Knots

by Chanse Lowell

And here she was, trapped in his car, driving to a beach when she should’ve been headed to the place her late husband would be laid to rest.

  “Thanks for helping me get through that service,” she said, her throat constricting on her.

  She cleared it and swallowed.

  Why was she always such a mess around Mark? What was it about him?

  “Thanks for allowing me to do that for you.” He smiled once more, and his eyes were so soft when he looked at her, she melted into her seat.

  Her head drifted to the side, and she took in the sights out her window. It was better than staring at that gorgeous face and those cerulean blue eyes of his. Her light blue eyes seemed so dull compared to his vibrant, electric color. They reminded her of the beautiful ocean pictures Pono had framed and put up in their bathroom from his previous homes—Tonga and Hawaii.

  Mark’s chiseled jaw and strong cheekbones reminded her of the carbon-looking ocean cliffs in those same photos.

  She took in a deep breath, allowing her lungs to fill to capacity, hoping it would clear her head, but it had the opposite effect.

  Inhaling his scent was doing things to her.

  Her right hand was stroking her black leather seat. Had Mark ever sat over here?

  Had he been intimate with other women in this car?

  Oh, God, she was depraved. Why was she imagining him having sex on this very seat with someone other than Tia, his girlfriend?

  Then again, why was she imagining him having sex with anyone at all?

  She closed her eyes, and the vision of some nameless woman, sitting here in this seat with her legs spread, morphed and became herself.

  It was Jeanie, gripping the seat as he thrust his way inside her and stared deep into her eyes with that trademark smirk he usually wore.

  When she opened her eyes, he was staring, not like in her vision, but in concern. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, fine. Just thinking . . .”

  “What about?”

  “The ocean.” She ran her fingertip along the seam of her seat. “We always said we’d move here someday, but then he started saving every penny for another goal, and that dream had to wait. I’ve always liked the sound of the ocean and the feel of the spray on my face when we went sailing those few times.”

  He smiled. “It’s not too late to do those things. You should move here.”

  She blinked so hard, her eyes scrunched up for a second. “Yeah, I’ve been considering it. I like the idea of being closer to his family, but I worry they’ll be all over me, and I like having my space.”

  “Think about it. I could help you out,” he said.

  A lump slammed down in her stomach. “How?”

  “However you need,” he answered.

  “Would Tia be okay with that?” Her eyes narrowed a little, and her brow slanted toward the bridge of her nose.

  “It’s not her call to make, but you’re welcome to check with her if you want.” He pulled out his phone and extended it to her.

  She shoved his hand away. “I believe you—it’s fine.”

  She pulled her hand away from the seat, since it was starting to feel OCD in nature—the way she was caressing it like an old lover.

  His eyes followed her hands as she clasped them together and rested them in the center of her lap.

  They arrived at the beach, and she slipped her heels off.

  “I won’t be long,” she said, turning to him.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Before she could protest, he was out of the car and opening her door for her, helping her out.

  Once her hand was in his for assistance, it managed to stay there.

  They roamed out onto the black and white marbled-looking sand.

  “This is my favorite beach. I always thought the sand was so crazy here, but I loved it. Pono would joke if he looked at it too long, it would blind him.” She crossed her eyes. “Then he’d make dorky faces at me.”

  “Is it hard to remember those times?” he asked.

  “No, not really. It’s the good times that I remember most. What hurts is that I . . .” she trailed off.

  He squeezed her hand. “Since we don’t have a lot of time, I won’t press it, but I want you to finish that thought later tonight with me.”

  She nodded and stared out across the ocean.

  The waves lapped at the shore, and there were a few surfers out there, silhouetted in the sun.

  Her feet edged on the moist sand, and she sighed. God, it felt so good to have the cool granules gripped under her toes.

  “Better?”

  She sighed even louder. “Better.”

  “I can tell. Your cheeks colored almost instantly, and your pupils dilated. It’s like it made you slightly high.” He chuckled.

  “Oh great . . . Another issue to deal with,” she said, mocking herself.

  “You don’t have any issues other than letting go.”

  “Exactly—and that’s pretty damn huge.”

  He exhaled, and it was loud and husky. “Jeanine, just stop. Stop doing this to yourself. You’re an amazing woman, and he knew that, his family knows it, and so do I. Stop pretending you’re anything other than wonderful.”

  She swallowed down the dirty words she wanted to vomit up and then let go of his hand.

  He stayed where he was, a few feet back from the shoreline, since he had on his nice dress shoes.

  She roamed deeper down the beach, entranced with the sunlight sparkling off the water.

  When the waves washed over her feet, she gasped.

  “Oh, fuck! I always forget how cold this water is!” She yelped and jumped.

  He laughed. “I’ve never heard you swear before.”

  “Yeah, it’s not often it slips, but it happens when I’m surprised or angry. Pono didn’t like it, so I was constantly trying to keep from doing it,” she said, grinning and biting into her top lip, then rubbing her bottom teeth across it. “It mostly came out in the bedroom . . . Well, when things would heat up.” She turned away. Guilt crushed into her once again, more forceful than the waves pushing at her legs. Things had been anything but hot between her and Pono over the last few months. She couldn’t even recall the last time they had sex.

  A few minutes later, she looked back over at Mark.

  He smirked, and there was a naughty glint in his eyes. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises.”

  She squeaked like a mouse and tucked her chin to her chest. “Why do I wind up saying inappropriate things every time I’m around you?”

  He offered half a shrug, then she looked away.

  “You have a habit of disarming me, too, so I don’t think I can take full blame on this one.” He took a step closer to her.

  She smiled, and though her feet were frozen already from the cold water, her insides were heating at an alarming rate.

  “We should probably get going. Thanks for letting me do this,” she said, making sure her skirt had stayed out of the water, and then sloshed back out of the receding wave.

  He held his hand out to her and gave her a look that said there was no way she was going to contest taking it.

  Without a word, she grabbed it and her heart sped up upon contact.

  He walked close at her side, his stride slow enough so she could keep up. She was taller than most women she knew, but this guy was six-foot-five, like Pono.

  Her five-foot-nine frame usually managed, but not as well when she was bare foot like she was right now. When her heels were back on it might be different.

  Once they were at the car, he helped her in, shut her car door and they were driving away from the one place she longed to be right now.

  The drive to the cemetery was quiet. Her cell phone rang once, but she ignored it.

  After they parked and got out, instead of taking her hand, he put his arm around her shoulders and guided her to where the mourners were gathered.

  “I love how the women all wear white,” she whispered as they approached.

  M
ark chuckled. “I do, too. I like how they choose to celebrate the deceased person’s life rather than focus on the death.”

  Her head tipped back, and she beamed at this man at her side.

  Why had she been so scared to see him today?

  He somehow seemed to say all the right things to her. If it wasn’t for him, she’d be a mess and barely functioning by now.

  “Sorry we were late. I needed to run an errand real quick,” Mark told Toloa when they found her seated at the front, waving them over the same way she had at the service.

  “What kind of errand?” Toloa’s eyes narrowed at him.

  “I forgot to bring this with me, and I wanted you to have it,” he said, pulling out a picture of Pono and Mark two years ago from their graduation at Arizona State University.

  “Oh, thank you!” Toloa cried and jumped up, smothering his cheek with a kiss and then hugging him.

  “You’re welcome. He’ll be missed,” he replied.

  They all sat down, and the minister was before them once more, speaking about the burial site and going on and on about how Pono was in a better place.

  Jeanie tuned him out and stared at the tan-colored coffin covered in tropical flowers that smelled so fragrant it almost made her nose itch.

  There were more songs shared, but of course, Jeanie didn’t join in. A few of them were familiar, but her internal strength failed her.

  Before long, Pono was lowered into the ground.

  Tears were shed.

  There were words shared, and if it hadn’t been for Mark taking her hand when she needed it halfway through, she might’ve bolted.

  She’d never felt more of a hypocrite in her life with her few tears she’d released.

  “Come home with us. We’re having a feast my sister made, and I know you love our food,” Toloa said to them both.

  “Uh, I’m sorry, but I was driving all night. I really need to crash for a little bit. Can I come over and visit tomorrow?” Jeanie offered.

  Toloa’s face fell. “What? My daughter-in-law isn’t staying with us?”

  Jeanie flinched. “I’m sorry—I didn’t want to impose. I know you’ve got a full house as it is, and Mark’s got an empty spare bedroom. He’d already offered, and I accepted.”

  Oh God! What had she just done? That was her out with Mark, and she blew it.

  Her spine went rigid and solidified in place.

  Mark gripped her hand tighter. “I’ll make sure she gets over to your house by lunch time tomorrow. Sound good?”

  Toloa smiled, but it was stiff. “I will see you tomorrow no matter what.” She pointed at Jeanie.

  “Of course. I’ve got a few things of Pono’s I brought back for you anyway.” Jeanie sniffed back the tears.

  Toloa’s eyes softened.

  “Thanks for everything,” Jeanie said, and out of nowhere, she let go of Mark’s hand. She felt obligated and awkward, but she managed to lunge forward and hug the woman she’d called mother over the last three years.

  The group of people surrounding the burial site were still singing.

  “Let’s get you home,” Mark said.

  Warmth built up inside Jeanie at the sound of those words. It was like a ray of sunshine somehow seeped through her tough exterior and found its way inside.

  Home.

  Why did that sound so delectable?

  She said her goodbyes, and a few people gave strange, judgmental looks at her fingers entwined with Mark’s.

  They could think what they wanted. She’d explain later he was only a friend, and somehow, his presence, his touch, anchored her and made her feel more right than anything else ever had—including Pono.

  Did that even make sense?

  It didn’t to her, but she wasn’t in the frame of mind to fight it.

  Not now.

  Chapter 2

  “So, why is this room empty?” Jeanie asked.

  He set her bags inside the door for her.

  “It’s a long story,” he said, gripping the edge of the door frame.

  God, those powder-blue eyes framed against her dark lashes and pale skin about did him in.

  He was leaning toward her and was a moment away from grabbing her and kissing her pouty lips.

  “I’ll share what you wanted to know earlier if you tell me,” she said.

  He paused and backed away.

  “Dinner first,” he insisted. “You’re starving, and so am I. I’ll order in. Any preference?”

  “Anything’s fine—I’m not picky.” She took a seat on the edge of the bed. Her shoulders fell forward.

  “Rest. I’ll come get you when the food’s here.” He closed the door behind him.

  Five minutes later, he checked on her, and she was sound asleep, dressed in something more comfortable.

  She must’ve been completely exhausted, since she’d told him on a few different occasions about how she was a poor sleeper and how it took her a long time to shut her mind down before sleep would come.

  He hadn’t ordered the food yet, since he knew she needed to rest first. The only reason he told her he was going to order was so she’d unwind and stop worrying about every little thing.

  He pulled out his phone and dialed Tia.

  “Hey,” he said before she could say anything when she answered her phone. “I need a minute of your time.”

  “Yes, Sir. What can I do for you?” Tia answered.

  “She’s here. She might call you. I’ll tell her tonight what happened, but if she does contact you, I don’t want you saying anything more than what happened between us. I know you like to matchmake, and I’m telling you right now—don’t.” He pulled a shot glass down and poured himself a drink. God, he needed it with her in the other room, asleep in what was once . . .

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was better if he didn’t think about what that room was once used for and how he wanted that with Jeanie more than he should.

  “I can do whatever you want, Sir, but she’s going to figure it out soon enough,” she said.

  “Don’t start. Just listen to me on this one.” He took a gulp of his drink and rolled his neck from side to side.

  “What is it this time? You don’t think she’s ready to hear it?”

  “Jesus! Her husband just died. Of course she’s not ready, and just because you think she’s interested doesn’t mean you’re right.” He took another swallow. “All I want is for her to be happy and find her way. Be her friend, and don’t interfere. She may never want to see me or you again.”

  “Fine, Sir. I’ll do as you ask, but I think you’re wrong.”

  “You usually do.” He chuckled with the glass tipped against his lips. One more sip and he ended the call. “You better listen this time, Celestia,” he muttered to himself.

  He set the glass down, checked on Jeanine one more time and then made his way to the living room.

  His mind was made up.

  There were some things that needed to be said for her benefit—not his. She might not like it, but there was no way he was going to keep this shit to himself.

  An hour later, he could hear her moaning in her sleep.

  He went ahead and ordered some food, then went to wake her up.

  When he opened her door, she bolted upright and yelped. “What the fuck?”

  “Sorry,” he said, chuckling. “I wanted to let you know the food was on its way.”

  “God, I . . . Okay,” she sighed, releasing her shirt she had clutched up under her chin like she was afraid she’d been indecent and thought she was covering up with the bed sheets.

  She rubbed her eyes a second later.

  “Can you give me a minute? I’ll be right out,” she said, slouching back against the headboard.

  “Sure. I have something I wanna give you when you’re ready.”

  He left and closed the door.

  Each time he heard movement in her room, his heart sped and his stomach threatened to drop out of him.

  Fuck. He neede
d to get this over.

  She exited the room about a million years later, dressed in one of Pono’s college jerseys and some boxers—clearly not her husband’s since they actually fit her and Pono weighed well over three-hundred pounds when he passed away.

  Her hair was mussed, and his mind immediately wondered if this was what it would look like after fucking her senseless, fisting at the roots, and pulling on it. His groin tightened when her tits bounced as she rubbed her arms.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  Her nipples poked at the fabric as if to answer his question.

  “I’m fine,” she said, padding her way into the room.

  “Jean—tell me.” He looked her straight in the eye, and she froze. “Are you cold?”

  “Yeah, a little.” She went back to rubbing her arms.

  “Thank you for sharing that. Now, take a seat. I’ll get you a blanket and a drink.” He went to the closet and took down a fleece blanket, then headed back to her. After the blanket was given to her, he was back in the kitchen, pulling out two wine glasses and grabbing a bottle of wine from the fridge.

  She tucked her hair behind her ears and sat on his sofa, stiff as could be, with the blanket loose over her legs.

  “Make yourself at home.” He opened the bottle, got her a drink and brought it over to her.

  She had the look of a cornered animal when he sat next to her and handed her the glass.

  “If you don’t feel comfortable here, we can move to the living room,” he said, motioning to the area he was talking about.

  “No, it’s fine. I always liked your family room.” She was almost inaudible when she said family.

  Fine—there was that word again. “It’s not fine. You look like I sat you on top of a cactus. What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, I . . . It’s just, I’m trying to take in the surroundings, that’s all.”

  “What is it about them that’s making you uncomfortable?” He glanced around.

  She took a big gulp of her drink, and then he realized it wasn’t the room—it was him. He was what was agitating her.

  Instead of giving her space and backing off, he scooted closer.

  “Am I upsetting you?”

  She averted her eyes away from him and took another drink. “No. Why would you say that?”