Page 32 of You Cake My Breath Away

It's stupid to pray for a sickness. I know that. But why couldn't he have needed a fuckin' kidney or something? Something I could've given to him. Repaid him in some way for everything he's done for me.

Hell, I would've taken his place if I could've. My life isn't worth anything. I'm a carpenter. Whoop dee freaking do. He was meant to change the world.

At the wake, I sat beside Nora. Three chairs away from Tilly. She was dressed in all black with her arms wrapped around her. Jessie's coworkers offered their condolences with awkward smiles to the family. My entire body ached with the need to punch something, to rage and throw things against the wall. But I'm supposed to be stoic, the strong man not allowed to cry. I don't have you. I don't have Jessie. And the one person I want to grieve with hates me. Rightfully so.

How could he leave me whenwe had so much life left to live? So many more things to experience together?

How could he leave her?

Tilly's vacant eyes didn't leave his casket the entire service. I wanted to hug her and tell her we would get through it. Jessie did that for me when you died. But something held me back from approaching her. Nora confided in me that Tilly didn't want to be touched. Every time someone touched her, she screamed. Tilly was always affectionate. I used to call her Touchy Tilly to mess with her, even though I secretly loved it when she'd playfully hit me. Nora called it something like touch aversion. I had to Google it. It tears me up to know she's hurting so bad she can't be touched. I wish I could say it was that knowledge that held me back, but the truth is, I knew I'd be the last person she'd ever want comfort from.

I've done nothing but cause her pain.

Fuck man, I don't know what to do. I've made sure to be around for Nora and Shantel for whatever they need help with, but what can I do for Tilly? She won't answer phone calls or texts and she hasn't left the house except for the funeral. I drive by every night and sit outside, trying to convince myself to knock. I doubt she'd open the door for me, and if she did, I have no clue what I could say that would even touch the depth of remorse I feel for treating her so poorly that she feels she can't turn to me during this time.

In college, I promised Jessie I'd back off in his pursuit of Tilly, but yesterday I made him another promise as I stood on the loamy soil where they laid him to rest. I told him I'd find a way to make things right with her. I just don't know how. This chasm between us feels too deep to fill with apologies that should've come years ago.

I wish I could ask him what to do. Fuck. I wish both of you were still here soI wasn't alone.

Take care of him up there for me. And tell him I'll do my best to take care of his mom and sister, and that I'll make sureourhis girl gets the bakery of her dreams.

-Arch

Chapter seventeen

Tilly

Splinters are the devil’s confetti.

In hindsight, attempting to move a few pieces of wood that are much larger than my tiny arms can handle wasn’t the best idea. I try to grab the little sucker with my tweezers but wince as I rip a crevasse in my fingertip. Abandoning the effort to remove it, I discard the tweezers with a huff. Glutton for punishment that I am, I blink away the tears and reach for another slab of wood.

Sweat coats my skin, dripping down into the tank top I changed into after Archer left. My mouth is parched, and the droplet of saltiness cresting my upper lip is the only thing I’ve consumed other than my morning chorizo, egg, and avocado stuffed yam. Arms wide, I clear the doorway and am almost to the table when a wave of dizziness hits me. I waver, nearly tumbling over the extension cord on the ground.

“Whoa, Tilly,” Archer shouts as he comes up behind me, arms reaching to meet mine on the wood.

His solid stomach is against my back, his breath hot on my neck as he walks me forward and I bend over to place the wood down. Exhausted, I nearly collapse onto the table. A strong arm bands around my stomach, and I nearly lose it. The tightness of his arm holding me against his firm chest, my ass nestled in a spot I’ve dreamt about too often the past couple days, the breath coasting along my neck.

One by one my touch receptors explode.

Archer’s body weight presses the corner of the table between my legs, and the feeling rips a moan from me. There’s a sharp intake of breath, but I’m unsure if it’s his or mine, because before I know it, there’s a weight settled between my ass, and the pressure from the table is there again, causing me to whimper.

My mind does overtime catching up to the rest of my body. It screeches to a halt and downpours disgust into my veins. I rip Archer’s hands from my body, inwardly whining as I do so, and push him back.

“Fuck.” He throws his hands up in surrender then reaches for me with a pained expression. “Tilly.”

Snagging a bottle of water, I move as far away from him as possible. “I’m okay,” I lie, fighting the urge to move closer. “I’m going...I’m gonna use the bathroom.”

Inside the sanctuary of the bathroom, I lean my exposed back against the cool tile wall. I chug water, not stopping when it spills out of my mouth and down my chest. My skin is on fire, nerves that haven’t been activated in forever thrown into a tailspin. The tile at my back sends a chill down my spine, the water rolling down my breasts makes my nipples hard, and slowly, so slowly, my hand makes its way down my body.

Arousal continues to overtake my system; my skin is hungry for any touch I’m willing to give it now that it remembers what it’s been missing. In a daze, I slide my fingers along my stomach where he touched me and try to replace the image of him behind me with Jessie.

My heightened senses beat their wings like a butterfly finally free from its chrysalis as I circle the pulsing need between my legs, but instead of uttering my husband’s name, Archer’s name slips from my lips on a moan.

Flooded with shame, I slump against the wall. My cheeks are ruddy in the mirror, my hair messy and clinging to my skin. Tension stretchesthe muscles of my neck and shoulders, and my normally calm stomach twists in knots.

Frustrated, I head back out to the workspace. The silence is what I notice first. No loud saws or hammers banging, no rock music blaring through the speakers.

Only silence.

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