It happens quickly, a gasp and then she’s shaking, a new burst of wetness and flavor in my mouth and pure, raw sounds coming from Amber as she tenses and releases. She sighs when it’s over, and I pull myself up beside her again.
I tuck her into my arms and she’s perfectly relaxed. “That wasn’t so bad,” I joke.
She blushes again. “No, that wasn’t so bad.”
I’m overcome with a wave of exhaustion. “I want to do it again, but I don’t think I’ll stay awake for it.”
Amber giggles. “Me either, though I can think of plenty of time over Christmas break when we might be able to try again.”
“And again, and again…” I say, fading quickly. I let my eyes close and Amber fits herself against me and pulls the covers up over us. Right now, I can’t imagine ever letting go, and I know that the next time I sleep in this bed it’s going to be cold by comparison.
“Christmas break starts tomorrow,” I say, fighting for the last bit of consciousness. “My aunt doesn’t come home till Tuesday. Do you have to go home?”
“I think I might be able to stay.”
“Good,” I say. “That’s good.” And then I fall asleep.
11
Peter
Present
It’s just a sprain. Thank fuck. It’s hard enough directing a television show and keeping control on a set when people are watching your every move and wondering if you’ll ultimately fail. It would be three times as hard with a broken ankle.
But a couple weeks of ice and rest, and it should be good as new. The good news for me is that she’s not allowed to drive. Amber doesn’t think this news is nearly as good as I do.
“You are not going to drive me to and from the set every day.”
“Why not?” I ask, “It’s no big deal.”
Amber scoffs. “Peter Holleman picking me up every morning and then a story about the brand new female director fucking her lead actor? No thank you.”
As much as she’s right, I wouldn’t mind that story. Especially if it were true. But I’m not going to win her over by forcing her into a corner. “At least let me take you home tonight?” I ask. “I’m already here and you’re exhausted.”
She nods. “That’s fine.”
Going to scoot herself into the wheelchair the nurse left, I stop her. There’s no way I’m letting her out of here in that chair when I can carry her. I’m not going to miss a chance to have her that close. Holding her like that, it’s the best feeling in the world. I never thought I’d get that chance again, and even if it were only ever that, I’d want to do it every day.
I scoop her up and I savor her small sound of surprise. “There’s a wheelchair,” she says, even as she’s leaning her head on my shoulder.
“I’m much faster than a wheelchair.”
“And stronger,” she says quietly. I smile at that.
I get her in the car again and boot up the GPS on my phone and hand it to her. “Address?” She puts it in and we start driving. “If I’m not picking you up in the morning, than who is?”
“Gloria.”
Her assistant. That makes sense, and I can’t think of a reason that Gloria wouldn’t pick her up. I’ll have to find another way. Tonight is the first time Amber has shown me any warmth. She’s kept it very professional, and I know it’s by design. She’s pissed at me for what happened when we were young, and she’s terrified that something is going to go wrong on the show and stall out a career that’s just getting started.
I get it. I get all of it.
But it’s not going to change the fact that she and I are supposed to be together. I’ve never felt so certain about anything. It’s bone deep, and the feeling isn’t going to go away. I know she still feels something for me—I can see it when she looks at me sometimes, when she lets her guard down.
And God, just touching her, I’ve been living in the past for hours now, remembering everything that happened and imagining just how good it would be now.
Soon, too soon, we arrive at her apartment. Which sucks because I’m not ready to leave her. Not yet. She’s in pain and tired and I want to make sure that she’s okay. I really want so much more than that but I’ll take what I can get.
“You have your keys?” I ask as I lift her out of the car.
“Yeah. Number twenty.”
Up one flight of stairs and down the hall of the building, we arrive at her door, and she fumbles with the lock. I push the door open with my foot, and navigate as best I can in the darkness. Couch. There. Perfect. I set her down gently and hunt for the light switch.
“Thank you,” she says before I can find it. “You can go. You’ve done more than enough already.”
I’m glad it’s dark so she can’t see me shake my head. I just spent the better portion of the evening holding her in my arms. Feeling how well she fit and how warm she was. She smells like cinnamon and spices and if she thinks I’m just going to dump her on the couch and leave, she’s crazy.
I find the switch. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, and then I look around. It’s a nice apartment, cozy, and I flash back to her childhood home. It has the same kind of vibe of being casually lived in. “I like your place.”
Amber looks around like she’s suddenly seeing it for the first time. “It’s okay. A bit small, and I’ve got really loud and in love upstairs neighbors.”
I laugh. “Too much love?”
“If they kept it to the bedroom it would be fine,” she says, rolling her eyes, “But it’s in every room. All the time.”
“Passionate.”
“Yeah, it’s what I can afford right now. Hasn’t been the easiest year.” She shrugs.
This isn’t in the nicest part of town, and it is a little bit smaller, but it’s not a bad place. And not something she should be struggling to afford, not being the director of something like Undercover. “What’s made it hard?”
The anger in her eyes is back. “You don’t just get to sweep back into my life after ten years and know everything, Peter. That’s not how this works. I know that you think we can just pick everything back up where we left it, or before we left it, but we can’t.”
“Of course we can’t do that,” I say, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t re-learn.”
Amber scrubs her hands over her face. “Peter. This job has to go perfectly. Do you get that? For all your talk about understanding how hard it is to be a woman in this industry, you don’t know. You don’t actually understand because you haven’t been there. And the shitty truth is that we don’t usually get second chances. So there can’t be any mistakes. It has to go well. It has to. So please just go.”
She glances at me when she says the word mistake, and somehow it both hurts me and gives me hope. I sit next to her on the couch and grab the blanket from the back of it. Moving the coffee table closer, I help her lift her leg onto it so that it’s elevated before covering her with a blanket.