Page 48 of Always

“We both want it.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Why? I can live without the choking, okay?” She gasps back a sob. “I don’t know why it spoke to me so much. Maybe if I knew why you won’t—”

I place my fingers over her lips. “Knowing my story won’t change yours.”

“But—”

“It won’t, and it shouldn’t.”

She doesn’t reply.

“This place doesn’t scare you anymore.”

“No.” She gives me a mischievous smile. “It would scare me less if you fucked me here.”

I touch her cheek. “Nice try. Let’s go back now. I’ll buy you lunch in town, and then I need to get on my way to New York.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too. Take some time for yourself. I’d like you to be able to answer my question when you return to Boston.”

She nods. “I will, Braden. I promise.”

I believe she wants to keep that promise.

God, I hope she can.

I need her too fucking much.

“I’d like to takeyouto lunch,” she says.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. There’s this great little Italian place called Luigi’s. We can walk around town a little, have some lunch, and then you can catch your ride to the airport.”

“I’d like that.” I kiss her lips. “I’d like that a lot.”

…

Skye drives us into town in her mother’s hatchback again. I saw the whole place this morning on my run, but I want to see the Kansas farm town where she grew up through her eyes.

She parks behind the hotel.

I’m tempted to take her up to my room and spend the rest of the time in bed, but that would be missing an opportunity to know her better through her roots.

We leave the car, and she points out the water tower on the edge of town, its paint faded.

“It’s the Liberty Bell,” she says. “Or it used to be. The paint is all worn. But the town was named after the bell.” She grabs my arm. “Come on. I want to show you one of my favorite places.”

We walk down the street and enter an old bookstore. It’s quaint and charming, books stacked from floor to ceiling with no apparent order. “If Dad came in town for the day, I’d hide out in here,” she says, a soft smile lighting up her face. “I love books.”

I remember well how I caught her in my library at my New York penthouse, thumbing through a book of bondage photographs.

“May I help you find anything?” a clerk asks.

“We’re just looking,” Skye says. “But thank you.”

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