Chapter Twenty-Eight
Helene
Kane took the keys from me when we left, and we ran quickly out to the car, getting soaked on the way. His longer hair hung in his face, and he pushed it back off his forehead. He was silent as we drove, but he reached over, taking my hand.
When he headed toward his own house instead of mine, I didn’t say a word. When he sat in silence beside me after pulling into his driveway without asking me to come in, I didn’t react. And when he reached for my hand, I bit my lower lip.
He leaned over and kissed me. “I need to get some work done. I’ll call you later.” His voice was too quiet, his eyes too hesitant. I didn’t like this.
I nodded, trying to figure out his mood. But I couldn’t, and when he opened the door and climbed out, I did too. I ran around the car quickly as the rain poured down on me. I said nothing as I pulled the door open, but he stopped walking, and I paused, still standing in the rain.
He turned to face me and closed the space between us, placing his hands on top of mine as I clutched the top of the door. “I know you don’t think your life is beautiful,” he said quietly. “And I know it hasn’t always been. But, Hell, your life is so … fucking … beautiful.” His mouth pulled up in an odd smile, but his lips trembled.
I nodded, not even sure what I was nodding at. I was confused. I was also afraid. I wanted more than anything to understand what was happening in his head right now, but I didn’t.
“I’ll call you later.” And he turned and walked away.
I stared after him, the downpour of rain washing more and more hair into my face and eyes the longer I stood there, and when I finally shook my head, I used both hands to push it back.
I climbed in my car, sitting my wet ass on my wet seat, and I cranked the heat up. I drove home, shivering the entire way, and when I ran into the house, the frigid rain pelted me and I cursed. I stripped out of my wet clothes leaving them on the bathroom floor, and then I stood in a hot shower, not bathing, not washing anything at all—just letting the water warm my skin.
He didn’t call me that evening, and by the time ten o’clock rolled around, I was on edge, confused, and hurt. I picked up my phone multiple times, staring at it and contemplating dialing him. I could—of course I could, but he’d said he would, and there was something that smacked my pride about that.
Rather than dial the phone, I curled up on my bed with a book and pulled a throw over my legs. Concentrating on the book proved impossible, and I tossed it aside, choosing to stare at my ceiling instead. The wind howled outside, and I listened to the rain hitting the window panes. I’d not shaken the cold from my bones since getting home, and I finally crawled under the quilt and sheets when I caught myself tucking my hands between my legs and shivering.
It wasn’t until after ten that night that something pulled my focus from the place my eyes had been staring on the ceiling. The knock on the front door startled me for a half a second. It must be him. I wanted it to be, and when I walked toward the door my feet moved quickly.
“Hi,” he said when I pulled the door open. He stood there shivering and wet, soaked to the skin through his clothes and his hair a saturated mop that hung in his face and dripped.
I glanced past him to the driveway, but his dad’s truck wasn’t there.
“Kane, how did you get here?”
He crossed his arms. “I just… I walked.” He glanced at me, but then he looked down to the ground between us.
“Why? I could have come to get you. Why didn’t you just call me?”
He shook his head. He seemed a bit lost, and I was still just as clueless as I’d been when I’d dropped him off at his home hours earlier.
“I needed to walk. I needed to think.”
I bit my lower lip. “And your walk brought you all the way here in the freezing rain?”
He actually smiled a little at that. “Of course my walk brought me here. Everything in my life seems to bring me to you.”
I stepped back from the door, and he paused for a moment, looking down at his clothes. He eventually took the step though. He stood dripping on the tile entryway floor, and I stripped his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor. He watched me, and when I undid the button of his pants, he reached for my face and gripped my cheeks. He didn’t smile, he just held my face as my fingers worked, and when I was pushing his pants and underwear down his hips, he pulled my mouth to his.
“How can it feel so good … and so terrifying at the same time?” he whispered just before his mouth touched mine. It was a sweet kiss, a gentle one, and when he pulled back, he licked his lower lip.
I reached for his chest, running my palms over his hard muscles. His skin popped with goosebumps as my hands moved. I stopped short of his waist, though, taking his hand in mine instead, and I pulled him down the hall. I grabbed a towel from the linen closet on the way back to my bedroom, and he took it from me, drying his hair and his body as I leaned back against my dresser, watching him. He sat on the edge of the bed, the towel in his hand.
“What’s going on with you?” I crossed my arms. It was oddly reminiscent of Kane—the way he crossed his when he was vulnerable. Vulnerable was definitely how I felt.
His eyes moved around for a moment as though he wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Kane, please—”
“I’m afraid to be on top of you when we make love.” He stared at my chest as he said the words, and it was only the briefest glance to my eyes that I got when he went silent.
The comment was so misplaced I just stared at him, my mouth hanging open. “What?”
He took a deep breath, and it looked forced when he finally shifted his focus up to my face. “Terrified,” he said. “Terrified of seeing you under me. Terrified of seeing you looking up at me the way you did… Terrified you’ll look the same. Terrified you’ll feel the same.” He shook his head, and when he opened his mouth to say something more, he ended up closing it and looking down again. When he finally looked back at me, he shrugged. “How fucking twisted is that?” He truly seemed confused by what he was saying. “That making love to you would remind me of raping you.”
I stared at him, remembering the afternoon before when he’d taken me to bed. I’d tried to pull him on top of me when he’d been laying facing me, but he’d resisted it. I hadn’t thought anything of it. He’d ended up behind me, pinning me to the bed and thrusting against my bottom as he invaded my pussy. Regardless of the position I’d been in, he’d still been the one in control. It didn’t make any sense that he should fear this.
“I’m not terrified of you,” I said gently. My heart raced even as I tried to reassure him, and my nerves were standing on end.
He sighed, letting his head fall back for a moment as he inhaled deeply. When he looked back at me, he was silent for a moment. “Mark told me what it was like for you after I left town.”
My eyes widened as I stood there.
“I asked him. I thought I wanted to know. I thought I needed to hear what he was going to say,” he whispered. “I did. I did need to hear it. But … I wasn’t prepared.” His eyes searched mine. “How can you want me? How can you not want a life apart from me, with marriage, a family, a real home, and real … problems—like whose going to take the garbage out, who’s going to fix the drawing on the wall, pull the banana peel from the DVD player, get the baby up from her nap.” He shrugged, looking down at the towel in his lap. “And it’s not just our past and what happened. It’s… It’s your life. It’s always been your life. Everything that happened today is so normal for you. And yet … it feels so strange to me.” He finally looked back to my eyes. “I don’t know how to give you that life.”
“I didn’t ask for that life.” My hands were clammy as I hid them under my crossed arms. The race of my heart was sending a flush of uncomfortable panic through my body. I really didn’t like this.
He just stared at me.
“Why do I feel like you’re breaking up with me?” I finally asked. The question alone intensified the panic I was feeling.
“Breaking up?” he scoffed as he ran his hand through his hair, pushing the damp strands back from his face. “From what? What is this? Is this a relationship to you? Is that what we’re doing?” His eyes continued to shift back and forth across mine. “Because it feels like a relationship to me, and … if that’s the case, then where does this go? You want to be in a relationship with a man who can’t even stand the idea of being between your legs because it disturbs him so much, and yet, who’s addicted to making love to you.” He scoffed again—this weird almost-laugh, and when he clutched at his forehead he just shook his head.
“You didn’t answer the question.” I glared at him, but in truth, it was still all panic. “Are you breaking up with me?”
He let out an exasperated huff. “No!” he snapped, glaring just as harshly back at me. “I’m just trying to figure out how to deserve you, Helene.”
I let out a gasp of air at that comment.
He stared at me, breathing heavily. “And when you figure out I don’t, I’m not sure what that’s going to do to me, and that … scares the shit out of me.” He shrugged.
“Don’t say that.” I stepped up to him, kneeling at his feet and clutching the backs of his calves. “Please don’t say that.” I focused on him for a moment. “Why is it so hard for you to believe you deserve to be happy?”
He smirked, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Because you’re not always around to reassure me. And you’re the only person in the world I would believe.”
I kneeled up, pushing his thighs apart so I could get closer to him. I pulled the towel from his lap, dropping it to the floor. I clutched at his cheeks with my hands, my fingers curling behind his jawline. “I know you deserve to be happy,” I whispered.
He dropped his forehead to mine. “What happens when you find out you’re wrong?” His voice was just as quiet.
I pulled back, watching him, unable to say anything at all. The stare went on for a long time, and his expression was frozen as he held the eye contact. But then his lips twitched into an almost-smile, and he shook his head. “I just needed to fall apart a little today. I’m sorry.”
He pulled me up to stand and then into bed with him. He reached to the bedside lamp, turning it off, and then he pulled my T-shirt off and inched my yoga pants down past my hips. He stripped them off my legs along with my underwear, and then he wrapped his arms around me. He made no move to touch me beyond that, and I snuggled up to his neck and listened to his breathing. It slowed until I knew he was sleeping, and then I fell asleep, too.
* * * *
I had no idea what time it was when I was startled out of sleep. Kane was thrashing beside me and gasping for air. I reached for his arm, but at my touch, the thrashing became worse, and I pulled away. He sat up, sucking in a deep breath as though he’d been suffocating, and then he groaned out, “Oh, fuck. Goddammit.” He panted.
“Kane.” I reached for his arm again, but he pulled away from my touch.
I listened to the bedding move, and I felt the mattress shift as he sat up. He flipped the bedside lamp on, and I glanced over at him. His back was to me as he sat on the side of the bed.
“Fuck,” he muttered again as he ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, but he didn’t bother looking at me when he said it.
He stood and walked from the room. I stared after him, wondering if I wasn’t perhaps losing my handle on this—though I wasn’t sure I’d ever had a handle on it to begin with. I heard the bathroom door close and then the shower start moments later. I sighed as I curled up on my side. I definitely didn’t have a handle on this man.