Sacred Hart (10 page)

He’d retreated to his room for a moment and then moved to the bathroom with a change of clothes in his hand. I’d taken his advice and grabbed two sodas from the fridge and, as I searched for plates I heard the loud, familiar creak of water pipes. I stood in his kitchen thoroughly smitten and kissed, and I tried
not
to think about him being naked just a wall away. It was hard to believe that two months ago I hadn’t even known Ryan Hartford existed. He was a small, private treasure, hidden from the rest of the world, but I’d found him. I wanted to snuggle with him on the couch and read aloud, make him dinner and help him every Sunday at the diner. The girl inside me squealed and shouted and pumped her fist. I’d found a man, and he was sweet. Ryan was masculine and strong, and his hands, those hands, they felt just like I thought they would — rough and perfect against my skin. I was spiraling, but I didn’t care. It felt good to have a crush, to just feel happy.

The sound of the water cut off and broke me from my daydream. I grabbed two plates from the cabinet and set them on the table. As I divided up the sandwich and placed a half on Ryan’s plate, I noticed there was a small stack of mail scattered just by his set of keys. My eyes moved across the white envelopes, and my breath caught as the bathroom door opened.
Florida Department of Corrections
stood out in green letters on the top left corner of one of the envelopes.

“Did you find everything okay?” His voice was deep, and I could hear the smile on his lips.

“I did.” I pushed down my panic and turned around.

He stood just outside the bathroom in sweats, and his T-shirt stretched across his broad chest. His hair was still damp, and I couldn’t help but stare. He looked so handsome, sexy… I wasn’t used to seeing him like this. “You clean up pretty good, yourself.” My smile was genuine, and I swallowed the lump in my throat as he walked toward me.

“Thanks.” He ran his hand through his wet hair and eyed the food on the table. “And thanks for sharing.” He gave me a lopsided smirk.

I didn’t know this man, and I didn’t know what was in that letter. He’d said I couldn’t save him, and maybe he was right. I’d been burned before, but I decided to trust my gut. I chose to listen to the small voice in my head and the feeling in my heart. I’d found my treasure, and no matter the dirt it laid under, he shined. I saw that light, I saw it, and I knew what it was worth.

Maggie’s cheeks were a light shade of pink as she laughed. Her head rested on the arm of my sofa and her legs draped over my lap. My hand felt at home just above her knee as she continued to tell me about the time Beth was four, and how she had decided to make pancakes all by herself. We’d finished dinner about thirty minutes ago, and I enjoyed listening to her as she spoke with bright eyes and vivid hands. Her small form in my clothes spurred something archaic in my gut and made it hard for me not to think about wanting to kiss her, to taste her, and to feel what her skin would be like against mine.

“Oh my gosh, the eggs, Ryan, they were everywhere. In her hair, on her clothes. The whole box, all eighteen eggs, cracked open on the counter, on the floor…” She was laughing so hard her shoulders shook, and it made me laugh too. I liked the way Maggie laughed. Her laugh was full and wholehearted, and I felt it in my chest. “…it’s funny now, but when I slipped and fell on my ass in a giant batter pool, I wanted to strangle her. Raw eggs, not fun.” She sighed and brought her eyes to me. “Being a parent… sometimes it’s overrated.”

My laughter softened and my smile dimmed. My thoughts moved to Belle, and her giggle filtered through my head. Her small fingers… I almost felt them in my hand.

“Hey, you okay?” Maggie sat up and gave me her nervous smile.

I pushed back the memory and brought my hand to her face. I wanted to stop falling apart all the fucking time, to stop feeling guilty every time I felt a flicker of happiness. “I think I’m just worn out.” My thumb drew circles on her cheek, and she closed her eyes.

“I should go. It’s getting late.” Her eyes opened and they filled with unspoken questions. My hand fell from her face as she stood.

“It’s okay if you want to stay.” I wanted her to stay. Maggie had filled my silence, my cold quiet, and I’d begun to fear the dark of her departure.

My hands moved to her waist, and I pulled her closer. “Come here.” The tone in my voice was low, and she bit her lip as she kneeled on either side of my legs. Maggie held my face between her palms and brought her lips to mine. At first, she kissed me with caution. I hadn’t been with anyone since Sarah, and as my hands drifted just under the hem of her shirt, I let the heat consume us as my fingers grazed the flawless silk of her skin. Our lips began to move together urgently, and I had to slide my hand down to her hips, gripping her tightly in an attempt to still her movement. We were too close, her lips too persuasive, and if I didn’t stop, I’d be lost to my ten years of pent up need. She deserved more than that, more than me, more than just an aggressive fuck on my couch.

I lifted her at the waist and moved our bodies so that she was now lying beneath me. Her eyes were wide with the sudden change of position. Her cheeks were a deep red, and her top lip trembled. I stilled it with a soft kiss. Our lips parted and she smiled. The heaviness in my chest released, and the fear — the hold it had on my heart — untied just enough that I could breathe again. I eased myself next to her and she rolled onto her side, facing me. I draped my arm across the curve of her hip and painted letters onto her back through the thin cotton of her shirt.

“I got carried away.” She searched my face for a reaction, and I grinned. Her gaze fell, and she blushed.

“So did I.”

Her eyes flicked back to mine; the clear blue color drew me in. She licked her lips and took a deep breath, gathering herself. “When I’m with you, I talk. I talk, Ryan, and you listen.” She brought her hands to my chest, and I noticed she always placed them in the same spot every time… in line with my heart. “I like this… us. I like you, but I hardly know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” The question was dangerous, and the panic ripped at my temples.

“Anything.” She laughed. “I know that your thirty-two, you used to be a paramedic, and you’re from Florida. But those are just facts, Ryan. I want to know
you
.” She leaned in and kissed me once. “I know you taste like vanilla,” she whispered against my mouth.

Her lips distracted me, and her words caused the muscles in my stomach to tighten with need. “I like that you taste like apples.” I kissed her top lip and then her bottom.

“Focus.” She giggled, and I pulled back from her mouth with a smirk. “I want… something more than simple facts. For example… how come you quit being a paramedic?”

It was a normal question anyone would’ve asked, but I couldn’t give her a real answer… the full truth. Maggie chewed at her bottom lip, her perceptive gaze noting my shift of mood. She wanted to know me, and I almost thought, for a brief second, that I could let her.
Almost.
“It was over ten years ago, a bad time in my life, it just… it didn’t work out. I made a mistake, and… it all fell apart.” I sighed as I closed my eyes. I couldn’t look at her and lie. It was impossible, but the truth… it would send her running.

Maggie kissed the furrow between my brow, and my eyes opened. “We all make mistakes,” she spoke in a calm tone, and her blue eyes blazed with sincerity. “I can tell… I can see it sometimes… in your eyes. We all have a history, a piece of ourselves we think we need to hide. It’s the nature of being human. And, even if you think I won’t understand, I want to have at least been given the chance.”

I wanted her to know me, to know Belle, but my life… it existed on two planes — before and after. Before, I thought I had everything. I graduated top of my class, I loved my job, I was outgoing, and I had a beautiful wife. After… there was nothing to tell. My daughter’s death ruined me, turned me into a walking corpse. I was a divorced felon with a dead daughter; there was nothing else to know. I was a broken record in my own head. My life had become insignificant, until Maggie. She didn’t know it, but she’d given me a pulse.

I kissed her forehead and decided I wanted her to have something of me. I couldn’t take a chance on the time I had with her. Beth and Maggie had become something to look forward to, and I wasn’t ready to go back. I wasn’t ready for them to become part of another after.

“So… tell me… what else you got up there?” she teased, lightening the mood. “Tell me a story or a memory.”

“A story?”

She nodded, and her smile stretched across her face.

“My mother used to always make me apple pie on my birthday. When I was eight, I’d eaten too much cake and ice cream…” I chuckled, “…I think I ate a pint all by myself and at least half the cake.” I shook my head as the memory washed through me. “I got sick. I’d stuffed myself so much, I ended up puking my guts out all night and ever since then I can’t stand birthday cake.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“December twenty-seventh. My mom would make all kinds of pies for Christmas and save an apple pie just for me.” I’d never let myself admit it, but I missed my parents. My dad was in the military for most of my childhood. He was strict but taught me how to be a man. He was that old-fashioned, fixer-upper, do-it-yourself kind of guy. He got his hands dirty, and I’d always wanted to emulate what he’d taught me. I admired him so much that I’d made the choice to pull away. Even though I missed their presence, after everything that had happened I had to shelter them from the shame I’d created with my impulsive decision. After a few years, I stopped accepting their letters, and about a year later, they stopped sending them. I didn’t want to know about my old life, about Sarah or Paul, or what it was like on the outside. I’d been trapped, caged, and I’d let myself forget everything… everything except Belle.

“Speaking of birthdays. Beth’s is on Tuesday if you’d like to come over. I’ll make pie.” She gave me a crooked smile, and I laughed.

“Sure. I’d love to.” It was stupid to weave myself deeper into her life, but as she lifted her hands to my face and brought her mouth to mine, it made me want to chance it all. Maggie made me want to forget my faults, and she gave me faith in the idea that one day I actually might.

The heat of her mouth, the light touch of her fingertips, it was all surreal. She broke the kiss, and I pulled her closer as she snuggled into my chest. “Tell me more.” She yawned, and I continued to draw patterns along the surface of her back. I told her little things, gave her little pieces of my past. She listened as I skated around all of my real issues, as I told her mostly about my youth and my parents. She was quiet as I spoke, letting me purge the words that had been trapped away for so long.

“Why don’t you talk to your parents anymore?” Her words were mumbled. The sound of sleep heavy in her tone.

“It’s a long story.” I sighed. “It’s late and you’re tired, and I don’t want you driving tired.” Even though I was avoiding the question… it was the truth. She was too tired to go anywhere now. It didn’t matter that I wanted her to stay over or how I wanted to wake up with her face next to mine. I wanted Maggie to be the first thing I saw when I woke up. I wanted to start my day with her eyes on mine instead of the vacant space of my bedroom and the faded remnants of Belle.

Maggie’s breath had become rhythmic against my chest, and I realized she’d fallen asleep. I smiled at my luck and eased slowly over her body as I extricated myself from her hold. Once I was standing, I stretched out my limbs and the ache in my muscles subsided. She was curled up on her side, her hair tie was loose and the curve of her hip was exposed. She was beautiful like this, flawless in her peaceful vulnerability. I almost didn’t want to disturb the beauty of the moment, but I didn’t want her to get cold. She scooped easily into my arms, and as she burrowed into my chest, she sighed.

“Where are we going?” she asked, half asleep.

“I’m taking you to bed.”

The back seat of the cruiser was claustrophobic. The damp fabric of my uniform stuck to the backs of my thighs, the humidity clung to the windows blocking out the outside world. The voice of the dispatcher rang crisply in the stale, copper air. The cop in the front spoke about me, about my family like I wasn’t there.

“Ryan Hartford, twenty-two-year-old male. Suspect in custody. Ambulance and first responders on scene. Male victim is Paul Whiteside, twenty-two years old. Shoulder wound, not critical. Alleged domestic dispute. The suspect’s wife, Sarah Hartford, twenty-year-old female, unharmed. Suspect compliant, no backup needed. Over.”

“Copy that, Sheriff.”

The sheriff shifted the car into gear, and as the vehicle started to move, my nausea swam in my head. I’d thrown up enough tonight, and my stomach was empty. The pain in my throat burned as I dry heaved over my lap.

“You gonna be sick, son? Don’t fucking puke in my cruiser, boy.” His thick, deep southern accent aggravated the non-stop, pounding in my head. “Why don’t you tell me what happened. Make it easy on yourself.”