The Do-Over(77)

“Are you sleeping?” he asked.

Lifting my head to look up at him, I smiled. “No. I’m still awake.”

Leaning me back in his arms, Wes’ lips came down on mine as my fingers got lost in his curls. It was in that moment that I let myself realize the extent of the pain I’d been in and ended the kiss, because much to my chagrin, a deluge of tears began to flow. What kind of tears were they? Anger? Sadness? Depression? Happiness? All of the above? I had no clue. All I knew was that they were drowning me.

“Hey, talk to me, T.” He brushed the hair back from my face.

“I don’t know, Wes. I think it’s just all the emotions of everything we’ve gone through surfacing.” I wiped my tears away with my sweater sleeve.

“Please tell me what that means,” he implored, looking alarmed.

“It means I have been so miserable. I’ve been grieving the loss of both you and Stacy and trying to stay strong. I thought once I got through the fundraiser, I could move on. That wouldn’t be hanging over me anymore and I could work on healing without the scab getting ripped off. And then I’ve spent the last two weeks really stressed out about tonight. Not stressed so much about seeing you, but more fearful of what Julien was going to pull on me to intentionally rattle me and make me look bad in front of you and my colleagues.”

Hitting himself in the forehead with the heel of his palm, “Oh God, Tara, I didn’t even think about the strain this would put on you. I really didn’t understand the extent of the psychological warfare he had waged on you. I just kept thinking about how fun I could make this night for the two of us and that we’d finally get the chance to lay all our cards on the table. I’m so sorry.” His arms went around me in a tight hug. “Jeez, have I been f*cking with your head or what? What a dumbass I’ve been. I am so, so sorry.”

Taking a deep breath, I tried to pull myself together, immediately angry that I’d allowed myself to fall apart.

As if sensing my thoughts, Wes whispered in my ear, “You don’t always have to be so strong, you know.”

I nodded against his chest, “Yeah Wes, I do.”

“Tara, look at me.”

I pulled my face from his chest. Tilting his head to the side, I could see how upset he was with himself for all the pain he had caused me.

“Tara, I love you.” The sincerity in his words was unmistakable.

“I love you, too, Wes.” We had both finally said the words.

His smile immediately brought me back to the night we met and the blood rush I felt the first time I saw it.

“Is it time for dessert yet?” I asked. “It’s cold as Hell up here.”

“Almost.”

“What do you mean almost?” I laughed.

Grabbing his phone, I could tell from the look on his face that Mr. Bergman had something up his sleeve.

Standing, he reached for my hand to pull me up. “One dance before dessert.”

The first strains of Boston’s More Than a Feeling began and my arms went around his waist. With my head buried in his soft cable knit sweater, I felt the darkness that had been following me since late summer begin to dissipate and I held onto Wes a little bit tighter.

“I love you, Tara. I’ve always loved you.”

It certainly was more than a feeling.



The smell of strong coffee was an enticing alarm clock. Rolling over, the bed next to me was empty and the sheets were cool. Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, it was 7:15 a.m. I was drawn into the salon by the coffee’s fragrant scent and I could see Wes already on deck, cup in hand, watching as the sky lightened.

Quickly pulling on my clothes, I climbed the stairs, steaming mug in hand, to join him topside to watch the sun break the horizon.

“Well, we didn’t quite make it talking until dawn.” I sat down on the bench next to him, watching the sky continue to lighten and enjoy the colorful show on the clouds that awaited the sun’s arrival. I had missed the deep rose colors as the sunrise was entering its pink into deep orange phase.

Smiling, he kissed my temple. “We did pretty good considering we’re no longer twenty-somethings.”

“We did very good,” I agreed.

Lovemaking had been very emotional and claiming. We started fast and rough and primal and ended clingy and touchy. Wordlessly, we each communicated the sadness and angst of the recent past attempting to f*ck it into hope and solidarity.

The top curve of the sun broke the Long Island Sound’s waters on the eastern horizon. With a smile, I savored my dark roast and stole a glance at the man sitting next to me.

“What?” he asked, as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he lifted his coffee cup to meet it.

“It’s sunrise.”

He turned to me, this time with a full smile. “I feel like I should go get you my Clash tee-shirt.”

I laughed and began to sing, “Should I stay or should I go?”

“So, what’s it gonna be, T?”

“You really have to ask?” The morning air was cold and beautiful and very refreshing. I watched the sun light up the world as it totally severed from the horizon.

“I do. I don’t want there to be any miscommunications or assumptions between us.”

“I love you, Wes.”

“What?”