Secret Lucidity(35)
“Do what?”
Pulling me into his arms, he tucks my head under his chin, quelling my discomfort.
“Be nervous with me.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It is,” he assures without hesitance. “It’s only you and me. Cam and David.”
“What about tomorrow? What are we then?” I ask because I’m not sure how to go from his bed to his classroom, because this kind of situation doesn’t come with an instruction manual.
There’s no right when you decide to live in the wrong.
“We’re what we have to be so that we can have this.”
Lying in the strong arms of Off Limits, I decide to let go of tomorrow in order to enjoy today. And when we finally abandon the bed, I sit at the bar top and watch as he fixes his coffee.
“You want a cup?”
“No,” I respond before turning around in my seat.
I scan the living room, which sits off the kitchen and is illuminated by the sun’s morning rays. The dark brown hardwood floors contrast the light gray stone of the fireplace that holds the ashes of last night. There’s a hallway off the corner of the kitchen with several doors that must lead to more bedrooms.
I take in the fixtures and detailing before turning back to him with slight humor to not offend, and say, “This is a pretty nice house for a teacher’s salary.”
He takes a sip of his coffee before responding with a grin. “Trust fund brat.”
I can’t help but to laugh. It’s so typical for this town. I’m one as well, but I have no access to it until I’m twenty-four.
“Still,” I say, “it seems like a lot of space for just you.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be just me.” He rounds the island and takes a seat next to me, setting his mug down on the granite before explaining, “I was engaged once.”
“Oh.”
“It was a long time ago. I bought it for us, but it ended before we had the chance to move in.” He takes another sip of coffee. “It was empty for eight years. I just recently moved in.”
“Eight years?”
He nods.
He looks younger sitting here with his mussed up hair than what he does at school, but I have to ask anyway, “How old are you, Coach?”
“David,” he corrects, and I feel like an idiot considering what happened last night between us. “I’m thirty-one.”
I do the math and take a hard swallow.
Fourteen years separate us, and I suddenly feel so far out of my league with him—a little child trespassing onto forbidden grounds. Grounds I have no business being on, but here I am—on them—because there’s something drawing me to him. It’s a force beyond my strength, magnetic fields that were destined to collide—and we did.
“Scares the shit out of me too,” he says, reading every one of my thoughts on my face.
Not wanting to agonize over all the reasons why we shouldn’t be doing what we’re doing, I go back a few steps, asking, “Why did it take you so long to move in?”
“After we called off the wedding, I had to get the hell out of here, so I finished my last semester of college, got my degree, and then enlisted in the Army.”
“That’s what you’ve been doing for the past eight years?”
“Yeah,” he responds, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the countertop. “I was Special Ops. I spent my time on the Psychological Operations Command unit.”
“That sounds a lot more exciting than being a teacher,” I quip, and he smiles, agreeing. “Why did you come back?”
His eyes drop from mine, and it takes him a beat before deciding to avoid my question altogether. “You hungry?”
I shake my head and back off, realizing I’ve struck fissures. I move to stand, and he reaches out for my hand, taking it in his.
“It isn’t something I—”
“You don’t have to explain,” I tell him, feeling bad for digging too deep.
He tugs my hand, urging me to come closer, and when I do, he cups my cheek. With his fingers slipping into my hair, he brushes his thumb over my scar.
I release a slow breath and turn my head away from his touch.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” I sigh before pulling away and walking into the living room.
He follows and joins me on the couch, and when his arm drapes over my shoulders, I tell him, “She can barely look at me because of it.”
“Your mother?”
I nod. “She used to dress me up like a doll and show me off. I knew my looks made her proud, and I was happy to be her trinket. It’s shallow, I know, but she loved me deeply. It wasn’t her fault she needed to fit in to a certain social standing that our family fell just beneath. I figured it had to stem from her childhood. But it’s not like I wasn’t happy—I was. I mean, what girl doesn’t like being told she’s pretty?” I stop, pausing for a moment before continuing. “But now, not only is her trinket tarnished but it also serves as a reminder of what’s been taken from her.”
“He was taken from you too.”
“Not in her eyes, because her pain is the only pain that matters.”
He lifts my chin up to him, stating, “Your pain matters to me.”