In a way I can’t explain, Dane’s and my relationship-that’s-not-a-relationship has somehow blazed through the crush stage and landed right in the middle of strong feelings. I’ve never met a man like him, nor have I ever thought I’d get involved with someone from such a complicated background. And if you asked me if the fact that our safety being at risk makes this any more passionate, I would say my position on that matter wavers. I’m terrified at times and enthralled at others, and sometimes the latter worries me. Is it my old throw-caution-to-the-wind self that’s allowing me to take such a risk, or is it just the natural growth endured by all humans following life-altering incidents? I haven’t yet decided.

I’m plagued by thoughts of him throughout all hours of the day, even during the most menial of tasks. At work while cleaning teeth; at home while doing laundry; in the middle of tidying up my living room or throwing out more unnecessary junk from my already diminished stash of belongings; while taking a shower . . . The hot beat of the water only reminds me of the way his hands felt on my skin—I practically pant at the memories—and I can’t comprehend how much more intense this would feel if we didn’t have to be guarded. In the lonely hours of the night, Dane replaces every other face who’s ever starred in my cognitive fantasies, and the suspense of seeing him again makes my skin come alive, tingling with anticipation.

We’re both busy, and Dane doesn’t want to risk anyone making note of any patterns—him and I in close proximity too often to be coincidence. I go to work and run errands in town, and I search every face for a trace of him, every building façade for a hint of his broad silhouette. The little hairs on my arms raise if I spot a maroon truck on the road that looks like his, or that precise shade of sandy hair. If I could only see him, it would make things easier. Maybe. But I’m equally aware of the number of eyes in this town that aren’t Dane’s, and nothing escapes the attention of these people.

We talk and text, but it isn’t even close to being the same as physically being with him, feeling his presence. I’m emotionally worn out, on top of being exhausted from my over-packed patient schedule, so when I pull into my driveway after work one day, it takes a moment to make out the two figures playing catch in the yard between Marissa’s house and mine. It’s Dane and Victor. Seeing them there, playing in plain sight so that I may see them as soon as I pull up, does something to me. I’m immediately glad I won’t be going straight into my house to spend another night alone.

As I’m closing the car door, I hear murmurs from afar as Dane says something to Victor. Then he trots over, a baseball glove still attached to one hand.

“Hey!” he calls as he nears me. I can’t help but smile. I almost reach out to him, then I glance at Victor. Nothing seems safe anymore, not after what Dane told me.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” I greet him.

“I thought I’d surprise you.” We don’t embrace, but I can see the gesture in his soft eyes. He looks like someone who doesn’t have the weight of the world on his back, even though I know that’s not true.

I jut my chin toward Victor, who’s tossing the ball in the air and catching it when it drops. “How’s he doing?”

Dane grins. “Better. It must be that Santos blood because he really doesn’t have a whole lot of experience. He learns fast, though.”

“That’s great. I shouldn’t keep you. Will you come by later?”

His expression darkens, full of meaning. “Will you have me?”

“I think so,” I say coyly. When I start up the front steps, Dane walks backward toward Victor while keeping his eyes trained on me.

“Don’t eat—I brought dinner over.”

“I guess you were feeling pretty confident I’d invite you in, huh?” I tease, unlocking my door.

“Hopeful, Raven. It’s called being hopeful.”

I give him a Dane-inspired grin in farewell and enter my house with a lighter heart than I’ve had in months. Something about that man is good for the soul.

Once inside, I go through the rooms like a whirlwind, straightening up my lived-in clutter. I didn’t expect company, and it shows. Then I trot upstairs to address the rest of me. I shower and scrub and shave and moisturize, then I’m trotting back down with wet hair and zero concern about it.

Hearing the boys near the back of the house, I take a glass of lemonade with me and lounge on the back porch, content to watch. They’ve taken up batting practice, and Dane’s positioned Victor so that my windows aren’t in any immediate danger of stray balls. I watch with my arms curled around my legs, trying to remember how long it’s been since I just sat and enjoyed what was going on around me. Too long. Other than the hike, I’ve been too worried about things regarding Jenson and I to relax, and then I was anxious about being worried, and that didn’t leave me much incentive to wipe my mind and appreciate the pleasure of just sitting.

A female voice rings through the air—Marissa calling Victor in for dinner. Dane helps pack up his baseball equipment and carries it next door for him, then comes striding back over to me with two grocery sacks in hand. I wonder what he has planned. When he reaches me, I don’t think twice before kissing him right on the mouth. Managing to stay in contact with my lips, Dane rotates toward a small iron table that was here when I moved in, dumps the groceries, then wraps both arms around my waist and tugs me closer. It seems we’ve picked up right where we left off.

After a bit of refamiliarizing and mostly-innocent but very inspiring groping, we draw apart, and I motion toward the sacks. “What did you bring?”

“Crab legs. I hope you like seafood.”

Seeing his pleased expression makes my heart warm. I didn’t know how much I missed the simple act of being planned for. “I’ve never had crab legs, but I’ll try anything once.”

Dane tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, running a finger over the sensitive outer ridge. “Oh yeah?”

I nod.

“Not counting the treehouse, have you ever made love outside?”

I mentally flip through my file of sexual encounters. “No.”

“I’d suggest trying that once, but I want you in bed this time.”

The uncharacteristically-alpha comment sends a shiver down my spine. “Scared to put on a show?” I’m definitely not an exhibitionist, but I like seeing that look of mischief he gets when I provoke him.

Dane leans close, kissing my neck. “Not in the slightest. The possibilities were just a little limited up in the tree. The entire time, I couldn’t stop wondering how you tasted.” My cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and he chuckles. “But not yet. I want to feed you first. I was limited the last time I cooked for you too. Don’t want you to think I’m a slacker in the kitchen.”

“Or in bed,” I add with a wink.

“Or that.” Dane grabs the groceries, and I follow him inside to see whether or not he’s all talk.

 

 

“Do you have any regrets?” Dane is skimming his thumb over my bare hip, from the top of my thigh to my waist. Each line he draws sends a thrill down to my toes. I’m nearly always alight with energy when I’m with him now.

“About this?” I gesture between us where we’re lying on the bed, full and sated from dinner and each other.

“No. Just in general. I’ve told you how fucked up my story is, yet you’re still here. It makes me wonder what kinds of things brought you to me.”

I shift my arm so it covers my breasts. I’ve tried pulling up the sheets, and every time, Dane asks me not to. He says there’s nothing about me worth covering up, but I’m still not entirely comfortable enough with my body to just let everything hang out. I guess I’m not entirely comfortable with my past, either, and that’s why I haven’t answered him yet. But Dane’s laid everything out there. He bared the ugliest parts of himself and trusted me not to judge them.

“Hmm,” I say, stalling. Now doesn’t seem like the ideal time to bring up the man I was once married to, but he did ask. “I feel guilty that my marriage failed. That I couldn’t give Jenson the unconditional love I vowed to, that I didn’t give him enough of myself to make him stronger. I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words.”

“I think you’re wrong there,” Dane says, and I tip my head back to look at him.

“You gave him something bigger when you left him. Opportunity. He wasn’t going to change when he had you to lean on. You were the one thing he could look at and say, ‘Everything is okay. What I’m doing is okay, as long as I have her.’ You woke him up, Raven, whether you believe that or not. So don’t feel guilty that your paths split.” He winds a finger in a strand of my hair. “People grow and change, and sometimes their partners don’t grow with them. It happens. Knowing you and how stubborn you are, I’m positive you gave it all you had. Now he has to decide to make the most of this chance you’ve given him.” 

I clear my throat. What he says makes sense, but I don’t think I’ll ever look at my divorce in a positive light. I valued my marriage, and I hate that it had to end.

“That was brave of you, you know. To leave.”

I cast my eyes downward. I don’t want him to see my doubt. “I don’t know about that.”

He lifts the shoulder my head is resting on, gently prompting me to look back at him. “Some people settle for whatever feels safe, even if it’s wrong. You took a risk leaving, and it will probably be the best thing you could’ve done. For both of you.”

Emotion forms in my throat. Even though it was mostly my choice, I fell apart when my marriage did. The months since then have been spent reassembling a stronger, more reliable version of myself brick by brick. But being here with Dane, it feels like I’m made of glass. It’s not that I feel weaker, it’s just that he has the power to shatter this beautiful thing we’ve resurrected from the shards of our broken plans and unfulfilled dreams.

I give him a weak smile. “I want to believe you.” And I do. For Jenson’s sake and mine, I hope he’s right.