Page 59 of Lead Me Knot

The anticipation of what’s about to happen?

The thought of Baylor leaving?

God, so much is running around my mind that I take a deep breath and focus on the right here and now, so I don’t miss it.

We haven’t said much since we walked into the apartment, and we moved about like this is how we live every day. Though I’m sure, like me, he’s going through the motions as if we don’t have this ocean of separation coming our way. At least that’s how he’s been kissing me since we got here.

Standing at the bedside together, he leans back, but his eyes are still closed, and he licks his lips as if he’s still savoring me. No words follow, but they don’t need to.

I open my mouth, needing more oxygen to reach my lungs because he gets me so worked up that it’s easy to forget simple things, like breathing, until it’s direly necessary.

When he opens his eyes, his fingers tighten on my hips. “Ten days, and I’ll see you again. I already bought your ticket.”

“It’s not my ticket I’m worried about.” I find myself wanting to hold on to him even tighter, too. “When do you have to leave?”

“No later than one thirty.” He brushes my hair back from my neck to caress it with his hand. “You’ll be fast asleep and too exhausted to notice.”

I grin. “Can you guarantee that?”

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” He kisses me again. The back of my knees hit the bed, and I fall until I’m sitting. I hold one leg up. The hint not subtle. He takes hold of the boot and works it off, then pats his leg. I prop my other foot up to remove that boot as well.

There’s no frenzy. No urgency to our kisses.

I take off my socks. He takes off his.

While I unbutton my dress, he’s undoing his jeans and pushing them down.

When my dress lands on the floor, his shirt keeps it company.

Reaching behind my back, he unclasps my bra, his gaze adoring my entire body with every new inch exposed. After I slide up to rest my head on a pillow, Baylor climbs over me, kissing my legs as he works himself higher.

In the afternoon sunshine flooding through the bedroom's open blinds, he stops at my ribs and runs a finger over my right side. “Tell me about your tattoo,” he says, keeping his voice low. “I’ve seen it so many times, but it was too dark to read what it said until now.”

“Choose who chooses you.” I reach down and run the tips of my fingers over it. It’s so delicate it’s not felt anymore. “I forget about it most days.” I rest my arm over my forehead. “Which is strange to think about because it used to always be on my mind when I got it.”

“Why did you choose that quote?” It’s a simple question that doesn’t seem to have such an easy answer. His hand is warm, the heat radiating through my body under the spinning ceiling fan. He slides up next to me, resting his head on the other pillow. “We don’t have to talk about it if you’re not comfortable.”

I turn to look at him. “I’ve asked you to share your heart and inner thoughts, and you’re going to let me off the hook like that?”

Although I’m teasing, he’s not when he replies, “Tattoos come with a story. I’ll wait until you’re ready to share yours.”

The trust we’ve built came quicker than with most people, but so did my feelings for him. I don’t want to hide, especially when he’s given me a reason not to hide. I say, “My dad left when I was seven. Kissed my mom goodbye, and me on the head as I ate breakfast and then walked right out the door like he was going to work.” My throat tightens. “I was eating Lucky Charms. I haven’t thought about that in years.” I quickly dip my head sideways into the pillow. “Not so lucky, huh?”

Baylor reaches over and caresses my cheek, running his thumb over my temple as his fingers weave into my hair. “I’m not going to spin this to find some bright side to that situation. That was a shitty thing to do to you and your mom.”

Even though it’s not an event in my life that I focus on, Christine was always there to comfort me over the years. My mom was too, but it was just different. With her, I needed to be cognizant of her pain, and I didn’t always have the strength to consume both of our pain. A bucket only holds so much before it tips over.

I’d tip over some days, and my best friend helped right me. So hearing Baylor just lay it out so plainly—not trying to explain how it wasn’t my fault and not making up excuses for him to make me feel better—takes off some of that weight of the burden I’m forced to carry.

It is exactly what it looks like on the surface for all the world to see and judge, including me.

My dad chose to leave after raising me for seven years, after vowing to my mother to protect me, after knowing me for seven crucial years of my life. It was hard to realize I needed protecting from him.

He leans over and kisses my forehead. When he falls back to his pillow, he says, “Choose who chooses you.”

I nod, not sure anything more needs to be said, and I don’t want to spend our last few hours dwelling on the past when I can be here with him instead. I lean forward and kiss him. Just like earlier, it’s slow. We take our time to appreciate the feel of each other’s lips, the way our tongues find their way together, and our hands hold the other like we fell in love a long time before now.

Is that possible?

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