The Passing Storm(79)

Sexual longing is a form of muscle memory. Their bodies, he mused, were automatically primed from years earlier. All those breathless hours of foreplay. If he had any sense, he’d get off the couch. Finish the conversation at a sensible distance.

She looked at him suddenly. “How is Jackie?”

“Not great. I suppose it’s the same for all the girls.” He frowned. “More importantly, how are you doing?”

“Before tonight, I would’ve said I’m managing. Quinn’s revelation didn’t help.” She regarded him, her eyes lingering for too long. “Grief is hard. It hits you like a hammer. You can’t prepare for those moments. They just come. In one respect, it does get easier. You learn to expect the blows.”

“Do you exercise?”

The practical suggestion cleared her gaze of some of the pain. “Not as much as you do, obviously,” she said lightly. “You look good. Really great. The term ‘beefcake’ comes to mind.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As it was intended.”

Without warning, she lifted affectionate fingers. Slowly she feathered the lightest caresses across his brow. Taking her time as she traced curious fingers across his receding hairline, her attention delving, thorough, as she altered the atmosphere between them.

Her touch pinioned Griffin between agony and bliss.

“Griffin Marks, your worst fear is coming true,” she teased, and her breathing hitched. Touching him was affecting her too.

She meant his biggest worry, their last year of high school. “It is,” he agreed.

The power of her tenderness brought him a fraction closer, and she smiled. “Your hairline is receding. I doubt you’ll believe this, but . . . it looks good on you. You’ve always had a great forehead. Wide, sturdy. With your hair moving out of the way, you look distinguished. You’ll look even more distinguished in your forties.”

“Rae.”

“Hmm?” She was toying with his ears now, her eyes sparking when he shivered.

“Either stop what you’re doing,” he said, his resolve slipping, “or let two play this game.”

“What game?”

Tired of her teasing, he captured her mouth in a hungry kiss. Cupping her face, he took his sweet time, his head swimming; when Rae whimpered with need, he brought her fully into his arms. Then he dragged his mouth across her cheek, savoring the taste of her skin, before he kissed her again.

He allowed them both a few minutes of bliss. No more. If they were taking their relationship in a new direction, they weren’t doing so tonight. Not after the disturbing conversation they’d shared. Not while Rae—still in mourning and fearful about the circumstances surrounding Lark’s death—was too fragile to make a life-altering decision.

There were mistakes a wise man didn’t repeat.

The snow had let up. Only a smattering of white flitted through the night air.

“Would you like another cup of tea?” Griffin asked. He was hoping to keep her near for another hour or two, just to talk.

“That would be great.”

Deciding to have some himself, Griffin made two cups. By the time he returned to the living room, Rae had smoothed down her wild hair. Her posture—straight, nearly rigid—slowed his pace.

When he set the cups down, Rae pulled in a breath. “I want to tell you something.” She inhaled another breath, clearly steadying herself. “Griffin, I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to share. I sure didn’t think I’d discuss this with you. Before Quinn came into my life, I’d done a good job forgetting. Oh, that’s not the right word. Not forgetting—burying it. One of those memories you resist, because it tears you up too much. With everything that’s happened—between you and Lark, and with Quinn, his parents—I think you need to know. In case what happened back then has more bearing on the present than I’d like to believe.”

Protectively, Griffin placed his hand on her knee. The reassuring gesture eased the tension on her features. Lowering her hand on top, she held his fingers tight. Seeking assurance that he’d anchor them both before she carried them out to rough seas.

The silence wound out.

Then Rae led him into the past.





Chapter 29


MARCH


Two months after the White Hurricane

Red ink blazed across the envelope: FINAL NOTICE.

Rae dropped her book bag to the floor. Snatching the envelope from the kitchen table, she read quickly.

According to the notice, her father hadn’t paid the electric bill since December—one month before her mother’s death in January. By nature, her father was forgetful. But this was negligent. Was she supposed to do homework by candlelight?

A more distressing thought surfaced. If the electric bill had gone unpaid for months on end, what other bills were past due? Connor no longer visited the grocery store with any frequency. He left Rae to fend for herself. For weeks she’d been doing all the laundry and the general housekeeping, tackling the chores in the evenings before digging into homework. Keeping up with housework was exhausting for a high school senior preparing for her final exams, and Rae had begun to give up on the effort. How to manage household bills was even more daunting. She had only the slimmest understanding of home mortgages, health insurance, and similar obligations that adults were supposed to manage. She’d been accepted to Ohio University in Athens. Her college career would begin soon.