June, Reimagined (75)
He stepped back from her. “Is it me?”
If she could just lie, could just say in a convincing voice that she didn’t want him, that she cared nothing for him, that from this moment forward she would never think of him again, then June would save Lennox, and this would all be over. She stole a breath, anchored her resolve, and faced him. But seeing his hazel eyes, raw with deep sadness, June faltered.
She gritted her teeth, stealing one last delicious look at the man she desired more than anything else in the world—his unruly hair, the scar below his eyebrow, his wet lips and parted mouth, his broad shoulders and strong arms, the understated tally-mark tattoo that was so intimately him.
“Is it me, June?” Lennox begged.
“It can’t be you, Lennox.” June gestured to the tattoo. “I don’t even know you.”
She squeezed her eyes closed to stop the tears as she walked away. He didn’t stop her as she made her way toward the door. Her fear had finally come to fruition—Lennox had let her go.
And then right as June was about to disappear down the stairs, out the front door, and into the night, Lennox said, “Five years.”
June held the door handle, still prepared to leave.
“It’s been five years since my last drink.” Lennox sat on the bed. “I’m an alcoholic, Peanut.” June whirled around to face him, but his attention was on the ground. “I add a mark for every year I’ve been sober.”
June thought back to Up Helly Aa, the nights at the pub. She had never seen Lennox with a drink.
“I didn’t want to tell you because I’m not proud of the person I was.” Lennox rubbed his thumb into the palm of his hand. “I’m the reason my parents are dead. They were coming to get me out of the drunk tank at the police station in Inverness when a truck hit them head on. The driver had fallen asleep. I was there for eight hours, hung over to hell and pissed that they hadn’t shown up, when Hamish came to get me. Amelia wasn’t even old enough to drive.”
June came to the bed and sat beside Lennox. He immediately moved, opening space between them.
“I wish I could say I got sober right then, but I didn’t,” Lennox said. “I spent the day of my parents’ funeral drunk in a pub in Glasgow. I left Amelia to mourn alone. I disappeared for two months, got as stinking drunk as I could get, and hit as many people as I could hit. I was worthless and pathetic, and I wanted to blame everyone but myself. Then I met Isobel, and she saved my life.”
June tried to remain steady. “She must be very special.”
“She is, Peanut.” Lennox smiled. “She’s also fifty-five and married, with three kids.”
“What?”
“She’s my AA sponsor. And a goddamn saint for putting up with me for five years.” Lennox stood and ran a hand through his hair. “I was doing so well, and then you came along. I swear I’ve never met a more infuriating person in my life. God, I wanted you to go away.”
“I get it.” June stared down at her hands, ashamed.
“No, you don’t.” Lennox knelt in front of June, his warm hands lifting her face to meet his eyes. “I only thought I was doing well. I thought I was living my life, but I was just surviving it. I was on a constant loop of guilt and penance. For Christ’s sake, I hadn’t touched my guitar until that day you made me. I didn’t even think I deserved music. I thought if I kept everything as it was when they were alive, then they would be preserved somehow. If I saved as many people as I could, then maybe the guilt wouldn’t strangle me so badly. If I told myself I didn’t deserve anything or anyone, then no one would be at risk because of me. And then you showed up, and my God, I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. You drive me crazy, Peanut. And it scares the shit out of me. In five years, I’ve never come as close to punching someone as I did when I saw you lying on the floor of the pub. I almost strangled that Yank of yours with my bare hands. The thought of him touching you . . .”
Lennox stood and stepped back.
“I swear, Matt’s just a friend.”
“It doesn’t matter who he is, Peanut. It matters how I reacted. Scared the piss out of me. I hadn’t felt that kind of anger since my parents died. All that work and pain, and somehow I still reverted back to that drunken idiot with a bad temper and big fists. That’s why I went to see Isobel. I needed her help, because you deserve better than that person. I was willing to let you go, too. For your own sake. But I can’t. God, you’re all I think about. You brought me as close to the brink as I’ve been in five years, and I still want more of you.” Lennox sat back on the bed, so deliciously close to June. “Goddamn it, Peanut, if you tell me you want me, I’ll be yours forever. Just say the words.”
This was June’s moment, to escape, to spare Lennox from her brokenness. All she had to do was say the words—I don’t want you. But June was so sickeningly full of lies. They ate at a person like a cancer, growing until, one day, June would lose every bit of herself to those lies. What kind of life would that be?
Lennox’s head fell to June’s lap, bowed and vulnerable. “Just say the words,” he pleaded.
“I want you,” June whispered. “I want you.”
Lennox’s lips were on hers in an instant. He grasped her face between his hands, frantically holding her to him. And June let herself be taken. She had no fight left in her, no desire to resist. If Lennox wanted to devour her inch by inch, she would gladly succumb to that intoxicating agony.