Page 80 of Free to Live
And I might be blind from all the flashes that went off as I tried to capture what I needed to say without words.
43
Holly
Anxiously, I sip on a latte as I wait for Joe to come through The Coffee Shop door. This makes my second one since I arrived almost thirty minutes ago. I’m a mass of jitters and not just from the caffeine I’m mainlining.
If it wasn’t my camera… If it was anything else, I’d have just forgotten about it. But I need my camera. I need to have the ability to focus, to see, to live even if the idea is nauseating right now. And taking aim with my camera’s the only way I’ll be able to do that.
It’s not just any camera either. It’s the one I was gifted by the siblings after I graduated UConn. That camera means more than just the photos on it; it’s held the promise of my future for the last twelve years. It’s tough and durable. It’s been dropped and kicked. And even if it occasionally needs a little more TLC, it still—in my mind—takes the best shots out of my collection.
I’m sure he’s just going to plop the camera on the table and leave. Whatever had the potential to grow between us was destroyed by my past. Even though I knew it would be, it’s still painful. And it’s going to leave a vicious scar on my heart.
Coming to the conclusion I might be worthy of love has been an epiphany I never expected. I thought I’d go through life having to compromise my dreams to pay the penance for my past when it’s because of my history that I deserve this life and the chance to grab love with both hands. But I can’t remain by Joe’s side as only his friend when the depth of my emotions is so much more than that. Nor can I be judged for what I know to be a decision I had to make in a split second to live.
He deserves more, but as for me? I finally realize I deserve everything.
Just as I’m about to raise my cup to my lips, the bells tinkle over the door. Joe steps through, carefully holding my camera. My heart begins an irregular rhythm in my chest. I achingly admit I’m prepared to walk away from the man weaving in between the patrons who hasn’t taken his eyes from me. Because I can’t keep feeling pain on behalf of love.
And that’s what happens every time Joe’s dark blue eyes look at me and I remember I’m not who he wants to be with. Not because of who I really am.
Noelle Greene—for all intents and purposes—died when I became Holly Freeman. Her death gave me a life I may not deserve, but one I’ve earned through years of penance and contrition. I may not be worthy of this man, but that’s not to say I’m not worthy of love.
I am loved. I just need to remember that to get through the next few minutes.
Sliding into the booth across from me, Joe doesn’t say anything. Instead, he grips my camera tightly between his long fingers.
“Planning on letting that go?” I ask quietly, breaking the silence that stretches between us.
He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, Ava steps up to our table with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. “Here you go, Joe.” She sets it next to his forearm before disappearing down the aisle, leaving us once again in our silence.
This time, I end it quicker. “You don’t have to say anything. I…appreciate the fact you look at me differently since you now understand what it is I’m made of…” I don’t get to finish before he interrupts.
“Shut up, Holly.” My eyes widen when instead of handing over my camera, he reaches for my hand. Yanking me to the side, I’m pulled from the booth until we’re face-to-face.
And he’s still holding my hand.
My heart is pounding so hard I feel like he can feel it through our jackets. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I finally understand why you’ve never understood things are changing,” he says strangely.
“Changing?” I struggle to pull my hand away. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
Lifting his other hand, he stills me merely by cupping my chin. His calm and steady breaths are in direct contrast to my own jagged attempts at air. “You will.” Leaning forward, he brushes a soft, tender kiss against my flaming cheek. Before he pulls away, he whispers, “Look at the pictures on your camera, Hols.”
Pulling back, I blink, “What did you do?”
He smiles as his thumb lazily brushes against the bone where his lips just branded me. “You won’t listen to me if I try to talk to you right now. So, I decided to show you what I’m feeling in a way I knew you’d have no choice but to focus on.” Pressing his lips against my forehead, he leaves his lips there to murmur, “I hope I’ll see you later.”
As he pulls away, I call out, “Joe?” I’m confused. I expected him to walk away, not stand here and encourage the heart I’m trying to numb against more pain.
“Just look at the pictures, Hols. Then come find me.” Pulling away, he turns and walks down the aisle toward the front of The Coffee Shop. Even as confused as I am, I can’t help but admire the confidence in his stride that accentuate the muscles that look like they were crafted by ancient Greek sculptors.
Sitting back down, I reach across the table for my camera. For long moments, I do nothing but absorb his essence, which has transferred itself through the pads of his fingers over the textured grip. Head bent, I’m cloaked in my own world. I tell myself if I can survive the hellaciousness of my past, I can survive anything. Even this. With that in the forefront of my mind, I turn the playback display on.
And immediately let out a gasp.
Joe has the camera extended from his left arm. He’s lying in the middle of his bed with nothing on but a sheet. His right arm is tucked beneath him. The pose is sensual, but it’s the look on his face that’s captivating me. It’s his lower lip that’s being caught beneath his teeth, the hint of a blush riding his cheekbones, the worry in his eyes.
