Every Breath (23 page)

No, not the air. The tension.

Finally, I can’t take it any longer. I jerk myself upright with what I can only imagine to be a completely psychotic look on my face. I’m breathless, and my mouth is opening and closing while I try to come up with something remotely intelligible to say.

“What’s wrong?” He almost looks hurt.

I jump up from the couch and start pacing around the room, glancing up at Shane’s pictures every couple of steps. I haven’t figured out how to verbalize it just yet, but I know what’s wrong. I know what I want. I’m just scared to admit it. Am I ready to go through with it? Am I ready to give away that one piece of myself that only belonged to Shane? Would he hate me for it?

I feel two strong hands at the tops of my shoulders. “You don’t need to have his permission to be happy, Makenna. He clearly loved you. Think about it for a second. If he was here right now, what would he tell you?”

“He would tell me to follow my gut.”

Sawyer spins me around to face him and caresses my cheek. “Okay, so don’t think about what he would want. Don’t think about what
I
want. Not your family. Not your friends. Just you, Makenna. What do
you
want?”

When you strip it down to the very core of what I feel deep down, I know exactly what it is. He’s right. Shane would want me to do whatever makes me happy, and I’ve known that all along. This was just my own self-doubt making one last attempt at sucking me in. I’ve made my peace with it already. I’m a different person now. Not completely mended, but I’m well on my way.

And for the first time, I not only know what it is that I want, I’m going after it.

I look up at Sawyer’s concerned face. And in that moment, it’s like my heart finally lets go of the last of the chains surrounding it and opens wide, allowing me to see that he’s the person who’s capable of rebuilding those missing pieces of me.

He stands perfectly still as I reach out and rub my hands across his broad chest, feeling every hard line stretching up over his shoulders. And while I trail the fingertips of one hand up the side of his neck, I flick open the buttons of his shirt with the other and tug it loose from his pants. Shoving it off his shoulders, I let it fall to the floor in a faint “whoosh.” The smoldering heat from his skin is radiating through the soft t-shirt he’s wearing, and I can’t help but rub my face against his warm chest and inhaling his intoxicating scent.

Still pressed against him, I reach around his waist to pull the shirt free, and that finally gets a reaction from him.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, gently grasping my wrists.

“Never been more certain about anything in my life.”

He releases his hold, and his fingertips trail from my arms up to my neck, where he places a hand on each side and caresses my jaw with his thumbs. “First, I want to explain what you asked me about earlier. About what Giano asked me.”

I giggle. “I’m trying to take your shirt off, and you want to translate Italian for me?”

“I think it’s something you should hear before we go any further. I
want
to tell you. After you hear it, you may change your mind. You may want to slow things down once I tell you. I just want you to have all of the information before we take this step. There’s no turning back after this, so I want you to be sure.”

This doesn’t sound good. This sounds serious. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“Giano . . . he’s known me for many years, so when I called him to arrange our dinner tonight, he was more than a little surprised. Dating, as a rule, is an extremely rare occurrence for me. Practically non-existent. So, to him, that was red flag number one. The second red flag was when I wanted to talk to his wife, Nina, to get recommendations of dress shops. And I’m pretty sure the last, and final, one was the fact that I couldn’t keep my eyes, or hands, off you the entire time we were there.”

I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but he’s scaring me a little bit. He looks so anxious and vulnerable, and I haven’t seen him look at me like that since our video chats when he was overseas.

He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly before continuing. “When he came to the table that last time, he asked me if you were ‘l’amore della mia vita,’ meaning ‘the love of my life.’ Do you remember what my response was to that question?”

Oh my. I do remember. He nodded. “Y-you said ‘yes.’”

“And I said that because you are, Makenna. I’ve never met anyone like you. I’ve never cared before what a woman thought of me. I never wanted to better myself just to be worthy of someone’s friendship. And I’ve sure as hell never caught myself daydreaming about a future with anyone before. Not until you. You’ve broken some walls down that I didn’t even know existed. It’s only been a couple of months since I met you, but I can’t imagine a single day that doesn’t have you in it.”

The entire world around us has fallen away, and I feel like all that’s left is him and me, suspended in time. I don’t know how to respond, and at the same time, I don’t know how
not
to. There’s so much I want to say, but the words don’t exist. Nothing can describe what he’s done for me, what he means to me. And most importantly, what his love means to me.

He blanches when I don’t say anything. “I just need you to know how I feel before we cross a line. That way, if you don’t feel the same, we can end it before it ever starts. If you just want to be my friend, I respect that.”

Since words still don’t come, I do the only thing I can think of that will show him that I feel the same as he does. I take hold of his face and press my mouth to his, kissing him with such force, such fervent desire, that I know there’s no way he wouldn’t know how much I care for him.

He’s almost statuesque for a few seconds, almost like he’s truly shocked that I want more. But it doesn’t take long for his hands to find their way around my back, stroking the skin left bare by the low cut dress. His tongue finally slips between my tingling lips to seek out mine, twisting, tangling, melding us together to become one.

To finish what I started earlier, I pull his t-shirt up until the hem is free, my hands diving beneath it to finally feel the skin I’ve ached for so long. He takes my cue and reaches over his head, pulling it off and tossing it in the floor. The soft glow of the lamp shines on his bronze skin, so I can see the tattoos he’s been hiding underneath there all this time. His chest, his ribcage, his back . . . he’s covered in ink.

Over his heart is a scroll that says “I will always place the mission first. I will never accept defeat. I will never quit. I will never leave a fallen comrade.” The words “Si vis pacem, para bellum” stretch from shoulder to shoulder, across his collarbone. “Gone but Never Forgotten” is tattooed down his left side, as are several dog tags with various names and dates. And there are various other symbols that I don’t understand and several scenes depicting soldiers, flags, and memorials.

Once I stop trying to read into the tattoos, though, I realize what a beautiful man he is. Ridges of taut muscle and the valleys between them, covered in tattoos and scars. Top it all off with those amber honey eyes staring down at me, full of love and understanding. He’s nothing short of perfection. And he’s mine.

I reach around to the zipper on my dress and fumble with it, not remembering the simple act of undressing myself ever being so hard before. But those calloused fingers I love replace mine and take over for me. When I reach for my dress to slip it off, though, he stops me and leads me toward the couch and sits down, dragging me down to straddle him. Once I’m in his lap, his searing mouth goes straight for my lips, then my neck, while his hands slide up the tops of my thighs.

I feel my fingertips digging into the firm flesh of his shoulders, but I couldn’t stop it if I tried. With his mouth on me, sucking and nipping at my collarbone, I’m lost in him and completely controlled by some type of carnal instinct, a merciless spell created just for us. All sense of reason is gone when I feel his hands slide up over my hips and grab the bottom of my dress now bunched up to my stomach. In a gentle, easy motion, it’s gone, laying in the floor next to his shirts.

He drinks in the sight of my breasts nearly falling out of the black lace bra cups and groans. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

I lean in to kiss him deeply, wanting and needing to feel his mouth on me, to touch me, to never ever stop. His mouth finds its way down my neck again, dropping down further to the supple flesh at the top of my breasts. At first his tongue traces along the edge of the lace, leaving a cool, moist trail behind, but when he skims his teeth along the same path, I moan unexpectedly and my fingers plunge into his hair to pull him even closer. Somewhat mimicking my actions, he slides his hands around to my behind, dragging me in closer until we are chest to chest, hips to hips.

It feels like a delicious wildfire has taken over my body. Starting low in my belly, it’s now spreading out of control, and I’ll be damned if someone puts it out now. I want it to consume me, every ounce of my being, and I’ll do almost anything to amp up the heat. And I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one. We’ve become almost frantic. Kissing. Sucking. Clawing. Biting. Grinding. It’s heaven.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa . . . we need to breathe a minute.” Sawyer nudges me, his chest heaving, begging for air.

My teeth graze the outside edge of his ear. “I know you’re in better shape than that,” I whisper.

“That’s not what I mean.” He cranes his head around to face me. “I meant we need to slow down. As much as I’d like to, I’m not going to do this on the couch. Not this time. I want to take you upstairs and lie with you in bed, so I can properly worship that gorgeous body of yours. And so I can make love to you like you deserve. Are you okay with that?”

I barely manage half a nod before I’m kissing him again. Sawyer gets to his feet with me still clinging to him, and he wraps my legs around him more tightly and firmly grasps the back of my thighs. If he has any trouble ascending the stairs, I certainly can’t tell it, but that’s probably because I don’t even know my own name at this point. Once at the top, he presses me against the wall, relieving enough of my weight that he’s able to free one of his hands to cup my breast. I jump at the contact, which causes my head to bounce off the wall, and we both erupt in laughter.

But the laughter completely ceases once he enters my bedroom. He lowers me until my feet touch the floor, and he makes sure I’m steady before he lets go. After opening the curtains enough to let the moonlight it, he flips off the hall light. It takes me only a moment for my eyes to acclimate to the silvery light being cast over my bed, allowing me to easily see him tossing the extra pillows onto the floor and folding the blankets back.

He turns to me, and I fall into his waiting arms. “Tesoro mio,” he whispers against my neck before kissing it. “Cuore mio.” He kisses again. “Anima mia.” He claims my mouth, filling it with the sweet taste that belongs only to him. “Amore mio.”

I reach down to unfasten his pants and allow them to slump to the floor, revealing that delectable little “V” at the top of his boxers. I think that just became my favorite letter of the alphabet. “What’s it mean?” I ask, hooking my thumbs under the waistband.

“What?”

I giggle, proud that I’ve rendered him thoughtless. “What you just said to me.”

He reaches around my back and unhooks my bra, flinging it across the room. Then, he bends to peel my panties all the way down my legs, pausing on the way back up to nip at my hipbone. Once he’s upright again, he shoves his boxers over his hips and steps out of them. He literally sweeps me off my feet and perfectly places my head on the pillow just before he slips in beside me.

He hitches my leg up over his hip, so that we’re belly to belly. It takes everything I have not to mention that I dreamed this, from his amber eyes down to his soft hair tickling around my navel.

“My treasure. My heart. My soul. My love. That’s what I said to you, and I mean every single word. And now I’m going to prove it.”

I roll over, smiling because of the pleasant soreness I feel when I move. It’s still quite dark in the room, so I peek over at my clock. We probably didn’t go to sleep until one, so waking up at four on a holiday is just uncalled for. But what a Christmas present . . . waking up next to Sawyer in my bed.

I stretch my leg in his direction, but all I come into contact with is a warm little ball. Darcy must’ve missed our bed, too. When I reach my arm over and find nothing but a cold sheet, I realize Sawyer is gone. I know he’s not a good sleeper, but I kind of hoped that, after last night, he’d stay in bed with me.

Kind of disappointed and curious where he is, I decide that I need to pee anyway, so I get up and go into my bathroom. And damn, I look awful, so after I take care of business, I go ahead and brush my hair and teeth and wipe the smudged mascara out from under my eyes. I grab my robe from the hook on the door and slip it on, flipping the light out on my way. Because my eyes got used to the bright light, I can’t see a thing, and I narrowly miss the corner of the bed. But as I come around in front of it to go into the hallway, I can’t miss the naked man, curled into a ball and rocking back and forth in my floor.

I hit the light switch and fall to the floor in front of him. “Sawyer, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Hurt? Say something!” His skin is beaded in sweat, his entire body is shaking violently, and he’s mumbling something unintelligible about a gun. His wide eyes look right through me as if he’s in another time and place altogether.

“Sawyer, you’re okay. Just wake up. You’re having a bad dream.” I lightly touch his shoulder, and he slaps it away, snapping his head toward me. Just when I think he’s about to come after me, I see the realization finally hit that he’s looking at me.

“Oh my God. Did I just hit you?” He jumps up, grabbing my arm to inspect the barely-there pink streaks. “I-I . . . I wouldn’t ever hurt you. You know that, right. I swear I didn’t mean to. I’m so so sorry. Oh my God.”

“I surprised you, and you were dreaming. I’m seriously okay. But I need you to tell me what that was about. Have you been doing this every night? Is this why you don’t sleep?”

“Shit.” He scrubs his hands down his face. “Every night? No. But often enough.”

“Sawyer, you know that’s probably PTSD, right?”

“I know it is. I’ve been diagnosed, and I have meds for it.”

I’ve never seen him take anything, but I’m sure it’s because he didn’t want me to know about it. “Are they just not helping?”

“No, because I’m not taking them. I deserve to live with it.” He stands up and kisses me on the cheek. “I’m going to go home and try to sleep an hour or so, and I’ll be back here by noon to go to your parents’ house. I’m sorry, Makenna. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you from having to see me like that again. I hate what I did to you.”

He grabs his clothes and runs downstairs, and within a couple of minutes, I hear the beeping of the alarm’s keypad and the front door closes.

“What the hell just happened?” I ask Darcy, who seems completely uninterested in anything but sleeping.

I turn off the lights and get back into bed, crushing his pillow into my face. Just the hint of his scent is all it takes for the tears to start falling. I never suspected he was struggling with that, but what really hurts is that he doesn’t trust me enough to tell me about his demons. I shared mine. It should be a two-way street.

I wake to Darcy’s swishing tail tickling my nose. She’s not quite up to swatting at the birds outside the window quite yet, but she’s enjoying watching them, nonetheless. Waking up to her usual antics is nice for a change. Although, it would’ve been just as nice to wake up with Sawyer next to me. Well, maybe a little nicer than that. Or a lot.

I’m trying not to read too much into his abnormally moody behavior. Even though, it initially hurt my feelings, I’m sure he was just feeling embarrassed and vulnerable. Maybe now that it’s out in the open, we’ll be able to talk about it and even come up with a solution. I don’t get why he said he deserves it though. I’m hoping he’s going to elaborate a little more on that at some point.

I rush around the house after showering, trying to look presentable enough for the hundreds of Christmas photos my mom will take, while also baking the two pumpkin pies she asked me to make two weeks ago. If it wasn’t for last minute, I’d never get anything done.

I get the pies wrapped up and ready for the trip and start packing my parents’ gifts in the trunk of my car, including the little gift I got for Sawyer while we were out shopping yesterday. I glance down at my watch, beginning to wonder if Sawyer has backed out on me. We’re supposed to leave in five minutes. The trip is already three hours, so we really can’t afford to waste any time. I wanted to get down there a couple hours before dinner, so I could help my mom finish cooking.

While I’m waiting, I decide to sweep through the house straighten everything back up. Little reminders of last night are scattered throughout my living room, and it makes me a little sad about how our perfect night ended, but I don’t regret being with him. I’m blissfully happy about it, actually. I haven’t felt this good in a very long time. When I walk past the pictures of Shane on the mantle, I pause and smile at him. It’s been a long road to get here, but I know I have him to thank somehow.

“Ugh, he’s fifteen minutes late,” I grumble to myself. I refuse to believe he’s backed out. He’s not that kind of person. He practically told me last night that he loved me, so why would his bad dream this morning change everything?

I dig my phone from my purse to call him, and I just get the number dialed when a car pulls up my driveway. But it’s not Sawyer’s. It’s the police.

Grabbing my jacket, I step out on the porch, and I’m a little relieved to see the same officer that did the report on the break in at my house. I’m sure he’s just here to follow up. But on Christmas?

“I’m sorry to disrupt your holiday, Miss Madison, but I need to you come with me.”

“What? Did I do something?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. You didn’t do anything wrong, but there’s been an accident, and we’re a little concerned for your safety.”

I’m so confused. “Can you just tell me what’s going on?”

He slips a notepad from the front pocket of his blue shirt. “Sawyer Harris . . . is he your boyfriend?”

Well, hell, how am I supposed to know the answer to that? “I suppose that’s right.”

“He’s just been admitted into the hospital, ma’am. Multiple injuries, most likely caused by the baseball bat that was found outside of his house.”

I’m so confused. “And you think
I
did it? Is he okay? What are you waiting for? I need to get to him!”

“No one is accusing you. We already have a suspect, and we’re on the lookout for him. That’s why I need you to stay with me.”

I step inside to grab my purse and lock the door before rejoining him. “Him?”

He opens the passenger door for me, and then gets in himself. “Drew Pierce.”

“Wait. Drew did this? Oh my God.”

“Apparently, Mr. Harris was able to remember that your name was said and something about breaking into your house. He was 100 percent certain that his assailant was Drew Pierce, and so far this morning, we’ve been unable to locate him. Just to be on the safe side, we think you should probably not be alone until we find him.”

“Sawyer? Is he okay?”

“He’s taken a bad beating, but as far as I’ve heard, he’s going to be fine. They suspect several broken bones, but nothing worse than that, as of when I left him.”

Thank goodness. I should’ve known Drew would do something like this after the incident at the vet’s office. He’s so damn cocky that he just couldn’t stand the fact that Sawyer bested him. I just hate that I got him in the middle of all the drama with Drew. It’s my mess, so he shouldn’t have been the one to get hurt.

Wait. He also said Drew was probably the one who broke into my house? But why would he . . . oh, I think I know exactly why. It all makes sense now. That happened the day after he caught me talking to Sawyer on my computer, which explains why my laptop was smashed instead of stolen, among everything else. He probably just destroyed the rest of the house, so it wouldn’t be obvious. I can’t believe he fooled me. I can’t believe I was with him all that time and didn’t really see the signs. The lies.

I call my parents and give them very minimal information, saying that Sawyer was in an accident, and I’ll call to give them the rest of the details later. Now, it looks like I’m going to have to fill them in on everything that’s been going on with me lately. They’re going to be
pissed
that I’ve been keeping it from them. Worry is the least of the feelings they’ll have once I tell them what happened with Drew, the break in, the assault . . . I’m in deep, deep trouble.

When we pull into the hospital, I get anxious, fearful of what I’m about to walk into. I don’t know what Sawyer is going to look like, and I’m afraid of what his reaction will be when he sees me. If he’s upset with me, I don’t blame him. This is all my fault. If I had just dealt with Drew on my own, instead of calling Sawyer and putting him in that position, this wouldn’t have ever happened.

A detective stops me in the hallway on the way to Sawyer’s room. “You’re Makenna Madison?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to answer some questions for me, do you have a moment to speak with me in private?” His authoritative voice is almost demanding, like I’m the bad guy. I know how it looks. Two guys fighting over me, while I’m playing them both. I’m positive that’s what he’s thinking. Or maybe that’s just my guilty conscience talking.

“I’m happy to answer your questions, but first, I have to see him. I need—” A hand touches my shoulder, and I spin around.

“He’s in surgery.” Thank God, Dr. Hoover is here . . . er . . . Dalton. Whatever.

I know I’ve only really spoken to him once, but I know he loves Sawyer, too. I throw my arms around him and start bawling like a big baby. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. “I’m so so sorry. This is all my fault. Is he going to be okay?”

Dalton waves off the detective and mumbles something to him before leading me into Sawyer’s room and sitting with me on the extra bed. “He’s going to be fine, I promise. And I’ve heard all about what happened. It’s not your fault.”

“But, if he’s fine, then why is he in surgery? Damn it, Dalton, it
is
my fault. And now he’s going to never want to speak to me again.”

He rubs my back gently. “You’re wrong about that. He’s been worried sick about you. He refused to be taken into surgery until he got word that an officer made it to you, and you were safe. I thought I’d have to knock him out.”

“What about the surgery?”

“As far as the surgery goes, it’s very minor and won’t take more than a half hour. From what I’ve gathered, Sawyer was sleeping and was woken by a bat smashing into his abdomen and cracking a couple of ribs in the process. He threw his arms up to shield himself, and ended up getting some pretty bad contusions and a broken ulna—that’s the outer bone in your forearm. But while he was trying to get a hold on the bat, he also took a couple of hits to the face, which is the cause for the surgery. Somehow, nothing is broken, but he has a pretty significant rip in the skin and tissue above his eye. When they brought him in, there was a big flap of skin hanging there. Nothing stitches won’t fix.”

“I can’t believe this is happening. I got him hurt.”

Dalton puts his arm around me and squeezes. “No, you didn’t. Sawyer told me everything while we were waiting for the officer to make it to your house. I know that guy forced himself on you. He even told Sawyer that he went in and ransacked your house to keep him from talking to you. He was wearing a mask, but with his size and voice, in addition to what he said about you, he knew it was that guy, Drew.”

“The police officer mentioned that. But what stopped it?”

“Sawyer’s spent his entire life fighting, although not by choice. I know William told you. He’s wired to do whatever it takes to survive, so while most people panic in situations like that, he’s calculating, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike back, to end it. He was able to get that bat away and even take a few swings himself before the guy ran out of there. He tried to chase him, but he was in such pain, he wasn’t fast enough to catch him before he drove off. And I know he would’ve gone after him, regardless of his own health, but his tires were slashed on both the bike and the car.”

I slump over my knees and bury my face in my hands. I’m stuck in a perpetual bad dream. Every time I think my life is headed in a good direction, something horrible happens. I can’t take anymore tragedy or drama in my life. Why can’t everything just be normal? Fall in love, get married, have kids, and spend my Friday nights debating on where my husband and I will go for date night. Is that too much to ask? I want boring. Boring would be exciting to me right now.

The door is bumped open, and a whole team of nurses pushes Sawyer’s bed into the room. I jump to my feet, ready to apologize and beg for him not to be angry with me, but he’s still sleeping. Which is a good thing because, after I see what shape he’s in, I don’t think I could talk anyway. Half of his face is bandaged, leaving only one eye visible, but I can still see the dark blood crusted in the hair above his forehead. He also has deep purple bruises along his jaw and a split lip that’s slightly swollen. They have a sheet pulled up to his chin, so I can’t see his body, but part of the soft cast on his broken arm is sticking out of the edge of the sheet.