Page 107

She releases her lip to smile wider. Slowly, as her eyes search mine, she nods. “And I love you.”

I'm helpless against the desire to kiss her, to taste her. To lose myself in the bliss of her. To forget, if for just a moment, the horror that faces me.

Her lips are soft and warm. She tastes like home and safety, like everything I was ever meant to possess. Like everything I was meant to do in this life.

She is my purpose. Who knew what’s meant to be could hurt so much?

Her lips open under mine easily, eagerly. The faint taste of maple and sugar has my breath rattling in my chest, because it's so beautifully familiar.

This love is so beautifully familiar and so tragically fleeting.

My mind spins. I'm desperate for more time with her. I'm desperate for everything with her.

I was supposed to grow old with her. My wife. My Faye.

I take her coffee from her hand, setting it on the entrance table before I grip her face in my hands tenderly—not tenderly…

I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I don't know who I am. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I just know that I want her. I want this, this life, this family, my kids…

It's all hanging from a fraying thread over a dark abyss deeper than any other I've ever known, and I'm not sure what's on the other side.

I just know I’ll fall into the darkness.

Desperation bubbles up inside me, boiling over into our kiss. It turns fierce, wild, hungry. It turns frantic.

She moans into my mouth. Hell, maybe it's a whimper.

“Tate,” she breathes, fingers twisting into my t-shirt.

I kiss her harder. I taste her, my tongue against hers, my teeth against hers. My hands move from her face into her hair, knotting in wavy strands.

“I need you.” I drag my mouth from hers, choking out my confession against her throat. “I need you. I need you, Faye.” Words slip frantically one after another. “I need to be inside you. Please. Now.”

She nods. “Okay. Okay—wait.” Her hands push into my chest. “Something happened. What happened?”

“Nothing. I just—I fucking hate being away from you.” I’m unravelling. “I hate spending the nights away from you.”

“That’s it?” She laughs a relieved laugh, the tension sliding from her shoulders even as it builds inside me, threatening to erupt like a fucking bomb.

“I'm always here, Tate,” she tells me, but I die a little inside because I won't be.

I don't respond. I just kiss her again, slower this time. Softer this time. I've never been hard with her. I've never been frantic with her. I've always loved her with a soft kind of passion, and I hate that I’ve scared her just now.

I take her hand in mine and guide her to the stairs, pulling her into our bedroom. Her cat is curled on the bedroom chair, the same chair she likes to read in when she's not peering out the window at the sky.

I can see her sitting in the chair, her book in her hands, tea on the side table, cat in her lap. My heart aches because how many more times am I going to see that? Probably not many.

Fuck, this hurts.

It hurts so much.

I remove her sweater, letting it fall to the floor. My hands find the button of her jeans, popping it, unzipping the zipper. I watch, mesmerized by her, as they fall around her ankles.

She gives me a taunting smile as she lowers to the bed, sliding up it to the pillows. She's wearing a simple pink bra with a nude thong. It doesn't match, and it's not lacey. It's just simple.

It's all simple, and so perfect.

It's everything I've ever wanted, this simple, beautiful life with this woman.