Midnight Valentine(73)

Then he’s lowering his naked body on top of mine. Somehow, he’s undressed. It must’ve happened while I was busy dying.

He’s hot, heavy, and shaking like a leaf, and I love it all. I love it that this is as momentous for him as it is for me, that he feels the burn and power of this lightning strike just as deeply as I do.

I open my thighs around his hips. He presses his face to my neck. Then it’s as natural and effortless as breathing. A tilt and a flex and his hardness slides inside me, and both of us are groaning.

As with his kiss, it starts gently but quickly turns passionate. We’re both frantic, greedy and grasping, wild with need. I meet every thrust of his hips with one of my own, grabbing his ass to take him deeper. Starting to buck, he rears up onto his hands and throws his head back. I draw my knees up around his waist and gaze in wonder at his beautiful body, all his muscles bunched and straining, the strong column of his throat painted pale from a sliver of moonlight filtering through the clouds.

He moans, faltering.

“What’s wrong?”

Lowering himself to his elbows, he rests atop me and nuzzles my neck. With one hand, he reaches between our bodies and flattens his hand over my belly. Then he lifts his head and looks at me with a question in his eyes.

“You don’t have to worry,” I whisper, understanding. “I can’t…we’re safe.”

We both know we’re not talking about diseases.

He cradles my head and kisses me, and in his kiss, I feel his sorrow.

That brings on the tears again. I’m sorry too, sorry for what I’ve lost and can no longer have, sorry that if Theo pictured his life including fatherhood, by default that means his life won’t include me.

He kisses my wet cheeks so tenderly, I feel like I might shatter. Then he stares down into my eyes as he starts to move again with small, perfect thrusts that soon have me panting.

Everything narrows to the space between our faces. The room vanishes, as does the storm outside, as does any final shred of my resistance.

I go over the edge before he does. My eyes closed and my head thrown back onto the pillow, my body arched against his. As if from a great distance, I hear myself cry out his name. He swells and throbs inside me, grunting faster and faster until the sounds merge to become one long, wavering moan as his entire body stiffens.

He spills himself inside me in a hot, pulsing surge as lightning tears a jagged white scar across the midnight sky and my soul sings a song of resurrection.





22





When I open my eyes in the morning, the sky is clear.

Theo is gone.

Gathered in a water glass on the nightstand are a bunch of purple sweet peas.

Unmoving in bed, I stare at them for a long time. I listen to the waves break, listen to the seagulls cry, feel my pulse and the soreness in my body. For the first time in a long time, my mind is clear and still.

I sit up and bring the glass to my nose, inhaling the flowers’ honey-sweet perfume. It’s October. Sweet peas aren’t in season, but somehow, they’re in my bedroom.

I won’t ask how.

Don’t ask, don’t tell. That was the deal.

As if in a dream, I rise, shower, and dress. In the kitchen, a fresh pot of coffee awaits me. Another gift from Theo. Smiling, I pour myself a mug and stare down into the inky liquid, remembering his hands on my skin.

When the phone rings, I float over to it, pillowed on clouds. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Ms. Dunn?”

“Mrs. Dunn,” I correct dreamily. “Who’s this?”

“I’m calling from Seaside Pharmacy. We’ve got your prescription ready.”

I take a sip of coffee before answering, savoring its nutty goodness. It’s black and strong, exactly the way I like it. “Right. My crazy pills. Hold on to those for me for a few days, would you? I’d like to see how far down the nutso river I’ll get before I really need them. This morning, I’m paddling way upstream.”

I hang up before the young woman on the other end can respond.



* * *

At 11:00 a.m. on the nose, someone knocks on my front door. I’ve been standing at the patio windows, staring out at the ocean, my mind as blank as a clean sheet of paper. When I open the door, I find Coop and his team grouped on my porch. They’re all wearing tool belts and carrying lunch boxes. Work trucks line the curb on either side of the street.

“Mornin’, Megan,” says Coop. A small smile hovers at the corners of his lips.

“Hey, Coop. Hey, guys.”

The men solemnly nod. I stare at them, waiting, but no one says anything.

“You boys lost? Out for a morning drive and took a wrong turn?”

Coop’s smile grows wider. “No wrong turns.”