Page 18 of The Caretaker
Solace lay sprawled out on his back in the center of the big bed, his bare chest rising and falling, his hair spilled across his pillow.
Even in sleep he was elegant. His limbs were delicately etched with muscle, not carved with the bulging kind found underneath my clothing.
The sheet covering him stopped below his navel, and the blanket hung partially on the floor, as if it had been kicked there by the long leg poking out from under the sheet. I thought of regal beauty when I looked at him, but although his physical appearance called for immediate attention, it wasn’t what held it. Solace had the temperament of someone wise and thoughtful with an infinite amount of tolerance for others. He exuded goodness, and that made me feel safe with him.
That I’d had those thoughts scared me, that I couldn’t stop moving closer to him terrified me even more. Everything in me began to burn when those beautiful eyes of his fluttered open to land on me without surprise, as if my being there was perfectly normal.
“Morning,” he said groggily, stretching his arms above him.
“I made breakfast,” I blurted, hurrying to give an excuse for being at the foot of his bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” Remnants of sleep made his voice husky, and he pushed himself up against the headboard before sniffing the air. “The smell of bacon did. I hope you made extra.”
“I can make more,” I said, chuckling at his look of delight. “It’s keeping warm in the oven. I just wanted to see if you were up.” I pointed toward the hall. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
“Okay,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. My gaze traveled down his chest to the faint hairs vanishing below the waistband of his boxer briefs, and every part of me stirred.
“Okay,” I repeated in a gravelly tone, already walking away. My reaction to him confused me, and it had nothing to do with him being a man. It was that it felt against my will. Like my body had begun to work independently from my brain. I couldn’t call it attraction, because the only attraction I felt—the only attraction Ishouldhave felt—was toward my wife. It was a sudden and intense awareness of him, though, and maybe a sign that I’d gone without the comfort of another for too long.
Back in the living room, the photo of Gavin caught my eye. I picked it up, bringing it close enough to make out the album title and artist name on the vinyl record he held.
Eric Clapton.Unplugged.
A prickling sensation started up in my head, and I placed the frame back on the mantel to pull up the album in the music app on my phone. I randomly shuffled from song to song, about to call it quits when the prickling stopped, but then the acoustic guitar kicked in on “Tears in Heaven,” and the hairs all over my body rose.
I’d made it through my second run-through when that elusive string in my head begged to be pulled, but no matter how hard I tried to grab on to it, it remained out of reach. Time meant nothing as I fought to get to that place that held all the answers hostage.
The third replay of the song ended, and I remained transfixed by the flutter of familiarity. So much so that I hadn’t heard Solace’s approach until his hand landed on my shoulder. Startled from my trance and forgetting where I was, I spun around and grabbed his forearm with more force than necessary.
“Solace?” I said in confusion. I peered around, getting my bearings, then remembered I still held on to him. Jerking myhand back, I watched the indentation of my large fingers fade from his porcelain skin.
I took two steps in the opposite direction, giving him breathing room, shrinking in on myself to appear non-threatening. “Sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t…” I stopped before saying“in my right mind.” If my rough handling of him hadn’t sent him running, saying that surely would have.
“Don’t be sorry,” he replied, reminding me of his request from last night. “You don’t scare me, Noon.” A flush stained his cheeks, but he hadn’t flinched away from my grasp. Hadn’t seemed afraid of me.
“That doesn’t make it okay,” I said, horrified with myself.
“I startled you.”
“That’s no excuse,” I snapped. Solace observed me in that patient way of his, as though understanding that I didn’t need him to make this moment okay for me. He was respecting me, letting me feel whatever it was I needed to feel.
“I get stuck sometimes,” I explained. “I feel something there, and I get stuck trying to latch on to it.”
Solace’s mouth tightened, then opened, then slammed shut again. He seemed torn, and I couldn’t understand why. “I admire you,” he said, eyes lowering for an instant. “You’re a fighter.”
“So are you.”
“No, I’m not.” Conviction lit his gaze. “I take things lying down, and I hate that about myself. You make me want to fight. You remind me that some things are worth fighting for. You always—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. What had he been about to say? He carried on before I could ask.
“How does someone who never fights know how to fight? How do they know if they’re doing it correctly?” He now stood so close that I could make out the three tiny freckles along his nose. “How do I know if I’m doing the right thing?” He was strugglingwith something, had been since the moment I spotted him in my camera at the tavern, and now he was looking at me like I had all the answers. I felt the need to hold him, to fulfill my sudden urge to litter his forehead with kisses. And it had nothing to do with attraction or lust. I simply wanted to make him feel better; to do so felt instinctive, and I was so close to not caring about how inappropriate that would be.
“What does your heart tell you?”
“That I’m doing the right thing.”
“Then always go with your heart,” I said, “because yours seems pure, like only good can come from it.”
“I hope you’re right,” he whispered before brushing my unruly hair from my face.
