Tattooed Hearts (33 page)

That sweet ache between
her legs throbbed, and Forrest was the one and only who could soothe her agony.
Grateful to be wearing a dress, which was pretty much a belt around her waist
now, she stra
ddled him, and unzipped his pants. His
fingers slid her panties to the side and stroked the spot between her thighs
that was burning for him.

“So wet,” he said
hoarsely. “Now.”

She sank onto him, and
gasped silently. He filled her so completely, and held h
er like she was all he ever wanted.

“So fucking sweet,” he
whispered in that sexy, gravel-filled voice. She cupped his
face
and he gripped her waist,
and she made love to him in her living room.

“Claire,” he whispered,
his eyes locked on hers.

“Forrest.”

“I love you,” he said,
holding tight to her.

His words melted her. That
deepest connection was her greatest wish. This was everything she’d ever
wanted—to love and to be loved back by this man.

Overwhelmed with emotions,
she looked away once to catch thei
r hazy reflections
in the dark of the window. They looked like two people who couldn’t get enough
of each other. His eyes squeezed shut, his breath came fast and harsh, and he
moved deeper into her. She watched for another moment, thrilling inside at all
t
hat the window revealed about him, and how he felt
about her. She turned back to him, their bodies colliding, their lips
connecting, her arms wrapped around him as they came together.

Then he carried her to the
bedroom, turned on the shower and washed her
down. In
desperation, they reached for each other again. With her hands on the shower
wall, Forrest plunged into her as the water beat against the tile floor. Steam
rolling over them. Their cries reverberated, blending with the running water.

Once in bed,
they made love again, a little slower this time. He kissed
her deep, moving in an unhurried motion as she writhed beneath him, lost,
completely gone.

“Tell me something
beautiful,” she murmured.

Pushing her hair away from
her face, he looked into her eyes.
“Claire.”

Her heart toppled over.
Tears threatened to spill. She blinked and cried out his name as they rode the
wave.

She wasn’t sure how long
they stayed like that—tangled, holding tight to each other. As if they
disconnected, they might never find thei
r way back.
She held on until he brought his weight to his arms and slowly withdrew from
her body. He sat on the edge of the bed, hair rumpled, as his unguarded eyes
swept over her.

She had the oddest feeling
that he was cataloging her—from her hair, lips,
breasts, and then her eyes, as if this was their last time. This time she
didn’t hold back and let her pain roll down her cheeks in silent tears.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered,
running a hand over her arm.

“I’m not.”

He smiled.

“You’ll wait for me,” she
repea
ted the words she’d uttered to him so many times
in their lives.

He kissed her. “Forever.”

“I’m coming back to you
when I’m done.”

“I know.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“A committed heart does not wait for conditions to be exactly
right. Conditions are never exactly right.”

Charles
Montgomery

As
soon as Forrest arrived in Vineyard Haven, he drove to downtown Edgartown and
caught the
On Time
ferry to
Chappaquiddick. While being shuttled over he pulled his phone, swiped the
screen to send Claire a text. She b
eat him to it. In
his inbox was her picture. Wide, luminous eyes, a bit puffy from lack of sleep
and tears shed
stared back at him. His heart swelled. Pain in the back of
his mind came forward by the slightest reminder.

He
read the text.

Order of travel
for this week.
Seattle.
Wisconsin,
Utah and New York.
Where do you want to
meet?
Missing you so much.

His
fingers brushed across the screen of the smartphone, tracing her full lips and
the smile meant only for his eyes. He tapped a response.

When New Yor
k and for how long? A day, can’t do. You’ll be busy. Two
days? Second day just you and me. Otherwise, next time. Heading to Chappy.
Thinking of you.

Since
he didn’t expect an immediate response, he shoved the phone in his jeans pocket
and focus straight a
head of Norton Point for the
two-mile ride to the peninsula. Best thing to do was not to think about her or
the fact less than twenty-four ago he’d been soaking in everything Claire.

He
failed.

Thoughts
of her flooded his brain. Pulling his phone, he exami
ned
his text again and stopped at the one day, can’t do words. In actuality, he’d
take thirty seconds of her day, if that was all she was able to give, but he
knew the next few months were going to be insane. It was best to let her be,
give her space to fo
cus and not be a distraction. And
maybe, just maybe, she’d find a way back home.

Emptiness
settled in his chest. He exhaled and was relieved when the privately owned and
operated ferry docked. Although winter was on its way out, a chill lingered.
Cold air
brought salt to his lips
.
C
ry of the gulls that
wheeled overhead in their lazy arcs filled his ears.

He
drove through the isolated island. The actual landmass of Chappy was small,
only about thirty-eight hundred acres with a population of less than two hun
dred people. Forrest turned on the radio, John Legend’s
Shelter
played at a low volume. The singer’s voice didn’t intrude
or disturb him. Fingers tapping lightly to the melody, he stayed focused on his
mission to the Montgomery compound He slowed his pace
as
he drove over Dike Bridge and glanced at the fishing boats scattered over the
harbor like fall leaves in a pond. The colors were engaging, random, bringing
forth echoing memories from his childhood spent in the tight-knit community.

One
of his most perf
ect memories he clung to was fishing
here with his father, Jason, and Charles. That snapshot was golden and sacred,
something to keep it in his heart forever. Hence the reason he was here.

Minutes
later, he drove past My Toi Gardens, the small Japanese gar
den where he’d spent a fair amount of time with Claire.

He
steered left, off the dirt road, and entered the Montgomery compound. Suddenly
his stomach burned. He didn’t have to be here. As a matter of fact, he’d told
himself many times hell would freeze ove
r first
before he acknowledged the man. But Luc had always been a persistent man. Even
in death.

It
was more than that though. Charles’ sacrifice gnawed at his conscience. Forrest
made another left, drove to the large oak tree and parked under the tree hou
se. He stepped out of the Jeep, but didn’t head to the
estate. For a beat, he surveyed the thickness of the tree. With its great
boughs, it strived to touch the sky, and with its noble roots, it strengthened
its hold on the ground.

He
glanced up at the tre
e house. It stood mute in the
winter air and impressively large. Like Charles, he thought.

He
pressed one hand against the oak, his fingertips traced along the crevices that
ran through the bark. His eyes came to rest on the sign nailed to the tree. Its
on
ce-vibrant red paint now blis
tered with rust. The
wood
grain,
slightly peeled from
the toll of a
relentless freeze-thaw
cycle.
But the words held on
and were still
legible. He glanc
ed over them.
Girls Not Allowed. This
means U CLAIRE!

A
smile touched his l
ips as he remembered the time she
snuck out of the cottage to see him. That night they shared their first kiss.
Felt like yesterday. He could still taste her mouth against his. She’d been
hesitant at first, then curious.

Claire
at seventeen had tortured hi
m. So much so that even
during a simple game of pool, he’d made sure their hips stayed pasted together
just to feel her. Eleven years later, nothing had changed.

Forrest
shoved a hand through his hair, chuckled and gently kicked the seat of the
swing Charl
es had built for Claire once he learned
she was banned from the man-cave.

Everything
came back to Charles. Even Claire.

Not
that he detested the older Montgomery. Up until recently, he loved the man and
admired his dedication to Jason and his son’s friends
.
All of them had always been welcome at the compound, not just Forrest. Some of
the memories he held dear were time spent with Charles and his family.

As he
crossed the immaculate lawn, a vision of Charles holding his wrist and ankle
spinning him like a s
hot-sputter blazed through his
mind’s eye. Forrest lifted his glasses and dug the heel of his fingers in his
eyes in an attempt to bury the memory. The mental image stayed vivid in his
reverie. The happy wails as Charles spun him, the garden turning into a
green blur, as he flew-flew, until they could spin no
more. Even the finest details of Charles’ face, creased with love and joy as
Forrest laughed were crystal clear.

He
entered the house. Immediately his pace increased
.
E
ach footfall
clip-clopping down t
he hallway, shattering the
silence.
Deep in thoughts, he almost bumped into Charles. Forrest
quickly came to a halt. A brief look of surprise crossed the older man’s face,
but disappeared as fast as it came.

For
the first time in a long time he looked
Charles over.
Tall, broad, powerful shoulders, blue eyes as vivid as Jason’s, dark hair
sprinkled with gray. But what caught Forrest’s attention was Charles’ arrogant,
masculine nose. It was slightly crooked and a bit too large. They had similar
noses.

His
breath caught in his chest, and his heart stopped for a
moment. Forrest removed his glasses and took a step back. “Expecting someone
else?”

“Where’s
Claire?” Charles asked.

“On
her way to Seattle, I believe.”

Charles
looked at him.

“She
has to finish the
promotional tour for her movie.”

Charles
nodded. “Are the two of you finally in a good place?”

“I
think so. But…” Forrest let his voice trail. Not going there. No need to
discuss Claire’s career and their relationship, that’s not why he was here.

“Both
of
you will figure things out. She loves you. Always
has.” Charles walked past him down the hall into his office.

Forrest
followed. For a moment neither spoke. “I read Dad’s letter.”

“Good.”

Charles
Montgomery, a man of few words. Forrest watched him, comple
tely unreadable.

“What
are your expectations going forward?” he asked his father.

Charles
looked at him. “A relationship.”

“We
already had one.”

“Then
it should continue as it used to be.”

Forrest
walked over and stood by the large window, put on his glas
ses and focused on the garden filled with flowering quince
and mock rush. “To me you’ll always be Charles. Luc was my dad,” he said while
watching a cardinal poke for seeds at the tall flower’s spike.

“Understood,”
Charles responded in a dry voice. “You’re
thirty-one
years old. I never expected otherwise.” He paused. “I just wanted you to know
that you’re my son and I love you.”

Forrest’s
heart rattled around his ribcage. He turned and met Charles’ gaze. “I’ve always
known you love me. I’ve always felt it.”

Charles
nodded. “Good. Then we’re good.”

Neither
made an attempt to move. They stood in the quiet room, Forrest lost in
thoughts, memories, time lost, and his second chance with Claire. “I need some
time to process everything,” he said into the room, snap
ping the silence. “I’m working on it.”

“I
was thinking you, Jason, and I can maybe have a drink soon,” Charles said.

“Let
me know when.”

Charles
found his phone and seemed to check his calendar. “How’s next week?” he asked,
meeting Forrest’s gaze.

“That
wo
rks.” Forrest’s scratched the back of his head. “I
should be going,” he said and headed for the door.

“Forrest,”
Charles called to him.

Forrest
stopped, hands on the door knob.

“I’m
glad to see you’ve reunited with Claire. She loves you.”

“I
love her.” He
opened the door and came face to face
with his mother.

Her
hand flew to her mouth, eyes widened in obvious surprise. Forest’s gut twisted.

“Forrest,”
she whispered.

He
studied his mother. Her cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “How come you and Charles
are
always together?”

She
smiled, walked past him into Charles’ office. “Because we’re friends.”

“Were
you ever in love with Dad? Luc?” He said his father’s name for the first time.

A
soft laugh escaped his mother’s lips. Charles shoved his hands in his pocke
ts. “I loved your father.” His mother’s voice shook a bit
with sadness
. She swung around,
glanced at Charles then back to Forrest. “Charles and I have history. We are
friends.”
 

Right.
He took a closer look at them standing side by side. Maybe for now friendship
was all it was, but under all the layers, he also picked up an attraction.
“When and if you ever decide to move on to the next phase, tell me. Don’t wait
until one of you
is dead for me to find out.” He
started to walk away, then paused and turned to face the room and focused on
Charles. “I’ll see you next week.”

He
didn’t breathe until he was in his Jeep. He dug in his pocket for his phone,
tapped the name of the three men
he considered
brothers and texted.

Meet at Vapor in one
hour.

Jason
responded.

Already here. All three
of us. Bring your sorry ass over.