Willing Captive(65)

This morning, I uploaded my eReader with the latest smuttiness and I’ve found a good one. I read and read and read, and before I know it, four hours have passed. Just when I stand and stretch, I hear someone move to sit at the opposite end of the bench. From my peripheral vision, I can see it’s a man with a large build. He wears jeans, a black tee and white sneakers. He also walks with a cane.

For a moment, I tell myself to face him with a greeting. But this really isn’t the place for nice conversation. I assume the man is here to do exactly what I am here to do.

Mourn.

I let him be. Sitting back down on the bench, I lift my eReader and pick up where I left off. The book has some serious funnies in it, and I’m trying really hard to be respectful and curb the laughter that bubbles up my throat.

I make some odd choking, gurgling noises. The man turns his head to face me.

Avoiding his eyes, I turn my bright red face the opposite way and pretend to cough.

Lifting my eReader so high that I’m hiding behind it, from the corner of my eye, I see that man stifle his grin.

Busted.

The man clears his throat before he practically whispers, “Funny book?”

Clearly mortified, I don’t look up from my book when I whisper back, “I’m sorry. That was rude. It won’t happen again.”

He leans to the side, his body close to mine when he replies just as quietly, “Nothing wrong with laughter. Some people say laughter can heal anything.”

Shaking my head slightly, I scoff, “Well, those people have never experienced true pain.”

Leaning back away from me, he allows a moment before he whispers, “Sounds like you know a little something about it.”

My cheeks flush and my brow furrows.

Suddenly angry, I drop my eReader to my lap with a plop and point to a grave I see every week, I point. “Look there.” The man doesn’t say a thing, but from my peripheral vision, I see his head turn to where I point. I tell him, “That little old lady? She’s here every weekend.” Dropping my hand, I go on, “Now this is just a guess, but I’d say she’s in her seventies. She comes here every weekend and she cries at the grave of her husband. Her husband had been dead for twenty years, and I see her here every single week.” I allow a moment’s silence before telling the man quietly, “Death ends a life. Not a relationship.”

Rant over.

I pick up my eReader and resume reading.

The man shifts a little closer to me. Unconsciously, I breathe him in. He smells woodsy and fresh. He says quietly, “If you know she comes here every week, that would mean you come here every week, too.” I don’t answer. He asks softly, “Who are you mourning?”

Suddenly my nose is tingling. I read on, but reply through quivering lips, “Someone I knew better than to fall in love with.”

The man shifts even closer to me, leans down, and whispers in my ear, “Can’t help who you fall in love with, princess.”

I freeze.

No. No. No.

My stomach knots. My head spins. The man says softly, “Breathe.”

I hadn’t realized I’d stopped. I inhale loudly. Unable to bring myself to look into the man’s face, my chest heaves as I ask, “What’s your name?”

He responds immediately in regular volume, “Well, someone once told me I look like an Adam.”

I know that voice. I’ve dreamt of that voice for the last six months. Every night, that voice haunts my dreams. My eyes blur, and I whisper, “You sound more like a Nox to me.”

The man scoffs teasingly, “Nox? What the hell kind of name is that?”

I can’t help it. I chuckle.

My chuckle turns into a laugh.

My laughter turns into a sob. Before I know it, I’m sobbing loudly on a bench…in a cemetery…sitting next to the ghost of the love of my life.

Holy hell. I’ve gone nuts.

Warmth covers my hand. I look down to see a large, calloused, scarred hand on mine.

I sob harder.

He squeezes my hand before pulling me into his chest, and wraps his strong arms around me.

“Oh my God. It’s finally happened. I’ve gone batshit crazy.” I speak into the warmth of his chest, and I feel his body shake with silent laughter.

His breath warms my ear as he whispers into it. “Lily, look at me.” Shaking my head, I close my eyes tight and cry into him. He repeats himself, “Look at me, baby.”

“I’m afraid to.”

He strokes my hair. “Why, baby?”

I whisper, “If this is a dream, I’ll just die.” A tear trails down my cheek. “My heart just couldn’t take it.”

His lips touch the shell of my ear. “Show me those pretty, green eyes.”

Goosebumps break out all over my body. I really want to look, but I don’t want to wake up from this dream.

Remember what you said? Even if just for a moment…

Moving back from him, I keep my eyes closed. Holding out my hands, he takes them into his warm, large ones and holds them tight. Taking a deep breath, I mutter, “I told myself if I ever got the chance to see you again, that I’d tell you a few things. So here goes.” My eyes burn and I thank God I haven’t opened them. “I love you. And every single day I live with guilt. I wish I’d never left you.” Tears fall from the corners of my eyes. I squeeze his hands tighter. “I could’ve saved you if I’d begged hard enough. I know you wouldn’t have left me. Then you’d be alive, and I’d disappear with you. I hated the life I was living. And you changed me. All for the better. And I thank God for the day I met you.”