A Stone in the Sea(48)

I’ve got her.

And I did. Just for a little while, I’d had her.

And for a little while, she’d made me forget.

She’d let me get lost in all her light and dark, let me discover it was far greater than I ever could have imagined. Made me wish for something greater, too.

We both knew that was impossible. This morning had proven that.

I snagged my underwear from the floor and pulled them on as I fumbled toward the adjoining bathroom, stopping long enough to snatch up the three forgotten condom wrappers I’d carelessly tossed onto her floor. Both of us forgetting. Figuring if we had one night, we were going to make it count.

Now both of us were remembering why this was a really fucking bad idea.

I took a piss, hunted through her bottom cabinet for mouthwash that wasn’t all that hard to find, swilled a mouthful straight from the bottle. It fucking burned and stung, but somehow that sensation was somewhere down in the cavern of my chest, and I spit it out as if it could rid me of all this shit I didn’t want to feel.

Straightening, I stilled when I caught myself in the mirror, something unsettled in my eyes. Regret I knew I’d feel, taking Shea when I knew I shouldn’t, knowing it was going to mean more than it should.

I rubbed my palm over my mouth, lifting my chin and dragging my hand down the stubble that was getting way too thick, to my throat that felt way too tight.

The messed up part? I didn’t want to feel that regret, didn’t ever want to look back on what I’d experienced with her as something stolen, when I was pretty damned sure if I was living a different life she would have been mine.

Didn’t want her looking at me like I were sin.

A mistake.

Didn’t want it to hurt when I walked away.

But I couldn’t have all the other elements without the last.

I plodded back out into her room and quickly dressed. I felt like some creep when I cracked opened the door and peered through the slit to take in the landing of the top floor of Shea’s house, wondering just what the protocol was for skipping out with the woman’s kid lurking below. Shea had given me no indication of what she wanted me to do, and part of me was wishing that right before we’d finally succumbed to exhaustion at just before dawn, she’d have told me to grab my shit and go.

But that would’ve meant I’d have been robbed of those two hours of having something I’d never again have—holding Shea while she slept—and fuck it all if I had to give up that.

Outside, it was quiet, zero movement. I sucked in a deep breath and stepped out. Polished hardwood floors creaked beneath my feet, and my attention darted to the large, ornate frames that housed old faded pictures along the wall. Placed at the center was a black and white wedding photo of a couple I could only assume were Shea’s grandparents. The man was in a formal military suit, the young woman who was just as striking as Shea, in a simple white-skirted suit, her hair coiled and topped with a little hat with a swath of tulle attached to it.

A bunch of photos were placed around it, growing out.

A single child in a photo that was clearly old, but new enough to be in color. Another with a group of three…three sisters that had to belong to that old couple. A young boy. Another after he’d become a man. Even newer still a group of what had to be grandkids. I stepped closer, searching the faces, picking out Shea right away, all sweet smiles and big curly hair, kind of like her daughter’s.

Then there was a large photo. New. But it too had been placed in one of those old frames. A picture of Shea holding a tiny baby, her face in profile as she peered down into the infant’s eyes.

My gut clenched tight, and I turned away.

I headed downstairs, unable to keep from taking it in, because studying the decor of Shea’s house had been the last thing on my mind when I followed her inside last night. I stepped down into the vacant living room, which had the same dark hardwood floors. It was situated with antique and modern furniture, a blended mesh of old and new that just seemed to work in this house that I guessed had to be at least a hundred fifty years old.

It was gorgeous, too, the intricate crown molding painted a bright white, soft hues of colors on the walls, and the dark brown furniture the perfect contrast. I was no real estate guru, but I was betting the place had to be worth a small fortune.

I mean, I was used to nice shit, but it was always a shallow luxury, cookie-cutter sharp lines in crisp whites, blacks, and grays that drew you into the illusion you had everything you could ever want, when none of it could ever amount to a home.

Home.

No doubt, that’s what this was.

And God, it made me happy that Shea had it, the words she’d spoken about her grandmother who she obviously adored running through my mind. There was no mistaking the way Shea felt about her. I wondered if her grandmother had left this house to Shea before or after Kallie, if she’d been around long enough to witness Shea becoming a mom.