Chapter 13

Thirteen

SARA

Five-thirty a.m.

An early dawn ray of light poked through the blinds, hitting me in the eyes. I was groggy, but tried to rise anyway, then it hit me—the throbbing pain in my head. It sent me crashing back onto my pillow. Tiny fragments of the previous night broke through.

What happened? What did I do?

I pushed the covers aside and attempted to roll out of bed, but my body felt like a ball of lead. Squinting toward the window, I noticed a figure lying on my chaise. Straining to focus, I rubbed my eyes until I was able to see clearly.

Tom?

He was sprawled on the chaise, passed out. One arm hung off the side, the other arm was folded, resting above his forehead. With jeans unbuckled and his shirt bunched up, his bare stomach was visible right above the waist. Even in my groggy state, I couldn’t help but focus on his chiseled abs dusted in soft, dark hair. My eyes traveled down his happy trail to where the zipper ended and his dark briefs began.

My mind spun again. This guy gave me a serious case of panty-dropper syndrome.

As I regained my vision, I stared, trying to take in his calmness. No brooding, no tension, just my sleeping lion. A warm peace embraced me. Smiling, I laid back down and instantly faded to sleep.

* * *

Eleven a.m.

Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!

At full volume, my phone roused me out of deep sleep. Stumbling out of bed, head pounding, I tried to locate the damn device so I could stomp on it and fling it out the window.

Shut up. Shut up.

By the time I reached the dresser, I’d missed the call. Still struggling to focus, I closed one eye and stared at the screen as a text came through.

Tom:Get Ready. Picking you up at noon.

As I grimaced at his insanity, my stomach turned, forcing me to the bathroom. Barely making it to the toilet, I heaved once before finally emptying what was left. I wiped my mouth and took one look in the mirror, almost fainting. My hair was curled into a bird’s nest and my raccoon eyes did little to aid the situation. I’d slept in my clothes and my dress was a crumpled disaster. More importantly, the night washed over me in tidal waves of shame. I closed my eyes as I painfully remembered the ludicrous amounts of champagne and tequila I drank.

The club. Taylor. Arguing with Tom. Dancing. The car.

Oh, Christ. The car.

I palmed my face, regretting everything my debauched-self had done.

How the hell was I supposed to face Tom after what I did…well, tried to do?

Some hydrotherapy might help me figure this out.

I washed my teeth then jumped in the shower. While refreshing, the cold water did little to alleviate the nausea, nor did it help me conjure up an excuse for my less-than-honorable behavior. Not to mention the guy didn’t give me much time to get ready. With my head still pounding, I rushed to put on a pair of white, skinny jeans and a turquoise blouse. I slid into a soft pair of silver flats, hoping Tom hadn’t planned a fancy brunch.

* * *

It was a beautiful Sunday morning, bright sunshine streaked through a few scattered clouds. I stood on the stoop of the entrance, waiting for my looney date to arrive, but there was no sign of the Rover. As I scanned the streets for Tom, a guy sitting on a sports motorcycle parked in front of my building took off his biker helmet.

Yowza.

“Talk about dangerously sexy,” I said as I walked up to the rider, eyeing the bike.

“Why thank you,” Tom replied with a toothy smile.

I nodded toward his metal toy. “I was referring to the motorcycle.”

Tom’s happy expression morphed into a frown as he traced a finger from his right eye down his cheek. “Single tear,” he said with a sarcastic pout.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. You’re sexy, too. Happy?”

He grinned.

“Where’s the Rover?” I asked, shaking my head at his silliness.

He patted the back seat. “This is more fun.”

While I was not typically fond of sports bikes, after what happened the night before, the forced silence was a welcomed opportunity. There was something incredibly hot and sexy about a guy on a motorcycle anyway.

His biker look—black jeans and boots with a white T-shirt and black leather jacket—was straight out of a wet dream. Yeah, my looney date was pretty damn smoking hot.

“Feeling hungover?” he teased, a playful smile making his lips twitch.

I lightly punched his arm. “You’re lucky I like you. Giving me an hour to get ready after the night I had—not very gallant of you. I could have plans, you know.”

“Do you?”

“That’s not the point.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s the point, then?”

I crossed my arms also. “The point is…” I paused, realizing I’d never win this battle. “Never mind.”

He dismounted his steel white horse, dug his hands into his back pockets, and looked at me. “I’m sorry.” His sweet, sorrowful eyes were completely disarming.

“It’s okay. I would have cancelled them anyway.” I winked at him. “So where are we going?”

“Thought we’d grab a bite to eat. Talk.”

My eyes widened. “About?” I hoped we wouldn’t need to discuss what happened between us. I still didn’t have an excuse for my behavior other than the old alcohol made me do it which would only make me sound like I was a pro at drunken expos. Clearly, I wasn’t, but denying it would only sound worse.

He grabbed the extra helmet and slid it over my head, lifting the visor and ignoring my question. Then he handed me a matching women’s jacket, and as he zipped me up, he eyed me from top to bottom. “Well, you look dangerously sexy yourself.”

“I do enjoy you on me…I mean, your things on me.” My cheeks flared as I realized my slip.

He cleared his throat. “Have you been on a motorcycle before?”

“Never,” I replied, my knees trembling.

“Nervous?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“I would never put you in danger.”

Images of horrific motorcycle accidents scanned through my mind.

“Some simple rules—keep your legs against the bike, feet on the footrests, and your arms wrapped tight around my body. Lean the side of your head against my back if you want. Got it?”

Wrap my arms tightly around you? Sure.

“Yes.”

“Get on.” He handed me a small knapsack. “Strap this on first.”

“What’s inside?”

“You’ll see.”

Securing myself behind his large frame, legs pressed tight and arms around his chest, we fit like a puzzle. Last time we were this close, we were famished animals feeding on each other’s mouths. His body was broad and strong. I could feel his tone muscles through his clothes. Last night’s memories of me writhing on his lap made my thighs tremble with unbidden want. Sweet warmth swirled its way down between my legs. Not being able to close them was silent torture.

I kept my eyes shut most of the ride, clinging onto Tom for dear life. His gloved hand rested over mine, trying to reassure me everything was okay. Once we jumped on the Henry Hudson heading north, although I didn’t loosen my grip, my body relaxed. His driving was smooth and steady. Eventually, my fear dissipated and I was able to enjoy the freedom of the wind hitting against my body, and I reeled in the thrill of the danger. Anchored to this pillar, I couldn’t feel any safer.

Once on the Jersey side, we made a short stop at a gas station, unsaddled, and stretched.

“The rest of the ride should be more pleasurable,” he said. “Long though. Now would be the time to use the restroom.”

“I’m okay.”

“How’s the ride?” He bounced on the balls of his feet.

“Terrifying. Amazing.”

His left eyebrow hiked. “That awful, huh?”

“No, silly. It’s like riding a crazy-fast, upside-down roller coaster. You know you’re safe, yet you still get petrified while having tons of fun.” I gave him a little nudge on his arm. “I did say amazing also. Relax. I’m thoroughly enjoying the ride. Really.”

He beamed. “Let’s get back on the road. First, since you’re always asking about my playlist…I created one especially for this trip.” Placing my helmet back over my head, he briefly touched the side of the helmet, and a beep sounded by my ears.

Before pulling down the visor, he said, “Enjoy it, baby.” Then he hopped on the bike, patting the back seat. As I climbed on and he drove onto the road, a familiar song piped through the Bluetooth speakers inside the helmet. My cheeks flared—along with all other parts of my body. It was the song I played in his car the night before.

We hopped onto Route 9 West, heading to upstate New York. The scenic ride offered occasional views of the city and the Hudson River. I’d driven on this road before, but this was a whole new venture for me. With my arms wrapped snuggly against him, I couldn’t believe only a week before he had been a complete stranger in a coffee shop. Now, I was a magnet strapped to his back, my life entrusted to him and his metal horse.

I held on tighter, fearful I was about to make the same mistakes all over again. The moment I dreaded for years had finally caught up with me and I was not sure I was ready to go diving for pieces of my broken heart.

Josh had been the love of my life. We’d known each other since grade school, but it wasn’t until our senior year, when mutual friends and the convenience of sharing multiple classes brought us closer together. My teen heart swooned at his boyish good looks. Tall, muscular, blond, blue-eyed, and captain of the football team, he was every girl’s dream.

I wasn’t much of a looker. Even in my last year of high school, I still lacked the curves most boys craved. Plus, my life revolved around dance. It was all I breathed. You could say we were very much an unlikely match, and never in my wildest dreams would I have thought Josh Buckley would fall for a girl like me.

He was wild, exciting. For the first time in my life, dance wasn’t the only thing that made me feel alive. I knew he was trouble, but I wasn’t above the fatal female flaw of falling for the bad boy with the hopes of one day changing his ways and making him the perfect man. Swearing true love and that we would never be apart, I succumbed to his charms in the backseat of his cramped Camaro—mind, body, and soul—and gave myself to him on prom night.

No one thought it would last, but we vowed to prove them all wrong. We almost did. After graduation, we were inseparable. We fell madly, deeply in love. That love was our crystal ball. We thought we could conquer the world. After I finished dance school, we were going to get married. I’d work for a famous dance company, he’d manage his father’s grocery market, and we’d travel the world. Eventually, we’d settle down in a nice suburban town, have two kids, and a dog named Charlie. We were so focused on the end product, we never bothered to think about the road there. I guess we never thought the magic could end.

For him, it did.

Shortly after my mother died, he packed up his bags and left. No goodbye. Not even a note. I’ll never understand why he left without an explanation. With the loss of my mother, and me being laid up in bed for months while I healed from my spinal injuries, I needed him more than ever.

Whatever. Old news. What mattered was the present. I wanted to be with no one else but Tom, on his bike, destination anywhere, welded to my savior and perhaps my undoer as well.

We crossed the state border into New York, and the two-lane road transitioned into peaceful suburban surroundings. Traffic was sparse and we were able to glide up and around the winding road with ease. A dulcet serenade swam through my ears. Coupled with the fluid motion of the bike, and the serenity of the mountains, the music made my soul do pirouettes.

Our destination was a small-town pizza café, Thomasina’s. The two-story building had a beige facade and dark-wood trim. Tom pulled over by the curve and parked the bike. He took off his helmet as he dismounted, releasing his unruly hair. We crossed the sidewalk to the café and Tom opened the door to usher me in. The tantalizing aromas of melted cheese, garlic, and basil in simmering tomatoes hit my nose with a vengeance. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until then.

Copper ceilings, checkered floors, and green-accented walls made it cozy and inviting. We were greeted by a friendly young girl who took us to our table. There weren’t too many patrons, and I welcomed the added privacy.

“This place makes the best brick-oven pizza you have ever tasted,” he boasted as if he owned the place.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if he did.

“That’s a pretty bold statement. You don’t know what I’ve tasted.”

“Sara, please. I’m telling you, once you have a slice, you will never want pizza elsewhere.”

“You’re saying, if I ever want to have pizza again, I’m gonna need to drive an hour and a half to get it?”

“Thomasina will ship it out to you.”

I tilted my head, eyes slit in doubt. “They deliver to Manhattan?”

“No, they will ship you a frozen pie that you can stick in the oven.”

“Best brick oven, you say?”

“I don’t lie.”

“Not going to take your word for it, so just order it and we’ll see.”

While we waited for our Margherita pie to arrive, our calamari and garlic knots appetizers were served along with my cherry cola and Tom’s homemade, unsweetened iced tea.

As we ate, I decided it was time to breach the topic. “Tom, about last night—”

He stopped me before I could continue. “There’s nothing for you to say.”

“I’m not going to sit here and make excuses for my behavior; tell you it was the alcohol. The truth is…the truth is I’m glad you…well, I’m glad I didn’t have any regrets this morning. Let’s just put it like that. It’s not to say I didn’t want to…you know. Just not like that. You understand?”

“Of course,” he replied quickly, but he didn’t look me in the eyes.

I reached out and placed my hand over his. “Thanks for staying. Really.”

His eyes met mine. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“What time did you leave?”

“I heard your friends stumbling in through the front door around six. I didn’t want them to know I was there. Didn’t want them to think I dishonored my maiden.” He smiled playfully.

“Ha. Too late for dishonoring this maiden.”

Our pizza arrived piping hot and oozing with bubbling melted cheese. I took my first slice in my fingers and worked on the stringy cheese. Tom planted his on a dish and used a fork and knife to cut a small bite then blew on it to cool it.

I burst into a laugh. “Who eats pizza with a fork and knife?”

“Making fun of me?” he asked with a hurt look.

“Tom, seriously, a fork and knife? You are disgracing this pizza.”

“You eat it your way and I’ll eat it my way.”

I continued to laugh. “Your girly-ass way.”

He arched an eyebrow and gave me a fake scowl.

We devoured our six-slice pie in no time. Taking a long gulp of my soda, I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “You were right. Amazing.”

“Told you I don’t lie,” he said as he gestured for the waitress. “Dessert?”

“You have room for dessert?”

“You don’t?”

“What do you recommend?”

“Zeppolis?”

“Fried dough? Bring it on.”

Tom placed the order and looked at me with contemplative eyes. “I’m sorry, Sara,” he uttered.

“For what?”

His steady expression didn’t change. “For not calling.”

His apology caught me off guard and washed me with a bit of embarrassment at my outburst at the club. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry for yelling at you last night.”

“Sara, I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”

I blinked. “Why didn’t you?”

“On my way to the airport from your apartment, I kept replaying our date and the things you said. You made me realize I’d come on too strong.”

“Well, we’d just met the day before.”

“I know, but since the first day I saw you, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you, though. Then your car broke down and we ran into each other…I thought maybe it wasn’t complete coincidence, you know? It’s why I drove you home. Why I took you to my mechanic. I couldn’t let you go. Didn’t want to.” He ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head.

“You left your scent embedded in my leather seats,” he uttered as he smiled at himself. “I sound like a babbling idiot, I know. I’m not the soft and cuddly type, but you…you have my mind going in circles.”

I should have told him he was right; it wasn’t a coincidence. I followed him to the club because I couldn’t stop thinking about him either. Everything about him had me so confused I didn’t know what I was thinking or doing anymore.

The words were there, but I couldn’t utter them.

He looked at me, waiting for me to say something.

“You think I wanted to leave you on the stoop of your entrance like that?” he said. “I would have kidnapped you back to my place if no ounce of decency still existed in my veins.”

My heart raced at the sounds of his words.

He went on, “Then, I texted you but I didn’t know what to say, or more like, I didn’t know how to say how I felt.”

I hung on every word he said, unable to tell him how hard I’d been aching for his touch, for his kiss.

Say something!

Tom was pouring out his heart and I remained mute. He was telling me everything I’d hoped to hear, my heart thawing at his words, but my lips would not unfreeze.

“Sara?”

My heart pound so rapidly, the blood in my veins thrummed. I wiped my clammy hands on my jeans. I wasn’t ready for this. For him. “This is all happening so quickly,” I blurted out.

His eyes flashed with worry, but there was understanding in them as well.

Our dessert arrived, but he pushed the plate away. “I want to show you something,” he said as he signaled for the waitress to return.

The girl came back and handed him the bill. Tom pulled cash out of his wallet, and as we got up to leave, I waved toward the back of the restaurant, intending to use the restroom.

“I’ll see you outside,” he replied coolly.

Happy to escape from the heat of the ovens inside the dining area and away from the immense heaviness settling over us, I made it to the back in a flash. Pushing through the bathroom door, I gasped as I leaned my back against the door and stared at myself in the mirrors.

You can’t keep doing this forever. Hiding. Sooner or later, you are going to have to tell him or let him go.

I gave myself a conferring look. A long time ago, I threw away the key to the towering prison housing my feelings, hoping no one would ever find it. Somehow, someone did, and he was outside on a proverbial white horse, waiting to whisk me away to freedom. If only I could tell him why I denied myself the liberty of being loved.

A single flower now fought to bloom through the forsaken, barren wasteland of my heart. He’d planted the seed the first day I saw him, and with a flaring blaze, his presence etched itself onto my soul. Why else would I have stalked him, kissed him, mounted his bike? Why else would I keep dreading being away from him?

Every waking moment I spent away from him was utter despair. Not knowing where he was, what he was doing, who he was with. I could have closed the book on that part of my life right then and forgotten I’d ever met him. Or I could let him unshackle my wrists and finally release me.

I splashed water on my face, trying to gather my senses, and regarded myself with determination. I exited the restaurant, the glaring rays of the afternoon sun beating down on my head. Tom was already saddled on the bike, waiting for me.

We hastened away toward the awe-inspiring vistas of West Point where we parked the bike and stripped off our gear, attaching the helmets to the frame. Tom threw the knapsack I had been carrying over his shoulder, and we began our stroll through the perfectly manicured lawns and picturesque landscapes. Hand in hand, we walked in silence for a few minutes. My thoughts had been percolating since we left the café. I knew he was waiting for me to say something. After his big confession, he left me weak at the knees. I understood we’d both been trying to placate our feelings for each other. Meanwhile, our insides churned with unease.

Spotting a bench nearby, I guided us to take a seat. It took me a minute to gather the courage to speak, but I finally let go. “I gave my heart to someone once. The kind of love you believe will last forever. The type that makes you dream of marriage and children. Of growing old and gray. Of being inseparable, even after death. That man was my happily ever after. I believed it wholeheartedly with my flesh and soul. Then, one day, my world was shredded to pieces.” My chest heaved as I recalled the moment I found out my mom was dead. “I lost my mother in a car accident. I’d been the driver. I was strapped to a hospital bed, unable to move, barely able to breathe. My sister delivered the news.”

Recalling the memory made my chest burn with sorrow, tears bubbling at the corners of my eyes. Tom swept a lose strand of hair behind my ear in a tender gesture, warming my heart. “I’m sorry,” he said.

My voice shook. “After my mother died, my body lay broken, my soul shattered. I didn’t think I could ever recover. At least not from the emotional agony of her death. Somehow, amidst the horror and pain, I held on to a shimmer of hope. Him. I’d lost everything, but at least I knew I had him.

“Except. I didn’t. One day, I woke up and he was gone. No goodbye. No explanation.”

Tom massaged my shoulder. “What happened?”

I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to hold back the deluge I knew was hiding behind my eyes. Tom attempted to reach for my hand, but I slid from his grasp and pushed up from the bench, digging my hands into my pockets. “Never heard from him again.” My voice cracked as tears swelled in my eyes.

Dammit. I didn’t want to cry.

Not again. Not for Josh.

I turned away from Tom, not wanting him to see my shell crack. “I never want to feel that kind of loss again.”

Tom joined me, and I looked up at him. He tenderly wiped my tears with his thumbs and peered into me like no one else ever had, into the deepest shadows of my soul. “I know the pain of losing someone you love more than life itself.” Taking my hand in his, he guided it to his heart, softly placing my palm against his chest. “Since the first day I met you, it’s been pounding harder than ever.” He paused, letting the silence bring forth the thundering beats. “Sara, what I’m feeling for you scares me shitless, but I’m tired of being afraid. I don’t want you to be either.”

Tears continued to pour more heavily down my face. He bent down and kissed me, his lips wet and salty, a soothing balm against my wounds. Tom’s affection radiated throughout my body, the tingly sensation reaching every cell and fiber, reminding me love was the only way to heal a broken heart.

I caved into his chest, burying myself in his strength, wanting to feel protected. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders as I snaked mine around his waist, hooking a thumb into his back pocket. We continued to walk, embraced in beautiful silence and bathed in the beauty and magic of the valley.

Near Trophy Point was an overlook of the valley, and I understood why the majestic views from here had been the subject and inspiration for countless artists, each lured and captivated by the scenic charm and comeliness of the surroundings. I unhooked myself from under Tom’s arm and walked over to the concrete ledge, trying to take it all in. Tom followed behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, giving me a tender graze with his lips on the soft place below my ear.

“It’s amazing, isn’t?” he asked.

“Breathtaking. I never want to forget it.”

“And you won’t.” He released me and sat on the ledge, opening the mysterious knapsack and emptying it of its contents. Inside was a sketch pad and pencils.

“You’re an artist?” I couldn’t mask the tone of surprise in my voice.

“Sketch artist, and it’s not something I normally advertise. I’m not that good.”

“I’m sure you’re being modest.”

He didn’t deny it. “How would you like to be the subject of my artistic endeavor this afternoon?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Sketching portraits is a small passion for me, and yours is one I’ve wanted to capture ever since I saw your face. This is the perfect place, Sara. Please let me do this for you.”

My face flushed. “Seriously?”

“I have to.”

“Why?”

He stretched his arms out, inviting me toward him. Grabbing my wrists, he reeled me in closer, trapping me between his legs, our gaze eye level.

With his fingers, he traced the outlines of my facial features. “For me,” he said smiling, “when I see someone who enthralls me as much as you, with these deep brown eyes and this cute little button nose…” He continued to trace until his thumb found my lips. “Not to mention, these soft, rosy lips…” Gently but briefly, he brushed his mouth against mine, his hot breath delicately sweeping over me.

“Keep going,” I moaned.

He smiled, amusement reaching his eyes before he continued to trace my cheeks and jawline. He kept his lips close to my face, breathing the words onto me as he spoke. “Who can forget these tiny, half-moon dimples. I mean, my mind simply draws every line and curve, every crevice, shade and color to the smallest detail, over and over again, until your image is permanently etched into my memory. Only thing left is putting memory to paper.”

By the time he finished pronouncing the last word, my skin was prickled with goose bumps. “Whoa,” I said, releasing the breath trapped in my chest and surfacing from his drowning spell.

“Let me do this,” he begged.

I sighed. “Okay…”

He helped me climb onto the ledge. “Sit here. Eyes on me.”

“Is it gonna be long? How should I pose?”

“Relax. Just be you.” Followed by his kiss, my anxiety faded.

I eased and burrowed my gaze into his. While holding onto the pad, he put a pencil between his lips and took another in his hand. With a scrunched-up brow, he got to work, his hand breezing through the pad. Shadows of half smiles poked through the corners of his lips.

While he drew, my mind wandered to the comment he made earlier about knowing loss.

“Tom, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Earlier you said you knew about broken hearts?”

He looked up from his drawing and gave me a hesitant look before returning to the task. He took the pencil out of his mouth, and replied, “Love hasn’t been kind to me either.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“It’s a nice day, I don’t want to sour it with stories of my past. Perhaps another time.”