Sliding Down the Sky (36 page)

When he finally looked up at me, there was none of the pity, revulsion or fear I was expecting to see in his eyes. He reached up and laid his other hand on the back of my neck, his forehead resting against mine. I closed my eyes as we sat locked together on the bed. His thumb brushed gently over the skin on my neck, goosebumps rising in its wake, and it was the single most erotic thing I had ever felt. My skin was on fire, even though I was trembling in the wake of the tenderness that radiated from him.

I was dreaming, I had to be. This was a thousand lifetimes away from where I thought I’d be a year ago. Tears built behind my closed eyelids, but they weren’t borne of anguish or anxiety. They were borne of love.

His hand brushed my skin as it moved up into my hair, sending electricity shooting through every nerve-ending in my body. Slowly, his hand moved forward until his fingertips framed my ears. He carefully tilted my head towards him until his lips were on mine and I could hear him speaking to me, even though he didn’t make a sound.

God, I loved the way he kissed me. I loved how soft his lips were, how he made me forget who I was and where I was. I loved the way he held me while he kissed me, too. Gently, yet securely, like I was something precious, something to be treasured.

He slid his hand slowly up to my elbow, pulling me closer to him. My insides were like jelly. My heart, galloping just a moment ago, slowed to a quiet murmur, like the sound the audience makes as the lights go down before a show.

As he guided me down onto the bed, my body disconnected from my mind, setting both free. It felt as if I was floating, as if we were floating, anchored only to each other. He curled one arm behind my ribs, pulling me up to him as I arched my back, instinctively wanting the same thing – to be closer, nearer, one. Any residual doubt I had was now a distant memory. My arms wound around his shoulders and I curled my hand up to sink my fingertips deep into his hair. I wanted him, every inch of him, head to toe and everything in between.

I pulled away from him, opening my eyes. Seconds seemed to stretch out as I reached around to gently trace the line of his eyebrow.

“What is it?” he murmured, his eyes clouded with desire.

I couldn’t speak at first, my body tingling with anticipation as I let my knuckles graze over his stubbled jaw and down to his chin, settling on the fullest part of his lips. I caressed them with the pad of my thumb, tearing my gaze away to look up into his eyes.

“Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t dreaming,” I whispered.

He opened his mouth to answer me, but I wasn’t looking for answers anymore. I had everything I needed, right in front of me. I leaned towards him, and we were one again. Every kiss seemed to further connect us, as if weaving a rope between us, each kiss adding another strand, making it stronger. I closed my eyes, opening my body up to the whirlwind of sensations that rained down on me. Like closing my eyes when I listened to music, he was amplified. The world around us disappeared, and he was everything.

This time, he was the one to pull away. He lay down beside me and I turned to face him.

“You’re not dreaming,” he said, reaching down for my hand and drawing it up between us, lacing his fingers through mine.

I stared down at our hands. His hand, large and rough; mine, pale and smaller. He curled his other arm beneath my shoulders, and pulled me closer.

“I don’t want to rush things,” he said gently, “But I can’t seem to keep my hands off you. If you want me to slow down, you’re gonna have to tell me, because right now, I’m having trouble seeing straight.”

I didn’t want him to slow down. In fact, that was the last thing on my mind. I let go of his hand and sat up, turning to climb on top of him, straddling him. I could feel him stirring beneath me as his hands settled on my waist.

“Is this direct enough for you?”

“Perfect,” he mumbled huskily, his eyes finding mine in the moonlight.

Perfect.

That was the moment it happened – the
exact
moment.

I could feel something change inside me. It was a subtle shift, like the fluttering of wings or an echo in the distance.

I was inflating.

My soul was filling up, and it sounded like music. Sweet, beautiful, soul music.

“I live in the realm of romantic possibility.”

– Stevie Nicks

Callum

A Year Later

I sat at the bar, just like always. It was my spot now. As far as I was concerned, it would always be my spot. Leo joked that he might as well put my name on a brass plaque at the end of the bar, just so everyone knew it. I offered to pay for the engraving.

The Church was busy, but this was no ordinary day. It was the middle of the day, for a start. There wasn’t a lot of drinking going on, either. Everyone had congregated at tables around the stage at the far end of the room. There were other tables set up, laden with food. Yet another table held a two-tier cake, resplendent in white and blue icing. Aria ran around the room with her friends, playing games and entertaining each other, while the adults chatted and laughed. Leo was on the stage, getting ready to provide the entertainment. I’d helped him move the piano from their living room into the bar earlier in the day, and now he set up a stool to the side of it, with a microphone. Sass and Gemma made their way from table to table, making sure everyone had everything they needed.

No, this was no ordinary day.

Jack came back from the bathroom and headed across the room to Ally. He even walked differently lately. He was on top of the world, and it was no mystery as to why. He leaned down to kiss the top of Ally’s head, taking baby Thomas out of her arms and cradling him over his shoulder. He was a natural, just like I knew he would be. She reached up to put the navy blue change bag on his shoulder with a laugh. He caught my eye, and made his way through the tables and over to where I sat.

“I think he wants Uncle Callum,” he quipped, rhythmically rubbing Thomas’s back. “Seems like he has no sense of occasion. He’s just disgraced himself.”

“Not part of the deal,”I grinned. “You’re the Daddy. I’m just the fun uncle. And when I say
fun
, I mean I only do the fun stuff. Whatever he just did in his shorts does not qualify.”

He grinned back, shaking his head.

“You can laugh now, but your turn will come.”

For the first time, I honestly hoped it would.

Sass came up behind him, running her hand gently over Thomas’s dark, downy hair.

“I swear he gets cuter every day,” she cooed.

“Yes, and no,” Jack said, looking at her over his shoulder. “Can you smell that?”

Sass sniffed then screwed up her nose, as did I. The kid had an undiagnosed digestion issue, I was sure of it.

“Yeah, I think I better deal with that,” he chuckled, heading back to the bathroom.

Sass stood in front of me and draped her arms around my neck, pulling me close. Her black hair cascaded in soft waves just past her shoulders and she wore an electric blue dress that ended mid-thigh, black tights and black biker boots. Somehow, it made her legs look longer than ever. She rarely wore a dress, and she looked incredible. I was looking forward to getting her home and taking it off her.

I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her closer still.

“You look extremely hot today,” I said. “Have I told you that?”

She pulled back, smiling.

“No, you haven’t.”

I smiled, reaching up to cradle her face in my hands as I kissed her. I didn’t care that we were in a crowded room. I didn’t care that everyone might be watching us. This was the woman I loved, and I wanted everyone to know it.

She pulled back, cocking her head to one side with a smile.

“Well, that was pretty average, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Cheeky.

I took her hand and placed it over my racing heart, taking up the challenge.

“Feel that?”

She nodded, sombre now.

“That’s all you. That’s what you do to me. You have me making public displays of affection and not even giving a shit. You have my heart sprinting like a damn racehorse. In short, Saskia Elizabeth Hathaway, you have my heart, my soul, every part of me and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I thought she was going to cry. I’d overdone it.

Damn it.

She didn’t cry, though. She leaned forward and she kissed me. Hard.

Then she pulled away from me.

“My full name,” she murmured. “I must be in real trouble.”

“You’re not the only one.”

She smiled, kissing me again, gently this time.

Leo began to play, and she settled in beside me, my arm finding its way around her hips and pulling her close. Everything was better when she was beside me, and my body sighed with the knowledge.

Leo played a couple of songs, one a solo on his guitar, the other with a friend on the piano. At the end of the second song, after the applause died down, he thanked everyone then adjusted the microphone.

“Now for something really special. Sass?”

Sass turned to me and I could see the anxiety in her expression, how it drew it tight and held it there.

She left me and walked through the tables, up to the stage. I had no idea what was going on. In all the planning we’d done for Thomas’s christening party, there had been no mention of this.

Standing there, holding the mic stand, I saw a glimpse of the woman she used to be. She looked at home there, despite everything. She was nervous, there was no two ways about that, but she was also determined. My heart raced. I’d seen that look before.

A few months back, after getting sick of the reporters popping up in the bar, she’d finally decided to take matters into her own hands. She’d met with one of them – not Mike Dawson, thankfully – and given an interview. It had drained her, mentally, for days afterwards. She refused to read the resulting article, but Leo said that was normal. Apparently, it was standard practice to ignore them. Something about saving your sanity and not believing your own press. She said she didn’t care what was written, because she knew they’d skew it whatever way they wanted to and she had no way of stopping that. But the satisfaction came from facing her demons. She had told her side of the story, whether they chose to print it or not.

After she emerged from her self-imposed exile, she was stronger. Another milestone to add to her growing collection. Now, when reporters showed up from time to time, she was polite but firm. No more interviews. There was nothing more to say. I couldn’t have been more proud of her.

“I hope you’ll all go easy on me,” she smiled nervously. “This is the first time I’ve done this in a really long time.”

She turned to Leo, who winked at her solemnly.

“This is a song Leo and I wrote together,” she continued. “Just a few weeks ago. The lyrics are mine, the music’s his, just in case you’re wondering. We used to do that when we were younger, but we haven’t done it for a long time, so it was pretty cool. My big brother’s pretty cool.”

She smiled at Leo, and he shrugged nonchalantly, which made everyone laugh. I smiled because she was happy, and it was obvious.

“This is the first time we’ve actually played it in front of anyone. Anyway, we hope you all like it.”

There was much applause throughout, and a few wolf-whistles to boot. Sass caught my eye, and it was as if the entire room disappeared, leaving just the two of us.

“It’s called
Wings Beat the Sky
.”

She smiled at me, the kind of smile that first drew me to her. The kind of smile I knew would be my undoing, even then. The kind of smile that had me diving down the rabbit-hole, head first. The kind of smile that had led me towards my salvation.

And then she began to sing.

Strung on the line where the lunatics hang,

Roots bare and dried in the sun.

Wings don’t work when you’re tethered,

Hearts don’t beat if you run.

Cut the strings and burn them,

Your fingers will trace a new line.

We’ll cross it and plait it and sing it,

We’ll laugh at the falseness of time.

We spoke, we woke, we took it in turns,

We live, we love, we watch our masks burn.

The sky is our secret freedom,

Its vastness overcome.

Our wings will beat the rhythm,

Our crooked battles won.

The notes will rise, will fill our eyes,

A path always clears ahead.

Follow the breeze and plant those seeds,

I listened to what you said.

We spoke, we woke, we took it in turns,

We live, we love, we watch our world turn.

THE END

Amanda Dick is a night-owl, coffee addict, movie buff and music lover. She loves to do DIY (if it's not bolted down, she'll probably paint it, re-cover it or otherwise decorate it) and has tried almost every craft known to man/womankind. She has two sewing machines and an over-locker she can't remember how to thread. She crochets (but can't follow a pattern), knits (badly) and refrains from both as a public service.

She believes in love at first sight, women's intuition and in following your heart. She is rather partial to dark chocolate and believes in the power of a good vanilla latte.

What lights her fire is writing stories about real people in trying situations. Her passion is finding characters who are forced to test their boundaries. She is insanely curious about how we, as human beings, react when pushed to the edge. Most of all, she enjoys writing about human behaviour - love, loss, joy, grief, friendship and the complexity of relationships in general.

After living in Scotland for five years, she has now settled back home in New Zealand, where she lives with her husband and two children.