Page 54 of Unstable

IT’S LATE WHEN WEstart our drive home, but Bourbon’s gonna be alright. He may be old, but my boy’s not outta the fight yet.

The Vet and staff were wonderful, staying open after-hours until he was fit to come home. They gave him IV fluids chocked full of vitamins, sent me home with pills to help with the pains of his aging bones and joints, and recommended a new brand of food made especially for elderly dogs.

Keaton was equally as amazing, right there firing off questions as if Bourbon was his own dog, soothing him as he laid for hours hooked up to the IV. Carrying him back to the truck. Just as relieved as me that he was gonna be okay.

“Well, Bourbon,” I say once we’re loaded up and on the road, “You just earned yourself lifetime sleeping in the house privileges. No cold winter outside for you.” I turn around in my seat to look at him. “I thought you’d be happy about that. Why are you growling?”

“He’s not, that’s my stomach,” Keaton answers humorously. “Surely you’re hungry too. Wanna pull through somewhere?”

“Sounds good.” I reach down for my purse, but a determined, calloused hand stops me before I can grab it.

“What are you doing?” His question as stern as his grip on my arm.

“Getting money for food.” I know my face must be contorted in confusion.

“Woman, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’re secretly a kinky lil’ kitten just trying to get me to swat your ass. Let’s go over the whole list of how things are gonna work, right now, so there’s no pissing me off in the future. Okay? Okay.” He’s all worked up, white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, tight lines around his mouth and he’s answering his own questions.

“As your man,” he holds up a finger, “don’t argue. As your man, I drive. I pay for our meals. I carry heavy shit. I do any and all mechanical stuff including, but not limited to, oil changes, flat tires, gas fill-ups, and fixing or having fixed anything you break. If you cook, I clean. If there’s a knock on the door late at night, I answer it. If someone makes you cry, I pay them a visit. Jars, I open them. You want a fire, I build it. And babies, I get up every other time and bring them to you in bed if they’re hungry. I very well may add to this list too, so be ready. I can write it down if you want me to.”

I hold my jaw firm, carefully considering my response. My heart is beating with romantic, whimsical longing—finally, to be utterly, wholly cherished by a man whose deepest desire is the chance to love and protect me, make me forget what was, and help me make wonderful, new memories.

But my head and my history are saying no. Too much, too soon, too fast.

I grasp for a way to explain what somewhere in the middle of all that means.

“Keaton,” I speak in a small voice, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, from childhood to today. And surprisingly, your 1950’s outlook on relationships doesn’t bother me. It actually sounds nice, to be so coveted. You are growing on me, more and faster than is wise for me to let you, but,” I turn toward him. He has to watch the road, but he deserves for me to face him, not hide behind staring out the window when I say this.

“So much has, is, happening so fast. I have a farm now, bills, responsibilities. I’m only just able to look in the mirror and try to forgive myself a little more every day. I can finally say her name, sometimes, and deal with the guilt from both losses. Hell, I can't even sleep upstairs yet, and I avoid going to town like I might catch the plague while I’m there. Just a month ago, I still thought I hated you. Please understand, it’s too much all at once. You’re moving way too fast for me.”

“Too fast?” he repeats in a deceptive calmness.

“Yes.”

“Too fast?” he says it again, only this time, any effort for that feigned calmness is gone. Instead, it’s snarky, with a facetious laugh. “Henley, it’s been damn near fifteen years I’ve been waiting for you! I go any fucking slower, and I’ll be going backwards.”

I scoot away from him, pressing myself up against the door.

“I’m sorry for yelling, Darlin’. Don’t act scared of me, that’ll kill me. I’m just, God, Hen, I’m ready. I’m so ready to have something with you.”

“And we’re getting there. We talk, we spend time together. But all this ‘your man’ and ‘relationship,’ and who’s gonna get up with the babies stuff you keep saying? Little much.” I try to explain nicely, inching away from the door now. “We haven’t even gone on a date, or kissed.” Unfortunately, I hear my last thoughts escape aloud.

With no hesitation, he swerves the truck to the side of the road. “‘Bout to fucking fix that. Come ‘ere,” he snarls.

“W…what?” I stammer just as I’m grabbed, seatbelt somehow having disappeared, being hauled across the cab and flush up against him.

“Last first kiss, baby,” he murmurs, sinister and spine-tinglingly deep before both his hands cup my cheeks and his mouth covers mine.

The impact is so powerful, my senses explode all at once. I hear the low growl in his chest collide with my breathy moan. I feel his want, his need, in the way he angles my head, diving deeper into my mouth with his wicked tongue, pressing harder against my lips with his own demanding pair. I taste him, Keaton, his mouth hot and fresh.

It’s feral, ravenous…and beyond anything I could’ve ever imagined.

“Oh, Darlin’. Fuck,” he tugs at my bottom lip and groans, “you’re the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever tasted. Gimme some more.” He doesn’t ask, sliding his tongue back inside to glide against my own, twining them together in a synchronized dance of pent-up desire.

And I completely let go.

If only for this idyllic blip of time, I set myself free to fly. Unencumbered by doubt, insecurity or reservation. I take all he gives for the girl who didn’t see. The woman who hid away, never loved by a man. And the Henley I so badly want to be.

My hands move up his arms, relishing in the mass of every muscle, then find his neck and the throbbing, corded vein there. I explore hungrily until my fingers knock off his hat and nestle in his thick, soft hair.

---