Dustin’s thumb passes along my cheek, coaxing my lips to part and my eyes to close as his other hand moves up my neck to cup the opposite side of my face. His nose brushes against mine and a sharp breath leaves my lips.
“Hannah Banana,” he whispers against me, my lips buzzing from the faint touch.
“Eat my dust,” I whisper through a bashful smile.
He captures my top lip between his, a gentle suckle that tugs on my lips and fills me with a rush of warmth to fight the winter breeze whirling between the mountains. Someone whistles in the background, the only noise to break my cocoon, and we laugh quietly against each other, the break a fraction of a second before his lips glide over mine, his tongue taking its time as it glides along the sharp edges of my teeth before probing deeper. His hands tilt my head to the side to deepen our kiss, and his hand slides down my back, bracing me as he leans me back and kisses me the way a champion does.
Our kiss lasts seconds, not even the full minute, and it does not erase months of pain. But as Dustin tilts me back up and our lips slip apart, faint smiles left in their wake, I know this kiss is only the beginning. I feel it. I knew I would.
16
There is still so much we need to overcome. I won’t rush us. But at the same time, Hannah and I have waited years for our time. All I know is that tonight, I don’t want either of us to be alone. I don’t want to let her go.
The itch to keep her close gets stronger the second I pull into her family’s driveway, her dad just ahead of us with our sleeping daughter nestled in her booster seat and out like a light. I rush out of the car to open the door for Hannah while she still lets me do those things, then make it to Tom’s truck before he crawls into the back seat to lift out Bristol.
“Mind if I—?” I motion into the truck cab, and he smiles with a soft nod.
“Your back’s younger than mine,” he jokes.
I reach in and carefully unbuckle my daughter, doing my best not to wake her. She stirs briefly and her eyes open, hazel orbs staring right through me in the middle of her dreams. She blows out and stretches her arms over her head and a second later, her lids are shut again. She’s amazing. I could lose hours of my life simply watching her be alive. Every small thing, her hiccups and her yawns, her mispronounced words and her verve for sugar—I want to study it all.
I slip my hands around her body and scoop her into my arms, holding her close to my chest as Hannah shuts the truck door behind me. Tom has the front door open and ready, holding a finger to his lips, not to warn us to be quiet for Bristol’s sake but because Tommy and Bailey left the hike early and are sleeping on the couch. It’s A Wonderful Life plays on the TV on low.
We sneak inside and Tom locks up while Hannah and I tiptoe up the stairs to Bristol’s temporary room. I’m gentle when I kneel on the bed and set her in the pile of blankets, pulling the soft pink one I remember from Hannah’s room up to her chin. Like the last time I watched her sleep, I’m struck by the miracle she is, and I’m unable to leave. This time, Hannah sits with me. She never speaks; she knows I want to soak in our daughter’s dreams. I also can’t stop thinking about the risk of my connection to her.
Between us, we collectively put a dozen Hail Mary plans into motion today. The ones conjured by Tom and Bailey’s father hold the most promise. Their legal connections run deep, and Bailey’s dad knows his way around the tax code. A few phone calls revealed there are plenty of federal investigations underway into Alex Offerman’s businesses. He’s been the subject of scrutiny for years. I figured so. But years of detective work only seems pointing toward more years of detective work, and without offering myself up as a plant or a spy, I’m not sure the tax crimes are going to come to a head before my daughter starts junior high.
I’m tired of waiting for my life to begin. There’s always something—Colt, Alex, Hannah, my terrible decision-making skills. The one thing that has been true through it all is that Hannah is still my heart. She’s no longer the entire thing, she shares room with Bristol now, but I’m nothing without either of them.
I’m done being a prisoner.
“Stay with me. Tonight.”
I don’t look at Hannah when I ask, partly because I’m afraid her hesitant expression will talk me out of this. I also don’t want to intimidate her. The hard work is still very much ahead of us. If she doesn’t feel ready for this, I don’t want to push her.
“Where would we stay?”
I suck in my smile.
“I want to show you my place. We can ask Tom to watch her. Your mom will be home soon too. And I’m not saying we have to . . .” I breathe out, listening to my head over the urges tempting my body. Kissing her was everything. I won’t rush us. “We can just talk. I miss you.”
My chest squeezes at my own admission. Those words were somehow so easy to say, and here I thought it would always be impossible. I’m not stubborn with Hannah. I’m open, torn wide and laid bare.
“Let me talk to my dad.”
She places her hand on my shoulder as she stands and I reach up to cover it with my palm. I turn my head enough that I can brush a kiss against her knuckles if I want to. I resist, but only because I don’t want her to think I want any more than this right here.
While Hannah talks with her father downstairs, I finish tucking Bristol in, turning on the pirate ship night light and building a small wall of pillows along the edge of the bed. I don’t know how she sleeps. I don’t know much about her at all. But I don’t want her falling. I don’t want her ever getting hurt, not if I can help it. I kiss her head and relish the sweet way her upper lip curls up while she sleeps before tiptoeing my way out her door and closing it nearly all the way.
Hannah is still wearing her sweater when I spot her waiting at the bottom of the stairs, which I take as a promising sign. The hard glare I get from her dad as he spreads butter on an English Muffin and sits back in the kitchen chair that faces our exit is also somehow a good sign, albeit a slightly threatening one.
“I’ll be back before Bristol’s awake,” Hannah says.
“Uh huh,” Tom grumbles, his eyes shifting to me. He takes a bite of his muffin and chews slowly, eyeing me.
“I won’t let her out of my sight,” I say in a hushed tone.
“Neither will I,” he responds.
I give him a tight smile and a nod and he does the same, looking down at his plate and waving me on. Tom’s expression is typical father, one tainted by our long history and the one I have with his daughter. But he’s also thinking of Alex, and Hannah and me being seen alone together, anywhere. I respect all of his worries. I have them, too.
I follow Hannah out the front door to the Supra, and she continues to let me do the simple things for her like opening the door and pulling the safety belt out from the side. By the time I join her in the car, the anticipation of the next however long we have alone together hits me hard—literally. My eyes flit to the exposed flesh of her thigh, the ripped jeans that I wish had ripped a little more, a little higher. I swallow those base thoughts down and check the mirrors as I crank the engine and slowly roll us out onto the road.
I’m tempted to fill the quiet with music but I also like the tension. It keeps me present and forces me to pay attention to every little thing. Hannah hasn’t made a motion to turn the stereo on either, and I hope it’s because she likes the pull as much as I do. As much as touching her, tasting her, being inside her is literal heaven on earth, the temptation of those things was always just as delicious. There is something deeply erotic about the almost. And right now, I want to fucking almost all night long.