Puddle Jumping(37)

A sad smile pressed his mouth upward. “I wanted you to have me with you.”

The pain in my heart grew a thousand times over. “I know.” My hand pressed to his cheek. “It was very thoughtful. Just like the words you painted . . .”

It was then his eyes met mine. I’m still not sure what he saw at that moment, but it felt like he was looking beyond my face and into my soul.

“I paint the truth, Lilly.”

My heart stopped.

“I do . . . love you. If you needed me to say it before you should have told me so. I know what it means.” The way he said it was like the words were forcing themselves from his mouth almost painfully, his face contorting as they left his lips and his eyebrows drew together. “This emptiness inside of me here,” he placed my hand on his chest, “means I love you. When you’re not here, I can’t focus. It’s too loud . . . But my heartbeat does this when you’re close.”

Under my palm, the erratic cadence was more apparent than I’d ever noticed before.

“I dream of you. And I don’t like it when I can’t talk to you or see you or touch you.” His eyes found mine again. “That’s love.”

A sob broke through my chest as he pondered it. “Yeah, it is.”

“Does my loving you make you sad?” Concern pulled at the corners of his eyes.

“No, I’m not sad you love me.”

“Then why are you crying?”

I had to laugh a little, then. “Because I’m happy.”

He was more confused. “Well, that doesn’t make sense. Crying is for sadness.”

“Sometimes,” I laughed louder, “it means happiness. But . . . girls are strange.”

His head tilted a little as he thought. “You would be more of an expert on that than I would be.”

I pulled him closer, circling my arms around his waist and listening to his breathing while we stood, pressed against one another. I apologized, he accepted and we were fine, once again. It was the beauty of us. It was what it was. No games. No pretenses. No blame or guilt to deal with unnecessarily.

“Do you need me to help you finish packing?” I’d asked with my face smushed into the front of his gray t-shirt.

“I’d prefer to kiss you for a while before you have to go home.”

My smile started and then faltered. “I forgot to bring a toothbrush.”

He was gone and back in less than five seconds, holding a brand new one in my face. “My mother bought an extra one for my trip.”

Once again, I was thankful to Sheila for something.

He watched, as he always had, causing me to take a mental picture of him leaning against the wall as I spit and rinsed. And just as fast as I could get to him, I was in his arms.

The door was locked. The music was on. I mean, there weren’t any candles or anything like that, but we were together one last time before he was going to leave for a year. Our recent absence from one another did nothing to slow our passion. It only made it more forceful. Our touches were heavy handed. Meaningful. Lingering. I wanted him to remember all of it.

I wasted no time taking off his shirt. There was no hesitance in his hands as we fumbled with my own.

It was hot needy kisses of the here and now.

It was: take this with you when you leave.

It was: keep this in your memory when you lay in bed at night.

It was: You have all of me now.

Our fingers explored one another. I was committing him to memory with my eyes closed and body erupting in goose bumps while becoming overheated at once. He studied my scar and his fingers trailed over the raised flesh again, so softly . . . I knew he remembered how he’d saved me once. But the truth was, he’d saved me again since then.

My touch was rough, just like he wanted. My kisses were insistent, just as they needed to be.

When I realized I was flat on my back on top of his bed, there wasn’t a thought in my mind. I savored every touch. Every kiss. Each graze of my lips to his skin, willing my brain to just remember.

And when he pulled back off me, his lids half open and his hips dipping forward like before, I didn’t stop him. I watched, fascinated.

Books and movies make it seem so much easier, like it just happens. But there’s more to it. It just seemed to take a little longer than I had anticipated. I wasn’t going to complain, because in that moment I wanted to be with him in one last way.

If he was leaving, he was taking everything I had to give with him.

His forehead was creased with . . . worry? Pain? I couldn’t tell because I was trying so hard not to cry over the finality of it all. I was too tense. It was too much.

It suddenly occurred to me he must have been experiencing that times a million.

“Colton, look at my face,” I called to him and he did as I said, his eyes watching my lips as I spoke. “Relax . . .” As soon as I said it, I think we both loosened up at the same time, and it finally, finally happened.

It wasn’t painful with Colton. He didn’t rush the experience. It was so overwhelming for him that he was struggling to breathe. I shifted then, only minutely, to pull his face to mine with my hands, gripping the back of his neck tightly. Then I crossed my ankles behind his back. And squeezed my thighs against his torso.

Hard.

I believe we both had our eyes closed for just a moment, but I opened mine at one point to see him staring down at me in wonder, his mouth open as if he were struggling to speak.