EMBER - Part Three (The EMBER Series, #3) (8 page)

"They got close after Maisy and I introduced them to each other." He taps his foot against the grey tiled floor. "They email each other a lot and they skype. My mom loves her mom."

It's another thread that weaves his life back into Maisy's. "Did Maisy tell you about her mom?"

"We had coffee earlier." He doesn’t look in my direction at all. "I came here to see Cleo and after we talked, Maisy showed up."

I was too late. I'd taken too long to get here and because of that, Maisy had cast her net out and captured him again with the bait of her mother's sickness. It's a horrible way to think and I feel instant guilt for it, but I'm sensing him pulling away and since he's the only man I've ever loved, I'm going to fight for him, even if right now that seems futile.

"My mom has been coming to the hospital to see Rhona. That's Maisy's mom."

"Why didn't your mom tell you she was sick?" Maybe it's an insensitive question but it's a valid one. He's told me repeatedly that his mother feels a special kinship to Maisy so it only stands to reason that she'd feel the need to share Rhona's illness with Dane since he was once part of her family. 

"My mother told me." He pats the front of his shirt where his phone is tucked into the pocket. "She called me a few weeks ago to tell me and I told her it was Maisy's problem."

It is her problem. That may be the crass approach to take but no one can expect him to drop everything in his life to cradle his ex-girlfriend because she's facing a crisis. "Your mom is helping. Maisy seems strong. I'm sure they can handle it."

"I haven't been there for my mother." His hand slips from mine and I feel lost instantly. "I've pushed everyone aside to take care of myself. That's not who I am, Bridget. It's not who I want to be."

W
e sit in silence, the only connection between us the side of our thighs as they touch. Soon after Dane dropped my hand, a young couple came into the chapel, clinging tightly to one another as they'd wept on their knees at the altar.

Dane had twitched slightly when we heard them talk about funeral plans and calling relatives they hadn't spoken to in years. It was an intimate view into the mourning process of two people we'd never see again.

"I want you to meet my mother," he whispers softly.

"You what?" I ask feeling embarrassed that I thought the next words out of his mouth would be that we needed to take a break while he dealt with the family he already had.

He glides his palms over the legs of his jeans. "I need you to meet my mother. I want her to see you. I want her to know you. I wish that could happen."

I want that too. "I'd like to meet her."

"I've told her all about you." He leans towards me to rest his forehead against mine. "I told her how amazing you are. She knows how talented you are."

I close my eyes against a surge of emotions. "I didn't know that you talked about me to her."

"That's all I talk about when she calls." He shakes his head slightly. "I sent her some pictures of your portraits. She read about the accident."

I glance down at where his hands are clasped together into a fist on his lap. He's trying to edge me into feeling secure in the knowledge that he's told his mother about his love for me but I know that she still views his leaving Maisy as a mistake. He told me as much just a few days ago.

"Your mother wants you to be with Maisy." I don't say it out of spite or jealousy. I say it to remind him that when it comes to his mother's acceptance, it's an uphill battle I may never win.

He rubs his hands over his face. "I have a brother. Landon. He's thirty-two."

"You have an older brother?"  I purse my lips together. "You mentioned once that you have a brother."

"I never see him anymore." He scowls. "My mother doesn't either."

"Why not?" I push. I want a clear understanding of his family dynamic.

He looks towards the couple who are now sitting on one of the pews a few feet away from us. "He's a pilot. He's always away. When he's in New York, he's hanging out with whoever he met the night before. He shows up during the holidays for a drink or two and then he's gone again."

I glance past him to the clock on the wall. It's well past the time I was supposed to be at the pub. I can tame Elliott's anger tomorrow. Tonight, Dane needs me and if I'm being completely honest with myself, I need him too. After seeing Maisy, I'm shaken to my core.

"My father died when I was a teenager so I'm all that my mother has left."

Shock pulses through me. Although he never mentioned his dad I hadn't made the assumption that he was no longer in Dane's life. "You've never told me that."

"I hate it." He closes his eyes on a heavy swallow. "I need him. I miss him and every day I wish I could talk to him one last time."

I think about my own father and the deep sense of loss I would feel if I couldn't dial his number and know that he'd pick up with a cheery greeting at any time day or night. "I'm sorry you lost him."

"My dad would have loved you, Bridget." His hand scrubs the back of his neck. "He would have fucking loved you just as much as I do."

***

"C
an I come home with you tonight?"

I pause to look over at him. "You want to come back to my place?"

He licks his lower lip as his eyes skim over my face. "It's the only place I feel like I belong anymore."

My breath catches and the fact that I audibly gasp gives credence to everything I'm feeling.

His lips hover next to mine as the couple who had sat in the pew, stand to take their leave. "Don't be scared, Bridget. I'm not going to push you into anything. I just want you to know what I feel."

"You can come home with me." I hold out my hand. "You can stay all night and tomorrow we can talk about what's next."

"I already know what's next." He places his large hand over mine, completely covering it in its embrace. "We both do."

I
wake just as the morning light breaks through the slim space that separates the ill fitted curtains that cover my living room window.

After we'd come back to my place, Dane had helped me into the shower and as he'd silently washed my hair and body, he'd stared at my face. I didn't ask him what he was thinking. I just stood quietly with my eyes locked onto his.

He'd carried me to my bed after that and had kissed me until I was dripping wet with want and need. He'd slid his body into mine then, without any protection. I hadn't stopped him. It was an act of trust and commitment that we both wanted and since I've been taking birth control pills on and off for years now, the risk is low.

We'd fallen asleep in each other arms until I felt his lips against my back shortly past midnight. His greedy hands fell to my breasts and as he massaged one nipple between his strong fingers, the other hand slid to my core. I'd come quickly and loudly, falling into his chest before he picked me up and carried me into the living room.

He'd sat me on the couch then and handed me my sketchpad and a pencil.

"Draw yourself for me, Bridget."

They were the only words he spoke and as he sat next to me, with the light that was cast from a single lamp on the table, I'd drawn myself for the first time. 

His breath raced over my neck as he leaned in to kiss my cheek to thank me and as I turned to him I saw a flash of something I'd never seen before in his expression. It might have been weariness from the emotional toll that the day had taken on him but as I studied his deep brown eyes, I saw a need there that only I could satisfy.

I'd slid the sketchpad onto the sofa next to me and had crawled into his bare lap. As I sat there, with the heat of his arousal pressing into my core, I'd held his strong and handsome face in my palms.

He tipped his chin slightly as if he was coaxing me forward and just before my lips touched his, I said the one thing I'd longed to say to him for weeks. "I love you, Dane."

His hands found my hair and as he curved his lush lips over mine, he whispered the words back into our kiss.

We fell asleep again then, resting on the narrow couch with our bodies pressed against each other.

Now, hours later as my eyes adjust to the space, I scan it looking for him.

I dart to my feet as soon as I notice the page ripped from the sketchpad. I stumble past the coffee table and down the hallway to my bedroom. My hand jumps to cover my eyes as I flick on the light switch in the bathroom and my heart sinks when I realize that the clothing he discarded there, on the floor, last night is gone.

I race back towards the living room, in search of my smartphone but my eye catches on a white envelope perched on my bed. It's resting against the headboard as if it was placed there with a sense of care and thoughtfulness.

My name is written in messy handwriting across the front and as I reach to pick it up, I sob. I know what it's going to say. I know that the message won't be about love that withstands life's trials and tribulations. It won't be a declaration that promises me endless tomorrows.

I flip it over and run my finger under the flap.

I reach into the envelope to pull out a folded piece of white paper. I feel my knees buckle as I lower myself to my bed.

I smooth my hands over the paper wanting to soften the creases. It's a printed confirmation of an airline ticket in my name.  It's one –way from JFK to Paris, leaving two days from now.

I pull open the flap of the envelope wider and spot something else. It's a piece of paper taken from the stack that I keep on my kitchen table. It's the ripped corner of a magazine and written across it in black, bold ink are three simple words.

Go to Paris.

I drop it all on the bed as I pull a dress over my head before I slide my feet into a pair of sandals, grab my keys and phone and race out of the door of my apartment.

"D
ane?" I say his name softly because I don't want to wake her.

It's early. Visiting hours only began ten minutes ago. I'd waited in the lobby of the hospital until the woman behind the reception desk told me I was allowed to go up to the second floor to Cleo's room.

I'd raced around New York looking for him. I'd stopped at the fire station first and when I stepped up the driveway towards the doors that shield the large red trucks from the street, the same fireman I saw a few days ago, came towards me.

Dane had been there, he told me. He was his captain and Dane had talked about me. He knew I was the artist and an hour before when Dane walked into the station to request a three month leave of absence; he hadn't hesitated at all when he gave it to him. Dane's job was waiting for him as soon as he returned from taking care of whatever he needed to tend to.

He'd read Dane's home address from the personnel file that was already on his desk. I punched the numbers into my phone before I ran out of the station, rushed to the subway stop and boarded the train. I sat on the worn seat tapping out a text message to him about needing to see him. I stared at my phone the entire ride, waiting for a response, but there was nothing.

Once the train stopped, I asked for help. A kind man with green eyes waved his arm in the air towards the taxi line on the street. I'd need to take a cab to the house but the fare shouldn't be more than ten dollars he told me. I squeezed his forearm in thanks.

As the taxi pulled up to the curb, I saw the sign. SOLD it said. I asked the driver to wait while I opened the small white wooden gate and walked up to the front door. I knocked, before pressing the doorbell but no one answered. He wasn't there. Maisy wasn't there and when I peered through the open curtains that were meant to hide the front parlor from the view of those passing on the street, I saw empty rooms. Whatever life he'd built in there with Maisy had been cleared out. All that was left was a vacant space, ready for the new owner to arrive to fill it with a different life.

I slid back into the rear seat of the taxi and asked the driver to take me into Manhattan. I knew where he'd be and wasting time waiting for the subway wasn't worth the cost. 

I had to get to him and now as I stand in this quiet hospital room and look at his face, I see something I didn't see in the note that he left.

"You're coming to Paris with me, aren't you?

"I'm already packed."

I move towards him and in an instant his arms are around me. He buries his face in my neck and just as his lips slide across my cheek, I sense her presence. I turn and that's when I see the same beautiful face that I did in the museum. She's awake. She's smiling and just as she nods her approval, Dane kisses me softly.

***

"M
y sister showed me the portrait."

I skim my eyes around the room but all that I find are two bouquets of wilting flowers and a few greeting cards that have fallen over from the pressure of the air conditioning blowing on them.  "I wanted you to have it."

"My husband took it home." She motions towards the door of the room with her finger. "I asked him to hang it in the baby's nursery."

I'm touched by the admission. I wanted the portrait to mean as much to her as it had to me.

"The baby is named Davey," Dane interjects.

"It's David, actually," Cleo corrects him with a smile. "We named him after his father."

Dane taps his hand against the top of the bed near where her feet are covered with a thin, blue blanket. "Everyone is calling him Davey. It's what I'm going to call him."

Cleo smiles as she reaches her hand out to grab his. "He'll like that. You'll come to see him when you get back from Paris?"

The words jar me even though he confirmed right after I'd walked into the room that he was going to move there with me. He's putting his entire life on hold here, to help me follow my dream.

"I'll send him postcards," he says. "Maybe a few presents too."

They speak to each other as if they're old friends. Anyone walking into the room right now would never suspect that something tore them so far apart that they didn’t speak for more than a year.

"Having you here makes everything right again, Dane." Her eyes float from his face to mine before they settle on his again. "I told you Mae wasn't right for you. I knew there was someone perfect waiting for you out there."