Dawson laughed before suddenly growing quiet. She took a sip of wine, feeling the heat as it slid down her throat, barely aware of the soft music still playing in the background. “So much has happened, hasn’t it? Since we last saw each other?” Her voice was small.
“Life happened.”
“It was more than just life.”
“What are you talking about?”
“All this. Being here, seeing you. It makes me think back to a time when I still believed that all my dreams could come true. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like that.” She turned toward him, their faces inches apart. “Do you think we could have made it? If we’d moved away and started our lives together?”
“It’s hard to say.”
“But if you had to guess?”
“Yes. I think we would have made it.”
She nodded, feeling something crumble inside at his answer. “I think so, too.”
Outside, a squall began to force waves of rain against the windows like handfuls of tossed pebbles. The radio played softly, music from another time, blending with the steady rhythm of the rain. The warmth of the room was cocoonlike, and Amanda could almost believe that nothing else existed.
“You used to be shy,” she murmured. “When we were first paired together in class, you barely spoke to me. I kept dropping hints, waiting for you to ask me out and wondering whether you ever would.”
“You were beautiful.” Dawson shrugged. “I was no one. It made me nervous.”
“Do I still make you nervous?”
“No,” he said, then reconsidered. A slight smile eased onto his face. “Maybe a little.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is there anything I can do?”
He took her hand and turned it this way and that, noting how perfectly their hands seemed to fit together, reminding him again of what he had given up. A week ago, he’d been content. Maybe not perfectly happy, maybe a bit isolated, but content. He’d understood who he was and his place in the world. He was alone, but that had been a conscious choice, and even now he didn’t regret it. Especially now. Because no one would have been able to take Amanda’s place, and no one ever would.
“Will you dance with me?” he finally asked.
She answered with the ghost of a smile. “Yes.”
He rose from the couch and gently helped her up. She stood, her legs feeling shaky as they moved toward the center of the small room. The music seemed to fill the room with longing, and for a moment neither of them knew what to do. Amanda waited, watching as Dawson turned to her, his face unreadable. Finally, placing a hand on her hip, he drew her closer. Their bodies came together then and she leaned into him, feeling the solidness of his chest as his arm circled her waist. Ever so slowly, they began to turn and sway.
He felt so good to her. She breathed in the smell of him, clean and real and everything she remembered. She could feel the taut plane of his stomach and his legs against hers. Closing her eyes, she laid her head on his shoulder, flooded with desire, thinking of the first night they’d ever made love. She’d been trembling that night and she was trembling now.
The song ended but they continued to hold each other as another song started. His breath was hot on her neck and she heard him exhale, a kind of release. His face inched even closer, and she leaned her head back in abandon, wanting the dance to last forever. Wanting them to last forever.
His lips grazed her neck first, then gently brushed her cheek, and though she heard a faraway warning echo, she strained toward the butterfly touch.
They kissed then, first hesitantly, then more passionately, making up for a lifetime apart. She could feel his hands on her, all of her, and when they finally separated, Amanda was conscious only of how long it had been since she’d ached for this. Ached for him. She stared at Dawson through half-closed eyes, wanting him more than anyone she’d ever known, wanting all of him, here and now. She could feel his desire as well, and with a movement that seemed almost preordained, she kissed him once more before leading him to the bedroom.
13
The day was crap. Started like crap, the afternoon and evening were crap, even the weather was crap. Abee felt like he was dying. It had been raining for hours, the water soaking through his shirt, and he couldn’t stop the alternating bouts of shivering and sweating no matter how hard he tried.
He could tell Ted wasn’t doing much better. When he’d checked himself out of the hospital, he’d barely made it to the car without falling. But that didn’t stop him from making directly for the back room of his shack, where he kept all his weapons. They’d loaded up the truck before setting out for Tuck’s.