Close to You Read online

  “The only time I ever loved a man, he hurt me.” She stepped closer to me, a hesitant move. My arms itched to reach and pull her toward me, but I knew better. “I spent the last five years of my life just… unfocused. Afraid, mostly.” She shook her head. “Of his next move, of the next thing he’d take away from me. I was… rotting, in that house.”

  I struggled to find something to say but came up so short. I knew exactly how she felt but on a different level: I remembered so clearly being a child, knowing innately that I had something to fear in my mother but not understanding why.

  “When I left, and up until now, I was so sure that I was better off alone. That I had control as long as I stayed away from him, from anybody.” She was right in front of me now; she smelled like alcohol, of one too many spilled drinks, of dish soap and of her flowery shampoo. “But then you showed up.”

  I remembered that day like it was yesterday. The look on her face, the map in her hands. The wind. I hadn’t known what to do - she’d seemed so lost.

  I’d wanted to show her the way.

  I still did.

  “You’ve told me that I always have a choice,” she said. “What if… I don’t choose fear this time?”

  “I’d be there for you,” I said. “Michele, I want to be there for you.”

  “Why?”

  She wasn’t challenging me, but asking with an uncertainty that nearly broke my heart. I stepped forward, finally giving in to my own desires and closing the distance, pulling her near. I needed so badly to touch her again, to be there for her. I hadn’t craved intimacy like this in so long. Maybe I was doing the wrong thing for the both of us. But maybe I wasn’t.

  “Don’t ever question your worth,” I said to her. “Not around me. Not around anybody. You are more than what Brandon did to you.”

  Her hold tightened around me, her face buried into my chest. She sobbed, a muffled sound, and I felt the power of it against me. I hated to hear her cry, but hoped that what I said was resounding in her.

  “How d’you know?” she asked, her voice muffled and thick. “What if he never lets me go?”

  I pulled her back, looking at her face. Her eyes were red and puffy, her eyelashes glistening with tears. Newfound anger, vicious and hot, rushed through me as I realized that Brandon did this to her. Not that I hadn’t realized that already, but for the first time, I focused on that point with clarity and precision. Brandon, who saved my life, abused a woman. This woman. His wife.

  “He will,” I told her. “I’ll make sure of it, Michele.”

  Rage for Brandon, hundreds of miles away, living cozy while Michele suffered and anguished, bled through me. He deserved nothing more than to suffer too. I wouldn’t seek him out, but if he ever showed up here, I couldn’t be sure how I’d react.

  If my dry mouth and heaving chest had anything to say about it: Not well.

  The touch of her hand on my arm brought me back. I watched her, looking at me, with something in her eyes that wasn’t there before. Her hand rose higher, skimming along my neck and then landing on my cheek.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything.”

  My eyes flicked to her lips; I wanted to lean in and claim them. To erase every touch before mine, to replace them with something else, something she could remember fondly instead of with regret and fear.

  Instead, I backed up, remembering that we were in the middle of a dim bar during one of the worst snowstorms in years. As if she’d realized the same thing, she released her grip on me and shrugged.

  “Guess we should get ready to head out,” she said. “Maybe we could head to your place. It’s closer.”

  I gave her a dumbfounded look. “You want to come to my apartment tonight?”

  A smile broke out onto her face, mischievous and light. “Don’t go getting any ideas, mister. Just to… talk, and to get out of the snow.”

  I smiled.

  “In that case, by all means.”

  Chapter 19.

  Michele

  “Would you like something to drink?” Iain asked me. I had just finished texting Shannon that I wouldn’t be home tonight and that I would explain everything tomorrow. I was sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around me, recovering from the blizzard we’d just walked two blocks through. Iain, on the other hand, looked no worse for wear on the other side of the kitchen island, save for two red splotches covering his cheeks.

  “Do you have anything hot?”

  “Hmm.” He turned and opened his cabinets, digging through various spices and jars. “I’ve got… coffee, and…” He pulled a box from the back of the cabinet, holding it in front of his face and squinting. “Hot chocolate that’s been expired for a year.”

  I laughed. “It’s too late for coffee. Hot chocolate poison it is.”

  “Hey! I’m sure it’s fine.” He pulled two packets out of it, slapping them on the counter. They were hard as rocks if the sound they made indicated anything. “Uh... we can fix that.”

  Five minutes and two steaming mugs of chocolate later, Iain sat next to me on the couch. The hot chocolate smelled delicious, but it was too hot to test yet. We sat in silence, just watching the steam rise and rise. Not for the first time, I wondered if it was a terrible idea to come here tonight - but then I realized that maybe I should stop asking myself that.

  I’d told him I was scared. It was true. I was scared all the time - of Brandon, of being discovered, of what to do with my life now. I had, suddenly, so much free time—time not spent worrying and waiting for Brandon to come home and strike. Now I just worried in general, worried that I’d never find a place in my own life. I felt like a traveler, a visitor.

  I didn’t feel permanent.

  But Iain? Iain made me feel like I was something more. And maybe it was false hope, and maybe it would all end up in flames at the end. But something about him made it seem worthwhile to try.

  He gave me a choice. How could I not choose him?

  After I determined I had blown on my hot chocolate enough to drink it, I took a sip.

  “Well,” I said, “It’s not that bad.”

  “Expiration dates are recommendations,” he said, grinning over his mug.

  God, I wanted to kiss him. I set my mug down on the coffee table. Iain lowered his own and looked at me quizzically, his brow furrowing. I reached and took the mug from his hands, setting it next to mine.

  I was suddenly so hot under my blanket. My heart was racing, knowing that I was desperate for his touch. I didn’t even stop to question it. I couldn’t remember the last time I had craved a man’s touch before Iain - with Brandon, it had been years.

  “Kiss me,” I told him, before I lost my nerve.

  Iain reached and pulled me toward him, my blanket sliding down my back as I let myself be moved. I climbed into his lap, gripping his shoulders for support as I leaned my face down, meeting his lips in a hurried kiss.

  It was heavenly and sweet as he held my head in his hand, his fingers running through my hair. Our tongues met and I closed my eyes, allowing myself to feel everything: the heat of his chest, his breath against mine, the way his hips responded to the pressure of my body against his. He tasted faintly of hot chocolate, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered if he could taste it on me, too. Heat rushed to my center as we kissed; without even thinking, I pressed myself against him, using my hips to speak to him in ways words never could.

  He groaned heavily against my mouth and we parted, just centimeters away from each other. His lips hovered so close to mine, an invitation to kiss again. I opened my eyes.

  I wanted more, but I knew, deep down, that I wasn’t ready to take it that far tonight. I dropped my head to his shoulder. His hands caressed up and down my back.

  “I’m glad you didn’t let me walk out that door earlier,” Iain said into my hair. I thought of his retreating back, that moment hovering between us as I debated with myself. When he showed up at the bar tonight, I hadn’t known what to do. I’d known that
, eventually, I’d have to talk to him, and I was waiting for that moment to happen at any time. But Iain’s sudden presence wasn’t like Brandon’s had been.

  Iain gave me a choice.

  “I’m glad you talked some sense into me,” I admitted.

  “I’ll talk sense into you for as long as you’ll let me,” he said, his tone playful. I smacked his arm half-heartedly and laughed.

  He laughed too, and for a moment I let myself fall into the fantasy. That we were a normal couple, laughing about normal things. I felt suddenly gripped by it all: by the warmth, the feeling of being wanted, the security. What if Iain could give me everything Brandon ripped away?

  What if he could set me free?

  Was that possible? I wasn’t sure. I lifted my head and looked right into his perfect blue eyes and imagined a scenario where Brandon was out of the picture. Where I had no reason to ever worry about him again. God, how I wanted that. I remembered Shannon telling me that it was time to file for divorce, to go to a lawyer. And instead of agreeing, I had said no - that I wasn’t ready.

  Was I ready now? Divorce would draw Brandon out and bring him here. I would no longer be safe, and I wouldn’t be secure. But what if I had someone like Iain by my side?

  I thought of those eyes - those brown eyes, staring into mine. The first time he’d hit me, those eyes had seemed infinite and evil. I remembered thinking that my entire life was shattered, that everything we had built had been destroyed with just one action. That every time he’d touched me had somehow been tainted.

  But I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t admit my own failure. I held on until it was almost too late.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours?” Iain asked. I blinked, and like a light switch, Brandon’s face disappeared.

  “Just… thoughts,” I replied. I didn’t want to tell him. I wasn’t ready to go to a lawyer, because I wasn’t ready to face Brandon.

  I didn’t know if I ever would be.

  “Like what?” He shifted under me, and I became very aware that I was still sitting on him, that we were still close enough to kiss. I licked my own lips and shrugged.

  “Maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll tell you some day.”

  He grinned at that and leaned in for a quick kiss. “Here’s to hoping I’m very lucky,” he said when we parted.

  I only smiled, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he would be.

  xxx

  The next morning, I woke up to the warmth of Iain spooning me, the feeling of his arms wrapped round my middle immensely comforting and safe. I tried to stay very still so that I wouldn’t wake him, but my arm had gone numb.

  The sound of a phone ringing made me jump just as I was trying to decide how to extrapolate my arm without causing Iain to wake. He startled, letting me go and sitting up quickly. I sat up too, rubbing life back into my limp arm.

  “Hello?” Iain said tersely into the phone. I wondered who would be on the other line for him to answer that way, and I froze as I wondered if it was Brandon.

  But no. The voice on the other side was lower and gruffer than Brandon’s, and I released a breath of relief.

  “I’m okay, what’s going on? Did something new happen?”

  I watched him run a hand through his disheveled hair, his back tense as he sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Are they sure?”

  The voice on the other line barked something unintelligible to Iain, and he shook his head, obviously frustrated.

  “Fine. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  He ended the call and was still for a moment. I leaned over toward him, touching a hand tentatively to his bare shoulder.

  “Is… everything okay?” I asked him. He didn’t answer at first, but then he turned his head and looked at me. His expression was hard, full of something like grief, until he saw me leaning over in an oversized shirt and boxer shorts that belonged to him. Then he looked like he wanted to devour me.

  “I’m fine,” he said. The lustful expression on his face died, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “But my mom isn’t.”

  I sat back on my heels, dumbfounded. “What happened?”

  “She’s been in the hospital for the last few days. Something wrong with her liver. That was my dad on the phone. The tests came back, and they think it’s cirrhosis.” His words were oddly choppy, and he frowned as he continued. “She was a drunk, a bad one.”

  “Was?”

  “Yeah. Five years ago she sobered up. But by then, it was too late for me.”

  And suddenly, I understood the choppiness: he and she weren’t close. They probably had no relationship at all. And her being in the hospital meant that he would have to face her.

  “I’ll go with you,” I said. I hadn’t even thought about it, but I suddenly wanted very much to be there for him. I wanted him to know that he could rely on me.

  “What? No, you don’t have to do that. It’ll be fucking miserable there.”

  “I know that I don’t have to do it. But I want to.” I wanted to repay, in any way, an ounce of the kindness he’d shown me.

  He regarded me for a moment, his expression closed off. Then he stood and offered me his hand. I took it, and he pulled me out of bed, leaning down to kiss me. His lips caught me by surprise, and I leaned in, returning the kiss. When we parted, I smiled at him, waiting for what he’d say next.

  “Let’s get you home,” he said. “You can get ready and then we can head to the hospital.”

  “Great,” I said, and we got dressed silently, bundling up and heading out into the day.

  They hadn’t cleared all the snow on the sidewalks yet, and it was a huge pain to walk through it all. My breaths came out in hefty, labored bursts as we trekked, arm in arm.

  By the time we finally arrived at Shannon’s apartment, I was thoroughly out of breath. I stopped in front of the door, eying Iain, uncertain how to proceed. If Shannon was home, then she would be extremely shocked to see him, and then I’d have to explain everything. Or at least some of it.

  But if she wasn’t home, then….

  Problem solved.

  “What is it?” he asked, as if sensing my apprehension. I shrugged and headed in, nodding at the doorman.

  “My roommates might be home,” I said after I hit the call button for the elevator. “If they are, then let me do the talking.”

  He nudged me, grinning. “Embarrassed of me, are we?”

  I blushed. “No, it’s not that.” I thought of how I’d cried in her kitchen, not even two weeks ago, telling her I wasn’t ready to file for divorce. I shook the memory away. “Shannon will just be… very surprised.”

  When the elevator came, we boarded it and I hit the button for the 4th floor.

  Chapter 20.

  The apartment was quiet when we entered it, and I shut the door behind us as quietly as I could. The curtains were drawn, white light piercing the space, and I pulled my coat, gloves and scarf off quickly along with my boots. Iain followed suit.

  The place seemed deserted, and it was only a few short steps to my room. I beckoned him to follow me as I rounded the corner.

  “Ouch!”

  I’d walked right into Shannon herself. I stumbled back, Iain’s hands on me to keep me from falling. Shannon cursed, grabbing her foot.

  “I’m sorry!” I exclaimed, flinching. Everything I had been trying to avoid happened anyway, and Iain’s hands dropped after I stood upright. My face set on fire as I realized that Shannon noticed we weren’t alone.

  “Who is this?” she asked, obvious surprise etched in her features. She was dressed for work in a starchy blouse and pencil skirt. Her eyes flicked incredulously between him and me, and my mouth refused to open.

  “I’m Iain,” he said behind me, moving around me to extend his hand. Shannon took it, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline.

  “Hello there, Iain,” she replied. “I’m Shannon. Welcome to my apartment.”

  I fiddled with the hem of my shirt as I searched for somethin
g to say. “I met Iain at Catfish -”

  “Last night? Is that why you didn’t come home?”

  I looked at her, disbelief on my face. She was always telling me to get out there, to see the city, to meet someone… why did it feel like she was acting as if I had done something wrong?

  “Um, no,” I said. “We met last week.”

  “Well, we met more like two weeks ago, right Michele?” he interjected, and I tensed.

  “Right, on the street.”

  “On the street,” Shannon repeated, her eyebrows on a trip somewhere way above her hairline.

  “The guy I told you about? Who helped me find my train?”

  Comprehension dawned on her face. “I remember you mentioning that.” She looked at Iain again, her eyebrows returning to their rightful place above her eyes. “Want some coffee? I was just about to make some.”

  I turned and met Iain’s eyes, silently telling him no. I had to get a quick shower and change into something decent, and he had to go and see his mom for the first time in who knew how long. We didn’t have time for coffee with Shannon.

  “That’d be great, thanks,” he said, completely oblivious to my pleading stare.

  Shannon moved around me toward the kitchen without another word. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was upset with me about something, but decided to ignore it. It wasn’t the time to hash anything out.

  “I’ll be twenty minutes, tops,” I told Iain before heading to the bathroom.

  A quick shower and a fresh change of clothes later, I joined him and Shannon in the kitchen. Iain looked comfortable leaning against the kitchen island, mug in hand. His eyes met mine as if drawn by magnets, his gaze trailing down my face to the ends of my loose hair resting against my chest. Viscerally, I remembered the way he’d looked at me in bed last week, the way he’d whispered in my ear as he claimed me. My insides twisted at the memory, and I broke eye contact, pouring myself a cup of coffee. If he had time for coffee, then I did too. I needed caffeine to get any further into this weird as shit day.