Unsevered (2 page)

My back found the stairs as he entered me, and I was more than ready. He pulled me close and I took him in and out again. One of his hands became tangled in my wavy, beige-blonde locks while the other gripped the banister rail in hopes of containing his early release. “Oh … Baby … you’re … amazing!”

The passion was almost tangible—our breaths heavy, our skin on fire. A bead of sweat rolled off his forehead onto my breast. The ocean waves provided a blissful soundtrack to our ecstasy.

Almost too soon, the moment we were both waiting for came … but with great satisfaction on my part. Harley smiled and closed his eyelids as he produced short, weighty breaths. Exhausted, we both slid down the stairs at a careful pace, holding each other and basking in the afterglow.

Our short-lived encounter was more than made up for as we spent the remainder of the weekend christening every room in our new home.

* * *       * * *      * * *

M
y mind returns to the moment and I scold Harley’s apparitional presence for lying to me. “You told me we’d be together forever. You told me that’s what the sign meant.”              

“I did say that. But it didn’t mean we’d be together forever in the physical sense; just that we’d always be in each other’s hearts.” His voice lowers and adopts a serious tone. “But there is one problem.”

“What problem?”

“I am kind of stuck right now.”

“What do you mean stuck?”

“Well, I was supposed to move on to my afterlife, but I can’t do that until you let me go.”

“But how do I do that?”

“I can’t answer that for you. It’s something you have to discover for yourself for me to be able to complete my journey.  I’m sorry you feel like I let you down, but I did what I had to do.”

A long pause cuts through the air for a moment. “I don’t blame you, Harley. I know you didn’t choose to leave me. I just miss you. Why can’t I see you?” My voice keeps cracking as I wipe my tears for the umpteenth time.             

“You’ll see me when the time is right; when you are ready. And you won’t be able to see the gift I left you until the time is right either.” He was still surprising me, even in death.

“I’m ready! What is it? Please, I need something to hold on to.”

“When you are ready to see it—and me—you will.” He was beginning to sound like a broken record. “I have to go now, but I will be watching over you always. Please be kind to yourself and don’t do anything else to endanger your life. Live. Be happy. Fulfill your destiny. And remember, I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Don’t go.” My voice is brittle, fading.

He doesn’t respond.

“Harley?” I call out his name until my throat becomes scratchy and my voice is almost absent.

“Harley? Harley? Come back. Please don’t leave me again.”

There’s no reply.

He’s gone.

CHAPTER TWO

M
y body is locked in a sitting position on the bed for a few moments after I no longer heard Harley’s voice.

My eyes scan the room until I spot a picture on the wall. I walk over and remove it from the hanger. It shows an image of Harley and I smiling, both red-faced from the alcohol we drank that night—and the fact that my friends had caught us making out when we’d just met. Damn smart phones are always handy.

I run my fingers over the picture and close my eyes as the events from that night unfold in my mind

* * *       * * *      * * *

I
was hanging out with Gretchen and Chelsea during karaoke night at a local bar. They dared me to find a male partner to accompany me on stage to sing 
“I Got You Babe’’
 by Sonny and Cher.

“I’ll do it with you,” a voice from behind me said.

I turned and saw a striking, olive-skinned specimen of a man. He had chestnut-brown hair and piercing blue eyes. His no-doubt, chiseled abs begged to be sprung from his midnight blue U.S. Air Force uniform.

His face turned a crimson red as he stammered and backtracked. “I mean, I’ll 
sing
with you … if you want.”

Heat rose to the surface of my face as he took my hand and escorted me toward the stage. Though I’m sure the tequila I’d enjoyed earlier played a part in my color-changed flesh, deep down I knew it was the electrical current that surged through every channel in my body at his touch.

My heart attempted to talk me out of it right away, reminding me I shouldn’t go down that road again. I shouldn’t allow myself to care about another man who might one day leave me.

I was pulled from those self-abusive thoughts when the man who was still holding my hand said, “I’m Harley, by the way. Don’t worry. I don’t bite … much.” He winked at me and my body sizzled in places I didn’t even know existed.

“Jewel. Nice to meet you, Harley,” I replied, stumbling through every syllable. As we made our way to the stage, I turned and mouthed to my friends, “Oh my God.” My heart was sending flares all over the place, but my flesh was drawn to that stranger by an inescapable force.

A few verses in, I discovered that he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but he sang his heart out as he devoured me with his eyes. I think the crowd may have sensed our undeniable chemistry as well, because they begged for a few more songs before we were allowed to escape the stage.

I wasn’t ready for the night to end so we made our way to a table on the patio, away from the music and crowd. We sat and talked about everything under the sun. I first learned the basics. His favorite color? Blue. Favorite beer? Heineken. His favorite type of music was smooth jazz, but I would have guessed hard rock.

It could have been the beer talking, but deeper into the conversation he opened up, revealing darker things about his life. His mother died while giving birth to him and his father took his own life soon after, unable to deal with the pain of losing his one true love. Harley spoke of it in an almost scripted manner, as if he’d had to repeat it so many times before that he’d become numb to the emotional stigma.             

“Oh, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry,” I replied. I had no clue how to respond to his words, so I started talking about myself to ease the tension.

“I’ve always had a pretty good relationship with my mom, but I can somewhat relate to not having a dad. Even when mine was there, he wasn’t always present, if you know what I mean. He was covered up with work most of the time.”

He offered a soft, empathetic smile and our conversation continued.

“So who took care of you when your parents died?” I asked as I scooped a mouthful of whipped cream off the top of my strawberry daiquiri. He smiled as he watched me lick it from the spoon.

“My mom’s parents took me in. I was later told that my father’s parents live on the west coast and aren’t fond of kids, and that’s why I didn’t go live with them. They always sent me money on my birthday and Christmas, but I’ve never met them in person. How about you? What was your childhood like?”

“There’s not much to tell. My life was normal, for the most part, until my parents told me they were getting divorced. On the night of my high school graduation, no less.”

“Yikes, that must have been hard for you,” he offered.

“Yeah, it was a huge shock, to say the least. They were good at playing their roles. I never saw it coming. They never fought, maybe because my dad wasn’t around enough to fight.”

I took a sip of my fruity concoction. I’d always felt a bit uncomfortable talking about myself, so I turned the questioning back on him again. “What was it like being raised by your grandparents?”

“Well, they always made sure I had what I needed, but I never felt comfortable there. I always considered it 
their
 home.”

“So you felt like a stranger in your own home? That’s so sad.”

He cleared his throat and straightened his posture in an attempt to show his less emotional side, I suppose. He took a long chug of his beer as I awaited his response.

“Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t deprived or anything. I appreciate everything they did for me. I mean, I had a roof over my head, my own room and went to a great school.”

“But they didn’t spend any time with you?”

He shifted a little in his chair. “They did, but only to teach me life lessons. My grandfather taught me things he thought would help me survive in life, like changing a tire, the proper way to hold a knife, how to use hand tools. My grandmother taught me how to do my own laundry and dishes, and attempted to answer any questions I had about women; not that I understand them any better, still to this day…” He threw an irresistible smile at me that warmed every vein in my body.

I returned the gesture and said, “Speaking of women, have you ever been married or come close to it? Any serious girlfriends?” The rum was making me braver by the minute. I was desperate to know everything about this man, and I especially wanted to know if I had any competition to contend with. Not that it would last long anyway. I’d been consistent on finding ways to screw these things up so far in my life.

“Not really.”             

It was a short answer but enough for me. I let out a small sigh of relief—hopefully not that he was aware of—and sipped my drink again to cool the fire that was igniting somewhere inside my body as I studied his chiseled face and burly physique. He caught me staring and I averted my eyes to the dance floor inside.

“I dated a few girls in high school but nothing serious. Never married. No kids. I enlisted in the Air Force right after graduating high school.  I knew I wanted to be in the military all my life.”

I admired the fact he wanted to follow his father’s career path and make him proud, from 
wherever
 he was. When he mentioned the word ‘kids’, for some reason I found myself contemplating how much fun it would be to practice making babies with him. 
God, we’d make pretty babies
. I reminded myself how to breathe as I attempted to tame the power that his azure eyes were gaining over my soul.

“But my grandparents mostly kept their distance unless I needed something. I think they may have blamed me for my mother’s death,” he continued. His eyes shifted downward immediately after those words escaped his lips. Embarrassment was written all over his face.

I placed my hand on his and felt that warm, electric tingle that I had come to relish already. I hadn’t had much of a relationship with my grandmother, but I couldn’t imagine a grandfather not doting on his grandchild.

“No, I’m sure that wasn’t the case,” I said, hoping to reassure him.

He offered a half-smile. “Well, the good thing was, since I stayed with them, I was able to spend a lot of time with my Uncle Walter, my mom’s brother. He’s the one who really took me under his wing. I learned a lot about life from him.”

“Oh, like how to pick up women?” I teased. The warmth of his hand continued to mingle with mine.

“Not quite. I’ve never been ‘good with the ladies,’ so to speak,” he said with finger-quotes in the air. But we had a lot of fun together. I used to stay at his beach house every summer. He taught me how to fish and catch shrimp. I love seafood. And he bought me my first
Playboy
.”

I coughed, choking on my drink, and nearly spat it in his face. “Sounds like you two had a blast together.” I laughed. “Your relationship with your uncle sounds a lot like the one I had with my grandpa—minus the magazines, of course. I spent summers with him as a kid. We did some of those same things. I was his only grandchild, so he kind of spoiled me.”             

“Ah, and did he teach you how to break all the little boys’ hearts?” His eyes were wide and teasing, but I could tell he really wanted to know if he stood a chance with me.             

“I haven’t had much luck in the ‘love’ department either.” I returned the finger-quote gesture to him. Then my eyes shifted downward as I continued, “Plus, when I started high school, I got busy with life and didn’t visit him as often. I got word that he died during my freshman year of college.” Harley’s hand was tight upon mine now. I suspected he was taken back to the moment of losing his father. Perhaps our broken pieces would fit together enough to make at least one of us whole again.

“I’m so sorry. That must have been difficult for you. How did he die?” Harley asked.             

“Throat cancer, which was ironic because the man never touched a cigarette in his life. Of course, he never let on to me that he was sick. I couldn’t even attend the funeral. I blamed it on a major mid-term … but in my own childish way, I guess I figured if I didn’t say goodbye, he wouldn’t really be gone.”

“We all cope in our own ways. Joining the military was mine.” A darkness lurked behind his eyes when he said that. He rubbed my hand and began to ask, “Jewel, would you…”             

His words were cut short by the bartender shouting out for last call. I was already intoxicated—not by the alcohol, but by the beautiful stranger who had just penetrated my life with so little effort.

His eyes met mine again and he continued. “Can I call you sometime?”

I hesitated before answering, “Harley, I think you’re great and I’ve had an incredible time with you tonight…”

“But…,” he replied and cut me off.

“I’m not sure I’m right for you. Whether by choice or fate, all the men in my life abandon me.” I paused for a moment and noticed him searching my eyes for more. I explained myself further. “So I start out every relationship just assuming it’ll happen again. I leave before they do to avoid the inevitable.” 

He took both of my hands in his and our eyes performed an unspoken dance. “Jewel, I understand you being afraid of people you care about hurting you, but don’t I at least deserve a chance to prove you wrong before you make up your mind about me?”

I stared into his crystal blue eyes and something inside told me I was safe with him.

He must have noticed I was wavering, because he asked, “Can I call you tomorrow and just go from there?”

After a couple more seconds, and the club owner’s final threat to throw us out, I said, “Okay, I’ll give it a shot, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I wrote down my number on a napkin. What was I doing?

As my arm stretched out to hand him the paper, he pulled me in so close the pounding beneath the breast of his uniform turned my knees to mush. It matched the rhythm of mine. I tilted my head, leaned in to give him the green light and he placed his lips on mine. They were soft and full. His lower lip pulled my top one in with just the right amount of force—soft yet strong. Whether it was the level of alcohol still in my system or the intense fire that was burning in the lower part of my body, my inhibitions disappeared. I allowed him to explore my mouth deeper with his tongue. He was an amazing kisser.

My hands made a furious path through his brown locks as his became tangled in my tresses. No words were needed. Our bodies were so close that a dollar bill wouldn’t have had room to slide in between. We finally pulled apart as the bartender kicked us out to close up for the night. That’s when my friends yelled “hot stuff,” and we turned around just in time to have our picture snapped.                           

My girlfriends grabbed me by the arm and pulled me toward the door.

“I’ll call you!” he yelled across the bar.

Thank God Gretchen had stayed sober enough to drive. I was drunk … drunk in love.

* * *       * * *      * * *

M
y body shuddered when I saw his name come across my cell phone the next day. He had broken the mandatory three-day-wait guy rule, which was fine with me. It’s a stupid rule anyway.

We began spending all of our days—and nights—together. I told him more about my parents, my grandpa, and how I went straight into college after graduation, where I majored in English and minored in journalism.

“How did you become an author?” he asked, as we sat in the
You’ll Love it A-Latte
café one night.

I sipped my frothy drink then said, “When I graduated college, I got a job as a writer for a local newspaper. Later I started writing articles for an online magazine. It was mostly descriptions for fashion accessories, but it paid the bills and helped me strengthen my writing skills.”