Home > Still Beating(72)

Still Beating(72)
Author: Jennifer Hartmann

Breathing is good. Breathing is important. Breathing keeps us alive.

Jude and Penny beat me to the door as I traipse across the living room in my black pumps, repeating the mantra to myself. I close my eyes for just a beat, collecting my nerves, then I pull the door open.

Dean goes completely still when his eyes find me, his gaze trailing me up and down, slowly and purposefully. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as we stare at each other for a few moments, unsure of what to say.

Finally, Dean sucks in a deep breath. “Holy shit. You look…”

Penny skips out onto the porch and starts pawing at his ankle, circling both of his legs. This seems to snap him out of whatever daze he is in, and Dean crouches down to give both dogs attention. But his eyes keep flicking up to me as I linger in the doorway, biting my lip.

I clear my throat, calling for the dogs to retreat, so Dean can step inside. “Hey, you,” I mutter with a smile, happy to have found my voice. “Looks like they missed you.”

He rises to his feet and steps through the threshold, his stare still hot and pinned on me. He swallows again, sliding his hands in his pockets.

I feel my skin start to singe from the fire in his eyes, so I turn away, wringing my hands together and walking towards the coat rack to grab my jacket. “So, where did you want to go? I’m up for anything. We can even do The Oar for old time’s sake, even though I’m—”

My breath catches in my throat, possibly indefinitely, when I feel two warm hands capture my waist from behind with a feather light touch. And then his lips are up against my ear, his heartbeat pressed into my back, his proximity a painful reminder of everything I’ve been missing for the last eight months.

“I promised myself I’d be good tonight, but I feel like you might make a liar out of me.”

His low, gravelly voice tickles my ear, sending the butterflies in my belly into overdrive. In fact, they may have exploded. My stomach is now a butterfly graveyard.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Those breathing exercises were garbage.

I force myself not to shut down completely and slowly turn to face him. His hands fall from my waist when he takes a step back.

Dean shoots me a grin and a wink, likely to lighten the mood, but all it does is murder more butterflies. “The Oar sounds good to me.”

“O-Okay. Great.”

Lord. It’s going to be a long night.

Or a very short one.

I manage to slip my coat on, all too aware of Dean’s eyes on me as I fasten the buttons and reach for my purse. I suck in a replenishing breath and lead him back to the front door, giving Jude and Penny ear scratches before we step outside.

Dean places his hand against the small of my back, then points through the dark veil of night. “Check it out,” he says, averting my attention to the vehicle in the driveway, parked behind mine. “I got my baby back.”

His hand gives my hip a tiny squeeze before he pulls away, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s still talking about the car. My eyes widen as we approach the black Camaro. “Oh, my God. Is it… the car?”

“Nah. I’m pretty sure that asshole liquified it somehow, but she’s an identical replacement.”

I make my way to the passenger’s side, sliding in as Dean hops into the driver’s seat. My senses are inundated with leather, nicotine and cedar, and a torrent of haunting memories that zap me right in the gut. “It’s a beautiful car,” I whisper through a breath, clicking my seatbelt into place.

Dean hesitates before placing the key in the ignition. His shoulders deflate as he presses his lips together, turning his head to look at me. “Monday is November 8th,” he says softly.

I nod, our eyes holding, the air charged with emotion. “Yeah. The timing is not lost on me.”

It’s almost our one-year anniversary.

But we’re not celebrating an engagement, or a marriage, or some kind of superficial milestone. We’re celebrating survival.

And I will celebrate on Monday. I’ll celebrate by waking up extra early, watching the sunrise with my dogs and hot cup of coffee in hand, and breathing in the crisp, November air.

Then I’ll smile.

Because I have a hell of a lot to smile about.

Dean reaches over the console to my lap, clasping my hand inside his palm. He brushes his fingers over my knuckles and says, “We fuckin’ made it.”

A grin spreads across my face—a real, big, genuine grin. “Hell yeah, we did.”

He returns the smile and lets go of my hand, starting up the car and reversing out of the driveway. Fifteen minutes later, we pull into the familiar parking lot of The Broken Oar. We both stall as we stare at the front of the building, swarming with groups of people, smokers, and loud laughter. I worry my lip between my teeth, remembering my first interaction with Earl against the building. I think about that uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as he leered at me. I recall Dean’s car cruising into the lot while I watched him hop out with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, totally unaware of the horrors we were about to face.

I exhale a choppy breath, my anxiety spiking, when Dean finds my hand again. He squeezes it gently. “You know what? I’ve got a better idea.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting at the edge of a grassy ravine, looking out at the lake with bags of fast food scattered around us. We’re side by side, shoulder to shoulder, munching on greasy cheeseburgers and french fries, feeling totally ridiculous but even more liberated.

“I’m a little overdressed for this date, Dean,” I tease, popping a fry into my mouth and nudging his shoulder with mine.

He eyes my bare legs stretched out beneath my peacoat, and they flicker with heat. “You are a little overdressed.”

Another wink. Another dead butterfly.

Dean chuckles as he continues. “I’m not usually such a cheap date. I just figured the occasion called for something… simple.”

“It’s perfect,” I smile up at him, truly meaning that. These are the things I took for granted one year ago—fresh air, ripples on the lake, blades of grass between my toes, cheap fast food. I would have given anything to experience even one of those things.

I gaze out at the dark water, hugging myself when a breeze sweeps through.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dean asks, wiping his hands along his jeans.

I turn to him, blinking through the memory. “Do you have a penny this time?”

“No.”

“Unfair trade,” I say, quirking a grin.

“A thought for a thought, then.”

“Or a confession for a confession…”

Dean leans back on the heels of his hands, his leather coat parting and falling to his sides. He spears me with a devilish look, his eyes dancing beneath the moonlight. “I got myself into all sorts of trouble last time.”

“Ah, yes,” I agree, pretending to conjure up the memory, even though it has never left my mind. “You fell in love with me when I walked into Mr. Adilman’s class looking like a deer in headlights, wearing a hideous purple blazer that I may have burned.” My eyes narrow. “Then you showed your love by hiding Terrance the Tarantula in my gym shoe.”

“Shit.” Dean can’t hold back his laughter. “I was such a fuckin’ idiot, Cora. I’m sorry.”

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