Page 114 of My UnTrue Love
“Stick together? Hell, I haven’t even decided whether to kill you or not, yet.” Hank hung up, obviously through with the entire conversation.
Bill changed his mind about blocking Hank’s number. The guy wasn’t near as annoying as most people, once you got talking to him. The two of them got along like a house on fire. And there was no mistaking the fact that bullshitting with the sheriff for a few minutes took his mind off what happened last night.
He’d said he’d needed Clem.
Bill wasn’t her True Love, so needing her was a losing gamble. No matter how he fixed the game, there was always a chance that she’d leave him, one day. That she’d choose a guy who was a better fit for someone so pretty and happy and special.
Needing her would be too risky. Bill had always done fine on his own, because he didn’t need anyone. How could he survive, if he needed Clem and then she wasn’t there anymore? It would break him.
…But she’d know if he held back. Clem was too intuitive. Too bright. She’d sense that he wasn’t giving her everything and she’d pull away from him in response. And that would break him, too. He wantedeverythingfrom Clementine. All of her emotions and attention and loyalty.
Halfway measures between them were useless. Infuriating. They would leave him all alone, locked out of her heart and hopelessly staring in. He couldn’t tolerate that. Maybe couldn’t tolerate it even more than he couldn’t tolerate being vulnerable.
What was he holding backfor, anyhow?
So what if needing her killed him in the end? Without his wife, what did it even matter if he survived? Why would he even want to?
Bill stared out over the peaceful ranch, waiting for his interview to begin and watching mustangs run in the distance. Thinking hard about his future.
What if marriage to Clementine was all or nothin’?
Chapter Twenty-Three
The dam had burst! Cavern filled up,
With a bubbling, foaming brine,
The lass was stuck, in a bottom of muck,
For her shoes were number nine.
Lyrics from the folk song “Crossroads Coyote”
All morning Clementine considered what was going on with her husband. With a little bit of contemplation, it wasn’t hard for her to figure out why he’d panicked after they had sex:
He’d said he needed her.
Bill was terrified that he’d need someone and then lose them. He’d rather hide all his deepest emotions than risk abandonment. He kept all the barriers in his mind locked tight, wary of being hurt. Clementine suspected his reticence to open up was directly related to the missing piece that she’d sensed during sex. They couldn’t connect in a perfect, complete, epic way, if one of them was holding back.
Still, Clem was an optimistic person. She believed her relationship with Bill was strong and reciprocal and forever. Between the two of them, they were able to handle just about anything, because they complimented each other so well as partners.
After just one try, sex between them was eighty-nine percent perfect. That was a pretty great start! With a little bit of patience, Bill would understand that she’d never abandon him. There was no one else in the world Clem wanted to be with. She’d chosenhim. In time, he’d see that and then he’d growmore confident in their bond. The final eleven percent would come.
Like all artists, Bill’s emotions were intense. Passion and sensitivity went hand in hand. He already seemedverysatisfied with the “passion” part of their wedding night. Clem’s body was sore, but otherwise she was thrilled to be an un-virgin. She couldn’t wait to try sex again and Bill seemed to be onexactlythe same page.
The poor man had to rise up so early in the morn, because he hadn’t budged on his stubborn insistence on finding “reliable work.” But there had been a smug smile on his face when he’d kissed her goodbye. He’d whispered that he had some bothersome errands to run and then the job interview, so he’d be back in the evening. He’d recommended that she stay in bed all day and “rest up for him.” Then, he’d strolled out of the apartment, whistling.
Clem didn’t know the tune… Only shedidknow it.
My Own True Love.
Her father’s song was being reborn through Bill’s genius. She heard the old bones of it, but they’d been fleshed out. Expanded and shined into something new. Magic was happening inside Bill’s head.
She mixed up the batter for the dumpling she was making, because Bill couldn’t just eat sugar, no matter how much he wanted to. Under her breath, she hummed his song to hear how right it sounded. Her own powers glided over the notes, admiring how neatly they all fit together. As if their arrangement was destined from the start. As if they’d just been waiting for Bill to make them whole.
Her father would be thrilled. He’d worked so hard onMy Own True Loveand finally it was coming alive. Strange how both men had contributed to the song, but neither had a True Love. Maybe that’swhyit resonated with them both. They yearned for what they didn’t have.
Her brow furrowed.
