After the Storm Read online

  “I wouldn’t go in there,” he warns, slashing his hand across his throat.

  “Why? What happened?” I can’t imagine what has her in tears.

  “One minute they were laughing and drinking and the next thing I knew, Willow was throwing her phone and cursing up a storm. Something about her ex. I didn’t want to pry so I left as soon as she started to cry.”

  “You didn’t want to pry? Shut the fuck up and tell me what you heard.” But there’s no need for him to answer because Willow’s rushing past me with her bag hugged tightly against her and Sloane on her tail. She’s leaving? This must be serious.

  “Wait! You can’t go. I drove, let me get my keys. You don’t want to be alone right now.” Sloane tugs on her best friend’s arm, trying to stop her from her goal of reaching the door.

  “No, I’ll walk. I’m sorry, but I . . . I just can’t be here right now.” Willow pulls free of Sloane’s grasp and lunges for the door.

  Something comes over me, urging me to her rescue. “Wait. Please? I just got here. Don’t go.” My plea sounds desperate. Maybe because it is. I don’t like seeing her this way. She’s hurting and for whatever reason, I want to make it go away.

  I glance over at Sloane who’s staring at her friend, the pain evident on her face. Blaze is like a lost soul, trying to figure out what’s going on. And Willow—this beautiful woman seems so broken and I can’t imagine why.

  “Noah, please. Just let me be.” Her eyes are like daggers, stabbing me in the gut. I don’t know her well enough to argue, but I don’t feel right letting her walk away.

  “No.” Everyone’s attention is on me as if I’ve just said the most absurd thing in the world. But I don’t care what they think. My only concern is Willow.

  Placing a hand on her shoulder, I ignore the voices in my head telling me I’m being too bold. I snub Sloane’s look of disapproval, warning me that this is not my place. Rather than sit back and let her run away from her hurt—the way I did five years ago—I offer her my support.

  “Let’s go for a walk. Whatever it is—maybe you just need to talk about it with a neutral party. Maybe I can help.”

  It happens more naturally than I expect. My invitation brings a brightness to her eyes that her tears had washed away. Without saying a word, Willow nods and allows me to take the lead. I shrug past a shocked Sloane, ignore Blaze’s dumbfounded gawking, and open the door to usher Willow outside.

  Once we’re outdoors, she takes a deep breath of the cool evening air and stares up at the sky. “It’s pretty tonight.”

  “What is?” I ask, tucking my hand in my pocket and leading her down the walkway.

  “The sky. Look at all the stars. I haven’t seen it this way in a long time.”

  “Maybe you just haven’t taken the chance to look.”

  Her shoulders slump as she releases a long huff. “Probably. I guess I’ve taken it for granted.”

  As we round Blaze’s front gate, I crack my neck from left to right. Sometimes, depending on the situation, a person just needs someone to vent to. Other times, a person is in desperate need of someone to dish out advice. Without knowing the issue, I’m not sure what kind of person she needs right now. All I know is, she needs a person. I try to gauge her body language—her arms crossed against her chest, her head hung low. She’s sad, closed off. I just hope I can do this right. “Well, I know you weren’t crying about missing a few constellations, so do you want to talk about it?”

  Her head snaps up, her eyes meeting mine. They’re puffy from crying, a few black smudges around the corners. I reach over and rub the makeup off her face with my thumb. It’s intimate. It’s crossing a line. It’s magnificent to have my skin on hers.

  She nestles her warm cheek against the palm of my hand and closes her eyes. Her face becomes peaceful, her breath steadying. When she opens them again, they glisten with fresh tears under the glow of the street lamps. “Oh, Noah.” She frowns, her bottom lip quivering as she tries not to cry.

  I can’t bear to see her like this. The vibrant, fun woman I’ve grown to admire—to feel for—is not allowed to look so sad. It’s not the time, nor the place, but I can’t control myself. There’s one thing that can temporarily distract her mouth from frowning; one thing I can give her.

  With my hand still cradling her soft skin, I lean in closer, tipping down so our noses touch. We rest there momentarily, grasping the reality. To my surprise, she doesn’t withdraw. Her breath hitches tenderly in her throat, and her hand comes up to meet mine as it frames her face. Looking one last time into her sad hazel eyes, I press my lips against hers.

  The delicate moan that escapes her urges me to continue. I bring my other hand to the back of her head, tangling my greedy fingers in long, blonde waves. The scent of sweet shampoo pleases my senses, sending the weight of all my inhibitions floating up to who gives a fuck. I lick the crease of her lips, tasting her sweetness and probing for entrance. When our tongues knot together, a faster rhythm picks up, igniting a powerful surge of lust, hunger, and neediness. I imagined this. I fantasized about it a few times, even. But the reality is far better than the dream. It’s as intoxicating as her smile. As mesmerizing as her laugh. As addicting as her cheerful personality.

  But is it wrong?

  She’s vulnerable.

  I’m supposed to be helping her with a problem, not creating another one.

  I pull back from our trance, completely unwilling to stop just here, but it’s the right thing to do. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  Willow’s lips crash against mine again as her arms snake around my neck and pull me closer. “No apologies. Please. I want this. Please don’t stop.” She speaks in blunt intervals between heated kisses.

  I recognize the urgency and my body reacts. I can’t say no if she’s saying yes. I’m not that strong. So I convince myself, with the little rationality I have left, that she does need this.

  Surrendering to the powerful pull between us, I massage the nape of her neck, loving the way her curls vine through my fingers as we lose each other in this kiss. Her stress seems to melt away with my touch, taking my hesitancies with them. If I’d known all along that kissing Willow could relieve every tension in my weary body, I would have done it a long time ago.

  But the timing is perfect. It’s right. In the midst of craziness and whatever pain she’s going through, this feels too fucking good to worry about anything other than her body pressed against mine, her nipples so hard and needy I can feel them grazing my chest through our thin layers of clothing. God, how I want her. I’d give anything not to be out on some sidewalk pawing at her like a sex-starved teenage boy. A bed would be nice, a fucking couch even, but—I’m getting way ahead of myself, aren’t I?

  “Take me home, Noah. I want to be with you.” Or maybe we’re on the exact same page.

  I should take her cue and drag her to my car, speed off to wherever it is we can be alone. But I do know how to think with the right head, even if the other one will curse me for it later. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” I’m panting from the intensity of that last kiss.

  She laughs, resting her forehead on my shoulder. “Probably not, but I really don’t care. If you screw the way you kiss—I need another dose.” She doesn’t give me time to respond. Instead, her mouth seeks mine again, her tongue diving in for the third time.

  I’m not complaining—this is pretty fucking hot—but from what I’ve learned about women, she’ll be full of regret tomorrow morning. She’s looking to mask her pain, and when Willow and I finally get together, I don’t want her to regret a single thing.

  “Willow,” I pull back, trapping her roaming hands in mine. “Stop for a second. Listen to me.”

  She stretches to her toes to nip my lip between her teeth one last time. “I’m all ears. Go ahead and tell me why this is a bad idea.” Her face is unreadable. She’s gone from crying, to giggling, to flirty pouting all within minutes. I don’t want to hurt her feelings or give her the impr
ession that I don’t want her. That would be bad. Very, very bad. And so fucking untrue. But it would be worse to give in to her tonight and live with the shame of it afterwards.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” I cock a brow and smirk. “Under different circumstances, this would be a very good idea.”

  She licks her lips, smiling up at me. “I’m sensing a but.”

  “You do have a nice butt,” I add, cupping her ass the way I had while we were kissing.

  Smacking my arm, she rolls her eyes. “Okay, so what’s the problem?”

  “Come on, Willow. Don’t do this. You’re hurting, and sleeping with me won’t make it go away.”

  She takes another long, deep breath, closing her eyes again. “But maybe it will.” Her voice is so frail and desperate, nothing like the vixen who was mauling me and moaning against my mouth mere moments ago.

  I pull her against me again, holding her head to my chest and embracing her. A hug is a very powerful thing. There’s a time for passion and a time for friendship. And when you mix them together—at the right time—it can be fucking magical. Rubbing circles between the blades of her shoulders, I coax her. “Want to get out of here? Just me and you? We can talk first . . . and then maybe we’ll see about doing a little more of this again too.”

  I tilt her head up to mine with my finger under her chin. My lips find hers again, this time in slow motion, with less frenzied eagerness. Funny how it already seems so natural. I like it. I really like it. And when we pull apart this time I can tell she likes it too. The usual vibrant sparkle in her eyes is somewhere deep behind her hurt. A flicker of it shines through, making the blues and greens more prominent than the brown. Her pretty irises swirl and mix, like a unique color of their own. It’s their way of telling me she’s happy, even when she can’t.

  “I think I’d like that,” she answers, standing beside me and hooking her arm in mine. “You think they’ll freak out?”

  They? All I can focus on is me and her. I’ve almost forgotten that other people even exist.

  “Our friends, Noah. Hello!”

  Her giggle snaps me out of my stupefied, I-just-kissed-Willow trance. “Oh, you mean Sloane and Blaze?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “We’ll call them from the car. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”

  She rests her head against my shoulder as we walk arm-in-arm to my pickup truck. I open the passenger door for her, assist her with a little nudge at her elbow as she steps up onto the seat, and then lean over her lap to buckle her in tight.

  “See? Safe and sound. I’ve got you.”

  I wonder if she’s too broken from whatever it is that had her in tears earlier to sense the shift that’s just taken place between us. I really fucking hope not.

  I take her to my favorite quiet spot, a diner not far from the office that serves the most delicious cherry pie and a killer home cooked turkey dinner. What? I’m a bachelor! I eat out—alone—a lot. I miss my state of the art kitchen back east and haven’t gotten around to replicating it, or much else from my former life. One day—lots of things to get done one of these days. If I decide to stay and never go back, like I used to think I would.

  “You okay?” I peer over my coffee mug to appraise Willow’s mood. We didn’t talk much in the car other than the call to Sloane about our little escape. The fact her best friend didn’t freak out about me taking over for her in the shoulder to cry on department, means she trusts me. Getting the best friend’s trust just like that is a major score.

  “Yup, I’m okay,” Willow closes her menu and lets her gaze scan the small, old fashioned restaurant. “Cute place. I never even knew it was here.”

  “Yeah, I love it here. Kind of reminds me of home.”

  “Home here or home there?” she asks. Her index finger traces the outline of the plastic coated menu. She’s fidgeting with first date nerves. Good? Yes, but there really is no need.

  I reach over the table to hold her hand, to stop her nervous fidgeting. Her gaze snaps from our joined hands to my eyes and the smile that follows shows she’s comfortable with the affection. “There. East Coast.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “Sometimes, but mostly no. My life is here now.”

  “What made you leave for good? I know about the Habitat for Humanity thing, but when you were done how come you didn’t go back?”

  “We all have skeletons, Willow. I just didn’t want to be too close to them where they could come out and haunt me.”

  Her nose wrinkles up in disgust. “Oh, I can understand. Completely. I wish I lived on the other side of the country, far away from mine, but alas . . . the power of Facebook makes the happenings in China seem like they’re going on right next door.”

  “Wanna tell me what happened?” I ask hoping she’s finally ready to elaborate.

  “Not really,” she huffs. She blows errant hairs out of her face and relaxes her shoulders. “You first. Misery loves company. Sounds shitty, but it’s true.”

  A gruff laugh escapes me because she’s right. Even though I don’t want to talk about old problems and why I ran away, it might help Willow deal with her problems by knowing we all have them. “I was dating a married woman.” The sentence falls out of my mouth before I can form a better way to make it sound less scandalous.

  “Oh my God, no way!” She pulls her hand from my grip, and her mouth drops open. “Are all men assholes? Why would you do that?”

  I shake my head and reach for her hand again. “Would you let me finish and then you can judge?”

  “Oh, I don’t judge. I’m not God, but up until this very moment I thought you were almost perfect. I’m finding it hard to grasp that someone as kind and considerate as you would act like your careless friend Blaze.”

  Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have opened with that line. “It’s not like that. In fact—you know what, this calls for more than coffee. You want a beer, wine, vodka straight up?”

  “A beer is good.” She smiles, fluttering her eyelids, mocking me. “I can’t wait to hear this one.”

  I call for the waitress and order us both an Amstel. Willow decides on a burger and fries and I get my usual—turkey cacciatore, for one. After clinking our glasses and toasting to unwanted skeletons, she pushes me for more. “Okay, so she was married. What was her name?”

  “Mia. We went to high school together.”

  “Shit! You’ve been holding a flame for the same girl since high school? How old are you? That’s like a twenty year infatuation . . . she must be something else!”

  “She was, but that’s not the point, wiseass. I’m over it. It took time, but I can’t say it didn’t change me. I mean, I asked her to move out here with me—with her kids. I was ready to go all in because I loved her. She just didn’t feel the same. She wound up choosing him over me.”

  “Him? As in her husband? Wow! So how long did she pull off that affair without getting caught?”

  Explaining all the details doesn’t matter, but I guess she should know some of them. “It wasn’t an affair. She was separated. Her husband was actually the one who cheated. Mia and I ran into each other again at our reunion and let’s just say—nostalgia is a crazy mother fucker.”

  “So, you ran away because she didn’t choose you?”

  “No, I was offered the Habitat for Humanity thing first. So, technically I didn’t run away, I just stayed away.”

  “And what about your family? Brothers? Sisters? Parents?”

  “I’m an only child, and I see my parents a few times a year. I’m happy here. The business is good, the people are better.” I wink at her. “And I’m okay. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that. Pin that to one of your boards.”

  Her head falls back as she laughs, slapping her knee underneath the table. “I think I have a board actually dedicated solely to that. Beat you to it!” She takes a sip of her beer and leans back against the upholstered booth. “So, I guess it’s my turn now?”

  “Yup.” I chu
g another gulp. “I showed you mine, now show me yours.” We’re joking about it, but an hour ago she was losing her shit over this. Maybe I shouldn’t be so insensitive. “That is, if you’re ready, Willow. I won’t hold you to it. I know you’re hurting.”

  Her eyes darken again, tears glistening at the corners, dampening the very tips of her lashes. For her to go from zero to sixty just like that—it’s got to be a doozy.

  “Oh, please don’t cry.” I pull her hand in mine again, rubbing my thumb across her knuckles. “We don’t have to talk about it at all. I’m sorry.”

  “No.” She breathes out, then sniffles. “It’ll be good to get it out, like you said. I never talk about it. I pretend it doesn’t bother me anymore, but it does. And keeping it bottled up inside all the time can’t be good, right?”

  “Nope. Not from my experience. It comes back to bite you in the ass even harder than before.”

  “I can’t have children, Noah.” Her eyes drop to the table as she reveals her secret.

  It takes me a second to process it. We’ve only just brushed the surface of taking our friendship to the next step. I don’t know enough about her to give her false hope or talk her out of feeling lost. I haven’t tried to have kids of my own, but I do know what it’s like to have them taken from you. For the one second that I thought Tori’s baby was mine—there was relief in finding out it wasn’t, but there was a pang of disappointment too. Not because I want a baby with Tori Preston, but because I do want a baby one day. And let’s not even touch on the Mia thing. She had two beautiful little girls that I’d gotten to know in dribs and drabs. Had she chosen me over her husband, those girls would be partly mine now. The prospect of being a father and having it taken away is painful enough, but knowing for sure that it’s never a possibility—no wonder she was nearly convulsing with tears earlier. “I’m so sorry, Willow. I wish I knew what to say.” Problem is, I don’t know what to say. If I try I might say something stupid and I don’t want to do that either.