Page 38 of Riding the Line
‘Care to elaborate a little more there, Gram?’ I respond, given thatnice one on from the other daycould easily be a song from last weekend, or five months ago.
‘That love song by that handsome boy with the good voice.’
It’s not much, but thankfully we are talking about a song I played her a couple of weeks ago, and I remember the way she gushed over how attractive he was, grabbing my cheek as she jokingly said,he could give my grandson a run for his money.
‘You mean “Heaven” by Kane Brown?’
‘That’s what I said,’ she confirms, eliciting a chuckle from Cherry.
‘Sure.’ I shake my head at Cherry, then head to the stereo to connect my phone.
Still, my thumb hesitates over the play button on my screen when it comes to it. I’m all too aware of the weight of Cherry’s heavy stare on me, waiting. Usually, the post-lunch ritual on a Sunday of me and Gram dancing isn’t witnessed by anyone else. Just a slice of our own healing process, so that she can feel that little bit closer to Grandfather again, so thatImake the most of my time with her too.
Tightness lingers in my chest at the thought of sharing that moment, but it doesn’t crawl any further, just hovers there … like something is keeping it at bay. And when I turn to catch Cherry’s eyes, as soft as a whisper as she watches me, I know why. When I think back to last night and everything I confessed to Cherry, the way she so openly listened to this side of me, reminds me that maybe it is okay to be vulnerable. To let others seeme, rather than always being the one to listen and be there for them.
Swallowing down a deep breath, I finally press play on the song and offer my hand to my grandmother. Her eyes light up, memories already sparking to life in them. She slips her weathered hand into mine, allowing me to help her to her feet before she lays her hand on my shoulder. We slowly sway to the soft music.
‘It’s kind of a ritual of ours on Sundays, sorry,’ I explain to Cherry over Gram’s shoulder, offering her a half-smile in apology.
Her grin gently spreads out, dark eyes never leaving me. ‘It’s a beautiful ritual.’
I swallow thickly at the way Cherry’s watching me with such tenderness, it’s –fuck– it’s scary and brilliant all at once. I want her to look at me like that more. I want to be completely and utterly laid bare for her, so she might see every deep, dark corner of my soul, because being the subject of her gaze is a goddamn privilege.
‘Oh dear.’ Gram halts after a while and pulls her hand from mine, resting her other on my shoulder with more pressure. ‘My darned hip is giving me grief again. Never mind, you’ll just have to take over for me, Cherry.’
‘What?’ Cherry’s lips pop open.
I sputter, ‘Um—’
‘You can’t leave Junior on the dancefloor all alone,’ my grandmother insists, already tugging Cherry up and giving her a nudge in my direction. ‘Step in for me, love. It will be like I’m watching his grandfather and I when we were younger.’
Gram flops back onto the couch, humming with comfort. She widens her eyes at us as if to sayget on with it.Both my and Cherry’s jaws work when we turn to each other, and when neither of us move, my grandmother tuts. ‘Take her hand, then, Junior.’
I feel like a goddamn teenager with his crush at prom, too nervous to slow dance. And I didn’t even take a date to prom – unless you count going with Wolfman and Sawyer as a three-way date.
I tense my hands to stop them from shaking, but I still relish the way her soft skin slides against my palm as her fingers mould around mine. Carefully, I wrap my other hand around her waist, letting my fingers splay out, down across her hip, while pulling her closer to me. Her free hand trails up my chest, climbing over my shoulder where it settles. Sparkling brown eyes blink up at me, and I begin swaying us.
Right. This just feels soright.
Having Cherry in my hands. Feeling her slender curves beneath my palm, letting the shape of them imprint onto my mind. It was the exact same when I woke up to find her tucked into me this morning. I’m not sure how it even happened – I remember the first sound of her soft breaths once she fell asleep, my words trailing off, speechless at how beautiful she was even while sleeping. I must havefallen asleep right there myself too, resting back against the wall watching her.
Is it a testament to how much she draws me in that I woke up with her in my arms, my body needing to be close to her even unconsciously? All I knew was that waking up to the sweet smell of her, and the way her body slotted perfectly into every line of mine, might have been the best day of my life. Because it felt so goddamn right. Like all this fighting to keep that line between us had been a dream.
Kane Brown wasn’t wrong when he said I don’t know how heaven could be better than this.
‘Don’t stop for me, just going to grab something for the pain.’ Gram suddenly stands and hobbles off out towards the kitchen, leaving us alone. So much for wanting to watch us because it brought back good memories. It’s probably a good excuse to stop. Gram’s not watching anymore, and she’ll no doubt end up getting distracted by something in the kitchen and not returning for another ten minutes, knowing her memory.
‘Thank you,’ Cherry suddenly whispers, her pinky finger brushing up against my neck, grazing the tattoo there. Shivers rush down my spine even from the featherlight touch. ‘For bringing me here today, showing me this. I know it’s difficult for you to let people in.’
‘Oh …’ I tug her slightly more into me, trying to soak up every bit of her warmth before I inevitably have to let her go, and those walls return between us. She presses closer willingly, making me swallow. ‘I just don’t really know how – to let people in, that is.’
Her big brown eyes blink up at me, waiting.
For me to let her in again.
Maybe it was the quiet of the night that had me spilling my thoughts last night, thinking they’d just get lost in the darkness. And dancing here with Cherry, holding her in my embrace, maybe that’s where anything I say today can stay. My secrets trapped within the small gaps between our bodies, never to resurface again from this one unrepeatable moment.
I suck down a shaky breath before admitting quietly, ‘My grandparents were of that generation where you didn’t really talk about your feelings. They did their best, and I love them, but they were also dealing with not just losing their daughter but having to suddenly raise a child again. Sitting down to talk about our feelings wasn’t exactly a top priority.’
