a laugh, catching my hand before I flicked an even more sensitive spot.
“Got you,” I muttered, my hair all tangled between us.
“Stay here,” Marshall whispered.
“I wish it was that simple,” I whispered, my throat raw with emotion.
“It is,” he said. “Now that you’re in my arms, it’s that simple.”
Gently he turned me so that we were spooning, tucking my back to his chest and collecting me close. We slept for a time, braided together. It was perhaps a half hour before dawn that Marshall stirred. I had been awake for a few minutes, allowing myself the pleasure of being held close to him as he slept. I was trying not to think beyond this minute, or the next, making note of each detail as though it was for the last time. I was agonized; in probably less than an hour, my mother would be driving east to collect me.
What will you do?
Aunt Jilly would tell me to listen to my gut.
What do you want?
Already I knew the answer, even before my entire body seemed to pulse with awareness.
Marshall. I want Marshall.
But doubt came creeping, rendering me terrified. When it came down to it, I had only known Marshall for a few weeks, counting the summer three years ago. I could not deny that our physical connection was something that I had never realized two people could share. I felt ridiculously naïve, now existing with this knowledge, these feelings, in completely uncharted territory. The powerful nature of our attraction to each other rendered me nearly senseless, with longing and arousal and the need for more. If I was back home in Minnesota, with distance between us, would I slowly forget how I’d felt here?
And a far deeper terror gripped my innards at the thought of that.
I don’t want to forget. I don’t want it to stop.
I edged closer to the man behind me, whose arms held me securely even in sleep, whose breathing was deep and even against my hair, who had caused passion to flow unchecked, totally uninhibited, through my body. Marshall, who understood more about me in less than a week than Liam would understand in a lifetime.
I breathed out in a rush of anguish, thinking of leaving Marshall here without me, of never seeing him again. Almost against my will, I thought next of Liam’s soft blue eyes, the tender way he held me, all of the things he had done for me since we’d begun referring to ourselves as a couple years ago. I knew Mom and Blythe adored him; he was Clinty’s best friend.
Everyone expected us to get married, including Liam’s kind and loving parents, who already considered me their daughter-in-law. His mother had been teasing us about grandchildren for the past year. Liam was her only child, so she was depending on him. Liam would do anything I asked, would never think of fighting with me, would cherish me all our lives.
I knew this, and felt sicker than ever at the thought of hurting him. Guilt crawled over my skin and itched along my scalp.
In a hundred years, Liam and I would never achieve the level of intimate intensity that had sprung to throbbing life between Marshall and me in one day and night spent in each other’s company.
I knew this, too.
Marshall made a soft sound in his throat and then he breathed my name as though he was still caught up in a dream. He curled me closer and I turned to face him, my body responding instinctively, getting my arms around his neck. He murmured in happiness, low and sweet, his eyes still closed as his hands spread across my back and drew me flush against him.
“Good morning,” he whispered sleepily, and I pressed closer, sheltered against him, his hands warm on my skin.
“Morning,” I whispered, and curved my thighs around him in the oldest and most natural of invitations between a man and a woman.
His eyes opened then and drove into mine.
“No condom…” he whispered, though this protest was noticeably without conviction.
“Just don’t come inside me,” I murmured, breathless now; he was as hard as a telephone pole. I shifted to take his entire length, gasping as he slid all the way in, where I was hot and wet, more than ready for him.
“Ruthann,” he said intently, holding me around the back of my hips, tipping me into his thrusts. He whispered, his voice husky, “I can’t believe how beautiful you are. You’re like an angel in my arms.”
“Marshall,” I gasped, overcome, my hands on his collarbones, feeling the lean muscles of his chest tightening with each movement of his lower body. I stroked his bottom lip with my tongue and he rolled me swiftly beneath him, able to plunge as deeply as possible now, and my breaths became moans, which he collected with his kisses. I shuddered as he rocked into me, taking me past all reason, the passion on his face creating a swell of such emotion in my heart that I could hardly hold it all inside.
“You feel…so good…” he gasped out. “Oh God…oh God…Ruthann…”
“Yes,” I moaned in return, holding him as deeply as I could, my thighs spread beneath him, taking it all. His lips were parted with his fierce breaths and he trembled in my arms. I cried out as I shattered apart and not a second later he pulled out, collapsing over me. I cradled him.
After a moment he whispered against my neck, “I’ve always used a condom, until you. I can’t even describe…”
“I love feeling you inside me without one,” I whispered back, stroking his hair as he murmured in heartfelt agreement, and we didn’t move or speak again until dawn sent its first silver-pink tendrils over the eastern horizon.
“Marshall, I’m so scared,” I whispered as the daylight stole seconds from us. I held onto him as hard as I could. I felt that with the morning’s arrival all of this would have to end, as though we were in a fairy tale of old, forced apart by the dawn.
He lifted to his forearms to look into my eyes. He told me, “It will be all right, I promise you.”
“How?” I whispered desperately. I studied the streaks of blue in his gray eyes, the spokes of green; it was light enough in the room for me to see the different shades in his irises, and I knew that only meant he had to hasten out of here and back to his own room, so we wouldn’t be caught.
“It will,” he insisted softly, brushing his thumbs over my cheekbones, the backs of his fingers against my jaw. He said, “Trust me. I want that. I want you to trust me.”
“I do,” I said honestly, my hands in his hair. “I do trust you.”
He said, “Leaving you in here alone is harder than just about anything I’ve ever had to do. But I have to get back to my room. Dad would skin me alive for sneaking in here and taking advantage of you this way.” Despite everything there was a glint of humor in his eyes, but I could not muster up a smile. He saw this and cupped my face, tenderness replacing all else in his expression. He told me, “It will be all right. Believe me.”
I caught his wrists in my hands.
“Trust me,” he murmured, softly, kissing me flush on the mouth, cradling my face in his hands. He drew back and his eyes opened and held fast to mine. “Please, Ruthann Marie.”
“Thank you for last night. For everything,” I told him, with my whole heart. My voice wobbled and I clung to his wrists, pressing my thumbs against the bones on the outside edges.
“It’s just the beginning,” he said softly.
There was definite activity from other parts of the house, and Marshall moved quickly then, hurrying into his abandoned jeans and t-shirt; he grabbed the used condom and flushed it down the toilet. I felt a cold twisting of nausea now that he was at the point of leaving this bedroom, ending what we had just shared, the amazing beauty of what had happened between us. At the last second he darted back to the bed and scooped me close, kissing my lips, my neck, my breasts, belly and pubic hair before moving back up my body and holding me securely to his chest, so close that surely nothing would ever separate us again.
“It will be all right,” he said intently, his eyes burning into mine, and then he was gone, closing the door silently behind him.
I breathed out in a painful rush, physically hurt by his absence, sitting naked in the bed we had just shared. I pressed both hands to my lower belly, closing my eyes as I thought about what had happened, what Marshall had made me feel in the last few days. As though in response, simultaneously reprimanding and dragging me back to reality, my stupid, intrusive phone flashed and vibrated. My heart cramped up, but I knew I had to answer.
Liam was calling again, and I could sense his concern, even two states away. I knew I had to face talking to him and I pressed the icon to answer, my throat closing off with guilt and the crushing weight of responsibility. I thought of Marshall’s words last night, his insistence that I tell Liam we were over, our relationship ended as of today.
“Hey,” I said, answering on what had to be the fifth or sixth ring, my voice husky.
“Ruthie, I’ve been so worried,” Liam said in response, his familiar voice right in my ear; it was as though he was in the room with me, and my stomach clenched up.
“No,” I said, clearing my throat a little. “I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
“I talked to Clint last night,” he said, and I could picture him combing his left hand through his blond hair, roughing it up as he did when he was agitated. I knew all of Liam’s mannerisms, down to his habit of chewing the skin around his thumbnail when he was talking on the phone. It had always driven me straight up the wall.
Then I thought of the way Liam held me close and rubbed his chin on my hair, the way he smelled of his particular brand of cologne, which he’d worn since he was sixteen and in high school. The tender way he told me that he loved me. Liam, who would care for me always, as I knew without question, who would be ripped to shreds if I dared to tell him what was poised, heated and intense, begging to be released, on the tip of my cheating tongue.
Marshall’s eyes flashed into my mind then and, traitor-like, my heart came at once alive in my chest. I pictured his face, distinctly different than Liam’s, and I could not catch my breath. I pressed my free hand to my heart in attempt to still its desperate pace.
Liam was saying, “Clint told me about how Tish got married. I’m happy for her, but I have to say, I was pretty surprised, mostly that she found a guy to put up with her, you know what I mean?” He laughed a little at this; as Clint’s best friend, Liam had known Tish for years and felt wholly comfortable making this observation. Tish had always intimidated Liam a little, even if he wouldn’t exactly admit it, with her outspoken attitude and the way she didn’t mince her opinions. He continued, “Why didn’t you call me, sweetie? I miss you so much. Are you coming home now?”
I drew a determined breath and said quietly, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you last night. I was just so tired.” And now I was a liar in addition to being a cheating slut of a girlfriend. I closed my eyes and continued, “Tish and Case got married in his hospital room. I’m so happy for her.” Tears burned in my eyes and in my throat as I repeated, “So happy for both of them.”
“Aw, I wish I could have been there,” my boyfriend said.
I lay on my side and curled up, pitiful and pathetic, ashamed. And yet I knew to my bones that even if I ha
d the power to go back in time and prevent yesterday and last night from happening, that I would not. Not for one second would I change what had happened, as terrible as that might seem to anyone on the outside looking in; I closed my eyes and breathed shallowly through my nose, trying to refocus on Liam’s voice. Trying not to think about Marshall’s mouth on every inch of my skin – trying not to think about his eyes and the way he tasted, the sensitivity and strength of his hands. Being wrapped in his absolute passion, his intensity.
In time, would that fire burn away, leaving me utterly wrecked? As destroyed as my sister and Case’s barn, charred and hollow and requiring massive rebuilding?
I don’t know, I just don’t know, I agonized.
“Ruthie, you there? I think we must have a shitty connection,” Liam said.
“I’m here,” I said quietly. My heart insisted, Tell him. Do it, tell him the truth and be done with it.
But I could not yet muster the wherewithal to annihilate him. Sunlight came poking through the bottom edge of the pale window curtains, golden and lovely, seeming to promise renewal. Chickening out, I said, “I’ll call you later today,” and hung up before he could say another word.
A sudden knock on the door sent me jerking so hard that the phone went flying from my fingertips and clattered on the wooden floor. I flipped instantly beneath the scrambled covers, tugging them securely to my nose, still naked. The knocking again and then Wy was saying, as though his face was right against the door, “Ruthann! You awake? It’s breakfast pretty quick here.”
My nerves refused to settle. I told him, “I’ll be down in a little while.”
“It’ll get cold if you don’t hurry,” he pressed, not to be deterred.
“Buddy, leave her alone!” I heard someone call, probably from the foot of the stairs. It wasn’t Marshall; maybe Quinn?
“Give me just a minute,” I told Wy.
“K,” was all Wy said, sounding a little pouty. I heard his footsteps as he retreated, imagining him moving dejectedly away.
I realized I couldn’t hide out in here in this bed that was full of the scent of Marshall, and of our lovemaking; before I crept to the tiny attached bathroom, I held the sheets to my nose and inhaled again and again, until I felt light-headed. I showered for a good fifteen minutes, letting the steaming water streak over my skin. I pressed my palms flat to the wet yellow tiles, then my forehead, reliving last night without letup, my stomach fluttering wildly, occupied by a thousand half-panicking birds.
Until Tomorrow Page 17