White Lilies (A Mitchell Sisters Novel) (29 page)

A stubborn burn shoots from her eyes. “He’s a liquor distributor. And what I do with him is none of your business, Griffin.” She turns to walk away.

I gently grab her arm as I come up behind her, pressing myself into her back and pushing her hair over to one side. “I plan on making it my business, Sky,” I whisper into her ear. “I plan on making everything about your life my business. Everything about Aaron’s life. Get used to having me around because I’m not going anywhere.”

Goosebumps erupt on her neck where my breath flowed over her smooth skin. Even from behind, I can tell her fingers have come up to touch the locket that rests over her heart. I hear her let out a long sigh before her feet start moving again. I watch her walk away without looking back. Yet everything about her body tells me that she wants to.

I know what I have to do now. Before I join everyone at the table, I send a text to Mason telling him tonight will be the last night I crash on his couch.

chapter twenty-six

I don’t have much. One suitcase full of clothes I bought in Miami. My duffle bag full of cameras. The few shirts I retrieved last week. Moving back into my townhouse should be easy. So, why does it feel like the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do?

When I came here last week, I wasn’t thinking about Erin. Not with John-the-food-guy laying his hands all over Skylar. Today, however, there’s nobody here but me. Me and Erin’s ghost.

I stand in the entryway of the study, the room where Erin died. It’s been transformed back to the way it used to be, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to walk into it again. It was the place Erin would sit and grade papers for her second-graders. She would work on lesson plans. She even did some in-home tutoring from time to time if a student was falling behind. Her teaching textbooks still line the shelves of the built-in bookcase. Pictures of five years’ of second-grade classes along with some teaching awards she won flank the bookshelves.

Skylar hasn’t changed a thing. The room is a shrine to Erin. I wonder if Skylar felt guilty about taking over the master suite so she decided to leave this room untouched. Maybe it would have been easier on everyone if she had boxed up all this stuff and put her own stamp on the study. Would I be able to cross the threshold then?

I carry my suitcase upstairs and unpack in the guest room, all the while wondering if I’ll actually be able to sleep in the bed I once shared with Erin. I’ve never slept in it alone. When we moved Erin downstairs, I crashed on the couch. But there is no couch in here. The room isn’t big enough. It’s either sleep in the bed or sleep in my studio in the basement.

I focus my attention on the picture sitting on the nightstand. It’s always been one of my favorites. Erin was only eighteen and had recently gone through chemo. Her hair was just beginning to grow back, but she had the face of an angel, and even in the absence of hair, was as beautiful as ever. I sit on the bed and hold the picture.
An angel
. Is that what she is now? Can she see me? Does she know what’s happening and does she have any control over it?

I try to push the guilt down once again. The guilt over living in
her
house with the woman carrying
my
child. The woman I’m trying to get into my bed—well, maybe not
this
bed. And even though I keep telling myself it’s what Erin wanted, I can’t help but think about how fucked up this is. I want Skylar. I know I do. But I also know I’d take Erin back in a second if I had the opportunity. Is that fair? Is it fair to either of them?

I set the picture back on the nightstand and reach into my bag to retrieve my other favorite photo. I stand it up against Erin’s picture and look at the two most beautiful women in my life as I wonder if it’s possible to love two women at once?

~ ~ ~

Music blares from my earbuds while I watch the miles fly by on the digital screen of the treadmill. My eyes flicker over to the stationary bike that sits in the corner of the basement. I imagine her riding it. I can almost picture what she would look like with her hair pulled up into one of those messy buns women so effortlessly do, sweat trickling down between her full breasts.

I run faster to get my mind off her, but I almost trip over my own feet when I look up to see Skylar standing in the doorway. Her mouth is slightly open and her eyes are glued to my bare chest. She appraises me like a starving animal assessing a piece of meat. Shit, the way she’s looking at me right now; it’s how I see her in my dreams. It’s how I picture her lying beneath me. It’s the same look she had on her face the night of Erin’s funeral when we made love. It’s the look I want to put on her face every damn time she sees me.

She finally blinks herself out of whatever zone she’s in and snaps her eyes to mine. The moment is over. Her stare changes from that of reverence to one of confusion. I can’t pull my eyes away from her full lips as they move with words I cannot hear.

I slow my pace and pluck the earbuds from my ears. “What?”

She takes a defensive stance with her hands on her hips, her eyes searching the room for answers. “I said, what are you doing here?”

I power down the treadmill and grab a towel from the nearby hook on the wall, wiping my face with it before placing it around my neck. “Last I checked, I still own half this place.”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. She knows she can’t dispute it. She points to the treadmill. “So, you just decided to come work out?”

I guess she didn’t bother looking upstairs in the guest room yet. I shake my head. “I live here, Skylar. I’ve lived here for five years. I love this place. Is this going to be a problem?”

I can practically see the cogs in her brain spinning. Maybe she’s trying to figure out how to get me out of here. Maybe she’s assessing her feelings for me. Maybe she’s wondering what John-the-food-guy will think of her baby daddy moving back in. I raise my eyebrows at her, waiting for her to speak.

She chews on the edge of her lip before answering. “Are you going to ask me to move out now?”

“Do you want to move out?” I ask.

She shrugs and lowers her eyes to the ground. “I guess I could go back to my apartment.”

I try to hold in my smile. I have reliable intel that Mindy already found another roommate. Skylar wants me to ask her to stay. She just doesn’t want me to know it.

I walk over to her and stand close. So close I can smell her fruity shampoo. I want to reach out and pull her to me. I want to pick her up and carry her over to the couch in my studio where I’ll peel that green dress right off her body. It’s the same dress she wore when she gave me the cooking lesson. Even then, I couldn’t tear my eyes from her. But then, I had a wife. A wife I loved. Skylar was forbidden. A fantasy I would never engage in.

My running shorts get tight as my eyes fall over her breasts that are so much fuller than the last time I saw this dress. Breasts that rise and fall with each heavy breath she takes. Breasts that surround the locket that still hangs from her supple neck. I reach out and take the locket between my fingers, causing her breath to catch. “Stay,” I whisper.

She tenses up, but doesn’t pull away. Her eyes close briefly and I’m almost positive she’s inhaling my scent as much as I am hers.  Suddenly she takes a step back and my hand falls away as the locket meets her chest once again.  “I don’t know, Griffin. It’s all gotten so complicated. I’m not sure I should. And then there’s John. And—”

I lunge forward and put my arms up against the wall, holding her captive within them. I ignore her reference to the food guy as I lean into her. Pressing the pad of my thumb against her bottom lip, I force it out from between her teeth as her expression twists with indecision.

I push her hair away from her ear. “Stay,” I repeat. “It’ll all work out, Sky. Have faith.”

Before she can respond, I turn around and head for the stairs. As I reach them, I glance back to see her body sliding down the wall until her ass meets the floor. All the while, she’s looking up at the ceiling, exhaling a slow, controlled breath. I bounce up the steps, two at a time, basking in my small victory on the way to the shower.

~ ~ ~

After my shower, I find Skylar dozing off on the couch in the living room. She’s changed out of her work clothes and is wearing a casual light-blue dress that looks like it’s just a really long t-shirt. The tight-fitting shift accentuates every curve of her body. It clings to her stomach like a second skin.

I walk over to the foyer where I left my duffle, taking quiet steps with my bare feet so I don’t wake her. I retrieve a camera from the bag and zoom in on her beautiful face. I don’t dare move any closer to her in fear of the click of the camera waking her. Without trying to think about how creepy it is, I snap pictures of every part of her body. I get close-ups of her full lips. The curve of her neck. Her legs that are propped up on a pillow. Her feet that reveal toenails painted to match the green of her eyes. Her breasts that frame the locket I gave her.

When I zoom in on her pregnant belly I almost drop the camera when I see it move. I slowly make my way over to her, hoping that I’m capturing on film what my eyes are taking in. Finally, I lower the camera and sit on the coffee table, mesmerized by the movements.

As I watch a tiny foot, elbow or knee trace a line from her hipbone to her belly button, I momentarily have flashbacks to a Sigourney Weaver movie where an alien breaks through her stomach. I quickly push the thought aside and embrace the fact that my kid is inside Skylar. And he’s putting on a show just for me.

I want so badly to reach over and put my hand on her. Maybe poke my son and see if he pokes me back. I haven’t touched her belly in over two months. And the only time I’ve ever felt Aaron move was the night Erin died. I remember feeling what could have been gas bubbles going through Skylar. It was nothing like this.

There’s a fucking person in there.

I find myself having to fight back tears as I swallow a colossal-sized lump in my throat.

“You can feel him if you want.”

I about jump out of my skin when Skylar speaks. I hadn’t realized she was awake. I wonder how long she’s been watching me watch her.

I lean closer to her and tentatively reach my hand out. She grabs it and places it on her. Immediately, I feel movement beneath it. My eyes go wide and I think I gasp in wonderment, but I’m so lost in the moment I don’t even realize I’ve gotten up from the table and am on my knees in front of her with both my hands pressed firmly on her stomach. I can’t move. I don’t ever want to remove my hands from her. If I flinch, it could stop. And I want this to last forever.

I don’t know how long I sit here, feeling my son kick and do somersaults under my hands. My knees hurt and my legs go numb but I don’t dare move a muscle.

I look up to find Skylar smiling. “Pretty fucking great, huh?” she asks.

“Don’t say fuck, Sky.”

Redness overtakes her face as she recalls what her cursing does to me. “Don’t call me Sky, Griffin,” she quips.

She holds my stare as we enjoy feeling our son move. I wonder what’s going through her mind. Can she tell what I’m feeling? Do my eyes show her how badly I want this?

The buzzing of her phone on the table breaks the perfect moment. She glances over at her phone and my eyes follow. I read the screen.
John McCormack
.

John-the-fucking-food-guy.

A look of sympathy flashes across her face. “Sorry,” she says, grabbing the phone while pushing herself up off the couch with her other hand.

She walks into the kitchen and sits at a barstool. “Hey, John,” she answers.

I follow behind her under the guise of getting a bottle of water from the refrigerator. She watches me as she listens to him. I make no attempt to give her any privacy.

She shifts uncomfortably on the barstool. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea anymore. How about I meet you there,” she says.  Her eyes briefly snap up to mine. “Can we talk about this later? . . . Okay fine. You win. I’ll see you at seven . . . Bye.”

I finish my water and place the empty bottle down so harshly that it crumples. “Going out with the food guy again?”

“Liquor distributor,” she says.

I throw the disfigured plastic bottle into the recycle bin. “What?”

“He’s not a food guy. He’s a liquor distributor.” She walks over to retrieve her own bottle of water from the fridge. “And yes. He’s taking me out.”

With her back to me, she takes a long drink while I come up behind her. I put my arms on either side of her, trapping her against the counter. I brush her hair aside and watch as goosebumps dot her skin. “Unless I can talk you out of it, that is,” I whisper.

As I speak, my lips graze her ear, but not totally. My chest almost touches her back, but not quite. I can see from her reflection in the glass door of the microwave that her resolve almost crumbles—but not completely.

Her eyes close. Her lips part. She slowly exhales. She has no idea that I can see every nuance of her face. She thinks she’s hiding these conflicting feelings from me.

When her eyes open, they are blazing with unspoken desire. She finds me holding her stare in the reflection. She tries to escape my arms, but I lower my hands to her waist and spin her around to face me before I cup her face with my hands. “Stay here with me tonight, Skylar. Talk to me. There’s so much I don’t know about you. I want to know you inside and out. I don’t even know when your birthday is.”

Every word has me inching closer to her until my breath falls over her lips. My groin meets her belly and I wonder if she can feel my growing erection as I press against her. Her eyes fall to my mouth. Her tongue comes out to wet her lips. Her breathing accelerates to match my own.

She wants this. She wants this as much as I do.

“Sky . . .” I close the gap that still separates our mouths. I can feel the softness of her full lips as mine lightly touch hers. My heart pounds so hard in my chest that I’m sure it’s become audible and is echoing through this room where the only other noise is the faint hum of the refrigerator.