Her legs didn’t seem to hold her up anymore; he was keeping her upright. He had the passing thought that no amount of emotion he had ever expelled in his lifetime could match this. It was almost phenomenal in its strength, this pain that gripped her. What had he thought? That his few days of brooding, a good drunk, had been demonstrative of his pain? Hah! He held in his arms a woman who knew more about gut-wrenching pain than he did. His eyes stung. He kissed her cheek. “Let it go,” he whispered. “Get it out. It’s okay.”
It was a long time before she began to cry more softly. Fifteen minutes, maybe. Twenty. Jack knew you don’t stop something like this until it’s over. Till it’s all bled out. They were both soaked to the skin when her breath started coming in little gasps and hiccups. It was a long time before she pushed herself away from the tree and turned toward him. She looked up at his rain soaked face, hers twisted with pain, and said, “I loved him so much.”
He touched her wet cheek, unable to tell the tears from the rain. “I know,” he said.
“It was so unfair.”
“It was.”
“How do I live with it?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.
She let her head drop against his chest. “God, it hurt so much.”
“I know,” he said again. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her back into the bar, kicking the door closed behind him. He took her to his room in the back, her arms looped around his neck. He put her down on the big chair in the sitting room. She sat there, shivering, her hands tucked between her knees, her head down, her hair dripping. He went for a clean, dry T-shirt and towels and came back to her, kneeling in front of her. “Come on, Mel. Let’s get you dry.”
She lifted her head and looked at him with eyes that were both terribly sad and exhausted. She was listless. Spent. And her lips were blue with cold. He peeled off her jacket, tossing it on the floor. Then her blouse. He was undressing her like one might a baby, and she didn’t resist. He wrapped a towel around her and keeping her covered, reached beneath and undid her bra, slipping it off without exposing her. He pulled the T-shirt over her head, holding it for her arms, and once it covered her to her thighs, he yanked out the towel. “Come on,” he said, pulling her upright. She stood on shaky legs and he unbuttoned and pulled down her trousers before sitting her back down. He removed her boots, socks and pants; he dried her legs and feet with the towel.
Though still drenched himself, he used the towel to attempt to dry her curling hair, blotting the locks between folds of the towel. He wrapped the throw from the couch around her shoulders, then went to his bureau and found a pair of clean, warm socks. He rubbed her cold feet vigorously, warming them, and put on the socks. When she looked up at him, some sanity had seeped into her eyes, and this made him smile a small smile. “Better,” he said softly.
He went to the cupboard in his laundry and brought out a decanter of Remy Martin and two glasses. He poured her a small amount of the brandy, neat, and took it to her, kneeling in front of her. She took a sip and then in a voice both weak and strained, she said, “You’re still wet.”
“I am,” he said. “Be right back.”
He went to his closet and quickly stripped off his clothes, pulling on only a pair of sweatpants, leaving his chest bare and his wet clothes in a pile on the floor. He poured himself a little brandy and went to her. He sat forward on the sofa at a right angle to her, putting the palm of his hand against her cheek and was pleased to note that she had already warmed. She turned her face against his hand and kissed the palm. “I’ve never been taken care of like this,” she said.
“I’ve never taken care of anyone like this,” he said.
“It seemed like you knew exactly what to do.”
“I guessed,” he said.
“I crashed,” she said.
“It was a helluva crash. If you’re going to go down, go down big. You should be proud.” And then he smiled.
He held her hand as it lay on her lap while she lifted her brandy to her lips with the other hand, trembling a bit. When it was gone, he said, “Come on. I’m putting you to bed.”
“What if I cry all night?”
“I’ll be right here,” he said. He pulled her hand and led her to his bed, holding up the covers so that she could slip in. He tucked her in as if she were a little girl. Jack dealt with the wet clothes, spinning the water out of them and putting them in the dryer. When he checked on Mel, she was asleep, so he went back into the little laundry and behind closed doors, called Joey. “Hi,” he said. “I didn’t want you to worry. Mel is with me.”
“Is she okay?” Joey asked.
“She is now. She had a meltdown. Out in the rain, it was awful. I don’t think she has another tear in her, at least for tonight.”
“Oh, God,” she said. “That’s why I came! I should be with her now…”
“I got her in some clean, dry clothes and put her to bed, Joey. She’s asleep and I—I’ll watch over her. If she wakes up and wants to go home, I’ll take her, no matter what time it is. But for now, let’s let her sleep.” He inhaled deeply. “She’s had it.”
“Oh, Jack,” Joey said, “were you with her?”
“I was. She wasn’t alone. I was able to…I held her. Kept her safe.”
“Thank you,” Joey said, her voice small and shaky.
“There’s nothing more to do right now but let her rest. Have a glass of wine, get some sleep and try not to worry about Mel. I’m not going to let anything happen to her.”
With only a dim night-light in the room, Jack pulled a chair from his table near to the bed. His feet planted on the floor, his elbows resting on his knees and the rest of his Remy clutched in his hands, he watched her sleep. Her hair curled across his pillow and her pink lips were parted slightly. She made little noises in her sleep—little hums and purrs.
I have a high-school education, he thought. She was married to a medical doctor. A brilliant, educated man. An emergency room hero, made even more perfect in death. How do I compete with that? He reached out and lightly touched her hair. There’s no way, he thought. I’m sunk. And my heart hasn’t beat the same since she walked into town.
He was in love with her. This man who had never been in love in his life. Not once. As a kid, a young man, he’d thought himself in love a couple of times, but it hadn’t felt like this. Lust, he was familiar with that. Wanting a woman was something he knew quite well—but wanting to take care of a woman so that she would never hurt, never want, never be afraid or lonely—he had no experience with that. There had been beautiful women in his past; intelligent women, clever women, women with wit and courage and passion, but as far as he could remember, never one like Mel; never before a woman who had everything he’d ever wanted. And it just figures, he thought. I’m stupid in love with a woman who isn’t available to me. She’s still in a relationship, albeit a relationship that was no longer viable. Didn’t matter. He’d held her while she was wracked with the pain of losing someone else. She had a lot to get over, to get past. Even if he stood by her and waited for that to happen, it didn’t mean she could fall in love with him. Still, he had no choice. He was into her all the way.
He finished the brandy, putting aside the glass, but he didn’t leave her. He watched her, occasionally succumbing to the temptation to softly, carefully, touch the silkiness of her hair. When she sighed contentedly in her sleep, he found himself smiling, pleased that she had found some peace. At some point he realized that he knew how she felt—once you know how much you love someone, no one else would do. He looked down at the floor. I’ll be here for you, Mel, he thought. It’s the only place I want to be. When he raised his head, her eyes were open and she was looking at him. He stole a glance at the bedside clock and was surprised to see that two hours had passed.
“Jack,” she said in a whisper. “You’re here.”
He smoothed her hair back from her face. “Of course I am.”
“Kiss me, Jack. When you kiss me, I can’t think of anything else.”
He leaned toward her and touched her lips with his for a soft kiss. Then more firmly, moving over her mouth, feeling her lips open and her small tongue enter. Her hand crept around to the back of his neck to pull him closer, and his kiss became hungrier, deeper.
“Come in here with me,” she whispered. “Hold me. Kiss me.”
He pulled back slightly, but she wouldn’t let go of his neck. “I’d better not.”
“Why?”
He laughed a little. “I can’t just kiss you, Mel. I’m not a machine. I won’t want to stop.”
She pulled the covers back for him. “I know,” she said in a breath. “I’m ready, Jack. I don’t want to hurt anymore.”
He hesitated. What if she called out another man’s name? What if the morning came and she was sorry? He had fantasized about this, but he wanted it to be the beginning of something, not the end.
Then you better make it good for her, he told himself. You’d better leave her wanting more. He slipped in beside her, pulling her into his arms, devouring her mouth with a kiss so hot and powerful she melted to him with a whimper. Her arms went around him, holding him as she yielded to his lips, his tongue. His sweatpants, so loose and soft, left nothing to the imagination and he was instantly hard against her. She moved against him, rubbed against him, inviting him. With a large hand on her bum, he held her there.
Jack rolled with her, bringing her on top of him. He grabbed the bottom of the T-shirt that covered her and raised it, pulling it over her head. When he felt her breasts against his bare chest, he said, “Ahhhh.” Her breasts were soft and full in his big hands, her nipples hard. Running his hands along her ribs to her hips, he found that she still wore her thong panties; he slid them lower and she wiggled out of them. Her skin was so delicate, so smooth, he worried that his hands were too rough for her, but by her soft and eager moans, she was not unhappy with the sensation. Holding her lips with his, he rolled with her again, so that they lay on their sides, and he took a moment to free himself from those sweats. Her hand wrapped around him, causing his breath to catch in his throat, and he thought, better not leave your boots on this time, buddy. You better do it for her. And he concentrated, because he’d never wanted to please a woman more than tonight.
Feeling her against him like this made it very difficult to slow down, to wait, but by sheer dint of will he managed. He took his leisure of her, employing a slow hand that fondled her breasts. His mouth followed, drawing on one nipple then the other. She arched toward him greedily, spreading her legs, throwing one over his hip, urging him closer. He slipped a hand down and touched her in her soft center, bringing a passionate moan from her. He touched her deeply, and learned that he wasn’t the only one feeling a little desperate. She was ready for him. Starving. “Mel,” he said in a throaty whisper.
“Yes,” she answered. “Yes.”
He turned her onto her back and held himself over her. He captured her mouth with his and entered her in one long, slow, deep, powerful stroke that caused her to gasp and rise against him urgently. With one hand under her bottom and the other still caressing a place that turned her sighs to moans, he began to move within her. The heat of her nearly drove him out of his mind, but he held on. He was determined that her needs would come before his own. He moved steadily, pushing and pulling, and within moments her breathing came harder and faster, her body straining toward his, reaching for satisfaction. He was more than happy to deliver it, pushing into her, rubbing against her. And then he felt those hot spasms of fulfillment, heard her cry out in ecstasy and he held her fast, pressing himself into her. In that moment of blinding pleasure, she bit down on his shoulder; sweet, welcome pain. And he hung on with all the strength he could muster, saving himself, and finally she weakened beneath him and the clenching spasms that surrounded him slowly subsided. Her body relaxed and her breathing began to slow. Her pants became sighs and her kisses came soft and sweet against his lips.