Page 37 of Deep Gap

“Uh-huh. People do that. They make honest mistakes.” I turn her chin so that Greer looks at me. So that she sees how reeled I’m that she’s okay and hears much I love her without having to utter the words she’s felt inadequate for not being able to say back.

This is a woman who split a hive, moved it three miles away, and waited to return to the original because Mac had warned her there was a possibility the bees might recognize her scent and find it threatening. She and Mac struck a deal to inspect their handiwork together, but Greer’s drawn to those frightening little insects. For as freaked out as I am about her safety, as much as my throat closed up, my nose ran, and my eyes watered waiting for Greer to breathe after Mac slammed that fucking honking needle into her thigh, I wouldn’t do anything other than encourage her to keep seeking out happiness.

It is badass.

“I should’ve known better. It was stupid not to ask Mac to come out there with me.”

“And?” I nudge, understanding Mac was hot on her heels because he’d told me he was as excited to check out the progress as Greer was. Mac wasn’t stopping Greer. He was joining her.

“It makes me feel insignificant and naive.”

“And?”

“And I don’t deserve—” She crumbles. My palms fit our waists closer together and she reaches up, holding on for dear life. Her short nails seek purchase in the hair at the nape of my neck. Her tears soak the shirt I’ve changed into. I’m glad it’s clean, even if it won’t be for long.

I tuck my nose, kissing the top of her head. “You don’t want to go, honey bee. And I don’t want you to go either. But you don’t belong here.”

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The knife I’d thought cut my leg after being stung plunges into my gut. Sobs bleed out of me hearing I don’t belong. There is nowhere for me. No good place to put a woman who made a life-altering decision before she grew up. No home for her to cultivate. No significant spot to find her bearings and make more of herself.

My legs give out, unable to carry the weight anymore. Byron catches me under the knees. I bury my face in his chest, pressing my eyes closed, trying to stop the falling tears. In his arms, I’m surrounded by warmth and a love I never expected would happen for me. I don’t want to let go. This can’t be ending.

I feel us moving through the house. If I were a small animal, I’d scramble over his shoulder to get away from the inevitable. I don’t want to be set on the doorstep and sent on my way. I don’t want to risk blinking and opening my eyes to the cruel reality that I’m better off gone from here. Away from Byron and every good thing he’s brought into my life over the past months.

The next thing I know, softness meets my curved spine. A pillow beckons my tense muscles to relax. His scent surrounds me.

“That’s better.” Byron soothes.

His thumb caresses my jaw and my cheek nestles into his palm. The kisses he places at the corners of my eyelids have my will cracking. I want to see him. If only during these fleeting moments I want to watch the display of love he shows me. I finally get the nerve to look.

“Why are we in your bedroom?” Crying has done nothing to lessen the cracking in my raspy voice.

I reach out to touch him and Byron turns my hand, pressing the pads of my fingers to his mouth.

“Because, I almost lost you, Greer. And if forever with you only lasts another day, or a week—or I’m lucky enough to get years—from now on, I intend on falling asleep with you here in my bed. I want you to wake up feeling like the woman you are and not the child you’re trapped pretending to be for the sake of others. I think we deserve to move on together from the ghosts that haunt our dreams instead of being separated by a stupid wall or the expectations people put on us. I want to die as happy a man as those bees make you, knowing I got to love you as long as you’ll let me have you.”

Byron’s words wash over me, bringing a sense of calm to the room. It is in direct opposition to the turbulent whooshing as my blood pumps through my veins.

Passing out from the bee sting brought on a complete lack of control. The only thing that could fill the holes of uncertainty was the clawing need I had for comfort. But I hadn’t wanted to admit how badly I carved Byron. I knew Mac and Karen stayed at the emergency room out of sincere concern for my welfare. I couldn’t send them away and it felt lewd and arrogant flaunting our familiarity in front of anyone. So, to combat the desire for intimacy, I clenched my fists and refused to meet his concerned expression.

As if Byron truly understands my frailty, he hasn’t let me go since we laid down in his room. Yet as I trace the collar of his tear-stained t-shirt, I concede not an ounce of that longing hasn’t left. It’s increased. And I’m hanging on the precipice of another cliffside and the chasm I had little reason to believe I’d ever cross.

“Do you want to stay here?” he asks while I’m searching for the nerve to reply.

“Yes.” I nod. My eyes water and the image of his chest becomes fuzzy. I clutch his shirt.

“Okay.” He sighs, pressing for an honest answer. “Tell me why being here is right for you.”

Because I feel like a whole person when I’m with you. That there’s hope for tomorrow. Because I don’t want to let someone go who I care about the way I had to do the other times. “Because you accept me for who I am, and all my broken pieces fit back where they belong when we’re together. Because I’m grateful for the way you love me, Byron, and how when you aren’t even near, it still makes me feel like I’m more than I am.” My face flames, when my voice cracks, admitting, “I love you.”

Byron presses his mouth to mine. Our lips part in unison and I sweep my tongue inside, tasting the sweetness life has to offer me. He groans, rolling on top of me. My hands tear at the hem of his shirt, and he reaches back to pull it over his head. I shimmy my top off. Flicking the clasp of my bra, my breasts tumble unbound and Byron takes one in his mouth. His teeth graze over my nipple and he sucks the sting away and then moves on to the second to do the same while rocking his pelvis into mine.

My fingers thread through his hair, holding him to my tit, and I choke out, “I want you, Byron. I want this.”

I’ve almost asked him to make love to me before, but I’ve lost the nerve. Tonight I don’t want to panic, or worry the disconnect between my heart and my head—when I’ve dreaded Byron would make a big deal out of him being the first man inside of me, or worse, tell me no—is insurmountable.

He stops, tipping his chin toward me, his eyes dark with desire.

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