Butterfly Dreams (14 page)

But I
was
feeling.

I was feeling so damn much.

I was drowning in these complicated, unfamiliar emotions.

He was close. So close.

Too close.

Not close enough.

“Corin,” he said my name again, softly. Oh so softly. Almost reverently. As if my name was the most important word he had ever spoken.

I shivered. I couldn't help it.

The butterflies in my chest pushed and pressed, squeezing a beating, lonely heart.

“God, Corin,” he repeated in a tormented whisper.

His hands moved from my face to cup either side of my neck. Fingers pressed against my thumping, thumping pulse.

Electricity sparked. Blood rushed through my veins. I was dizzy and light-headed and overwhelmed.

I wished I could say something. But words were lost. None would have been good enough anyway.

Because this powerful, out-of-control moment was swallowing the both of us.

“Corin,” he whispered again, moving closer. Leaning down.

I could feel the heat of his mouth against my skin. Not quite touching.

My eyelids fluttered closed and I waited.

I gripped my hands at my sides. Scared to touch him. Hating myself because I wouldn't.

I waited…

Slowly, ever so slowly, I felt it. His mouth on mine. It was warm and dry and everything it should be.

Perfect.

Beckett let out a sigh. Straight from his heart to mine, and my entire body went liquid as I opened my lips to let him in.

Letting him inside where he belonged. Where he would stay.

He was careful. As if he wasn't sure whether I would push him away.

Maybe I should.

But I wouldn't.

Then with a groan his kiss became urgent. Mashing of lips against mine. Kissing deep. So deep. His teeth, his tongue, his lips devoured me. His fingers inched their way up into my hair and I shivered.

I was buzzing. Tingling. Filling up and overflowing.

I let my lips tell him everything I couldn't put into words. My fear. My panic. My trepidation.

And my hope.

My god, my hope.

It was there, burning bright.

Because of Beckett Kingsley and his beautiful, perfect kisses.

“Touch me, Corin. Please,” he begged against my mouth, and I felt an odd wetness on my cheeks. Tears I hadn't realized were falling.

I loosened my rigid arms and wrapped them around him. He sank into me, bending at the knees so he could pull me up against his chest.

I could feel the pounding of his heart beneath the fabric of his shirt. I pressed my hand over it, needing the reassuring reminder that it was still beating.

I tentatively let my other hand roam up and down his back. Feeling him. But wanting to touch so much more.

“Corin. Corin. Corin,” he chanted my name. Like a prayer. Like a song.

Or a wish for something he wasn't sure he could have.

“Beck,” I sang back. Strong. Sure.

I felt it. The moment when my life changed.

This was it.

What I had been waiting for.

And then his phone rang.

Discordant tones, vicious and violent, pulling me straight back into the ugly, dark present.

My eyes popped open and I pulled out of his arms. I ran fingers over trembling lips.

“Fuck,” Beckett cursed, pressing his hand to his mouth, bruised and swollen from kisses passionately given.

He ran his hand through his hair and looked as though he wanted to pull it out.

Our moment had passed.

It was gone.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream.

But I did neither.

He closed his eyes as though in pain and when he opened them again, he gave me a strained smile. A fake smile.

His phone beeped with a new voice message and he growled in frustration, pulling it out of his pocket. “I'm so sorry,” he said, searching my face. I gave him nothing. My mouth tingled and I could still almost feel him. There. Mixed with breaths and heartbeats.

“Shouldn't you call whoever that was back?” I asked.

Beckett looked at the phone in his hand, then at me. “It's just my buddy Aaron. I'm sure it's not important. He probably just wants to bitch about the ball game on TV.” He shook his head. “It doesn't matter, Corin.
You
matter! This,” he grabbed my hand and pressed it to his chest. Over his steady, thumping heart. “
This
is what matters.”

The phone went silent but the air hummed and crackled between us.

I was trembling in the aftermath of what had just happened.

Because it had been so much more than kissing.

Beckett with his fragile heart.

His temporary life.

My world was in limbo. Not sure it would last.

Terrified. Fearful. Afraid to open myself to someone I couldn't be sure would stay.

I had forgotten what it meant to live.

I wasn't sure I was ready to begin now.

I felt a sharp pain in my head and rubbed my temples.

“Say something, Corin,” Beckett begged.

I pressed my fingers to my mouth, wishing I could still taste him. But I couldn't.

I watched as he rubbed his ICD scar.

“We're friends, Beck.” Three words that said everything.

Beckett gaped at me and then laughed. Not a pleasant sound. It jarred my bones and hurt my heart.

“Of course.” He continued to rub at that spot on his chest. That horrible spot.

“I need to get back in and make sure the Webbers haven't started using their body parts to make art.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the fifty-dollar bill he had handed me earlier.

“I won't take your money. You don't need to pay for anything.” Beckett stared at me. Confused. Angry. Hurt.

I knew what he saw on my face.

Fear.

“I came to your workshop. I'm paying.”

I wasn't in the mood to argue about it. I didn't feel like engaging in witty banter either. So I pocketed the money again and shrugged.

“You can come another time and make something. Get your money's worth.”

“Are you telling me to leave?” Beckett asked, his face dark.

“No! I'm just…I was just saying—”

I didn't know
what
I was saying.

All I knew was that I was scared.

Of so many things.

So I did what I did best. Curl into a ball and pretend like the world around me didn't exist.

“I get it. I really do,” he said quietly, with obvious disappointment and a whole lot of hurt.

No, he didn't get it. Not one little bit.

“I'll see you in group,” he said.

“Sure.” One word. So loaded. So heavy.

“Bye, Corin,” Beckett said, his eyes seeking me out. I knew he wanted me to say something.

Anything.

But I couldn't.

Silence was all I could give him.

I had told myself I wouldn't go back to the Mended Hearts support group.

I had planned to avoid Beckett.

I spent the weekend since the disastrous pottery class convincing myself that distance was the best for both of us. That a relationship between us would never work.

I had my issues. Mountains of them.

He had his. And they were possibly life ending.

Memories of my father as he had been after losing my mother played like a movie on an endless loop in my mind.

I remember hearing him sob at night, long after I was supposed to be asleep.

His grief was a tangible thing that strangled him. Weakened him. Destroyed him.

Until I lost him too.

The possibility of facing that kind of anguish again left me paralyzed.

I wasn't sure how to get around any of it. No matter how much I wanted to.

Because for the first time in my life, I felt something
good.
Something
real.

Something that was all
mine.

And that kiss had shown me that I could have everything I had ever wanted. With Beckett.

Connection. Foundation.

Love.

I played the kiss over and over again in my head. The feel of his lips. The way he had said my name like I was the air he breathed. My heart sped up at the memory that I couldn't shake.

Beckett Kingsley had found his way under my skin, and I didn't see a way to dig him out. Not without inflicting some serious damage.

Nope. The best thing was to cut all ties. To pretend that everything that had transpired between Beckett and me didn't matter. It was all surface stuff. Nothing substantial.

And if I were Pinocchio, my nose would have grown a good ten feet.

It was becoming extremely difficult to lie to myself where Beckett was concerned.

So of course I found myself at the Methodist church on Tuesday evening.

I hadn't seen or spoken to Beckett in days. I ignored his calls. I purposefully didn't read his texts.

I was behaving like a stone-cold bitch.

My sister would be proud.

I stayed in bed all day Saturday and most of Sunday, only getting up when my own smell threatened to make me ill. I was plagued with fevered nightmares that wouldn't go away, strengthening my resolve to cut Beckett from my life before things went too deep.

But on Tuesday I knew I had to see him.

I couldn't stay away.

I was tired of being alone, stricken with anxiety. Incapacitated with fear and doubts.

Meeting and getting to know Beckett had shown me how much I was missing. How much better life could be.

Because I had already jumped into the deep end and I definitely couldn't swim.

But I knew that I really wanted to learn.

“You look…nice,” Adam said, looking up as I walked into the store that morning.

I wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic. Sure I had been wallowing in bed for the better part of three days, but I had made a point to shower and had even shaved. That had to count for something, right?

“Uh, thanks?” I posed the statement more as a question, though I gave Adam a smile.

I walked back to the office and sat down at my desk, turning the computer on. I pulled out my phone and turned it on, not surprised to see a text from Beckett.

I didn't read it, knowing I'd see him later. I had made the only decision I could make. Anything that needed saying would be said face-to-face. Not over the phone.

“Do you have a moment? There's something I'd like to talk to you about.” Adam appeared in the doorway, standing with his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes not quite meeting mine. He had a strange note in his voice but I wasn't really in the mood for whatever he had to say. It was most likely to tell me that the plumbing was backed up or that he was wondering if I had noticed the giant zit in the middle of my forehead—which I had, no need to bring it up.

“Not really. I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on.”

Adam was quiet for a long time. I chanced a glance and was surprised to see that he looked…
hurt
?

Did Adam Johnson even get hurt feelings? I thought his heart was coated in Teflon.

“You're wearing makeup. That's weird. Are you going to see that heart guy?” he probed before I could recant my bitchy comment. Adam never probed. What was up with him? I was feeling almost violated.

“Uh. I have support group tonight if that's what you're asking,” I answered, clicking the Excel icon on my desktop and opening the spreadsheets I had been working on last week.

“Are you two dating?”

I scrolled through the meaningless numbers, feeling uncomfortable. Now was not the time for him to play interested friend. I wasn't in the mood to talk about Beckett.

“Did the Goldstein party come in on Saturday?” I asked, changing the subject.

Adam didn't respond. He continued to stand there. He normally didn't notice much. Today he was entirely too observant.

“How are you feeling?” Adam asked, not answering my question.

“What do you want me to say? That I feel like shit? Because you've never seemed very bothered by my health before. Is Mercury in retrograde or something?” I snipped.

“Just because I don't ask you every three seconds how you're feeling doesn't mean I don't care. I know you like to play the suffering martyr all alone in her tower. But that stuff is completely in your head. Just so you know,” Adam stated rather heatedly.

“What in the world crawled up your ass?” I frowned at him.

“I know you sit around thinking no one cares about you. No one listens. Well, I listen. I just wish you would return the favor once in a while. You're not the only one with stuff that needs unloading,” he huffed.

“Whoa, Adam, what's going on—”

“Forget it. Hope you feel better.” Then he walked out of the room.

And I was left very, very confused.

And feeling like a big jerk.

“Hey,” Beckett said, sitting down beside me.

“Hey,” I said back.

“You never responded to my texts or answered my calls,” he said without accusation. But there was a hint of pain in his tone that was all too obvious.

“I'm sorry. I was sick all weekend,” I answered, afraid to look at him. Knowing that if I did, he'd burn me up.

Beckett was instantly concerned. He angled his body closer to me. Almost touching. But not quite.

“Are you feeling better? What was wrong?”

I smiled. I couldn't help it. His worrying about me was nice.

I knew Beckett cared.

He cared about
me.

“I'm fine. All better,” I told him, giving him my eyes. My face. Not turning away from him but turning toward him.

I looked at his lips. I couldn't help it. If I closed my eyes, I could still remember their taste.

I was terrified.

I felt the edges of panic that threatened to take hold.

The instinct to push him away was almost overwhelming. But it was trumped by a stronger emotion.

One that only Beckett could make me feel.

Hope.

“You should have told me you weren't feeling well. I would have brought you chicken noodle soup or something.”

I chuckled. “I hate chicken noodle soup.”

Beckett made a face. “Yeah, me too.”

The rest of the group filed in, taking their seats.

Carefully, slowly, Beckett took my hand and laced his fingers with mine. I didn't pull away. I didn't stiffen or fall prey to awkwardness.

What if he leaves me like Mom? Like Dad?
My subconscious argued.

How will I survive that?

I had no answers. And for once I wouldn't look for them. Beckett made me want to just
be.

So I held his hand.

Palm to palm.

And it just felt right.

“Will you talk to me after? Please?” he asked, not letting go.

I nodded. Words were useless things. They never expressed exactly what needed saying.

So I didn't bother.

Beckett looked happy. Relieved. And he didn't let go of my hand. He held it the whole time. Balancing them on his leg.

Palm to palm.

The heat of his skin branding me as his.

I wasn't thinking about my pain. My aches.

I felt…

Good.

After group was over I walked outside and sat down on a bench. I was nervous. I was excited.

Yep, there was also some nausea. But it was the good kind. If feeling like throwing up could ever be construed as “good.”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you waiting. Do you want to go get some green tea somewhere that I can smell the coffee and pretend that's what I'm really drinking?” he asked.

“That sounds a little depressing, Beck. How about we grab something to eat and go to the bridge?” I suggested.

Beckett gave me a smile that lit up his entire face. He lifted my hand and pressed it to his cheek for just a moment. “That sounds perfect, Corin.”

I could feel his skin beneath my hand, and I was filled with the most inexplicable feeling. Something that wasn't scary in the least.

It was like a fluttering of a thousand butterfly wings.

“How about burgers? Everyone likes burgers, right?” he offered, and all I could do was nod. Because I had apparently lost all control over my vocal chords.

So we walked down the street toward the burger joint in the middle of town. Beckett was still holding my hand and I was pretty sure my palms had started to sweat. But I didn't worry about it. Much.

We quickly ordered two hamburgers and a large order of fries. After Beckett paid for our meals—even though I offered to pay for my own—we started toward the bridge that had connected us even before we knew each other.

Neither of us spoke for a time. The air was chilly and I shivered slightly even though I was bundled up in a heavy coat and scarf.

“Are you cold?” Beckett asked.

“A bit. But I'll be okay,” I replied dismissively.

Beckett wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. He rubbed his hand up and down my arm, sending a thousand tingles to all parts of my body.

“Is that better?” he asked, close to my ear. So close that his breath tickled my neck.

I nodded. Those vocal cords still weren't working apparently.

When we reached the bridge, we sat down on a bench along the bank. Beckett released me long enough to hand me my bag of food before pulling me close again.

I unwrapped the greasy paper and took a bite of the burger. I barely tasted it. I wasn't even that hungry. I was too focused on Beckett. And Beckett's arm around me.

“I shouldn't be eating this stuff,” Beckett mentioned in between mouthfuls. “But it's okay to take a risk once in a while, right?”

I dropped my burger back in my bag and glared at him. “Not when it comes to your health, Beck. Some risks are most definitely not worth it,” I lectured.

Beckett went very quiet. He looked out at the stream, his brows furrowed, his eyes sad.

“Is that why you've been avoiding me? Did you realize that some risks aren't worth it?” he asked, his voice hard.

The burger sat like a lump in the pit of my stomach.

Say something, Corin. Anything!

Just don't tell him about that whisker you pulled out of your chin this morning!

I stayed silent.

“Your friendship means a lot to me. You're different—”

“Oh jeez, thanks,” I deadpanned, finally finding my voice.

Beckett stared down at me with serious eyes. “You
are
different. For the first time since my heart attack I felt like someone understood me. You asked the questions no one else seemed to think about. You cared how I felt. What I thought. But you also helped me to realize that there are other things in my life besides the things I lost.”

His mouth was set in a firm line as though waiting for me to argue with him. I didn't. I couldn't. Because with him I had experienced and felt all of the same things.

And then I felt them again.

The butterflies.

Beautiful, excited butterflies.

Everywhere.

“So, yes, Corin, you're
different
. You're
better
.” Beckett picked up my cold, trembling hands and pressed them to his mouth, gently kissing my knuckles. I shivered again but this time it had nothing to do with the cold.

“You're so much
more
to me than you realize.”

“I'm not sure you really know what you're saying—” I began, but Beckett cut me off. He had a habit of interrupting but this time I didn't get annoyed. Not when he was looking at me like
that.

“Don't talk to me like I don't know my own mind!” he retorted angrily, and I couldn't help but smile at his frustration.

“Well, I'm glad you find this all so amusing,” Beckett muttered, enfolding my hands with his and putting them in his lap. Our food had been forgotten. We were only focused on each other. These words. These truths. In the dying evening light.

I grew serious. “I'm not amused, Beck. I'm scared. So damn scared,” I whispered.

“I know you are, Corin. But I'm not. There's nothing scary in realizing who you want to be with. It's exciting. Exhilarating.” He leaned in and pressed his forehead against mine, closing his eyes briefly. “That's what you make me feel, Corin. Exhilarated.”

I opened my mouth to tell him everything. He deserved to know. He made it seem so simple. To give him the secrets of my heart.

“I'm not sure you understand what you're saying, Beck. What real chance do we have?”

Beckett opened his eyes, his gaze intense. Heady.

“We have the same chance as anyone else.”

My eyes blurred and my chest felt tight.

“What are you saying?” I asked.

Already knowing.

I knew.