Page 29 of Carver
She’s the one who presses a chaste kiss into the corner of my mouth. I want to tangle my hands in her hair and tug her close. Feast on her, drink her in, eat her like she’s my last fucking meal.
My cock throbs and goosebumps erupt all over my arms. My skin feels too tight and hot. I’m starting to sweat under my t-shirt and black hoodie.
I tilt my face and ram my nose into her hair just to keep myself from doing something that I can’t do. Not here, not now. My body isn’t ready.
My dick might be screaming that it’s more than ready, my balls might be swollen as hell, my jeans so tight and uncomfortable because there’s literally no room in them when I’m this hard, but my face isn’t.
It’s also not happening here. Obviously.
I’ve never been about stealing a moment. I want joyful moments freely given, unhurried, and resplendent. Does that make me a romantic?
“Are you truly okay leaving your life and family behind? Will Ellie be okay?”
“She’ll miss my family,” Bronte sighs, but it’s a sigh of need, rattling out of her lungs because she’s holding herself back. “I’ll miss my family too, but they always hoped that you and I would be together as a family, raising Elowen. We all might miss each other, but Hart isn’t that far. They’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. Ellie will be wonderful. We could always come back here overnight too. Just because we’re there doesn’t mean we can’t also be here for more than just short visits. It’s important to me that she grows up around this place and comes to love it as much as I do. When we came from Seattle, I had no idea how to do farm stuff, but I’m so glad I learned. I love this land.”
“We don’t have to leave. We could… you could stay here, and I could work hard at making more sculptures and selling them so we could buy land from your parents. I could sell mine and we could buy some of theirs and build a house.”
She rakes her fingers through my hair. Her hand travels down my neck, to my shoulders. She draws little circles there, reminding me again of all the times in the past we wrote words on each other’s back, or drew pictures, and made each other guess what it was. Something so simple provided so much laughter.
Bronte can make anything special. It’s her gift.
“I know I suggested that before, but I think that right now, it would do you a lot of good to be in Hart. I want to be where you are. I want to live with you, do life with you, support you, and love you. Hart isn’t that big. It has more of a small town feel than a city vibe. It’s important to have friends. The club is there, and even if you just operate on the fringes of it, at least for a while, Ithink that’s where we need to be. If we ever feel like it’s time to move out here, we could always do it then.”
She doesn’t press on the selling of land, but I’m the one who brings it up, “It’s so crazy that I never considered selling before, but now that I think about being away from it, all I get is immense relief. I had this image in my head of going there and just lighting a damn match and being done with it all.”
“I’ll bring the gas.” It’s nice that she can joke about it as I’m attempting to, but she’s also there for real. “When we got there after dinner, I’ll help you pack every single thing you want to take.”
“I want our future to be stronger than the hate I knew. What we get to create will never wash away what already happened, but we can fill up my heart.” I run my hand from her shoulder down to her wrist, then trace the delicate knuckles down to her ring finger. I circle it before I turn her palm over and memorize all the lines there by feel. Every single one, because I know nothing about palmistry, but I want to know every single bit of this woman. “Thank you for this miracle, Bronte. Thank you for being my home.” I’ve thought it before, over and over, but never said those words. “I should have realized that all the medication in the world wouldn’t work if I kept poisoning myself. Thank you for this new beginning, for being there to see me through, for following me and trusting me with this.”
Bronte usually has all the words. Maybe that’s why all she can do is stare at me with her eyes brimming over and the softest smile. There aren’t any words right now. She’s given me all of them. A lifetime’s worth. It’s my turn to give some to her.
It’s my turn to give everything to her.
“I won’t mess it up this time. I promise.” My hands clench hers, even when her fingers curl up around mine.
The tears spill over, crystal bright, raindrops painting her cheeks. “You never messed it up,” she assures me solemnly. “Never.”
Downstairs, the door opens and closes. Gabriel and Kenton’s voices mix with Dravin’s, Donna’s, and Ginny’s.
I don’t mean to stiffen, but I guess I do. I still think that I deserve more than harsh words from Kenton and an ass kicking from Gabriel for the way I wronged Bronte.
“I’ll wake Elowen up soon,” Bronte says. She doesn’t let go of my hands.
I didn’t realize naps were so short, but I guess we’ve been up here for a while. If a baby sleeps for more than an hour in the afternoon, will they sleep at nighttime? I haven’t ever had a nap that I can remember, but if I did, I can’t imagine sleep would come easily. It’s already hard as it is.
“A few more minutes?” I try not to sound like I’m begging, but I probably fail.
Bronte responds with her usual grace, “A few minutes.”
She makes it sound like a lifetime.
Chapter 8
Bronte
Istill haven’t got the full story from Dom about this bike, but now that Dravin is rolling it out of one of the only sheds that’s still standing, it’s clear just how special this bike is.
It’s pitch black. We lingered over dinner and then made our way out here, Dom riding with me and Dravin following behind us. Even with both sets of truck headlights on and cast in this direction, there are still plenty of shadows. Dom’s shop blocks a lot of this shed, but the bike is a work of art even when I can’t make out all the details.
