Charlie

I’VE NEVER SAID IT out loud.

I never even gave it much thought.

But now it’s out there and I can’t take it back and something squeezes around the emptiness where my heart is supposed to be.

“It’s no big deal,” I add quickly. But not quickly enough to stop the wave of pity that flashes over her face. Not quickly enough to erase the crinkle between her eyes. “Really. I don’t even know why I said that.”

“Charlie—”

I pull away. “Do. Not. Pity me.”

She picks up my hand. Hers are small and soft. Mine are weathered and tough, probably causing abrasions on her delicate skin. “I don’t pity you.”

“Yes, you do. I can see it. You’re looking at me like I’m some kind of puppy you just found out in the rain. I don’t need to be saved.”

“Of course, you don’t. You’re a good man.”

I should get up. Leave her alone. Instead, I chuff out a breath and concentrate on the way her skin feels against my hand. “I’m just a man, mistletoe. Nothing particularly good about me.”

She twines her fingers with mine. “I could go into the way you saved my brother’s life, but you would say you were just doing your job. I could mention that your job was serving your country and that you’ve been honored and decorated for merit and service, but you would probably just say the Army was the only thing open to you anyway. So, I’ll just ask you to tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me how you got this far in life without...”

I close my eyes because looking straight at her is not an option. Not now that she can see right into me all the way to my damn soul. Because she can and what if there is nothing there for her to see? “I haven’t lacked for human touch. We’ve established that I’m not a monk.”

Her voice comes from far away, even though she is right next to me. Touching me. “Sex isn’t what we’re talking about, is it?”

I shake my head, swallowing the pride that urges me up and out of this room. This house. “I was three when they took me away from my mom. I had a lot of issues, but she had more. She hadn’t been clean since before I was born, I guess. And it’s possible that she hugged me and held me, but I don’t remember it. And I suppose the first few foster families may have, but I don’t remember them either. From the time I do remember, there was no hugging. There were some really nice people in and out of my life occasionally—they just didn’t hold me. Which is fine. I’m fine. I don’t even know why I told you.”

“No girlfriend has just hugged you?”

She really doesn’t get it. Get me. “Emily, I’m not the kind of guy who has girlfriends. I have sex with women I’m attracted to. Once or twice and then we move on. I don’t stick. I don’t know how to stick. I’m the kind of guy your brother should have known better than to let hang around his little sister.”

She laughs a lyrical tinkle I’d like to hear again and again. “He’s only ten minutes older than me. Ten minutes. And he thinks you walk on water. He’s probably hoping you’ll hang around me. He thinks I’m pathetic.”

I open my eyes at that. “He doesn’t. Not at all. He thinks you’re amazing. You are amazing.”

She slants her eyes away. “He wishes I was stronger. That I could let go of what happened.”

I reach my free hand to her chin, gently inching her back to me. “You will. When you’re ready.”

Sitting on the floor of her childhood room, her chin in my hand, my other wrapped up in hers, is the most intimate I’ve ever been with anyone. It isn’t like sex. Sex is bodies.

This, on her floor, is pulling me from someplace new. Someplace vulnerable and scary.

She is scarier than anything I ever faced in the sandbox.

Those eyes laser in on me. “You’ve never been hugged.” I shake my head. “I can give you that.”

The shock of absolute stillness anchors me to the impossible moment. To this impossible woman. Her words echo in my head, reaching for dark corners and soothing the abandoned dreams of a young boy.

It shouldn’t matter now. It didn’t. I long ago came to terms with my childhood. Time made me a man. The Army made me a better one.

But I’m not good enough for her. For this.

I can give you that.

It is too late to leave. Too late to turn her away. Because God help me, I wonder if she can give me that.

She pulls me down, anchoring my head to her chest. It is awkward. Like I am a child-giant and she is a too-small mother. I don’t know where to put my hands. I don’t know how to respond or how to relax.

This isn’t my choice, but turning away now would hurt her pride more than it helps mine. I would do anything not to hurt her. Emily shushes me as if quieting my mind, pressing me further into her until her heartbeat begins to lull me. The rhythm steady, true. My hands find a place to rest on her body that doesn’t make me feel like a creeper. I will the rest of my body to chill.

Emily smells good. Not like perfume. Not like a club or a bar, which often carry their scent onto the women I picked up in them. It isn’t even a scent I can place. It is just her skin.

In my life, women like me for my body. I like women for their bodies. I like Emily, and I admit I like her body as much as if she were any other woman. But she isn’t. This is different. What she is giving me, measured by heartbeats, is unlike anything I’ve ever been offered before.

If Jones came in right now, he’d misunderstand. He’d think I am taking advantage—and maybe I am—but not like that. He wouldn’t see that what his sister is giving me is more than a place to rest my head, more than skin and sensation.

It is connection.

And it is more dangerous to both of us than if we were naked in the bed above us.