Page 74 of Unbreakable
Whenever we talked about the plan, I pronounced it with special emphasis, like it was a trademarked term: The Plan.
“I promise it’s not. The Plan starts when we get back home.”
I puffed out my lip as a little pang went through me. “It’s weird to think this isn’t home, you know? But then, home is where our kids are, our house.”
He shrugged. “Wherever you four are, it’s home.”
My eyes were hot, but I was so over crying that I wasn’t giving in. “I’d normally give you shit for being cheesy, but you’re too cute. How’s it feel for you to be back at the scene of the crime?”
Dylan gave me a drowsy blink, his five o’clock shadow just the same as it had been back then. “Like it was just yesterday.”
I hummed a laugh. “A lot’s happened since yesterday, then.”
“Three little lifetimes, to be specific,” he agreed.
“God, I miss them. It’s hard not to go home today.”
“Jeanine?”
I turned to face the gray-mustachioed man who’d backed me up on piano during countless karaoke nights. “Rick! Hi!”
I jumped off my barstool and hugged him, the smell of Curve cologne filling my nose. “You look great! How are you?”
“Oh, same old. Good to see you two here again,” he said, reaching to shake Dylan’s hand. “Happy to see you again, Mr. Sorrento.”
Dylan had certainly done his time visiting me at work, so the guys in the band all knew him too. “Good to see you, Rick. You guys sound amazing.”
“You going to come up and sing one, J? We miss that angelic voice of yours.”
Dylan watched me with hopeful eyes.
I tossed my hand. “Oh, I think I hung up my microphone a long time ago.”
Dylan booed and Rick joined in. “You two, stop.”
Someone else called out to Rick, Dylan headed for the bathroom, and I was left to my drink. When he got back, Dylan popped his hands into my waist and kissed my temple. I leaned into the touch, a sentimental whimper escaping me.
“I’ve missed that,” I said.
Dylan looked confused as he settled on his barstool. We were knee-to-knee, one elbow on the bar and our other hands playing together. “What do you mean?”
“You stopped kissing my temple. A while ago. Not really sure when, but you’ve just kinda . . . gotten less affectionate.”
Dylan’s eyes rounded. “What?”
“Do you not believe me?” I asked, starting to get annoyed.
“No, no, I do. I just—” Dylan looked heartbroken. “Jeannie. I don’t know what to say.”
I shrugged. “Sorry?”
He shook his head. “I’ve always loved you. All this time. No matter how much or little I’ve touched you . . . fuck. I can’t believe . . . I’m really sorry. I didn’t even notice.”
I pursed my lips, staring at our hands. “I’ve always loved how you touch me, how physically having you close is such a big part of us. And when it faded . . .”
“Oh, Jeannie.” He looked out into the bar, then met my eyes with his watery ones. “Please never doubt that I love you. I always do.”
I nodded. “But I need you to show it. Or else it’s the temple kisses going away, and then it’s the snuggles, and then it’s—” I paused, trying not to get emotional in a place where people knew me, “It’s you not responding to my sexy texts. And it’s you not wanting to look at me during sex.”
