Page 93 of Saving You

The look in Bailey’s eyes the minute she decided she was going to kiss me. The feeling of her lips against mine was like nothing I had ever experienced. I’m almost thirty, and I’ve been no monk, but her lips pressed to mine had my heart racing and skin heating. Something took over my mind, body, and soul that had my hand in her hair and my mouth devouring her as though the world around me would burn in flames at any second. Her soft little moan seemed to snap all control I had as I lifted her and her legs wrapped around my waist. I knew I needed to taste more of her when my lips found her neck.

Her and Charlie were everything I never knew I needed. They are everything I need.

I move to the drawers where I keepmy sweats and hoodies. Slipping into a pair of grey sweats and a T-shirt, I reach to the bottom of my hoodies and go looking for the one where I hid Mom’s engagement ring. I can’t find it. I had it in the one we ordered when our team won the championship a few years ago, but it’s not here.

I rip out every hoodie, throwing them to the floor before moving to my sweats and doing the same thing. My hands move to my hair, pulling at the strands. The last fucking thing I need right now is to have lost Mom’s ring. I search through my jeans, moving through my closet until everything is in a pile on the floor.

I abandon the closet and move into the bedroom, heading straight for my nightstand. I pull out the drawer and dig through its contents. It’s not there.

With my hands on top of my head, I stare out into nothingness. I take a deep, steadying breath.

I jog down the stairs and head into the kitchen. I pull open the junk drawer and dig through it. Again, it’s not there, but I do find some interesting papers tucked in the back. They’re house listings in the area of Bailey’s house. They all seem to be similar to her place, the number of rooms and washrooms, square footage, and yards. If their packing bags wasn’t a sign, this has to be. She was looking for a place to buy and never told me.

Was I moving too quickly for her? Has she been planning this since my nightmares in the beginning, just buying time until she could get a place? Was Charlie calling me Dad her tipping point? I brace my hands on the counter, and my head drops between my shoulders. I need a drink.

I move to check my cabinet for the bottles I usually keep there, almost tripping over Finn on my way. When I open the cabinet, there’s nothing, and I remember we finished them at the last poker night and I never re-stocked.

Grabbing my car keys, I call Finn,and he follows me out to the truck. I drive to the closest liquor store and grab a twelve pack of beer and a bottle of Jack. The cashier is a blonde woman in her late twenties. She smiles at me as her eyes roam my body. I don’t even have the energy to smile politely. I toss some cash on the counter, grab my items, and make my way out to my truck.

When I get home, I check the mail on my way in, tossing it all on the counter. I decide to go for the Jack first, opening the bottle and tipping my head back as I take a swig.

When my head comes back down, my eyes catch on one of the envelopes from the mail. It’s from the National Defence Headquarters in Ottawa. Placing the bottle on the counter, I rip open the large manilla envelope and pull out the documents inside.Sutton, Simon H.is written across the top of the first document, and I know exactly what it is I’m holding.

It’s my dad’s KIA report I requested from the military earlier this year.

Grabbing the bottle of Jack and the papers, I make my way to the couch. I take a large sip of the whiskey before I begin reading, needing to steel myself.

It’s all a daze. As I read, I continue to drink, each sip larger than the previous. The package isn’t small. There are several reports inside, and I work my way through each one. At some point, I decide to order myself lunch. Grabbing it off the front porch, I settle onto the couch and continue reading.

At the end of the report, there’s a stack of pictures, and they break me. I can’t remember the last time I truly let myself cry, but this does it. I drop the pictures and papers, and they scatter on the floor around me as I hold my head and cry. My chest heaves as every little painful thing escapes my body. I stay like this for what feels like an eternity.

I barely register the sound of the front door opening, but a gasp has my head shooting up. Bailey is standing at the entrance to the living room, her mouth agape as she looks at me.

When her eyes meet mine, she rushes to my side, cupping my face as she uses her thumb to wipe away my tears. The simple touch has me crying harder. Now that it’s started, I can’t seem to stop it. She straddles my lap, pushing me back into the couch as she wraps her arms around me and buries herself into my chest. My arms instinctively wrap around her.

I take a deep breath, trying to gather myself, and vanilla and jasmine fill my nose. It causes a mixed feeling in me. It relaxes me in a way nothing else can, but it has me anxious because I don’t know how long I’ll have this.

What is she doing here? She took a bag with her this morning.

When my breathing calms, she pulls back. My hands fall to her hips, and she runs her fingers gently through my hair. I close my eyes, enjoying the feeling. Her thumb traces over the last of my tears. Her lips dust over the same place and then my eyelids. Her simple touches bring me peace.

When she pulls back, my eyes open, and I’m met with her brilliant blue ones. They are filled with concern. But she doesn’t say anything, just waits for me to begin.

“What are you doing here?” I ask in a whisper.

“I live here,” she says with a soft smile.

Her fingers move from the top of my head, where my hair has some length, to the back and scrape at my scalp. She looks around the room, taking in the fast food bag, scattered papers, and half-finished bottle of Jack sitting on the side table. She slowly climbs off my lap and collects the papers, putting them into a neat stack.

I see her eyes scan the top page, widening at certain places. Her eyes dart to mine. “Is this about your dad?”

I nod.

“Oh, baby, I would have been here with you when you read this. You should have told me.”

My eyes sweep over her, trying to process her words.

“Will you tell me what it says?”

---