Last Summer(57)

Tears flow down Ella’s cheeks. For Steph to find their child broken and unconscious? She has no words. She wipes her face with her palms, sniffling. The noise catches Nathan’s attention. He looks directly at her.

“Do you see why I canceled the series? Do you see why I never want to go back to television again? My son mimicked my stunts. I’m positive there are other kids out there doing the same. I don’t want their injuries, their deaths, on my conscience. One death, my son’s death, is one too many. What you need to understand, what I want you to get across in this article, is what Steph has known all along. I am to blame. My son’s death is on me.”

Nathan stands. He strides past her and goes to the window. Bottled energy pulses through him. He fidgets, tapping the window with his knuckle, the force increasing with each knock. He makes a fist, and for a horrifying second, Ella fears he’ll thrust his arm through the glass.

“Nathan.”

He turns around. Their eyes meet and something unspoken passes between them. Ella disregards she’s here on assignment. She dismisses the fact that they’re both married. And she stops resisting the urge to comfort him the way he needs. Turning off the recorder, she goes to him.

Tension vibrates from his body when she stands before him. She touches his arm, rests a hand on his cheek. “Nathan,” she whispers.

He threads his fingers in her hair. “What is it about you?” he murmurs.

She doesn’t know. His touch doesn’t seem familiar, but it feels safe and right.

That alone should scare Ella more than anything, but she doesn’t move away. Instead, she draws closer.

Nathan leans down until their lips are a breath apart, and even though Ella knows what’s coming next, she doesn’t feel any guilt, only the desire to ease his heartache.

They kiss, more chaste than deep, and it doesn’t last long.

Nathan rests his cheek against hers. “Stay with me tonight,” he murmurs. “Let me just hold you.”

“Okay,” she whispers and kisses his neck. Because for now, that’s what he needs. It’s what she needs, too.

She slips off her shoes and lies down, fully clothed, on the bed. Nathan turns off the lights and, after removing his own shoes, joins her on the bed, drawing a blanket over them and her into his arms.

“Thank you,” he whispers, dropping soft kisses in her hair, light and airy, and soon, Ella feels herself drifting off, thinking of their conversation about his son. Hopefully, tonight he can find some peace.



Ella wakes in a darkened room, foreign with unfamiliar scents. She lies on her side and slowly, like pausing a TV show to take in the scene’s details, waits for her eyes to adjust.

Nathan’s hotel room. Nathan’s bed. Nathan beside her.

Light spills from the bathroom and onto the bed in a blanket of molten gold. Nathan breathes steadily, watching her.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hi.”

He gently touches her face, gliding his thumb along her lower lip.

“How long have you been awake?” she asks.

“Not long.”

“What time is it?”

“Two a.m., I think.”

He trails his hand lower, his fingertips lightly dancing along the curve of her neck, the neckline of her shirt. He stops at the top button and their eyes meet, his questioning. His lips part.

“Yes,” she whispers before he can ask. She wants this. She wants him.

He leans into her and tenderly, gently, presses his lips to hers. That’s all it takes, that one light touch to ignite what’s been simmering between them, what’s always been there.

They shed their clothes, fumbling with zippers and buttons, kissing, touching, and discovering. When he presses Ella to her back and settles between her legs, she expects him to plunge into her and drive them to the edge with the same ferocity she witnessed him display in his episodes. But as he’s done since she arrived at his house earlier in the week, he surprises her. He takes his time. Savors her. Worships the curves and planes of her body, pushing her higher until she peaks.

Before she can catch her breath, Nathan’s forearms frame her head as he supports his weight. He grasps her hands, threading his fingers with hers. “You okay?”

“Very.”

They share a smile and then Nathan eases into her, all the way, and stills. Ella releases a steady moan. God, he feels so good.

But she needs more.

She squeezes his hands and, planting her feet on the mattress, attempts to raise her hips. He doesn’t budge.

“Move,” she grunts. She needs pressure. There. She aches.

Nathan rocks into her. He moves with purpose, searching for a connection. And Ella’s right there with him.

Aurous light highlights the rigid angles of his face, heightens the blue in his eyes, which hold on to hers.

“I wish you remembered us.” Spoken against her lips.

So does Ella.

She looks inward, hoping, praying, this might be what it takes to lift the veil in her mind. But she doesn’t remember. Being with him in this way isn’t familiar. Just different. So different from Damien. Nathan’s broader, heavier. His scent sharper, provocative and arousing.

“El.”

Her name is a breath of air and she feels a sting behind her eyes.

Nathan’s making love to her as though they belong together. How could she ever have forgotten what it feels like to be with him? How could she have forgotten him?