Page 30 of Whiskey Throttle
I want to make you feel everything.
Everything I’ve denied. Everything I’ve pushed down in the name of responsibility, decorum, survival.
“Barbara.”
His calloused palms glide down both sides of my arms. The heat of his chest penetrates my back. What’s meant to be comforting is actually disturbing.
I open my eyes, focus on the twinkling garden lights at the edge of the veranda’s railing. I shake my head, but he doesn’t listen. Doesn’t let go. Just waits, silent and present. The way no one else in my life has ever done or does. It breaks something in me. Something that I’ve wanted to say to someone for so long, but never had the person. Why I’m trusting him with it, I have no idea. Maybe it’s my attempt to push him away, yet again.
“I spent so long trying to be what I was supposed to be.” The years of restraint punctuate every word. “The good daughter. The loyal wife. The poised mother. I kept the house pristine, my appearance perfect, the family in line, and the Barrett name spotless. I covered for his affairs, pretended not to notice the looks, the whispers, the pity.”
I turn back to him.
His mouth sets into a line. His eyes bore into me as if knowing more than he lets on. Perhaps he does. Maybe Dominic opened up to him, whereas he never has with anyone before. Then again, I doubt that to be the case with how closed off my son remains with everyone.
Tonight was no different, as he barked at his best friend over me. An odd threat for a son who spends more time scowling at me than listening, or God forbid, loving me.
“No one ever asked me what I wanted. Not once. Not really.”
My voice cracks, leaving me confused as to why all this is coming up now. Why am I tearing up at the most inopportune time and the most inconvenient place? His thumb and index finger capture my chin, forcing me to look directly at him when all I want to do is avoid his gaze. At least until my confession is over.
“I’m asking, Barbara.”
I bite my bottom lip, the vulnerability threatening to drown me. I refuse to let these tears fall and rapidly blink them to recede.
“I don’t know how to want something for myself. Not without guilt. Not without feeling selfish and wondering who I’m hurting by doing so.”
His expression darkens, not in anger or desire but in ache. His fingers lower from my face. I breathe a sigh of relief. Battling my words and his touch is a bit too much.
“You wouldn’t be hurting anyone. Dom doesn’t know what this is. And honestly? He doesn’t need to. He doesn’t get a vote in your happiness.”
I flinch at the mention of my biggest concern. If Hollister were my age and a stranger to my family, it would be easier. The concerns would die before they ever could grow.
“I’m not asking you to walk back into that gallery holding my hand or anything. I’m not asking you to burn down your life for me.”
His hand finds mine again, content to hold it loosely.
“I’m just asking you not to put out the fire before it gets a chance to light.”
“I’m tired of calculating every move before I make it. I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to be touched,” I murmur, barely audible.
My hand tightens in his. He instantly grips harder. Confirmation that I’m reaching out to him for once. Then I say the one thing I’ve never said. The one that costs the most to admit.
“I want to be seen. Really seen. And with you, maybe I am.”
We stand there in silence, possibilities dancing in the air between us. This time, I lean in. Run my hand along the lapel of his coat before wrinkling thousand-dollar wool as I drag him in with the force of my need. This time it’s me who kisses him first.
Not soft, sweet, or demure.
Hungry.
Years of managed silence, polite smiles, and impenetrable poise, collapsing into one searing moment when my mouth finds his. I don’t kiss him like a woman unsure of what she wants. Or one who is worrying about the age difference or the fact that he’s my son’s best friend.
No.
None of that matters.
I kiss him like I’ve been starving for attention, to be desired, and to be considered attractive enough to take the risk. The risk of losing it all to feel alive and seen again. My tongue twists with his, demanding and sucking with a boldness I’ve buried my entire life.
