Yvonne dropped to the ground beside him, gracefully folding her body, touching her hands to her toes in a stretch. She peeked at him, her cheek nearly touching her kneecap. “You really want to know?”
Something in how she asked the question made his stomach lurch. But when it came to Yvonne, he could honestly answer yes. He wanted to know everything. “Of course.”
“My rehab from the accident. The doctor was trying to be positive when talking about how much work I had cut out for me. They said they believed that they could get me walking again, but that I would never run a marathon. I decided to prove them wrong. I used that as my goal. My barometer. I jogged a 5K spring of my senior year and took it from there, building up my speed and distance.”
“And now you’re at… what… a seven minute mile?”
She nodded. “Seven and a half on longer runs. I have good days and bad days, though.”
“Even your bad days are probably stronger than most people’s best.”
She dropped her cheek to her shoulder, giving him a look that would rival the sternest teacher’s. “It was never about beating other people. I lived with the fear that I would never walk—let alone run—ever again. And when I found that I could not only run… but run fast, I didn’t want to give that up.”
Steve shook his head. He always knew Yvonne was something special. She had always loved animals and spent her free time volunteering at the Laconia Animal Shelter. He, on the other hand, was sent there as a punishment by his ma the summer before his senior year for sneaking out to a party after curfew. He’d been pissed that he had to spend his summer days working instead of lounging by the lake with friends. Until Yvonne showed up to volunteer as well. But she did it out of choice, not punishment. Because that’s who she was. He’d tried to resist her all school year. She was his sister’s best friend, and frankly? She seemed like a handful. The daughter of blue-blooded debutants. Despite how drawn to her he was, he kept her at arm’s length. She was too perfect. Too much like the sort of girl his dad would have loved to have seen him with. Only, no one quite realized that she had a dormant wild side to her, too. It took a few weeks of volunteering for him to really see it. The change of clothes she always brought so that her parents wouldn’t see her tank tops with the black bra showing. How she had begged him every day to give her a ride home on his motorcycle. He resisted for two whole weeks before she climbed on the back, pressing her delicate body against his. It was that summer Steve realized how much he loved animals and that he wanted to be a veterinarian. “Jesus, that’s incredible. I’ve been running for years and I’ve never been able to run that fast consistently.”
Yvonne stretched her arms above her head before falling back into the grass on her elbows. “I’m surprised you can admit that.” She sent him another look, playful, but there was a hint of seriousness there too.
Steve sat a little straighter. “Hey—I can admit when I’m outdone.”
“Even when you’re beat by a woman?”
“Especially by a woman. The way I see it, I’d rather stare at your ass as you’re running ahead of me than some dude’s.”
She smiled, but her gaze drifted off over his shoulder toward a brick house.
Steve followed her sightline to where a red Mustang sat parked in the driveway. “Seems like an impractical car for a region that gets two feet of snowfall on average six months out of the year.”
But this time, she didn’t laugh. She didn’t smile. Her cheeks flushed with little red circles and she sighed, staring ahead. If Steve wasn’t so used to that frustrated expression, he would have chalked her flush up to the run.
“Yvonne?”
“Huh?” She blinked, snapping out of her daze. “I’m sorry—”
“It’s his car, isn’t it?” Steve asked. “The ex-fiancé’s?”
She sighed, falling onto Gatsby and using his belly as a pillow. “Yeah. It is. I’ve been trying really hard not to think about him moving here. But I guess it’s really happening.”
They were quiet for another moment before Steve lay back in the grass beside her. His knuckles grazed the outside edge of her hip, and he traced the line up her waist. He knew it was a bad idea, but it felt like a marionette string was attached to his hand, pulling the weight. As though the muscles were acting without the brain’s permission. Her breath caught beside him and he froze. “I’m sorry,” he said, pushing up to a seated position again.
Her hand clamped around his wrist, squeezing. “No. Stay.” She swallowed audibly and released her hold on his arm. “It felt… nice.” She seemed to want this as much as he did. Shit, she practically pinned his body down with her gaze, and it crumbled any bit of defense he had left inside of him.
He moved his hand, curling his fingers around hers, and stretched her arm out over his stomach so that her scar was facing him. Forcing himself to see the destruction he’d caused when she went through his windshield. It was pure damn bad luck that the glass had sliced vertically along a main artery of hers. And pure damn good luck that the glass had gotten lodged there, preventing her from bleeding out. As much as he wanted to look away and massage a different part of her body instead, he forced his gaze to settle on the scar as he dragged his fingers gently up her wrist to her elbow and back down again.
Bending down, he pressed a kiss to the scar, hearing her sigh above him.
“I’m sorry for the accident. I’ve always wanted to say that. It was just as much my fault as it was yours.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and air lodged in his throat making him feel inexplicably nauseous. “Please don’t say that. We both know it’s bullshit.”
“You know it’s not bullshit. Yes, you were driving, but if I hadn’t been distracting you—Jesus, I was practically in your lap.”
“Yeah. But I was behind the wheel. I was in charge. And I shouldn’t have been driving when you weren’t buckled in.” It wasn’t often Steve let himself remember that night in detail. It was those memories that always got him into trouble, spiraling him back into depression, or worse—making him relive it all over again. He looked back to Yvonne’s bright hazel eyes and bow-shaped, pin-up girl lips that were currently curved into the sweetest pout he’d ever seen in his damn life.
“I know, Steve. I’ve known for a while judging by our very limited conversations the last thirteen years. Even if you’re not admitting it out loud, it’s probably safe to say that deep down, you agree that the accident was my fault.”
What in the hell was she talking about? Yeah, he was a little mad in the beginning that she had blamed him entirely, but the more he thought about it after reading that letter, the more he had understood. “You blamed me for the accident. You were livid. You never wanted to see me again.”
“I was mad at life—at the world—about the accident. I was mad at everything and everyone. I was a teenager who thought I’d lost my ability to walk. But that wasn’t the real reason I was mad at you.” She whirled back, nearly pulling away—and he almost let her. Almost. But some little voice deep inside told him to hang on, and that’s just what he did, his hand clasping gently around hers. Her eyes remained very serious on his. “I was mad that you abandoned me after. You and Ronnie both.”
He shook his head. “You were mad at me in the hospital, too, though.” But the truth in her voice was more sobering than a slap in the face and he studied her hard, searching for any hint that what she was saying wasn’t true. It was there—all the honesty Yvonne had to offer in the world. Did the accident also give her memory loss? Did she not remember writing that letter? Written with the only good limb Yvonne had left directly after the car wreck. She wanted nothing to do with him—she’d said as much. “You didn’t want me around. It was what you wanted,” he said, his voice nearly unrecognizable as it came out low and garbled.
“That was never what I wanted,” she whispered.
A part of him wanted to argue with her. Dig out the letter he had saved all these years and show it to her. Then again, why remind he
r of how much she hated him if she was moving on from that? This is asking for trouble, said a little voice inside him. Look to the future, not to the past. “And what about now? What do you want now?”
When she didn’t answer him, Steve lowered his mouth to hers. Before he could reach her, she lurched into his arms, meeting him halfway. She practically rolled on top of him, pinning him to the grass, her knees on either side of his waist. His hands curved around her hips, traveling down the short, muscled legs and smooth skin at her thighs. After thirteen years, it was time to throw his hands in the air. He was surrendering. Surrendering to Yvonne… to his past… to his feelings.
Her tongue stroked against his and when he groaned into her mouth, she echoed it with a moan of her own. Its sound was filled with arousal and came from deep in her throat. Then, pulling back as if she was going to end the kiss, she sighed and deepened it instead.
Steve scooped his hand up her tight abs, not stopping until he reached her breast. Her thighs squeezed his body just as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger from beneath the tight fabric of her sports bra. She gasped, stretching her head back and giving him perfect access to the taut skin at her neck.
He was kissing his way down her throat, when Gatsby’s wet nose nudged their elbows. Yvonne jerked back, quickly rolling off of him and dropping her face into her hands. “Oh, my God. We’re in the middle of a park. What are we doing?”
With the moment broken, Yvonne jumped to her feet, brushing bits of grass off her shorts.
“Yvonne—”
“I have to go,” she mumbled, a spray of pink flushing at the apples of her cheeks and across her nose.
With that, she grabbed Gatsby’s and Ruckus’s leashes and took off running back toward the East end. She bolted down the street, faster than Steve could ever run. A car sped in her direction, taking the curve way too fast for his liking. Even though she was on the sidewalk, his heart paused for a pulse and his lungs felt like someone was squeezing the air out of them like an accordion.
Steve froze, his breaths becoming shorter and sharper as the panic rose in his chest. “Yvonne!” he screamed her name, grabbing Molly’s leash, taking off behind her.
The car continued on, passing her and driving on down the road as Yvonne kept running, unaffected—emotionally or physically by the vehicle beside her. She was fine. She was fine. And the car had been nowhere near her.
The deafening rush of blood in his head slowed, his heart rate returning to normal as Molly nudged his hand, licking his fingers, slowly bringing him back to reality. The ground was beneath his feet. His dog was at his side. And Yvonne was alive and well. With a final deep breath, he took off after her once more, knowing that he probably couldn’t catch up to her, couldn’t protect her if he tried.
‡
Chapter Fourteen
Yvonne’s feet hit the pavement hard with each stride. What was she thinking? Kissing Steve? Straddling him? Opening up a whole new world of pain and possibilities. No, not a whole new world—an old one. A world I already lived and nearly died in and vowed I’d never return to. He was bad news for her… would it take her another several years of crying herself to sleep to learn that?
But, God did that kiss feel good. And maybe that was something she shouldn’t ignore either. One kiss had spurred her libido more than thirteen years of mediocre sex with ex-boyfriends.
She sped back down the hill, through the sleepy lakeside neighborhoods, Ruckus leading the way, loving every second. But after closing in on another two miles, she stole a peek behind her in an attempt to catch a glimpse of whether or not Steve was following her. Only instead of finding Steve, her eyes fell to Gatsby, lagging behind, panting, ears back. She gasped, slowing to a walk and bent down to nuzzle into his scruff. “Oh, buddy… I’m so sorry,” she murmured into his fur. Standing, she walked across the street to where a little strip of dirt led to the lakeside. She unclipped both dogs leashes and let them go cool off. Gatsby made it to the edge, wading into the shallow end where he could still stand, panting. What exactly was she running from, anyway? A kiss? A freaking kiss?
“Stupid,” she grumbled under her breath. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
“Hey now.” Steve’s breathless voice came up behind her, and even though her heart startled, her body remained still. “Gatsby is very smart. I’m sure he doesn’t appreciate being called stupid.”
She didn’t quite want to admit it to herself, but relief rushed through her body as she turned to find him standing there, covered in sweat and he gave her a lazy, trouble-loaded smile. “I should thank you,” he said. “For pushing me into a seven and a half minute mile.”
It was natural for her to run from him. To avoid him. His chest heaved with each deep breath, and he unclipped Molly’s leash just in time for her to leap into the lake with the others. “I didn’t think I’d catch up to you,” he said.
“Yeah. I was pushing Gatsby too hard.” She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “He needed a break.”
“Probably a good idea.” He looked out toward the lake, seemingly avoiding her gaze. “I don’t mind walking them home for you if you prefer to run. To be alone.”
Breaking away from the hypnotizing glitter of the setting sun on the lake, her gaze collided with his blue stare. “Thanks, but I’m fine. You should go ahead and go home.”
His shoulder brushed against hers, and a burst of heat flashed low in her belly at his touch. Yvonne let out a cautious, slow breath, making sure it was silent and unable to be heard beneath Steve’s own breathing, which was beginning to slow back to normal.
He lifted a brow. “I think I need the rest time as much as Gatsby does.”
A creaky pain split into her elbow and back and Yvonne stretched toward the sky. “It’s gonna rain tonight.”
“Yeah?” Steve’s eyes widened.
“Yeah.”
They watched the dogs play in the water for several more minutes before Steve finally broke the silence. “Can I ask you something?”
The tone in his voice caused her muscles to seize. “Sure.”
“Something personal?”
Uh-oh. “Sure.” This time she stretched the word out by a few extra syllables.
“Why did you and Jonah break up? What went wrong?”
Everything. “Why?”
He seemed to consider her question for a second before answering. “Because I’m curious.” When she slid him a side-eyed glance, he laughed. “Okay, and maybe a little nosy.” Then, swaying, he gave her a light bump with his elbow. “And maybe I want to take notes so that if I’m ever lucky enough to get a second chance with you, I don’t blow it.”
Flutters ruptured in her belly, and a burst of excitement popped off in her chest as he said that. “He smothered me,” she said. “When we first started dating, it’s what I thought I wanted—what I needed. Someone who was seemingly so secure that they’d never leave or hurt me. It’s what I thought a loving, happy relationship was. But we weren’t happy. And we weren’t loving. He was over-bearing, much in the same way my parents were. If there was a problem, he threw lavish gifts and money at it rather than just talking to me.” She heard Steve’s sharp breath from beside her. “I don’t think Jonah’s an evil guy. It was just too much for me. When I asked him to back off and give me space, it only made him want to hold on tighter.”
They were quiet a while longer, watching the dogs swim.
“What are the chances we can each forgive and let go of the past?”
A sharp pain like a searing hot poker stabbed into her heart with his question. Maybe it was because his voice was so calm, or his eyes so genuine, but for the first time in over a decade, Yvonne found herself wanting to forgive and forget as opposed to clutching onto the anger. She wanted to forgive as much as she wanted to be forgiven. But it was the letting go part she had the most trouble with. Trusting him once more to be with her and stick around if and when things got tough.
His brows shot up so far that the
y vanished beneath his sweat saturated hairline. She turned to face him dead-on, the moisture in the air almost as thick as the tension between them. Before she could answer, he continued. “Because I so desperately want to ask you on a date, but unless I know that you can eventually forgive me for the past, it feels futile.” His gaze swept over her so slowly that it made her legs quiver.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I would like to be able to forgive you. But I don’t make promises unless I’m sure I can keep them.” You’ll never know if you can swim until you let go of the dock and try.
“Well,” he said, taking a step forward. “Will you tell me when you do know?” She nodded and he took yet another step, closing in on the remaining space between them. “If I kiss you again, are you going to go running away from me?” His voice caused a shiver to rock through her. His arms snaked around her waist, urging her against him, and she obliged, likewise rolling her hips and pulsing against his tightening erection. Heat slid through to the tips of her fingers, her body greedy for his.
“I promise not to run away,” she said.
He cupped her jaw and brushed across her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. Pushing her fingers into his silky hair, she pulled in a shaky breath and lifted onto her toes to cover his mouth with hers. Heat radiated off his body, and his scent was mouthwatering and sensuous. His arms coiled tighter around her waist, possessively, and his teeth scraped against her lips before he stroked his tongue inside against hers.
Gatsby slid his wet body against their legs and shook, spraying lake water all over them. Yvonne squealed.
Steve grunted, dropping his head. “Your dog really doesn’t want me kissing you, does he?”
Healing You Page 10