Page 56 of Healing You
She nibbled her way down his neck, her hand drifting down his abs, playing with the waistband of his tuxedo pants. Teasing. She was teasing him hardcore. Her giggle created a wave of hot air from his ear down to his shoulder, and he bit down hard on his bottom lip, forcing himself to focus on the winding, dark road. Prom always took place at Washington Rock Ballroom and offered one of the highest and most gorgeous views of New Hampshire from the top. Of course, that meant that he had to keep a keen eye driving back down at eleven p.m. Yvonne had convinced him to cut the party short and continue their own private party elsewhere. To which he'd responded: Hell to the yes.
“Eve,” he said, taking her hand, lifting it away from his pants and nipping her knuckle. “Babe, I gotta be careful. Fog is heavy tonight.”
“Mmm hmm,” she hummed in his ear. He could smell the little bit of champagne she'd had from Kyra's flask on her breath. It was sweet and bubbly, just like Eve. And even though his girl was tipsy, he was stone cold sober. Not that he didn't have ample opportunity to drink. Oh, he'd been offered a flask, as well, but dutifully declined even though he badly wanted to drink. They'd be back at the hotel room soon and he could have some of the beer his friends had grabbed from their dad's fridge.
With one free hand, he brushed his fingers over his crooked bow tie. Everyone else had had a father to show them how to properly tie one. Steve, on the other hand, just had to fumble his way through it. And judging by the look of scowling disapproval Mr. Sarzacki had shown when he arrived to pick up Eve, he'd gotten it wrong.
Yvonne gave a heavy sigh and stopped her attempts to unzip his pants. But her lips were still at his neck. Kissing. Nibbling. Sucking.
Good God, that mouth of hers. It was all he could do to not pull off onto the lip of the road and take her there in his back seat. He groaned, stretching his neck to the side, and closed his eyes for all of half a second. And when he opened them, two giant headlights were in his face, in his lane, blinding his view of the road. The sharpest curve was just ahead and as Steve jerked the wheel to the right, a deer came into view just ahead of him. Frozen. A literal deer in the headlights. He turned the wheel harder, the sound of Yvonne's screams and a blaring horn blasting through his thoughts.
Steve flinched as the memories faded. Somehow Yvonne had moved into his lap and was now straddling him in the front seat, her weight shifting back against the horn.
“Dammit,” she muttered, sliding back into her passenger seat.
He willed his hand to move. Just turn the key. Just start the car and get us home safely. But he couldn't do it. His hands felt like bricks were attached to his wrists.
They had both nearly died the last time they were in a car together. He had almost killed them. In all these weeks together reuniting, they hadn't once needed to drive anywhere. They mostly walked into town or went for a run together or just met out somewhere after work. But that wasn't a behavior you could build a life together on. What did he expect? For them to never get in a car together again? Would she be responsible for driving their children around because he would be too terrified to take the wheel again? He couldn't put that on her. The words from her letter years ago were practically chiseled into his brain. It was the reason he'd left, the reason he'd stayed away for so long.
“We can't do this,” Steve whispered. Despite how hot he'd felt moments ago with Yvonne's mouth on his and how warm it was inside the car, he shivered. A hard, debilitating shiver that rocked through his whole body, causing the muscles to seize and convulse. His blood had been replaced with ice.
“Yeah, maybe you're right,” she agreed, flopping back into her seat and pushing her messy hair out of her face. “I remember it being more fun in high school. But now it's just really uncomfortable.” She laughed in that gentle, candied, musical way of hers that always managed to mainline right to his heart. But this time, its soft, sweet tone speared his chest, slicing him open.
“Not that,” he said, hoarsely. There was a lump lodged in his throat that no matter how many times he swallowed, it just wouldn't go down. That hollow feeling at the base of his stomach was back. That emptiness he'd lived with for so many years, slowly eating at his happiness. It was back. “This.” He gestured between them, knowing that as soon as he said those words, it would be over. For good. Yvonne barely managed to forgive him once. There was no way she would a second time.
He watched her closely as his words sunk in. Watched as the rosy flush drained from her cheeks leaving a ghostly pallor in its place. Watched as her gaze—those eyes, crinkled with her smile— dropped to her lap. Watched as her fingers flew to her mouth and she nibbled the edge of one painted nail. “You don't really mean that.” But even with the bold statement, her voice trembled. She knew better. Knew him better than to believe that.
And for all of a second, Steve debated taking it back. Pulling her into his arms and kissing her once more. If he knew Yvonne at all, he guessed he had a ten second window to change his mind and act on that.
Nine... eight...
He felt the airway in his throat constricting as the shock in her face drifted to pure undiluted sadness. Those hazel eyes filled with tears, sweeping the base of her eyelids like a gentle wave bringing in the tide. Even in sadness, she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. That was the problem though, right? A diamond, though beautiful, was still sharp enough to cut through glass— to draw blood.
Seven... six...
“Steve.” With that one little word, he could hear her plea for him to take it back.
Five... four...
She moved her hand across the seat, brushing her fingertips down the length of his scar, and he flinched at the contact of her soft skin against the roughness. She pulled back, as though the way he jerked away from her could permanently cause her damage as well. “You're serious?” Even though it was a question, she spoke it in a way that suggested she already knew the answer.
Was he? Was this the right choice? If it was so right, why did it feel so damn wrong? Why did it hurt like the windshield was shattering against his face all over again? Steve squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look at her. He'd spent thirteen years looking at Yvonne through a glass window. This amazing woman who was so much better off without him. A fact that even she knew in her most delicate, vulnerable state. He'd spent years admiring her from afar, thinking she could never be his again. Not because he didn't want her, but because someone else would. Someone else who deserved her and wasn't so afraid to lose her that he couldn't start his goddamn car.
Three... two...
Oh, God. What was he doing? He loved her. Shouldn't that be enough? Was he just repeating old habits by leaving without a discussion? If he learned nothing else from past mistakes, he should at least talk to her about this. “Yvonne,” he forced his gaze back to her, taking her hand in his.
“No,” she snapped, wrenching her hand from his grasp.
One.
“I can't believe I gave you the opportunity to do this to me again.” She shouldered open the car door, flipping his jacket off of her shoulders and throwing it into the passenger seat.
Steve's body felt heavy as he, too, got out of the car. “Let me get someone to take you home.”
“Don't bother. I'll walk.” She took off out of the parking lot at an impressive pace, all things considered.
“Shit.” He took off behind her, following slowly a couple of steps behind. “Yvonne, come on,” he called out to her. “What are you gonna do? Walk the four miles home? In heels? Drunk?”
