Live Out Loud by Marie Meyer (14)

“I want to touch you.” I lean in and kiss her, caressing my tongue over her swollen lips. I know she needs to see my mouth when I speak, but goddammit, I have to kiss her, too. It takes everything thing I have to tear myself away. Pulling back, I stare down at her. “Show me where to touch you, Harper?” I ask, hoping she can read my lips. I want to watch her come undone from just my touch before I slide inside her.

My hand grazes the inside of her thigh, climbing higher and higher, meeting the lacy edge of her purple panties. I’ve wanted to rip them off and bury myself balls deep between her legs ever since she shimmied out of her leggings a moment ago, but watching her squirm under my fingers is satisfying in its own right.

From what I’ve learned about Harper in the weeks since we’ve been together, she isn’t shy about what she wants, and I fucking love that. So damn sexy.

Not missing a beat, Harper takes my hand, guiding it over her smooth stomach. She has got the most gorgeous body, soft and curvy in all the right places. Her stomach isn’t completely flat, but rises to a tiny hill just below her belly button. Fucking hot as hell.

I grab hold of her waist, pressing my forehead to the perfect pooch of her stomach, breathing in her sent as I kiss my way down. Harper moves her hand from mine, placing it at the top of my head, pushing me lower. Fuck yeah, Red, show me what you want.

She’s going to kill me. And I want her to.

Hooking my fingers into the sides of her panties, I pull them down. Drawing in a deep breath, my eyes roll to the back of head. She smells divine. I want to bottle this scent—sex and longing and nothing but Harper.

She guides my head all the way between her legs, lifting her pelvis in offering.

Pushing my hands between her ass and the mattress, I hold on tight, bring her pussy to my mouth, caressing her slick folds. Fuck me. She’s so wet.

Licking over her clit, I suck her into my mouth, flicking my tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Harper arches her back, a sighing breath escaping from her mouth. She presses closer, begging for more. And I give it to her, loving the way she moves her body against my mouth. She tastes so fucking good. My cock aches, so jealous.

I kiss the inside of her thighs, loving the gasps coming from her mouth. She’s close…so close. I want to watch her come.

Rising, I cover her body with mine, my fingers taking over where my mouth left off.

My thumb traces circles over her clit, while I press two…three fingers inside, fucking her. Eyes closed, she rides my hand, chasing her release. One of many I’m going to give her tonight.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Wild red curls splayed out over the pillow, fingers white-knuckling the comforter, hips grinding against my hand. I slide my fingers in and out, giving her what she wants. “That’s it, baby,” I breathe against her ear, biting her earlobe.

She clenches around my fingers, body shaking. I rub my thumb against her clit and she shudders uncontrollably, legs straight, toes pointed. Letting out the longest breath, her body relaxes, and she opens her brilliant green eyes.

Her hand clawed, she waves it in front of her face. “Amazing.”

I see the word on her lips, wishing so much that I could hear her say it. “We’re not done yet, Red,” I promise.

She smiles, leaning up and pressing her mouth to mine.

While I kiss her, I get my fly open, tugging on my pants, not getting very far. Shit! “Hold that thought,” I say against her mouth. Standing up, I take my wallet from my back pocket and pull out a condom before my jeans and boxers hit the floor.

Harper shimmies the rest of the way out of her purple panties, completely naked, and fucking beautiful. It’s time. I’ve got to get inside her.

Ripping open the condom wrapper, I roll it over my cock, and climb back onto the bed, Harper beneath me.

Poised at her opening, I press against her. She opens wider, an invitation.

With one thrust, I’m in, buried from shaft to hilt. “Fuuuuuck!” I growl, savoring the way her pussy tightens around me. I almost afraid to move, worried that I’ll come the instant I work up some friction.

But, my body takes over and it moves of its own accord, pumping slowly at first, until Harper joins in the rhythm, her hands on my ass, driving me farther into her.

Now I’m thrusting at the exact moment her body rises to meet mine. We fit together, our bodies moving in unison—like we’re made for each other and no one else. It’s never felt this good.

Dragging her fingernails up my back, she cups my face in her hands, pulling me down, her tongue sweeping into my mouth. Bodies rocking, we kiss.

I peel her fingers off my cheeks and force her hands above her head, locking our palms together. Kissing over her mouth and along her jaw, I revisit all those sweet spots that made her pant earlier.

Our sweat-slicked skin rubs together, and I can feel her beaded nipples, hard against my chest. I want to lick every inch of her skin, even if it means I have to last all fucking night. I’d do it for her.

Harper’s breaths come harder. I can feel her heart pounding inside her chest…and against my cock. I pump faster. She’s close. So am I.

Letting go of her hands, I touch her face, needing her to open her eyes. “Talk to me, Harper. I want to hear you come.”

She watches my lips and frowns slightly, shaking her head.

Fuck. What did I just do? I slam into her, wanting her to know how much she means to me. “It’s okay, baby.” I kiss her deeply, giving her everything I am. Trying desperately to erase the frown I put on her face.

With everything I’ve got, I thrust and thrust until her body quakes under mine, and all her breath leaves her body. Only then do I let go, ass clenched, my balls pull up and stars burst behind my eyelids. I spill into her, pumping until I’m empty and spent, collapsing in a boneless heap on top of her.

Harper’s gone, riding the high, her body soft and satiated.

Rolling off her, I slide the condom off, and lay it on the wrapper on the floor, careful to keep the mess contained. I’d take it to the bathroom, but I don’t want to leave Harper’s side.

Lifting my arm, I pat my chest. Harper takes the bait and snuggles into my side, resting her head on my shoulder. Bringing her hand up, she traces lazy circles over my Viking compass tattoo—a Vegvisir.

“Why?” She taps my chest, tracing her finger over the lines of the compass.

I lift my head, eyes straining to see what she’s pointing to, like I forgot what my own tattoo looks like. Slowly, I pull my arm from under her head and roll onto my side, facing her.

“Got it when I was sixteen. Saved my pizza delivery money for a year and a half to afford it. Worth every damn penny.”

She glances down again, resuming her exploration with hesitant fingertips. Each stroke is feather light, like she’s afraid she’ll smear the ink if she applies too much pressure.

Flicking her eyes back on my face, she brings her hands between us, and signs with a furrowed brow, “Meaning?” I like that she mouths the words when she signs, it helps me pick up on the language.

“It’s a guide, helps the bearer find his way even during the darkest, stormiest weather. It was a good reminder when I was a kid: life’s shit now, but I’ll get through it.”

Harper moves her hand to my eyebrow, touching the scar at the side. My eyes close and I pull in a deep breath. We’re dancing so close to things I promised I would keep far away from her. How Dad hit me so hard, I flew right into the corner of Mom’s coffee table, and it took eight stiches to patch me back up. Hair never did grow back over the gash, my eyebrow’s split in two on the left side.

“What happened?”

“Let’s just say, my father and I didn’t see eye-to-eye.” I’ve already told her my father’s a prick. She doesn’t need to know more than that.

Stretching her neck, she reaches up and kisses my scar, laying her palm against my cheek. Lips pressed near my temple, her breath is warm, her kiss, tender. Not like a kiss I’ve ever had before. It’s…? Not sure what it is. Caring? Loving?

I cringe at the last thought. There’s no fucking way. She’s too good for me.

Sliding her hand down the side of my face, my stubbled cheeks prickling beneath her gentle fingertips, she touches my neck…shoulder. With the fingernail of her pointer finger, she draws figure eights around the edges of two clock faces, her eyes lifting back to mine. “And these?”

I can’t tell her. But I want to. I know I should tell her.

“Reminders.” I mumble, my stomach churning. Lies are heavy in your gut and leave a bad taste in your mouth, like chowing down on week-old takeout that you find shoved in the back of the fridge. It’s sketchy, but you eat it anyway, because that’s all there is to eat.

My lies are the only way to keep her from knowing the real me, and the bastard I share blood with.

I want to drop the subject, but I know my one-word answer won’t appease her. She wants more…all of me. I want to give you all of me, Harper. But then you won’t want it.

What does a wealthy, smart, fucking gorgeous-as-hell woman like Harper King want with a grease-stained auto mechanic turned musician? She could have the pick of the litter, and here she is, slumming it with me.

“Battles lost. And a war won,” I add, cracking open the door to my past a little wider. One of these days, she’s going to get her foot inside, and throw it wide open, revealing everything about me that I never wanted her to know.

And then she’ll close the door on us.

Shoving the unknown, depressing shit into the dark corners of my mind, I concentrate on the languid figure-eight path she’s still tracing on my chest, her unruly hair moves right under my nose. With each inhalation, a corkscrew curl pushes against my nostril. Exhaling, the curl blows away. I bite back the urge to sneeze, concentrating on the flowery scent of her shampoo.

My pulse has returned to normal, but the more I think about the reasons why I shouldn’t be with Harper, anxiety kicks it back up. Harper’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman, and I didn’t even know I was looking until I saw her at Mississippi Lights that night. She’s so much more than the barflies I’ve hooked up with in the past, she’s not even in the same fucking galaxy.

Tightening my arm around her, Harper shifts, lifting her head. Smiling an easy, satisfied grin, she yawns and continues her lazy trail over my chest.

You’re too good for me, Harper King. You deserve so much more than the trash I come from.

I smile at her, working one of her curls around my index finger. I lied when I said playing a room full of five-year-olds was scary. Holding this amazing woman in my arms is the most frightening thing in the goddamn world.

Harper’s hand stills. Turning her body, she puts both arms on my chest and rests her chin on top of her folded hands. Staring at me she smiles again, but this time, it’s not the smile of a well-pleased woman; there’s mischief and playfulness in her eyes. Biting her lower lip, she draws a line down my chest, right smack down the middle. Lifting her finger, she places it next to my left nipple and drags it to the right in a horizontal path. My skin tingles at her touch, goose bumps prickling across my arms and chest.

Her movements are deliberate, repeating the motion again, only with a subtle variation. Letters. She’s drawing letters over my skin.

“T-H-O-R.”

She takes my fucking breath away.

Smiling, I grab her hand and bring it to my mouth, kissing the tip of her forefinger.

Stretching her body against mine, she leans up to kiss me, and resumes her spelling on my chest. I could get used to communicating like this, a gorgeous, naked woman writing letters across my body, fuck yeah. My dick twitches his sign of approval.

Concentrating on the feel of each letter and the motion of her finger, it’s easy to pick up what she’s writing: “W-h-a-t u t-h-i-n-k-i-n-g?”

Harper flicks her eyes up to me, awaiting my answer.

“How hot it is when you write on me,” I say.

Pinching her eyebrows together, she looks down, readying her finger on my chest. “H-o-w  d-o-t-  w-r-i-t-e-s  m-e?” Green eyes back on me, she shakes her head, confused.

Laughing, I trail my finger down her back, “U”—I point at her for emphasis, wagging my eyebrows—“h-o-t.” With each letter, my finger travels lower, sliding into the dip of her lower back and grazing the top of her ass cheeks.

Her face is still flushed, but I love that they get a little pinker at my words…or is it my touch? Whatever the cause, I fucking love the effect.

Harper scoots up, draping her body over mine as she reaches for her cell phone lying on the bedside table. Her tits press against me, claiming my dick’s full attention.

Flipping onto her back, oblivious to my now raging hard-on, she unlocks her phone and opens the Notes app, typing.

I watch the words, reading as she types. You think I’m hot?

What the hell kind of question is that? I don’t need a phone to answer that one. I raise a questioning eyebrow and point at my dick. “What do you think, Red?”

She bites her lip and writes some more. Did you…umm…like it?

Is she serious? Again, I point to my dick, still hard—and getting harder by the minute—ready for round two. But, I take the phone and give her the reassurance she wants.

What we just did, fucking amazing, Harper.

A look of relief washes over her face. What is this look? Why was she worried? She grabs the phone from me.

I just thought you might not have enjoyed it as much since…She stops typing.

“What?” I sign, urging her to continue, pointing to the screen.

She finishes her thought, I wouldn’t talk to you.

I sit up, forcing her to follow suit. I pluck the phone from her hands. Red, I’m not lying when I say that was the best sex I’ve ever had. Fucking hot as hell. Can’t wait to do it again! ;-) So don’t worry about that. I think you’re perfect the way you are, but can I ask why you don’t talk?

She waves her fingers, wanting the phone. Oh, good. As long as you enjoyed it. I was worried. It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken out loud. I was nine. I wasn’t very good at it and I hated going to speech class. My teacher was awful. Out in public, when I tried to talk, strangers stared at me, kids would point and laugh, etc…You know how cruel kids can be. When I told my parents about the bullying, they suggested that maybe I shouldn’t speak, save myself the heartache. I was devastated. I thought they’d back me up, support me, build up my confidence and self-esteem. Nope. Although they never said anything negative to my face, I always felt like they sided with the bullies. If I didn’t talk, I couldn’t embarrass them. No talking, no heartache, no embarrassment.

Wow. Just wow. Emotions pummel my heart like fists on a punching bag. The urge to grab Lizzy and head to the abandoned pool hits me hard. Images of a young Harper, looking very much like the little girl, Penny, I’d met at the YMCA, flip through my brain. I’m sad and angry for Harper, having had endured ridicule from strangers. And it makes me ill to think that little Penny is struggling with her own set of monsters at home.

Fuck them. Fuck them all for not making this world a safe, happy place for those young girls.

I want to make Harper feel safe with me. I want to seal her in my arms and protect her from all the shit in the world. I don’t ever want to be the cause of her pain.

I hold my hand out for the phone. Harper drops it onto my palm. I shift, angling my body toward her. Pinching her chin between my thumb and index finger, I lift her head, needing her to see me. “I’m sorry you had to put up with that. It’s not right. In the short time we’ve been together, I’ve never met anyone as strong and brave as you.” Bringing my right hand to her face, I brush my fingers over her cheeks, cradling her head, hoping she understands every word I’m saying. If not, I pray my touch will convey the message. “I can’t imagine what it’s like for you, but if people can’t get past the fact that you can’t hear, so what. Fuck them. They’re missing out on getting to know a brilliant woman.” I lean in for a gentle kiss, brushing my lips over hers. I can still taste her desire from earlier, lingering on both our mouths. And it’s so goddamn hot. My cock throbs, remembering how amazing she tasted.

I drag my tongue over her lips, savoring the taste of her.

Harper kisses me back, her tongue teasing mine until I can’t take it anymore. I plunge deep into her mouth. My hands at her sides, I lift her body, bringing her onto my lap. My cock presses against her, desperate to slip inside. I want to devour her.

Harper rocks her hips, my dick rubbing against her clit.

I’m going to fucking explode if I don’t take her now. Tearing my mouth away from hers, breathless, I say, “Baby, don’t stop.” I love that she’s getting herself off on my cock. Not taking my eyes from her, I lean to the side, groping for my wallet on the floor. Damn condoms. Annoying as shit, but necessary.

Harper throws her head back, pure ecstasy on her face. So beautiful. I keep guiding her rhythm with my right hand, helping her grind away, wanting her to get there. “That’s it, Red.”

Seconds later, my fingers touch leather. Latching on to the wallet, I pull it up, flip it open, and grab the corner of one of the foil packets with my teeth. Ripping it open, I take out the condom, and drop my hands between us.

Lifting her head, Harper glances down, as I’m about to fit the condom over my cock. Wrapping her fingers around mine, she grabs the latex from my hands. My eyes flick to hers. A sultry, crooked smile grows on her face and she winks, wrapping her hand around my dick, rolling the condom into place.

“Uhhh…” A sigh rips from my mouth and my eyes close, succumbing to the overload of sensations. So many nerve endings firing at once.

Harper positions me at her opening. Before I can open my eyes, tight warmth engulfs my dick. Holy…fucking…shit. Blinking, I watch as she lowers herself on me. A sight I will never forget.

I wrap my arms around her back, tugging her close. In turn, Harper does the same as she circles her legs around my waist, melding our bodies together.

Pressing my palms under her hair, I work my fingers upward through her tangled strands, lowering her head to mine. I kiss her deeply while she rides me.

Faster and faster, Harper bears down on me, rolling her hips. Neither of us can manage to sustain a kiss any longer, so we’ve given over to pressing our open mouths against each other’s, panting wildly. I lick her tongue, tasting, bouncing her on my lap.

“Harper,” I groan, “I’m gonna come.” I try to hold off, not sure if she’s found her release. “Come for me, Red,” I say against her mouth.

She tightens around me, every inch of her. Riding out her pleasure, she throws her head back with a breathy sigh. I’m right there, light bursting behind my closed lids as I let go.

Our rocking slows, coming to a halt. I drop my sweaty forehead to hers, catching her gaze. “Fucking perfect,” I say, shoulders heaving.

And it is. More perfect than ever before.

“Hungry?” Harper signs and leans over, pulling on a pair of leggings. I didn’t know that sign, but seeing the word on her lips, I catch the drift.

“How do you sign, ‘starving’?” I ask.

Smiling, she repeats the sign for “hungry,” only slightly more dramatic. I make a C shape with my left hand and replicate her motion, facial features and all.

Harper raises her hands in the air, shaking them.

Grabbing my hand, she fits her fingers between mine, and opens her bedroom door. Bobby pops up from his post, tail wagging, happy to see us. “Hey there, little guy. Did you get locked out?” I bend down and scratch behind his ears. Immediately, he falls and rolls onto his back, needing a few belly scratches.

Harper crouches beside me, ruffling Bobby’s fluffy ears, smiling contentedly.

Standing, I grab her hand, and we walk down the stairs, Bobby trailing behind. I can’t remember the last time I held hands with a girl. Becky Lambert in the fourth grade, maybe? I know she’s the first girl I kissed. Or did I kiss McKenzie Swanson and hold hands with Jessica Oliver? What the hell did I do with Becky Lambert? Shit. My left eye starts twitching. Too many fucking girls.

Making a sharp right into the kitchen, I stop in the doorway. There are cupcakes everywhere; the counters, the table, the stove, the top of the refrigerator, even on a couple of the chairs. I throw a look at my feet. This is a dog’s wonderland, but Bobby obediently sits just outside of the kitchen, recognizing his boundary. Such a well-trained dog. If I were him, this kitchen would be a chocolate cupcake murder scene, and I’d be dead, because, you know, dogs and chocolate.

Tapping Harper’s shoulder, she spins around, piercing me with her green eyes. “You didn’t tell me you had a cupcake fetish?” I joked.

Finger-spelling and moving her hand in a wave motion away from her chest, Harper signs and mouths, “C-U-P-C-A-K-E fish?” Eyes drawn tight, she looks very confused.

I shake my head, laughing. “No.” I pinch my fingers together, signing the word. I can’t get enough of the look on Harper’s face when I sign—like someone’s thrown a switch for a spotlight, she glows like she’s in the goddamn sun. Not wanting that radiance to dim, I clumsily shape my fingers into the letters she taught me. “F-E-T-I-S-H.”

“Oh,” she mouths, nodding. Turning on her heel, she walks across the kitchen and pulls open a drawer. With a brown crayon and a Post-it in hand, she scribbles on the paper and hands it to me.

My roommate’s a baker.

Giving Harper a thumbs-up, I snatch a cupcake from the counter and peel the paper off. I’m not as well mannered as the mutt.

Even though it’s chocolate, and not butterscotch, which my favorite, it’ll do. Popping the whole thing in my mouth, it’s an instant chocolate overload, with a hint of something else. What is that flavor?

I chew, trying to place the weird, savory tang mixed with the chocolate. “What?” I ask, pointing at the empty wrapper. Swallowing, I can still taste the odd flavor. It’s not bad, but, the jury’s still out on whether it’s good.

She writes on the Post-it and flips it around. Bacon bourbon cupcakes.

Bacon and bourbon. She’s right, that’s what it is. “Chocolate bacon bourbon cupcakes? No offense to your roommate, but I’m sticking to butterscotch.”

“Wine?” She pulls out a bottle from the fridge.

“O-K-A-Y.” I shrug. I’m more of a tequila or beer kind of guy, but wine’ll do. Mind-blowing sex, wine, and cupcakes; lord knows I’ve had worse combinations.

Taking two glasses from the rack under the counter, she grabs the bottle, and nods her head in the direction of the kitchen table.

Catching her drift, I slide a handful of the bacon cupcakes to the side just as she sets everything on the table.

“Thanks.”

I wink, hold three fingers to my chest, and move them in a circular pattern. “You’re welcome.”

There’s that glow again. Her eyes shine like sea glass sparkling in the sunlight.

Sitting down at the table, Harper goes to work, pouring the white wine. I keep thinking about the sea glass, and how much her eyes remind me of a time when life with my dad wasn’t so fucked up…before he was a drunk asshole.

Sliding a cupcake-free chair next to hers, I take a seat. Smiling she passes me a glass. Harper points to me and then to herself, winking. A toast? To us, maybe? Whatever her meaning, I’ll drink to anything that involves the two of us, together.

I take a hefty sip, wincing. Spinning the bottle around, I read the label: Angel’s Wings. Riesling. A better name would be Syrup of Hell, or Diabetic Coma. Think I’m sticking to beer from now on.

Setting the glass down, I hold up a finger, “Be right back.” Standing, I jog out of the kitchen and to the sofa in the living room. I rub a hand over my chest, remembering how Harper was driving me mad, playing with my piercing not too long ago.

Glancing around, I look for my phone. It’s got to be here. I pat the cushions, shoving my hand between them. Aha! Grabbing hold, I pull it free. “Gotcha.” Now I can talk to Harper.

Turning around, I see her standing in the kitchen doorway. “Found my phone,” I say, holding it up, walking in her direction.

Someone distracted me earlier. ;-) Couldn’t remember where I left this, I type, handing her the phone.

She types her response and flips it around. Sorry, not sorry.

She sticks out her tongue, smiling coyly. Too damn sexy for her own good. And I’m hard again. Before I can make my move and pull her tongue into my mouth, she glances back down at my phone and types. I pull on the crotch of my jeans, adjusting my hard-on around the seam while she’s not looking.

I’m leaving town tomorrow, had to give you something to remember me by.

I read the rest of her message. Dread pools in my gut like I just got sucker punched. Not only did I forget she was leaving to go back home, I sure as hell hope she doesn’t think I slept with her because she’s leaving. She must think I am the biggest fucking douche bag. I yank the phone from her grasp and type quickly. Harper. Fuck. I’m so sorry. Please don’t think that’s the reason I let things go as far as they did. Shit. What you must be thinking of me right now. I run a nervous hand over my head, acid churning in my gut. I hand her the phone.

She scans over the words, then flicks them back to me. I can’t read the expression on her face as she types.

What do you mean? I don’t understand. Do you regret sleeping with me?

I answer: God no! I just don’t want you to think you had to do that so I would remember you. I may have been an asshole like that once upon a time, but not with you. Even without sex, I would still be here when you got home. Never think that you have to do something you don’t want in order to “keep me around.”

I step closer to her, my heart aching. I’ve never felt like this before—caring more for the woman I’m sleeping with than for myself. Her body radiates warmth, I crave it more than my fingers crave the bite of Lizzy’s strings.

That was supposed to be a joke. I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me. Frankly, I WANTED you. Badly. I had to have you before I left. Please don’t think that I felt pressured in any way. You’re a gentle, kind man, Thor.

As I read her message, Harper closes the gap between our bodies. I can feel her tits beneath her flimsy tee, brushing against my chest. She puts her hand over my heart.

“Kind” and “gentle” in the same sentence as my name? What kind of Twilight Zone have I entered? All the reasons why I never get involved with a woman come rushing back. What the hell happens if I turn into my father? I do share half a gene pool with him.

Harper touches my cheek, forcing me to look at her.

“Talk to me,” she mouths, her hands making words I wish I understood. “What’s wrong?”

I back away and fall onto the couch. Harper follows my lead, sitting beside me.

When’s your flight? I show her the message, hoping to change the subject. I hate talking about my dad.

Taking the phone from my fingers, she replies. Early evening. I’ll be at the hospital half the day, then I’m heading straight to the airport.

Harper types fast, faster than I do. My thick fingers always manage to hit letters that even confuses autocorrect. Backspacing, I try my answer again. How long will you be gone?

She answers: Just the weekend. That’s about all the parent time I can handle at once. I get back Sunday night.

My weekend’s busy too. I have to work. And the guys and I hit the studio on Monday. We’ve got nonstop rehearsals planned.

Passing the phone back and forth, I avoid the hard questions—the ones lingering in the space between us. The questions I know she wants answers to. Even though I’ve never heard her voice, in my head, I can hear her speak, What are you so scared of, Thor?

The house is quiet. I’ve never really contemplated it before, but this is what normal sounds like to Harper. And even still, if I concentrate, I can hear the hum of the fridge, cars passing by outside, and the faint tick of a clock somewhere upstairs.

She stares ahead, captive by a world of thoughts I’m not privy to. Hidden away in her secret world.

Her secret world…

My brain works over the rough edges of a song, carving and molding it into…something.

I watch her from my periphery, content in her thoughts, lovely green eyes focused on the dark TV. Glancing down at my phone, I type, compelled to let her into my world, just a little. I’ve got one good memory of my dad. The memory she stirred up weeks ago when she asked me about our family’s favorite vacation spots. That, coupled with her sparkling eyes, I haven’t been able to get that beach vacation out of my head.

When I was little, four or five, my parents took me to the beach. One of our only family vacations. It’s a vague memory, I don’t remember much about most of it, but I remember watching it storm from our hotel room. The lightning would crash down on the ocean, followed by ear-splitting cracks of thunder. I wasn’t scared, just pressed my face against the glass and watched like it was Saturday morning cartoons.

Harper rests her head on my shoulder watching me type, patient as she waits for my words.

Once the storm passed, Mom and Dad took me down to the water’s edge. Dad got down on his knees and started sifting through the wet sand, until he pulled up a handful of colored pebbles—so many different shades of blue and green. He plopped the mess into my hands. The polished rocks were nothing like I’d ever seen. He called them sea glass.

I’ve never forgotten that moment. It’s clear as day in my head. And the only good memory I have of my father.

Your eyes are the same green as the sea glass my dad gave me that day. A shiny, bright green, with a whisper of ocean blue.

Pretty much the only happy memory I have of my old man.

Thumbs stiff and cramped, I hand Harper my phone. I crack my knuckles and run my sweaty palms along my pants leg, nervous. I’ve never told anyone that story. And I know it’s going to open up a slew of questions about my family that I’d rather keep buried. But she went out on a limb, was brave, and opened up about something painful in her past, I needed to give her something of mine. I need to trust her the way she says she trusts me.

Harper angles her body so she’s facing me. Now I can read the expression on her face. So much concern and tenderness softening her features. I’ve never been scared of much in my adult life, but hurting this woman has me scared shitless.

She signs. Not short phrases like she usually does. This time, she speaks her mind. Turning up the volume. I only wish I was tuned into the same frequency. I’d give anything to live inside this part of Harper’s life, to really hear her.

With each motion, each new word, her expressive face dances over so many emotions: pain, sorrow, devotion, boldness, determination. I want to know the thoughts and words that bring her to life like this. Simply reading her words illuminated on a phone’s blue screen is so impersonal, so far removed from the intensity and passion her hands capture with each word she signs.

Lifting my hands, I cover hers, stopping her midsentence, or midword, I don’t know. Her shoulders heaving, she watches me. “Teach me.” I squeeze her hands. I’m tired of being left out. “Please. I don’t want to rely on phones, or notebooks, or lipreading. I want live here.” Folding her hands completely inside mine, I hold on tight. “And here.” Letting go, I brush my fingers over her left temple. “And here.” I lean in and kiss her. It’s a simple kiss, just my lips on hers, but there’s weight to it, words and thoughts and actions being spoken from my mouth to hers. A promise and a plea.

I close my eyes. “I want to hear you,” I whisper, holding her tight in my arms.