Page 61 of Revive
Alle snuggled into his shoulder and the warmth of his body. He smelled just the way she liked and didn’t protest at the way she draped herself off him. Rather, he drew her closer, and when she shivered, slung his jacket over her shoulders. It was the little things like that that got to her, turned her heart over, and filled her up inside. They made all the trauma and the woes worth it.
“What?” he asked, catching her looking at him, in what was surely a love-struck fashion.
God, he was so beautiful it hurt. More importantly, he was hers. This amazing, resilient, talented, fragile and peculiar man was hers, and she was his.
“You’re just…”
“I’m what?”
“I love you,” Alle blurted.
He grinned. Pleased. “I think you, madam, are wasted.”
“Not entirely.” She laughed, because he was obviously amused, but she was also besotted. How did you put into words something as complex as how another person’s presence made you feel? I love you was the most understandable way of expressing it, but it didn’t do it justice. “I’m only a little bit drunk, and it doesn’t change facts. I really do love you, Spook.”
“Soppy drunk. Magnificent.” His words might be spiked with sarcasm, but his tone was also warm. Besides, there was a whiff of beer on his own breath.
“I’m not drunk.” She tried to prod him with her elbow, but he was too agile, and easily dodged. “Honest. I swear, I’m not. See.” She held out her hand to show him it was steady. “No trembles.” She wasn’t going to attempt walking in a straight line, because she still hadn’t mastered walking over pebbles.
“Not sure that holds up.” Spook held out his hand, which definitely was trembling. Alle clasped his hand.
“Did something happen?”
“No.”
“Then why are you shaking?”
He pulled her closer and breathed her in. “It’s from what we talked about the other day. I love you too, Alle. And that terrifies me, because if it’s going to last, then I have to allow myself to do more than that.”
“You mean trust me? I’ve been thinking about that too, and actually you do already with a lot of things.” She didn’t get into the specifics. He didn’t need them spelling out. Spook linked their fingers. His eyes closed, and for a moment, all she was aware of was his slow breaths in and out. He was probably counting, focussing on things that were tangible, a sound, the sensation of the breeze, the tang of salt in the air. She knew that in many ways she was his worst nightmare made flesh. That she haunted him day and night, but he was here with her regardless, still determinedly battling his demons and fighting for them.
“I wish you’d never brought up my birthday. Now it’s stuck in my head. Every time I just about convince myself I can have a normal relationship with you, you determinedly squash the notion.”
“That’s cruel of me.”
“It is. Very cruel. Monstrously so.” His grin showed off his teeth, flooring her with the sort of smile he didn’t make very often. It was devastating, but utterly alluring, and exceedingly fragile. “It feels foolish to trust you and equally foolish not to.”
That was the constant battle she’d signed up to wage. How to transform that statement, so that it became more foolish for him not to trust her? They’d conquered significant hurdles already. Possibly time and breathing space would account for the rest, but Alle as always strove to speed up the process. The trouble was, and she wasn’t entirely sure when she’d realised it, that Spook hadn’t simply been celibate for years, he’d cut himself off from his emotions during that time too. Now he’d finally released the pressure, he was having to re-learn how to manage them.
“I want to kiss you,” she said.
“You never just want to kiss me, Alle.”
True. But she was capable of control, and through being controlled was how she hoped to build trust.
“May I kiss you?”
“No. You’re drunk, and I don’t kiss people who are intoxicated.”
She snorted, hoping that got her peevishness across. “You’ve been drinking, too.”
“So, what if I have. I’ll tell you what, I’ll let you touch my wrist.”
“Your wrist?”
He nodded, then guided her fingers to the smoothness of his inner wrist where the veins ran close to the surface, and his skin was almost translucent, providing her with a glimpse of the network of life beneath. She traced the splashes of blue there, felt her own pulse stir at the throb of life beating against her fingertips. There’d been too many dark nights when she’d feared that drumming was gone. That he was gone, transposed into stardust and memory. The scar that started perhaps a centimetre away from the wrist bone shone like mother of pearl even by moonlight. The more recent additions were pinkish.
Spook’s gaze fastened on her, watching cautiously. For what, she wasn’t sure. Eventually, he flexed his fingers, granting her permission to explore the rest of his hand. She loved his hands. The long clever fingers. The scratches over his knuckles, signs of anger unleashed. The yellowing of a bruise along the tendon of his rightmost finger. His nails were neatly trimmed. The pads of his fingers calloused from hours of plucking metal strings. Eventually, she joined their hands palm to palm.
