Sacred Waters (16 page)

She looked at Braydon. “Do you care?”

“Nah, do what you want, babe. I’ll be fine. Go home and get some rest.”

“Okay.”

Samantha stood to gather her belongings. Colin stepped away so as not to hover or seem anxious. He waited by the trail back where the cars were parked and watched her.

Her ponytail had come partially loose and hung cockeyed. She still looked half-asleep. Rather than put on her sneakers, she carried them in her hand along with the bunched up fleece blanket she’d been resting under.

He was suddenly very frightened about what he’d just gotten himself into.

Chapter Ten

Colin drove back to the house with more precision than he used when taking his driver's test as a sixteen year old boy. His knuckles gripped the wheel so tight they were bloodless. Samantha sat quietly beside him and not once did his eyes leave the road.

As he pulled into the empty driveway he looked up to the dark house and his heart clamored so fast and hard within his chest he feared he might actually pass out. He shut the car off and neither of them moved or said a word.

After looking out the windshield for another several minutes he finally said, “I’m sorry I haven’t been around the past couple of days.”

He glanced at her and she looked as though she had been watching him all along. Her expression was blank and her eyes shone in the moonlight. “I figured it was for the best.”

She didn’t nod or reply. They sat, separated by the console, and simply stared at one another in silence. Like horses lined at the gate propelled into motion by a shot, they each suddenly lunged at each other, mouths slanting over mouths, teeth clacking together, hands squeezing flesh and pulling hair. He wanted to inhale her.

Her tongue passed his lips the same time his passed hers. She was breathing roughly, but so was he. It was as if they were in a race and the finish line was the difference between life and death. He squeezed her shoulders through her sweatshirt, ran his fingers through her hair dislodging her ponytail completely. She moaned into his mouth and pulled her body up so that she was kneeling in the passenger seat.

Fingers forked through his hair sending chills over every square inch of his chest. Dear God, he was so aroused he feared he would come just from kissing her. He needed to get control of himself. He fought for control of the kiss but she seemed determined not to relinquish it. He slowed his tongue's onslaught of her mouth and slid his palms down the side of her neck, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on either side of her jaw.

“Samantha,” he breathed as he slowed their kiss.

As their need faded from a volatile eruption of desire to smoldering embers she pulled her mouth away and pressed her forehead to his. Her eyes were squeezed together so tight she looked to be in pain. Colin shut his eyes as well, simply holding her for another moment before he had to let her go again.

When he finally pulled away he noticed the glass of the windshield was humid and starting to fog.

“We’d better go inside.”

Her eyes opened and she looked at him questioningly.

He should have worded that differently. “Samantha, I can’t.”

She nodded solemnly and he knew if he wanted her in that moment she’d be his. “I’m sorry.”

He turned and exited the car. By the time he reached the passenger side, she darted towards the house. He missed his chance to kiss her one last time.

The loss of that one last kiss was crushing. Screams of frustration stuck in his throat. For the first time since childhood, he wanted to cry
..
He needed that kiss and he’d never have it.

As she climbed the front steps in her bare feet he wondered if the pain of not having her would ever go away. If for the rest of his life he would always long for that last kiss, that extra caress, that final look back. She wouldn’t look at him now.

She waited by the door for him, head hung, gaze averted with a curtain of hair preventing him from reading her expression. It wasn’t fair for him to keep doing this to her. He was killing himself, but the idea of hurting her made his actions a thousand times worse.

He opened the door and flipped on the hall light. Slowly, she marched up the steps and he followed. Not a word was spoken. The air was thick with longing and regret.
Enough.
It had to be enough.

Her heart was something sacred that should not be abused. There was no excuse for hurting her anymore. It was obvious what this was doing to her—to them. No matter how much pleasure they drew from one another, there would always be a goodbye. And soon that goodbye would be final.

He stood at his bedroom door and she stood at his brother’s.

“Goodnight, Samantha.”

“Goodnight, Colin.”

He thought he heard tears in her voice, but by the time he looked back at her she was already in the room with the door closed. He sighed and went into his own room and shut the door behind him.

Tossing off his shirt perfumed by the smoky scent of campfire he forked his fingers through his hair and pressed his palms into his desk. Leaning over the surface, he played back the last half an hour in his mind and berated himself.

He tried to think back to his theology courses for the slightest anchor that would remind him of who he was. He fought to recall the way he felt the day he received his letter of acceptance into the Affiliation Program, but could not recreate the feeling of elation.

His mind recalled the first day he met his good friend and mentor, Father Tucker, but the memory played flat. The pride and satisfaction he experienced while in Dublin working as a missionary was still very real, but any man could do community service. He was not to be any man, but a holy man, yet he could not grasp the feeling of sacredness.

He allowed himself to become a profane example of all that he stood for and believed in. And the worst part was that he recognized his complete lack of concern for what was happening to him and didn’t know how to alter his perception, how to get back those old ideals.

“Fuck!” He shoved the desk against the wall and stood.

He paced for a few minutes and then decided that while he couldn’t correct all his faults at the moment he could at least calm his inner being and eradicate temptation with a cold shower. He went to the bathroom and opened the door and came up short when he saw Samantha, towel in hand, and face pink, with wet tracks of tears running down her cheeks.

Shit.

He suddenly thought of a verse from the Old Testament.
Like a fire burning in my heart, imprisoned in my bones; I grow weary of holding it in.
It was the verse that helped him recognize his call to the church, only now it had taken on new meaning.

She
had become the fire burning in his heart, trapped by his bones and scalding every last bit of common sense and devotion to his cause from his mind. He was so, so weary of holding his desire for her in. He simply wanted to surrender and let it all out. To be freed, once and for all, of this agony.

She met his gaze and swallowed as if about to say something, but then came up short.

God, the pain was clear on her face.

He had done that to her and he was a bloody selfish prick for playing with her emotions. She shook her head and looked down. Another tear glided past her spiked lashes until it disappeared beneath her jaw and diluted to nothing upon her slender neck. Those tears should not be wasted.

Watching them fall was as sacrilegious as watching one dump holy water. Both, sacred waters wasted.

As they stood, facing off in silence, her arm dropped as if too weak to hold itself up anymore. The folded towel unraveled and touched the floor. Her fingers loosened and the cloth feathered out of her palm and to the ground beside her feet. And that was the moment he truly became undone.

Perhaps it was witnessing her complete surrender to sadness. Or perhaps it was that one lone tear. He would never know for certain, but he was pretty sure he realized he loved her the moment he spotted the polish upon her toes, pale pink, almost clear, like the inner soft side of a seashell.

He took two steady steps toward her and ignored her surprised gasp as he scooped her into his arms and carried her straight to her bed, hesitating before lying her down. The room was too much his brother’s. There was simply too many signs of Braydon there for him to face at the moment.

He turned and carried her back into his room and shut the bathroom door with the heel of his foot. Much better. He looked around, not quite sure if he should lay her on the bed or let her stand. Unsure of himself he looked down at her face and saw she was leaving all decisions up to him.

Right.The bed then. No, the floor. The floor is safer.

She must have realized his indecision because he heard her giggle and looked down and saw poorly disguised amusement dancing in her eyes. He would take her laughing at his expense any day before tears.

Feeling foolish, he finally admitted, “I don’t really know what to do here.”

She laughed. “Why don’t we talk?”

“Okay. Where?”

She looked around. Other than his desk chair there really wasn’t anywhere else to sit. “The bed?”

It seemed so final to go to the bed. They could sit there and talk. They’d just have to keep things within their control.

He quickly played through a list of what if’s and the pros and cons of the bed versus his lack of other options until finally, completely disgusted with himself, he mentally called himself a pussy—which oddly made him feel more like a man and less like a priest—and sat her on the bed.

He pulled the desk chair over and sat across from her. Now what?

After a moment she made an adorable face that he interpreted as her mentally saying, well, this is awkward.

They both laughed uncomfortably. Someone needed to say something, so he figured he might as well be the one to break the ice.

“I’m sorry.”

All amusement left her face and was replaced with fear. “Please stop apologizing,” she whispered.

“But I am—”

“I know. But every time you apologize you say goodbye.”

“Oh.”

He wanted to say sorry for that too, but figured it best if he refrained.

“I’ll try not to do that anymore.”

She blushed. He loved the way that behind all that assumed confidence and American girl charm there was something definitively demure lurking.

“Are you a virgin?” He had no idea where the question came from, but couldn’t regret asking it, even when he saw he had shocked her. Her blush moved from soft pink to crimson.

“I…well…I’m twenty-four.”

“And I’m twenty-nine.”

“You’re different.”

“So are you. Answer the question, Sammy. I’m not going to ask you to say a Rosary.”

“Yes. There was one guy, but he wasn’t right for me and we broke up before it got that far. Since then I’ve dated, but not really ever felt serious enough about anyone to go that far.”

The relief he felt that she had definitely not slept with Braydon was immeasurable.

“You are too, right?”

He laughed. “Being that I had my first real shot at making out the other day, what do you think?”

The side of her mouth kicked up, forming a small dimple in her cheek. “Good.”

He sobered for a minute. “You know I can’t.”

He regretted that his words caused her smile and dimple to disappear. “I know. We shouldn’t anyway. It isn’t right.”

“Don’t think I don’t want to, Samantha. I look at you and feel as if I’ll crawl out of my skin if I don’t touch you. You make me feel things I’ve never felt. But my path was chosen years ago. It’s all I’ve ever wanted and I’m only months away from getting there. I cannot…It would confuse things, that’s all. And it would be wrong for me to take something that’s meant for your husband.”

“I’m not a virgin by choice, Colin. It has nothing to do with religion or God or anything other than I never met a man worth giving it to.”

He wanted to know if she’d give it to him if he asked, but knew that would only be inviting trouble.

Instead, he inquired, “Why do you dislike the church so much?”

She laughed without humor. “If there is a God, He’s cruel and selfish and no friend of mine.”

His heart ached to hear such disdain for the one ideal his life had been dedicated to. She wasn’t the first to express such views to him, but for some reason it made him feel like he had even less of her approval he assumed he had a moment ago.

“God loves us all, Sammy.”

“Do not speak pious platitudes to me, Colin McCullough. You have no idea what my life was before I came here.”

She was right. He was only being given this small snippet of her and he wanted more.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll comfort me and I’ll only love you more fiercely for it and in the end I’ll be destroyed all the more.”

He stilled. Did she realize what she just said?

She looked up at him, a frown crinkling her brow. “What?”

“Did you hear yourself, Sammy? What you said?”

“That I’ll only love you more? Yes. I know what I said.”

He wanted to convince her it wasn’t so. Somehow persuade her so their separation wouldn’t be as monumentally heart wrenching in the end. He took both her hands in his.

“Sammy, what this is, what you feel for me, it isn’t love. You’re just infatuated right now.”

“Do not presume to tell me how I feel, Colin. I know my heart. People assume it takes years and months to love someone and that our affection must be rationed to only the best of the best. Well, I think that’s bullshit. Life’s too short not to tell those we love that they mean something to us. What I feel for you…you may never be my husband, or my lover, or even my friend, but there is a very real part of me that loves you. Maybe it’s because of the way you are with the others, maybe it’s the way you helped me when I lost it at the lake, or maybe it’s because I’ll never completely have you, but whatever it is, it’s real and you will not take it away from me because it makes this more difficult for you.”