Full Tilt (Full Tilt #1)(98)

“You,” he whispered.

“You…” All I knew or felt or saw. You. The whole world in my arms. The unfolding depths of his eyes. The hard, heavy warmth of him inside me. A soft, pulsing pleasure that grew with each moment, until it began to move us.

Our lips met in a gentle, deep kiss. Inhale, I rolled my hips back. Exhale, I pushed them forward. Jonah mirrored, rocking his pelvis against mine. A tide, ebbing and flowing. Ocean waves falling gently on the shore as we kissed and shared breath. Eyes open, never breaking contact, the heavy ache of pleasure took on more weight, grew more intense.

“Kace,” he whispered.

I threaded my fingers through his hair, adding new points of contact, new connections. I felt him in every pore, every breath and beat of our hearts. I’d never experienced anything like this in my life. He was a universe. My love for him was just as boundless.

Tears filled our eyes as our bodies rolled and slid, driving toward a bittersweet crescendo of pleasure. Tears for love. For loss. For the weeks he had, and the years he didn’t. For the joy and laughter, the heartache and grief. For this lonely man and the lost woman he’d rescued. For us, and the rapidly approaching time in which there would be only me.

I closed my eyes, sank into his kiss, and gave in to the climax. It rose up and rolled through us, gentle slow-motion swells instead of a crashing wave.

“Look at me,” he whispered. “Don’t stop.”

I opened my eyes.

“I love you, Kacey.”

“Jonah.” My eyes saw only him. My breath was for his lungs, my tears dampened his skin. My hands were made to run through his hair. I was born to feel him all over me forever.

“Jonah…My Jonah…”





I spun the blowpipe back and forth. The glass on the end was the size of a child-size bowling ball but felt a hundred times heavier. My breath was a shallow wheeze in and out of my chest—I couldn’t take deep breaths anymore unless I was sitting down.

“Tania…”

She took the pipe from my hand as I sat heavily on the bench and set it on the rails. I resumed rolling and shaping. My arms felt like lead as I took up the jacks and sawed at the neck. Tania was there, her hands covered in the thick mitts, cupped beneath the sphere.

“Stop if you have to,” she told me.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have the breath and I wouldn’t have stopped anyway. The glass globe cut loose from the pipe and Tania caught it deftly in her hands. She carried it to the kiln, but it was too big for her to hold while opening the door.

Using the blowpipe as a cane, I pushed myself to stand and moved as fast as I could across the ten feet. I opened the kiln door and Tania carefully laid the glass inside, while I slumped against the wall, gasping for breath.

She tore off the mitts to set the cooling timer, then took me by the arms.

“Tell me…”

We had a standing agreement, me and my circle. They didn’t ask if I needed help so long as I promised to tell them if I did.

“I’m okay,” I said, and it was true. My heart Jack-rabbited in my chest, irregular and fast, but it was calming down. My lungs sucked in more and more air, and finally I was able to push myself off the wall.

Tania hooked her arm under mine and helped. Together, we looked through the kiln glass door.

“It’s done,” I said. It had taken two hours per day for four days, but it was done.

“It’s the best thing you’ve ever made,” Tania murmured.

“Because loving her is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

We shut everything down, cleaned up the worktable and headed for the sliding front doors. I stopped and turned, taking in the space that had felt like a second home to me.

“Did you forget something?” she asked.

“No. I’m just…”

Saying goodbye.

“…remembering.” I looked over at my assistant. Tears were in her eyes. “You’ll take care of the last piece?”

She nodded. “It’s been an honor and a privilege working with you.”

“Likewise, Tania. I only wish I could stick around to see your brilliant career.”

“So do I, dammit,” she said fiercely, and threw her arms around my neck. “Though I don’t know about brilliant…”

I did. She had applied to the Chihuly Studio in Seattle. I knew Dale’s rep had received my letter of recommendation, and I knew they were “extremely enthusiastic” about Tania’s work. I knew they’d be notifying her shortly to schedule a round of interviews and studio time.

I could’ve told her what to expect, but some moments—like her opening that letter from the Studio—were meant to be lived in as they happened.

I knew that too.





One morning, Jonah was slow to get out of bed, and then only made it to the kitchen before stopping to rest his hands on the counter, catching his breath. He spent most of the day in the chair in the living room.

The speed of his decline terrified me. Seconds were slipping by, taking our moments with them. I fought to hold onto them. To make something of them that was more than fear and grief and agony. Losing Jonah was agony, and if I slowed down to think about it, even for a moment, it would drown me.

I had to keep moving. Stay ahead of it, for Jonah’s sake and for mine. I made phone calls, I prepped his medications and made our meals. I took his showers with him, helped him wash and shampoo, then helped him out. I made a flirtatious game of it, but aside from a few warm kisses, Jonah’s body was shutting down.