Kyra’s eyes flutter closed as she clutches her journal against her chest. The wall behind her feels cool against her back and she welcomes the sensation, having been feeling slightly feverish these last few hours. She’s not getting ill; it’s just him. She’s been trying to fight it all week, but every day it’s getting harder and harder.
Thankfully she’s returning to the States on a flight early tomorrow morning and she’ll no longer have to hide how color fills her cheeks and creeps up her neck when she watches him for too long or too closely. They’ve been living in close quarters for the last week during her visit to Germany and though at first she’d been hesitant to take the trip, she’s now glad that she did. She knows she hasn’t been dealing with her mother’s death in the most healthy of ways, disappearing into her novels and studies by choosing to strive for the best grade, or to enter into a fantasy world where someone other than her hurts. The poker face she’s developed over the last year seems to be working because she doubts anyone else knows how heavy everything feels inside of her. How each time she smiles or laughs, she feels guilty about it. Or how she wonders if she’ll ever truly feel happy again.
But he’s not fooled. He knows. And he helps. When she’s with him she doesn’t have to explain anything. He constantly tells her that time will heal and that with each passing day she’ll eventually start to feel a little bit lighter. Some days she believes him and the knot in her throat loosens a little more. He’s her comfort; her attachment to home, her tether to memories that once were filled with laughter and sunshine.
This last week has been the best in her recent memory. When he’d first suggested she visit him during her spring break, she’d been unsure if she’d wanted to travel all the way to Germany only for a few days but it had been months since they’d spent any time together in person and she sincerely missed being close to him.
The moment she’d rounded the corner at the airport baggage claim and seen him, she’d instantly conceded that the hours of travel had all been absolutely worth it.He’d looked mostly the same as when she’d seen him last, though his hair had thankfully grown out more and he’d seemed to have gained even more muscle mass. One thing that definitely hadn’t changed though were his eyes, as they’d remained as unapologetically blue and utterly knowing as ever. She’d instantly felt her poker face slip away and her true self reemerge the moment his arms had wrapped around her and he’d told her how happy he was that she’d come.
They’ve spent almost every moment together since then as she’d tagged along to his different rehearsals and interviews. She’s come to enjoy the small house near the record company office that the boys are staying in, with its tight living quarters and worn wooden floors. The lack of space doesn’t seem to bother them much as they enjoy each other’s company. And although she really does like all of the guys, she’s glad that she and Josh have their own space to retreat to at night. The room isn’t much more than a glorified closet but it’s quiet and since it’s so small, he doesn’t have to share. So far, they’ve spent their nights talking and laughing together until one or both of them drifted off only to awaken to another day full of plans.
But now as she sits in that quiet room she thinks about how tonight will be different, how the only plans for tomorrow include her getting on a plane and returning to her own cramped room in her college dorm. How tonight will be the last night he’ll physically be near her for possibly many more months...and she’s not sure how she feels about that. There’s no point in denying that the attraction she feels towards him has been bordering out of control in the last week. The combination of their emotional connection paired with the now physical proximity has her reevaluating all of the reasons why she needs him. Because she does. As much as she tries to deny it at times, she needs him. What bothers her the most is that she’s never been able to figure out exactly how she needs him and that scares her. And though they usually are able to talk to each other about anything and everything, she doesn’t know how to talk about this. So she writes: she writes it in her journal, she writes it in her stories and uses that pent up emotions as fuel for her compositions. Maybe someday after writing it out in so many ways, she’ll figure out the right words to use to tell him exactly how she needs him and how much he means to her.
And sex always makes things more complicated, everyone knows that. Especially when a relationship, just as theirs, isn’t necessarily clearly defined. So they can’t. They shouldn’t. Not again.
But goddamn does he make it hard. So hard that she’s starting to think that he’s doing it on purpose. Just over an hour ago she’d left early from watching their dance rehearsal, telling them that she needed to get packed and ready for her flight the next morning. But that hadn’t been entirely truthful. Yes, she does need to pack. And of course she’d wanted some quiet time to update her journal with a few final thoughts, but it was also because she just couldn’t take it anymore.
She couldn’t watch him be focused and dedicated to every single dance move anymore. She couldn’t watch his body move smoothly to the rhythm of each song. She couldn’t watch the sweat sliding down the sides of his face as every muscle in his body seemed to flex and stretch at the same time. It was torture. Plain and utter torture. And of course he’d make it worse every time he caught her watching him in the mirror, because he’d flash her a confident smirk or wink at her. And then she’d had to think about something else, anything else, because she didn’t want to make it so obvious how much she wants him. Like the coals of a campfire that were never completely been doused with water or suffocated with sand could grow hotter and hotter until they started to glow with an intense heat that lit a fire once more. She’s been feeling like those embers all week.
Brought back from her heated thoughts by the cacophony of noises floating up from downstairs, she takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. The boys are back from their rehearsal and she needs to compose herself again. Before she can prepare herself any more, she hears a soft knock on the door before it cracks open and he sticks his head into the room. When his eyes settle on her and she smiles at him, he returns the smile before opening the door wider to come inside.
“Hey. I wasn’t sure if you were taking a nap,” he says as he shuts the door behind him. He’s still dressed in a loose pair of track pants and a sleeveless black t shirt. His sneakers squeak on the old wooden floor as he drops to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.
She shakes her head and puts her journal down. “Nah, I packed up and wanted to write a few things down.”
He nods and crosses his arms. He seems uncomfortable as he glances around the room and his eyes settle on her luggage. “So you’re all ready to go then?”
She nods quietly. He smells like sweat and deodorant. It doesn’t smell bad, it just smells like him. She can see his hair is sticking out every which way, probably due to him running his hand through it dozens of times. He hasn’t had long hair in almost a year but it seems old habits die hard.
“I’m sure you’ll be happy to have your bed back. That camp bed can’t have been all that comfortable all week,” she says quietly, nodding over to the place where he’s been sleeping on the floor.
He shrugs. “Meh, I don’t really care. It was comfortable enough,” he says nonchalantly as he looks down and picks at a thread on his pants. “I’m really going to miss you,” he adds quietly then looks up and his eyes meet hers.
There are several inches of empty space between them but it feels too close. Much too close.
She shifts, lowering her knees so her legs are stretched out on the bed. “I’ll miss you too.”
He smiles sadly and she can tell by his eyes that he’s thinking about something else, but he says nothing. He simply reaches forward and the tips of his fingers connect with the skin of her neck as they follow the thin golden chain that encircles it. Her pulse quickens as his fingertips dip lower to touch the small fountain pen charm that hangs only slightly above the hem of her tank top.
“You still wear it,” he says softly and it’s not a question only a statement.
She nods, feeling like she has no breath left in her lungs. And that’s when it happens. The fire roars to life when his fingertips move lower and caress the curve of her breast over her shirt. It feels like a blur as everything moves so quickly and clothing gets discarded between heated kisses and sighs of need. Apparently he’s been holding back too, because the things he whispers in her ear and says as his tongue journeys across her skin stokes the fire ever hotter than she’d ever thought possible. Everything feels familiar but at the same time utterly different because this time there is no hesitation of their first encounter or the emotion of their second. This time it’s pure need and want. All of the tension and emotion she’s felt over the last week building and building to culminate in this one moment. It feels like she’s never experienced this before: the roughness of hurried need coupled with the tenderness of longing touch. It's all encompassing, her every thought and feeling is wrapped up in him and the feeling of him. Every breath and moan that slips from his full lips finds its way directly to her core, and every hurried movement and heated request makes her shiver even though everything about him is hot. So hot. His breath, his skin, his words. God, his words. And she thought she was the writer.
It goes on for a long time. They stop and then start again, never actually letting go of each other. It must be really late now but he's still whispering things in her ear. And he's still caressing her in ways that are less heated but more loving. And then he's telling her that he loves her. And that he wants to be with her. And she doesn't know what to say. So she doesn't say anything and simply looks into those beautiful blue eyes. There will be time to talk about tomorrow, but that time isn't now.
**
Kyra glanced at the open map in the passenger seat of her rental car. She was familiar enough with the route but hadn't done it in over five years and had never done it alone. She returned her eyes to the road and sipped at the cooled coffee in the styrofoam cup in her hand. She grimaced at the taste and set the cup back in the cupholder where she’d just pulled it from.
When she spotted an exit sign announcing a gas station and food outlets she took that exit and pulled into the gas station. She parked her car and fished her cell phone from her purse. She’d heard it vibrate earlier but hadn't wanted to check it until she’d been off the road. She smiled when she flipped her phone open and saw a text from him saying he wished she were there.
She didn’t reply but glanced at the time on the phone. She’d been driving a little more than two hours which mean she had about that or a little less to go, depending on traffic, before she pulled up in front of the house and surprised him.
Surprised them all she guessed, including herself. She momentarily felt bad about imposing herself at the last minute on Karen, but they’d been expecting her to accompany him until very recently when she’d put her foot down and told him she wouldn’t be. He’d been at her for months, probing gently most of the time until last week when he’d become more insistent and she’d made what she’d thought would have been her final decision on the topic. He’d been hurt, but he’d said he’d understood and had made his solo travel plans to leave a few days earlier so he could spend extra time at home.
She was a coward really. Hadn’t been able to tell him no to his face and had had to tell him over the phone while she’d been in New York. She’d known that having him in front of her, his eyes boring into hers, she’d never been able to stand firm because he always knew what to say. Always knew how she was feeling even though sometimes she didn’t understand herself.
Like just yesterday, she’d still been convinced that there was no way that she was going to go home for the holidays. She still didn’t think she was ready and had been planning on returning to her home in Boston to spend them alone. He’d offered to stay, several times, but she’d been adamant that he go home. She wouldn’t hear of him staying in Boston for the holidays because of her when he hadn’t gotten to spend a proper holiday season with his family in years. She certainly wasn’t that selfish and she didn’t want him to suffer because of her reservations.
But then yesterday evening something in her mind had clicked. She’d been arguing with her agent, Allison, about one of her character’s storylines in the third book. Allison had questioned her as to whether the character would really have reacted the way she’d written based on what the readers already knew about her past. She’d found herself defending her character, trying to make her understand that someone’s past shouldn't always dictate every part of their future. Later that night in her hotel room, that conversation just wouldn’t leave her mind as she’d gone over it again and again, not to amend anything in her novel, but settling something in her mind as well as her heart.
She could go back. She could return to her past without it having to continue to define her future. It wouldn’t be easy, but she knew that she’d have him with her as he’d promised over and over again. She’d have plenty of people that loved her; that had loved her as a child, loved her as a teenager and now would continue to lover her as an adult. Moving on with her life didn’t mean that she have to leave her mother behind. She could go home and enjoy all of the things that made it home all the while embracing the reasons why it hurt. Her mother never would have wanted her to bar that entire side of her life forever. It was time for her to move forward.
So, that morning she’d rented a car and started on the road trip that would take her from New York down to Bowie. She’d been blessed that the weather was clear and crisp, with no snow squalls or rain to dampen her resolve to make it home for Christmas Eve. She didn’t have any presents or cards with her, but she thought that maybe, just maybe her decision to come home would be enough.
*
