CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

Livvy

 

The weeks went by in waves of bleary blankness and gut-wrenching grief. The woman named Marta came by with food and other necessities, chatting cheerily in broken English, but not seeming to expect replies. What had Brody told her? I ate when I was hungry, which wasn't very often. I drank when I was thirsty. I slept when I was tired, which was often. I just wanted to shut out the world.

One sunny morning, I finally got out of bed and ventured outside to look at the ocean, staring at that vast body of water that had so recently wreaked so much havoc on this small village. But even now, a mere couple of weeks since I'd first arrived, and even though I hadn't left the cottage on the beach, the signs of this place re-building were apparent. I'd watched out the window as groups of men cleared overturned boats from the shore, dragging away other debris and garbage. And I'd noted the food Marta delivered to me was more plentiful, and consisted of more variety.

Brody came by a couple of times, both when I was sleeping. Once, I'd woken and found him sitting in the chair in my room, watching me as I'd slept, his expression blank, his body still. The other time I'd awoken with a start, the feel of someone's hand on my arm. My eyes had popped open in the pale gray light of morning, and I'd let out a relieved exhale to see it was Brody, but then stilled when I noticed the look on his face—intense, pained, his thumb circling one of the cigarette burns on my arm. He looked awful, the shadows beneath his eyes dark, the angles of his face hollowed as if he'd, too, lost weight. "The airports opened today," he said. And then he'd gotten up and left the room and I'd heard the door of the cottage shut behind him. The tears I'd held back so long finally flowed freely, just as the brightening sunrise glittered through the window.

I cried most of that day, and the next, letting the grief roll through me, the loss of not only the sister I'd pined for all of my life, not only the betrayal of people I'd trusted, but in the trust I had in myself. I'd let my own dreams obscure reality. I'd been so easily duped. I didn't trust my own judgment at all. And the loss of my belief in myself was the hardest of all the pills I'd had to swallow recently.

Somehow, crying seemed to wash away the worst of the grief, like a tsunami of the soul—devastating but cleansing. When the tears subsided, I pulled myself up, took a long hot shower, and then cooked myself a meal, sitting at the table by the window and watching a mother play with her children on the beach. The scene made me sad, but didn't bring the wrenching heartache it would have the week before. I, too, was re-building, though how long the effects of my personal disaster would last, I didn't know.

The day was warm but breezy, and I pulled back the curtains and opened the windows, letting the wind flow through the cottage, airing out the sadness, brightening the shadows. I dressed in a sundress that had magically appeared in the closet, slipped on the flip-flops by the door, and put on the large, floppy hat hanging on the hook above it.

The sand was soft beneath my feet, and I took off the flip-flops, allowing my toes to sink into the warm, white sand. I walked for a while. The sun was warm across my shoulders, and the rhythmic sound of the water lapping the shore was a soothing background noise.

Deciding it was time to head back, I turned, stopping for a moment and closing my eyes, letting the peace of the moment fall over me. When I opened my eyes again, I saw the distant shape of a man walking toward me. My heart lurched and a frisson of joy shook my insides before I could even think. It was Brody. I'd know his shape anywhere, know the confident stride of those strong legs. I felt pulled toward him, the desire to run into his arms so strong I felt helpless against it. Almost. No, no. I stopped, my feet dragging in the soft sand. I clenched my eyes shut. No, I didn't want to feel this, not today, when I had finally found a moment of serenity. Not today when I had finally begun to believe I would be okay, that the dark chasm of grief was beginning to close. I didn't want the reminder that I still hadn't addressed my feelings for Brody. I didn't want to acknowledge that my reaction to him had told me all I didn’t want to know. I was in love with him. Despite everything, I was still in love with the man walking toward me on the beach.

With a small sound, half exhale, half sob, I turned, my hat flying off in the breeze as I started to run. Away, away. I heard him behind me, his footfalls heavy, gaining. "Olivia, stop!"

But I couldn't. I couldn't. Because I knew, I knew what I would see in his eyes when I turned. He was here to say goodbye. I tripped, caught myself, dropped my flip-flops and kept running. He grabbed me from behind as I let out a loud cry, coming off my feet as he lifted and turned me in one swooping maneuver, crushing my body to his chest. "Livvy, Jesus, Livvy, stop." His breath was against my throat, his voice deep and guttural, and I knew the solid press of him as if it were muscle memory. The tears that flowed down my face were because I knew it would be impossible to forget.

"Put me down, Brody," I cried. "Put me down."

He made a small growl of frustration before he loosened his grip, and I slid down his body, coming to stand on the warm sand once again. A gull cried out in the distance, the ocean lapped the shore, and I finally raised my eyes to his, letting out a choked sob as I again, looked away. "Oh God, don't look at me like that!" I started to turn, but he grabbed my arm, not allowing me to.

"Like what?" he demanded. "Like you're mine? Goddamn it, look at me."

I lifted my face. "Yours? How can I be yours? I don't even know you."

"Bullshit. You know me better than anyone. And I know you. We claimed each other in that hotel room that night, and you know it."

I made a sound of disbelief in the back of my throat. "You didn't claim me. All you did was lie to me."

Anger flashed in his eyes, his jaw going rigid. "Honey, if any woman's ever been claimed on the face of this earth, it was you. That night. Again and again. Do you want me to remind you what we did to each—"

"No!" I let out another sound of frustration, of pain, squinting at the sky. "It doesn't mean anything. It can't." I brought my eyes down, looking at the man in front of me, the man who looked exhausted, wrung-out, but still dangerous, beautiful. The man who, despite everything, still made my heart clench with want, with love. "God, Brody," I choked. "How can you claim a woman you can never truly be with?"

Pain flashed in his expression, and I knew I'd hit the nail on the head—the crux of the reason we couldn't be together. "I don't know. God, I don't fucking know." He looked sad, defeated, and I wanted to reach out to him.

I shook my head. "Then this is all just . . . pointless. Why make it worse? Why?" I cried, throwing my hands up in the air.

"I don't know, Liv. I don't fucking know what to do. I just helped apprehend the guy every soldier's been hunting for decades, and all I can fucking think about is you. You're mine, and yet I have to let you go because I can't give you . . ." He broke off, running his hand over his hair that I noticed he'd recently cut. He looked strong and handsome and utterly miserable. "Fuck, I can't give you anything."

I shook my head again, my heart aching, a tear slipping down my cheek. I swiped at it. No, I couldn't deny I loved him, I just didn't trust my own ability to love the right person. My entire world had been rocked, and I'd been left a shell of myself. And, regardless of that, he was right. He couldn't give me anything. He was a mercenary, a soldier for hire who spent most of his time in remote locations hunting human animals. Even if . . . well, even if . . . what would I do? Sit at home waiting for months on end to hear if he was dead or alive?

A few more tears slipped down my cheeks, and Brody swore again, reaching for me. I went to him willingly. I couldn't help it. Here, under the tropical sunshine where we had each other, but only for a brief moment that was almost at an end. Brody Thomas and I would only ever have each other in moments. And it wasn't enough.

Brody pulled me to him, his lips finding mine, kissing me, whispering my name again and again. I kissed him back, taking his face in my hands, my thumbs moving over his cheekbones, down his smooth jaw. He picked me up, striding toward my cottage, only glancing up now and again.

I was lost in him, lost in the joy of his taste, the calming scent of his skin. Safety. Goodness. Despite my words to the contrary, I knew him. I knew this man. Didn't I? My heart said yes, my mind . . . well, I didn't need to think just now. I only needed to feel. One last time, I needed to feel.

His tongue dipped, swirled, licked, I heard the opening of the door, and it being slammed behind us, my back hit the bed and there was only a moment of cold before his warm body was against me once more. Hard. Solid. Welcome.

"There's nothing cold about you, Liv. You're the warmest woman in the whole goddamn world," he gritted out, his mouth closing on mine. Hot. Demanding. I melted into him, my body, my heart.

Our clothes came off in a desperate, needy tearing, our mouths remaining locked together, tongues seeking, tangling. Then suddenly his hot naked skin was against mine and we both moaned, a mingled sound of relief, pleasure, both.

My hands roamed everywhere, over the straining muscles of his arms, down the ridges of his abdominals, to the valley at the back of his hip that rose to the hard curve of his ass. My index finger gently traced the cleft, up to the base of his spine and he sucked in a breath, his hips thrusting forward. "Liv," he murmured, guiding himself to my opening and pushing into my body.

We moved together, hands still seeking, memorizing, greedy to take what we could before it was gone. The pleasure was mind-numbing, intense, but it came too soon, as we clung to each other, spent, our skin slick and our hearts beating as one.

He pulled out of me and rolled me over, spooning me from behind as our skin cooled and our breathing became even.

I fell asleep in the warm cocoon of his arms, his hand cradling my breast possessively the way it had the first time we'd fallen asleep naked together. "I love you," I murmured, right before sleep pulled me under.

When I woke, the place beside me was empty. I lay there in the quiet for a moment, knowing he'd left me sleeping because he had wanted our lovemaking to be our goodbye. I understood the finality of the empty place beside me, knew he was truly gone and he wouldn't be back.

Empty, bereft, I wandered into the kitchen for water a few minutes later, my eyes landing on the airline ticket in my name sitting on the table. I picked it up, my heart turning over in my chest.

I was going home.

Alone.

I sat at the table for a long time, watching the sun as it disappeared below the horizon, feeling the ache of loss, the heaviness of the love I carried for a broken man who could never be mine.  I let the quiet wrap itself around me, listening to the gentle whispers rising from my soul. So many feelings swirling, tangling, so much I still needed to come to grips with. But sitting there in that quiet house on the ocean a world away from all I was familiar with, one thing was certain in my mind: I didn't regret loving Brody Thomas. And I never would.