Heart Thaw (28 page)

He looks at me, holding his big, rough hands out in front of him, like a man begging a jury to believe in his innocence. My tongue is plastered to the roof of my mouth.

“There was museum interest and more bids on it than any other piece I displayed, but I decided that was enough. So I pulled it, and I was going to stash it in the attic annex at my place, throw a tarp over it and just forget it even existed. Then Warren offered fair market value based on the bids that had come in while it was at the gallery. He gave me his word it would hang in his private residence, never out in public. So I come back here, to look at it. To remember that you were mine once. I know it got screwed up, but this painting is evidence when I start to doubt anything real ever happened between us.”

When he looks at me, right at me, it’s half defiant, half terrified. I’ve never seen Trent like this, with every layer peeled back and exposed.

“So...I took the check and gave him the painting. And that check? That one plus what I got for a couple of my other works do a pretty good job of answering the questions you had about how I could afford a farm sink and soapstone counters and all that fancy shit. I needed to distract myself, and art was off limits for a while, so I decided to take up home renovation for instead. I needed to use my hands, but ignore my head for a while. And my heart.” He clears his throat. “Do you hate me? Trust me, I understand if you do. Please say something, Sadie.”

“It’s...
me
.”

That’s all I can say.

I get up from the velvety wingback, arms crossed over my chest, and lean in to examine it more closely. The technique, the artistry, the innovation is jaw-dropping. My eyes race around, not sure where to look first or what to focus on. There’s so much and all of it is so damn
good.

It’s me—if my skin was made of the light and shadows that only exist at that razor’s edge of time between sunset and early twilight on the warmest, brightest summer evening.

It’s me—if my limbs were in constant, fluid motion, a step beyond paint on canvas; more like paint being poured onto the palette and taking perfect form in mid-air.

It’s me—if my every curve was perfectly graceful, and easy confidence radiated from every pore of my being.

“I’m sorry, Sadie. It was a really emotional piece for me. I guess I just wanted it to stop haunting me, so I not having it in my house was a real plus. But it wasn’t just that. It was also like I couldn’t hide what I felt anymore. The bottom line is I should have asked you.”

He runs a hand through his hair and paces back and forth between the two chairs, his boots thumping on the silk rug.

“This is how you see me?”

I hold my fingers out to touch it—to touch this gorgeous version of
me
—then snap my hand back. Trent stalks over to me, every step a bold extinction of the gap between us, and then he’s pressed to my back, his hand over mine. He lifts my hand and presses it to the canvas, my fingertips drinking in every ridge and valley in the paint.

“This is my pathetic attempt to capture how beautiful you are. I see this, and I feel like it sums up how I feel about you.”

I close my eyes and register the juxtaposition of his warm palm on the back of my hand and the cool paint under my fingers.

“I want to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“How do you feel about me?”

It’s silent in the big, shadowy room. The only light is from the low lamp next to one of the armchairs. The air feels cool and smells clean, tinged with just a whiff of Lemon Pledge. Trent presses closer to me, so close his lips brush my earlobe when he says the next words.

“I feel like you inspire me. Every second I have with you makes me a better artist and a better person. The crazy thing is, we’ve only spent a handful of seconds together in the grand scheme of things. I sometimes like to think about what would be possible if I didn’t have to ration any of my time with you. And I hate thinking about what will happen to me if I can’t be with you.”

Chills are rushing up and down my neck and shoulders, over my collarbones, tightening my nipples and making me catch my bottom lip between my teeth. He presses his lips to my ear and I shake. “That’s how I feel about you, Sadie.”

I pull my hand off the painting, knowing I probably left some sweat and maybe even some microscopic cells behind on the paint. It makes me feel good, to be, in this primal way, a part of this beautiful thing that is me and isn’t at the same time.

It’s the me I wish everyone could see, but also the me I’m relieved only lives through Trent’s eyes. Because being that gorgeous, confident woman all the time feels like an impossible task I just can’t live up to.

I turn in his arms so we’re still pressed together, but face to face.

“Why do you paint the trestle if you could paint in a studio all the time?”

A smile pulls at the side of his lips.

“I paint at the trestle because it’s a release. A high. Letting go. Also, I’m sometimes brave enough to paint you on canvas, but I’d never put you on a train trestle. So painting out there, in the open—I guess it’s a way to run away from all my regrets. The ghosts of a love I can’t have.”

I take his hands in mine and grab tight, squeezing close. He squeezes back, his eyes wide on my face, his lips shaking as he waits for me to ask him something else. So I do.

I ask the one question I need the answer to right now.

“What do you want?”

He shakes his head.

“Too easy. You know the answer.”

“I don’t,” I plead. “I know I hurt you. I know I pushed you away when I should have pulled you close. And I’m not stupid enough to imagine I’m your only option when it comes to love. I’m probably not even your best option. But I want to know if you want me—” I pull our hands up to my chest, so our interlocked fingers are pressed between our bodies. I wonder if his heart is thumping as fast and hard as mine. “Do you want me?”

“Sadie,” he breathes, his lips coasting along my neck. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

“If I stay here, can I be with you? Do you think we have a real chance?”

He gives a light laugh, and I feel my body stiffen. Maybe I went too fast, too far?

“It’s okay if not, I only asked because—”

“Why do you think I’d want anything other than you, right here with me?”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “But, you just laughed in my face when I brought it up.”

“I laughed because life’s funny.”

“How?” I ask.

“Because you’re asking all the right questions.”

“Why is that funny?”

My heart hammers, I arch my neck so my skin presses to his lips as his arms circle my waist.

He whispers, “Because I had a New Year’s resolution all planned.” He nips at my neck and nibbles along my shoulder. “Now I’m gonna have to come up with something new.”

“What was your resolution?” My fingers claw under his shirt, rush up beneath the fabric, and run along the muscle and hot skin of his back.

“To stop waiting for you to ask the right questions.” He pauses and pulls me closer with one swift tug, his hands hot through the thin silk of my dress. “I decided to come up with the right answers instead.”

I didn’t realize how much fear I’d been holding onto, or how tightly I’d been gripping it until I let go. It’s like there was a clenched fist around my heart that loosens its hold the second I know for sure I didn’t lose Trent after all. My body goes warm and liquid-limbed and this huge, insane laugh bubbles up and bursts out over my tongue.

I tilt my head back and let it out, cracking up, whooping, laughing so loud and long, I slump against Trent’s body as I do. He spends a few completely bewildered seconds just staring at me, but his lips tip up. Then a chuckle breaks loose. He rolls his eyes, but he’s kind of giggling, which is so adorable, it makes me laugh even harder. Which triggers something in him, and soon we’re both rolling, holding our sides, and laughing until tears pour out of the corner of our eyes.

He cups my face in his hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs when the cackles die down.

“I have a question for
you
,” he says. I nod and he sucks down a deep breath. “What happens now? Our families will be pissed. They all think we’re crazy.”

I nod slowly. “I need to make some changes.”

“Absolutely not,” he growls. “You’re fucking perfect the way you are.”

I feel this shock of pure warmth bubble up inside me.

“Thank you. But you’re insane. I run when I should hold my ground. I do things to prove a point instead of to follow my heart. I refuse to listen to my gut, my conscience, and my heart when I really need to. I’m changing that.”

“Oh really?” He raises his dark eyebrow high. “Considering you’re pretty much the bravest, most focused, intelligent person I’ve ever met, I’m super curious about this new life plan, Sadie.”

I dig in my pocket and hold out the business cards. “I’m going to finish my last semester at Kensington. Take a summer internship at one of these prestigious museums or galleries. Apply to St. Angelica’s. I’ll move back in with Mom, help with the bills, chip in to watch Georgia’s baby.”

I swallow hard and resist the urge to stare at my toes instead of into his eyes. But I can’t wimp out. I need to face him, to let him know I’m not selfish. That I’m not afraid.

“And I’m going to date you. Not screw you in secret places. Not judge you based on the boy I grew up with. I’m going to go out with you, to museums and restaurants and movies, like actual couples do. And I’m going to get to know you all over again, without any preconceived bullshit stopping things up, because you are fucking fascinating. I’m going to be romantic with you, Trent Toriello, because I love you with my entire heart, and I don’t care who knows it.”

His eyebrows go up. He shakes his head, opens his mouth. Closes it. He puts his hands on my shoulders and rubs them, pulls me to him, and we both stop.

“TEN! NINE! EIGHT!”

We give each other a quick look, then bolt to the door, down the hall, and to the staircase. A TV with a screen the size of an IMAX theater is displayed, NYC’s lights shimmering around the glowing New Year’s ball that’s prepped to drop in a few seconds.

“FIVE! FOUR!”

Everyone below, festooned in party hats and with noisemakers and poppers ready, screams along,

“THREE! TWO!”

Trent pulls me into his arm, presses my hair back, and says, “I love you, Sadie Jellico. You’ve made me the happiest man in the whole damn world tonight.”

“ONE!”

Downstairs the entire party erupts with noise and cheers, clapping and shouting in the brand New Year. Confetti and glitter explodes out of poppers and falls from the from somewhere about us, making the room shimmer.

In that singular moment where the old, tired year of mistakes and loss slips away and the shiny, perfect dawn of a brand new season bursts to life, Trent kisses me. It’s as much possession as it is passion, and I give myself over to it completely.

I twine my arms around his neck, press my body tight to his, and lose myself to this moment where I happily cast off all that’s old and worn. I’m ready for brand new beginnings with this man I’ve loved in secret for so long and am finally ready to love in the wide, brave open.

Chapter Twenty

The drive to his place, me in the car, Trent on his motorcycle, is the longest twenty five minutes of my life.

Because after the ball fell, we couldn’t stop that first kiss of our new love, freed.

Not when the opening strains of “Auld Lang Syne” floated over the mass of kissing, cheering people.

Not when the cheers calmed down and the music sped up and the dancefloor bloomed to life.

Trent walked me up the steps, our lips still locked, his tongue twined around mine, his moans moving directly from his throat and into my mouth. When we were back in the dim hallway where I found him, he leaned me back against the wall and lifted me up so my legs were wrapped around his waist. His hands ran over my hair, my back, down my skirt, and to the rounded edge of my knees. He pressed up, following a path of bare skin to the place where my body v’ed and the pressure of his fingers made me whimper.

“I want to take you into that spare room,” he breathed as he tore his mouth from mine.

I shook my head, another wonderful, open laugh rattling out. “No! Trent, Peter and Warren will notice. Even if they don’t care, I’d feel weird.”

“We’re not going back to your house,” he growls. “I need you all to myself tonight.”

“What about your place?” I suggest.”

He drags his hands off my legs and takes my hands in his, linking our fingers. “You want to come home with me, Sadie?”

I nod, kissing him on his wide jaw, loving the scratch of his five o’clock shadow. “I want to come home with you and never get back out of your bed.”

He backs away from the wall and lets my legs drop, then scoops me up.

“Trent!” I giggle. “You’re going to drop me.”

“Never.” He starts over to the stairs and there isn’t even a hitch in his breath.

Warren looks up at us from the foyer, and confusion makes way for amusement in the blink of an eye.

“I see you kids wound up just where Peter bet you would,” he says as Trent strides toward him. “Happy New Year’s, lovebirds.”

We call our thanks and happy New Year’s wishes, and I only convince Trent to put me down when we get to the driveway, after another long, slow kiss that leaves my breath ragged and my body needy.

He stays just behind me, at my insistence. The roads aren’t the greatest, and I don’t trust him not to speed a little to get me into bed. Sexy as that motorcycle is, maybe I can convince him to invest in a car—he’s going to lose a lung to pneumonia before the winter is over.

The second I step out of my car, I’m in his arms. The night is freezing, and bits of snow swirl around us, but we keep kissing in the freezing wind. I bury myself in his arms, rub close to draw in his warmth, and we don’t stop until my teeth chatter. Without a word, he leads me up the walk, in the front door, and through to the living room.

He pushes me back on the couch, then stretches his long body over mine, kissing and touching until the last of the cold evaporates from our skin and clothes, and we’re both shedding our coats and kicking off our shoes.

“Wait.” He braces his arms over me, his St. Christopher medal swinging between our bodies. “It’s still cold in here.”

“I know a really quick way to get things heated up,” I offer.

He groans, but stands up before I can catch his lips again. “I bet you do. You get comfortable. I’m coming right back.”

He strides over to the fireplace and in a few minutes there’s a huge, roaring fire. I text my mother to let her know not to worry, but I’m going to stay the night. I don’t say where, but it’s not out of fear or shame. It’s because I’m ready to tell her everything tomorrow, without holding anything back. Texting news this important just isn’t an option.

When Trent comes over to the couch, I snuggle close to his side. He drapes an arm over my shoulder and tugs me close, and I smell his complicated aroma; clover, firewood, winter, and him. Just perfect, amazing Trent Toriello.

“Remember that time we went camping and it rained all freaking weekend?” he asks.

I turn my nose to him and keep inhaling his delicious smell until it makes my head spin. “And you kept insisting you could build us a fire? The kindling was all wet, but you just put that tarp up and worked until you got it lit.”

“I made a whole shit ton of smoke,” he laughs.

“Remember that time we got lost driving to the shore?” I lean against his body and can feel the steady thump of his heart.

“After eight hours of my sister driving in circles, I was ready to swim out into the ocean and never come back.” He nuzzles my neck. “Seeing you in your bikini the next day made it all worth it.”

I roll my eyes. His kiss is hungry, and I remember him, tanned and lean, beautiful in the too hot sun.

“Remember the time you found that dog on the side of the road? It was a blizzard, and you pulled across four lanes of traffic to get him.”

“Dexter,” he says, grinning so hard, he kind of resembles that stupid, perpetually happy dog. “After he ate three pairs of my mom’s high heels, the new couch cushions, and two kitchen cabinets she told me I better find him a new home or he’d wish he took the long sleep during that blizzard.” He chuckles. “Funny thing, when I convinced my buddy Dave to take him in, she cried the whole day Dex left. She sent that dog a bag of bones every Christmas after.”

We both go quiet. I wonder if Trent sent a bag to Dexter this Christmas, but I won’t ask. As amazing as things are right now, it’s all too raw still. Just because we’ve found new happiness doesn’t mean the old wounds are healed and gone.

But, my God, it helps to hurt with someone you love by your side. I’ve let myself go numb to the pain for so long because I’ve been too scared to face the ache alone.

  We trade memories back and forth, kissing and touching softly. Trent tells me the things he misses most about Eileen; the fierce bite of her tourniquet-like hugs, the pride in her eyes whenever she looked at him, her delicious peanut butter kiss cookies, the way her hair smelled liked flowers and rain.

“You know what I hate most? That she can’t be here to see that I didn’t wind up a fuck-up after all. She was scared for a few years there. I was screwing up left and right. Now that I’m this respectable, upstanding citizen, it feels like too little too late without her here to see it.”

I curl against him. “No it isn’t. It’s a tribute to her. It’s a way to keep her memory alive. We’re all becoming better people because we refuse let your mother down. Because it’s the only way to honor her, the only way to keep going even though it’s so damn unfair that she’s gone and we’re here. Otherwise, that fact would gut us.”

When we’ve talked about our plans, mapped out how we’re going to break the news to the people we both love so damn much, dreamed up a future that feels too incredible to be possible and so thrillingly close we can practically taste it, he lays me back on the soft cushions of the couch.

His eyes are dark, the planes of his face highlighted by the flickering flames of the the fire.

“I love you,” he says, the words blunt and buoyed with intense joy.

“I love you, too.”

I watch his eyelids flutter shut and he gives a little moan, like he’s savoring the words.

He kisses my lips softly, pulls back and kisses down my jaw, his hand moving over my dress. I sit up and let him unzipper me, let the fabric fall away. We shed clothes silently and quickly, until it’s just skin to hot, sweet skin.

His hands roam over my body, stopping whenever he catches a hitch to my breath or hears me moan. We touch each other without rushing, taking our time because we finally can.

“Spread your legs,” he whispers.

I do. His fingers slide up my thigh, then higher.

“Damn, Sadie. You’re so wet.”

“It’s your fault.” I nip at his ear and his fingers work a rhythm that makes me buck against him.

I reach down and slide my hand over his cock, hard and smooth at once. I wrap my fingers around it and slide them up and down. The fire crackles in the hearth and explodes with sparks. Trent grits his teeth, his body tensing against my touch.

“Sadie.” He kisses my neck, moves lower, tugs one nipple into his mouth, and sucks hard. He lets go and I whimper. “Do you want me?”

My entire body feels like a series of perfectly raw nerves, endings bared.

“I want you,” I gasp.

He draws his fingers out and sucks the taste of me off of them, making me shake with need. He leans down and grabs at his jeans, fishing a condom out of one pocket. I take the metallic square out of his hands and rip it open, rolling the condom on him with trembling fingers.

“Where do you want me?” he demands.

I use one hand to tug his hips down, the other to keep his cock moving between my legs. I nestle the head right where I’m slickest, and he presses in. We both cry out. I grab against him, hard, and love the feel of him stretching me, filling me.

“Trent!” I moan. My fingers curl and scratch lightly down his back.

He adjusts the angle of our bodies so the next time he presses into me, the sensation shakes me to my core.

“There?” he checks, a wicked smile twisting his lips.

“Oh God...yes. More, Trent,” I beg.

He draws back and presses in again. And again. And again. The rhythm of his body against mine picks up, and I feel the intense unravelling that means I’m so close to that perfect shattering release.

Trent grabs my wrists, stretches them over my head, pulling me taut and forcing my body to bow into his in a way that ignites me faster and harder than I’ve ever burned before.

I buck and twist under him, my legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him close and holding him tight. I look up and all I can see is his beautiful face, so full of love, all of it focused on me.

And that’s when I crack open. My body starts a slow, rippling tremble that shake like I’m about to break open. I twist and moan, gasp and explode, screaming his name, my body tense and slick and full because of him.

Because of Trent.

“Sadie,” he groans a few second later. I wrap my arms around him and hold on while tremors tear through his body and he moans into my neck.

When our hearts stop galloping in our chests and the sweat cools on our skin, he grabs a throw and folds us, wrapped tightly around each other, in the downy softness, my head pillowed on his chest. The last embers of the fire are still glowing. The room is lightening with the first hints of dawn.

His lips nuzzle in my hair.

“Is this for real, Sadie?” he asks, his voice drowsy.

I kiss the salty skin of his neck. “Yes,” I assure him. “It’s real, and it’s right. We’re finally where we belong. And everything from now on is going to be amazing. I promise. I promise.”

We fall asleep murmuring soft
I love yous
, confident in a love we’d waited our whole lives for.