Page 32 of Caleb's Salvation
“Did you kiss him?”
“What?” I couldn’t think he had me so rattled.
“Did. You. Kiss. Him.”
I was about to tell him that it wasn’t any of his business, when the truth came out instead. “No.”
That’s when it happened. He reached out and wrapped an arm around my waist and brought me flush up against his body as if I weighed nothing. He bent his head then his mouth was on mine and I couldn’t breathe.
Didn’t want to breathe. Didn’t want to do anything that might stop this. It was almost odd. Like a fantasy I’d had for so long was suddenly coming to life and my poor brain couldn’t process it.
My brain didn’t need to, though, because my body took over. I held on to his shoulders with all my strength while his mouth ravaged mine. This wasn’t a first kiss. This was a last kiss. As if he needed to pour everything he felt into this one small moment. My lips were his, my tongue was his, my breath was his.
All of me, his.
I must have whimpered, or maybe groaned, or made some sound. Whatever I did forced him to pull away. He was looking down at me and his expression, the pain in his eyes… It tore through me, nearly ripping me apart.
Cupping his face, I tried to soothe him the way I might Sammy after a bad fall. “It’s okay, baby. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”
He jerked away from me. “I can’t…I have to… Lock the door after I leave.”
He was agitated enough he might have slammed the door, but even in his current state, he was mindful of a sleeping baby. Because he’d had a sleeping baby once, too.
I fell back against the door and touched my lips just to make sure they were still there.
“So that happened.”
* * *
Later that night
Cal
Drinking at camp was frowned upon. When I’d taken over this operation three years ago, one of the objectives was to restore the relationship between the workers and the locals. The previous crew had, apparently, had free reign to drink and destroy at their pleasure.
I ran a much different ship and the men knew the score. Enjoy your time at Bud’s. Responsibly. But here at camp, on the job, I wanted everyone sober.
Exceptions were made, of course. Tonight, when I pulled the bottle of Jack Daniels out from my bottom drawer, was one of those exceptions.
I poured myself two fingers and gulped it down in one shot. The next two fingers, I would sip.
Turning in my chair, my drink in my hand, I looked at the picture on the shelf.
“I did it, Sarah. I kissed her,” I confessed. “First time I’ve kissed a woman in seven years. First time I kissed a woman since I last kissed you.”
It had been that thought that had gutted me. I was kissing Vivienne and thinking how amazing she felt, and how sweet she tasted and how much I wanted to fuck her. And how remarkable it felt to be kissing someone again. Wondering if it had always been like this with Sarah.
Then remembering I was never going to kiss Sarah again. And she was never going to kiss me.
I pulled away and there was Vivienne. With all the sympathy in her eyes a person could offer another.
It’s going to be okay.
That’s what she’d said. If I had a dollar for every time people said that to me at the funeral and beyond, I wouldn’t have to work for a living.
Because the truth was it hadn’t been okay. It hadn’t gotten better. I hadn’t figured out a way to live the rest of my life.
Instead, I’d come to Alaska, bouncing around different jobs until I finally landed in Hope’s Point. A place removed from everyone. Sometimes even from time itself. I’d been so damn relieved with the isolation. Beyond that, the lack of women had helped. There were no reminders of what it was like to be a part of couple.
