Page 70 of Loud Unspoken Memories

He narrows his eyes. “Is money important to you?”

I don’t like the way he asks it. And I feel guilty for pressing him on the subject. I throw my hands over my eyes. “I’m such an idiot. No, Dallas, of course not. I mean, yeah, sure, who doesn’t want money and the security of not living paycheck to paycheck, but I swear money has nothing to do with the way I feel about you, or—”

I stop talking. Because there it is. Accidentally, I put it out there. We haven’t talked about feelings. Not one time in the pasteight days has either one of us even alluded to it. Sure, there have been looks, gestures, insinuations even. But no words. Never words.

“I mean—” I sigh and pick at my food. “You know what I mean. Forget it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I detect the hint of a smile.

“So you really don’t think you’ll ever fly again?” he asks.

I shake my head vehemently. “It would take an act of God.”

“Hmmm. Even now? Are you upset you didn’t fly, knowing what you could have avoided?”

What I could have avoided.The accident? The snow? Him?

I look him straight in the eyes. “No. I’m not upset. Not even a little bit.” I swallow. “Are you? Understandably, your life would have been a whole lot easier if I’d have simply flown.”

“No. I’m not upset,” he says, holding my gaze. “Not even a little bit.”

A million butterflies pirouette in my stomach. And I momentarily wonder if the flapping of their wings will change anything—as in the course of my life.

~ ~ ~

I stare out the window as Dallas chops wood. There is a pattern developing. Every time we get too close emotionally, he leaves physically. He puts distance between us. Erects proverbial walls. He’s not upset that I’m here, obviously. It’s evident by the amount of time we’ve spent in bed. But men aren’t like women. They can separate sex from feelings.

Still, every time he looks at me, I can see it in his eyes. He feels something. Maybe he even feelsmorethan something.

I push the thoughts aside and make my daily call to Charlie, delighted that he seems to be taking things in stride.

Then, just as I’m getting engrossed in the autobiography again, Asher calls.

“I just landed in Syracuse. I’m renting a car and should be with Charlie in a matter of hours.”

I sigh. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to know you’re going to be there for him. Is Bug with you?”

“She’s staying with her friend Mel until I get back. She said it would be too depressing. Any word on when you might be joining us?”

“Two days, maybe.”

“Damn. You must really be in the boonies. The interstates and other major roads seemed clear based on what I could see from the air, but there are still blankets of snow covering a lot of the state. You doing okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine? Martina, what aren’t you telling me? Has that rich asshole tried anything? I swear to God I’ll drive through ten feet of snow to kick his ass if he so much as touches you.”

My eyes roll at his over-protectiveness. “Calm down, Asher. I said I’m fine. Just missing Charlie.”

I decide not to tell him about falling through the ice. Climbing the tower. And the dozens of orgasms therich assholehas so diligently provided me.

“You sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure,” I say with as much conviction as I can muster. “Don’t worry about me. Just get to Charlie.”

“I’ll call you when I get there. Are you staying warm?”

I glance out at the ever-growing wood pile and the man adding to it. “Yes, there’s plenty of wood.” I hold in my snicker at the double-entendre.

---