Page 82 of The Time It Takes
The ceiling started to spin, taking me with it, but I closed my eyes for a different reason. It was hard to look at him when I said, “Yes.”
I was nodding too.
The world went still as I let the tequila carry the words right off my tongue. “I want you to kiss me until it hurts.” A scratchy laugh left my throat. “Kiss me until I can’t stand to put my lips on anyone’s but yours.” I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn’t.
My lips stopped working too.
And then I fell into a black hole.
Chapter Fifteen
Present
Walkingbackintothehouse feels all sorts of wrong. It’s like walking through the dead man’s land after the war has settled.
The front door is cracked open from the paramedics rushing out of it. Every step I take hurts, an ache that refuses to let up. It goes deeper than the bruises that were beginning to settle on my skin.
Oliver trails behind me quietly. I didn’t ask him to come inside, but I also didn’t object when he got out of the car or when he decided to follow me in.
When I reach the top of the stairs, I stop abruptly at the sight of Ben’s bedroom door wide open. It’s all such a mess. I feel Oliver watching my every move as I take careful steps as if trying not to disturb a ghost. I reach for the knob and the door creaks as I pull it shut.
“Are you okay?” Oliver’s voice arrives thick.
I don’t answer him because I’m not and I don’t want to lie. It hurts too much to admit it to him. When I get to my room, I pause and turn to face him. The way he’s looking at me says a hundred things I know he won’t say out loud. His gaze falls upon the piano pushed against my wall and I wonder if he's remembering the brief moment we shared on the phone.
“Are you sure you want to stay here?” The words come out rushed, but quiet.
I shrug my sore shoulders. “I don’t exactly have any other place to go right now.”
His eyes seem to be glued to the piano still and suddenly I miss him watching me. I take one step toward him and nothing more. “I’ll be fine, Ollie. You can go,” I say in my most assuring tone. “Really.”
When he finally looks at me, his gaze is troubled and contemplative.
“Stay at the hotel.” A demand, not a question.
I draw my head back, shaking my head. “No, I can’t.”
“Don’t be stubborn.”
I stare at him for a moment, looking at the crinkles of skin around his eyes that weren’t there ten years ago. Dropping my gaze to his mouth, I don’t spot any laugh lines. It could very well be the fact that I’m exhausted or just my fight leaving me, but I find myself nodding solemnly.
He helps me pack my suitcase and an hour later I’m staring at oak wooden floors, granite countertops, and soft beige furniture. That isn’t even all of it. He put me on the floor below his penthouse suite, which I learned is where he lives. I’m nineteen stories high and the view honestly makes me a tad dizzy. I whirl around to face Oliver who’s still standing in the doorway of the suite, his arm perched on the top of the door frame. It causes his shirt to lift, revealing skin I’d like to get my tongue on.
Jesus, Willow.Get a grip.
I clear my throat and hope my eyes didn’t linger for so long that it was noticeable. “Are you sure this is okay?” I ask, biting the inside of my cheek.
He crosses his arms and leans his shoulder against the frame, tilting his head in a way that tells me I’ve been caught red-handed. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
I try to shrug but let out a hiss at the ache it causes. Oliver’s in front of me in a second.
“Let me see,” he demands.
“No.”
He reaches up to touch my chest with his fingertips. I curve my shoulders inward at the tenderness.
I take a few steps back. “I smell like a hospital, and I’m covered in my mother’s blood and probably my own. So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take a very long bubble bath.”
