Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(58)

Her voice broke off, and he squeezed her body against his. “I know. Me neither.”

“What?” She leaned her head back just a little so she could see his face. “You’ve been with other women.”

“But I never loved any of them the way I love you.”

She sniffled softly, and a tear snaked down her face. “Thank you for keeping your promise.”

His conscience twisted a touch. Had he kept his promise to her?

“Did I?”

She nodded, cuddling back against him. “The best you could.”

“Is that enough?” he asked.

She nodded again. “For me it is.”

“Thank you for trustin’ me,” he said, sliding his hands along the sweet, soft skin of her back and hoping that one day they’d be able to have sex to fruition—that he’d come inside her, make babies with her, keep this sweet woman by his side for life.

“I love you,” she said again. “No matter what.”

“Me too,” he promised. “No matter what.”

And then, because some moments are too perfect for anything else, they found their rhythm—hearts and lungs working in perfect harmony—and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

***

Though they planned to have one final Sunday date before Erik returned to school, Laire couldn’t help a sharp feeling of melancholy as they said good-bye at the Pamlico House dock the following morning. It had been heaven to spend the night with him, and now that she was fully dressed and headed home, she deeply regretted not having sex with him to fruition. Though she knew it was best that he “pulled out,” as he called it—and no, she wasn’t anywhere near ready to be a mother, God forbid—she grieved not knowing what it would have felt to orgasm together and to feel his hot seed flood and fill her. She only hoped that one day, when the timing was right, she’d have another chance. A million more chances.

“Get home safe,” he said, using his thumbs to swipe away her tears as he kissed her tenderly. “I’ll be here tonight at the bar.”

It wasn’t enough, but it was still comforting.

She sniffled, then nodded. “I know.”

He cupped her cheeks with his palms. “We’re goin’ to make it, Laire. We’re goin’ to be okay until Thanksgivin’. And then there’s only a short wait until Christmas. Even if you can’t get to Raleigh, I have three weeks off and no hockey. I can get out here at least twice to see you. We’ll make it work, darlin’. I promise you.”

She covered his hands with hers. “I’m not worried. I trust you.”

He nodded, but his eyes were unsettled. “Think about e-mailin’ me?”

“I just don’t—”

“Think about it,” he insisted softly.

She nodded, leaning up on tiptoe to kiss him. “Okay. I will.”

He’d stood on the dock, waving good-bye as she drove away. And even after he was a small speck in the distance, she could still see him, hand raised, standing at the edge of the dock. She let her tears flow freely for the next fifteen minutes of the ride, then dried them, reminding herself that between now and next Thursday were five more nights and one glorious Sunday. She’d ruin their final days together if she cried all over him every time they were together. Was it poignant? Yes. Did it hurt? Like hell. But she needed to have more faith in them.

Taking a deep breath, she turned into the cove that led to Corey Harbor and slowed down as she passed a friend of her father’s, who yelled something at her that she couldn’t hear so she just waved in response. Continuing into the bay, she skimmed the shoreline to her house.

The first thing she noticed was her father’s fishing boat.

The second thing she noticed was her father himself, emerging from the house to greet the devil.

The third thing she noticed was Issy and Kyrstin scurrying at his heels.

Why is he home? Why is he home? Why is he already home?

Her heart was beating so fast, she could barely breathe, but she pulled in alongside the dock as her father stepped onto the planking, demanding, “Throw me the line.”

Scrambling to the bow, she threw him the rope, watching, with increasing horror, as he cleated the boat to the dock without a word, his face drawn, his eyes furious.

Flicking her eyes to Kyrstin’s, she found them wide and severe.

Shit. She was in trouble. Big, huge, mammoth trouble.

“Get on in the house now,” growled her father, his blue eyes flinty.

Looking over her father’s shoulder she found Issy, who held baby Kyle against her chest and looked at Laire like she’d like to spit and roast her.

“Get. In. The. House,” she whispered angrily, snarling at her youngest sister.

Laire scurried off the boat, past her father and sisters, head down, beelining for the porch door. She slipped inside, turning into the living room and perching on the edge of the couch as her mind tried to figure out what was going on and how the hell to explain her absence.

Her father, preceded by her sisters, entered the living room, his huge presence taking up most of the room, his eyes angry and tired.

“Where you been?” he asked, looming over her, cracking his knuckles against his palms.

She darted a glance to Kyrstin, the only one in the room who knew that Laire had been working in Buxton. Kyrstin shook her head almost imperceptibly to signal Laire that she hadn’t said anything.