A winter wind blows, freezing my cheeks, but a single traitorous hot tear escapes from my eyes and I hold tighter to Isaiah, terrified of becoming unglued. “But they cover for me. This is how I see you! What if I can’t see you?”
“We’ll make it work.” His words are all low-pitched, all gentle, but the twirling tornado inside of me picks up speed, becomes a monster all its own.
“It won’t work.” The strangled words emerge between a sob, and I hold my breath to keep any more from bursting free. I can feel my brain tearing away from my sane mind, the sadness and anger spiraling into panicked hysteria. “I don’t want to be without you. I like who I am with you, and I don’t want to go back to who I was before.”
“I love you, Rachel. So this will work. No matter what or who stands in our way.”
My body rocks as if Isaiah used a defibrillator on my chest. He loves me.
His words gain traction in my head...he loves me. My heart patters faster and faster. Not because of anxiety but because of hope. Gathering air into my lungs, I rest my head against his shirt, which is wet with my tears. His heart has a slow, steady beat. One that never panics. One that is always strong. “You love me?”
Chapter 49
Isaiah
I BUNCH RACHEL’S HAIR IN my fist. The silky strands rub the spot between my fingers and I press my lips to her head. My heart hurts and soars and hurts again, all at the same time. I said I love her. Love her. Each repeat of the words confirms something I didn’t know or want to know and I scramble to figure out if I want to embrace it.
Love her.
Rachel.
Love has always been a dirty word. My mother said she did what she did because she loved me. Beth took the words I said to her and twisted them into saying it was only friendship. She broke my heart. My mother broke my heart. If I love Rachel she’ll have more power than both of them combined because this overwhelming pulse in my body...this overwhelming need to protect her and hold her close...
I nuzzle into her hair and close my eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of jasmine. I should let her go, let her go, just let her go. Walk away now. Hang on to what’s left of my sanity.
But as Rachel presses tighter to me, I know I’m too far gone to stand a chance alone. I’m in love, fucking in love, and I pray to the God that abandoned me years ago that He doesn’t use this to destroy me. “I love you.”
Chapter 50
Rachel
ISAIAH TRAPS ME CLOSE TO his body and I press against his arms as I try to raise my head off his chest. He said he loved me. Me. The shy girl. The awkward girl. The one born to replace the girl everyone really wanted. The more I think about it, the harder I press back against his hold. This doesn’t make sense. Any sense. Why would he want to love me?
“Isaiah,” I whisper and push again. When he doesn’t react, I place both of my hands against his chest. “Isaiah!”
His arms give and I meet his eyes. “I know you heard what I said.”
He searches my face. “What?”
“The panic attacks.” I grab on to his forearms. “I have panic attacks. Often. You say you love me, but can you? Not when you don’t see me for who I am!”
“See you for who you are?” His forehead wrinkles. “I see exactly who you are.”
I’m shaking my head. “You don’t. It’s a fake. A mirage. What you think you see is a lie!”
“Rachel...” Isaiah’s chest rises as he inhales. “Come on.”
Taking my hand, he grabs a frayed blanket out of the backseat of his car and walks over to an area where the deteriorating wall ends and the ground slopes into nothing. A few feet away from the edge, he releases me, spreads out the blanket and sits with his bent legs spread apart.
I wipe my still-moist eyes and brush my bangs away, a bit unsure what to do.
“Sit with me,” Isaiah says. As I move to rest next to him, he stops me. “Not there. Here.” He motions to the spot between his legs.
Awkwardly, I settle in front of him. Isaiah, the king of secure, waves off any distance between us as he gathers me into the safe shelter of his body. The blood pulses faster in my veins. I like being this close to him. Maybe a little too much.
“You’re beautiful.” His breath tickles the skin behind my ear, and the small hairs stand on end with the joyous sensation. “You’re smart and funny. I love how your eyes shine when you laugh.”
He glides his fingers against my skin causing an addictive tingling. “I love how you lace your fingers and brush your hair from your face when you’re nervous. I love how you offer yourself so completely to me—no fear. You’re loyal and strong.”
“I’m not strong.” I cut him off. The panic attacks confirm that. Unable to be near him anymore, I attempt to untangle myself from him, but Isaiah becomes a solid wall around me and I jerk in his arms in protest.
His tender hold tightens, and the words feel like poetry because of the deep, soothing way he speaks. “You’re wrong. I see you exactly as you are.”
The anger loses its stronghold as his lips tease the sensitive curve of my ear. I swallow, thinking about the night in his room. Of how his body felt heavy over mine and how I loved feeling smaller under his touch. “You’re just repeating what I said to you.”
“What’s that?” he says in a breath that was barely words.
I shiver with pleasure. My thoughts become fragments, and I struggle to retain composure. “I told you that you don’t see yourself as you really are. You’re manipulating my words.” Words not meant for me.
He tucks his head next to mine. The rough stubble on his jaw seductively scratches my cheek, heightening my senses. I don’t want this feeling to go away: being completely immersed in Isaiah’s strength, his body, his love.
“When I’m with you, even my past seems like a bad dream,” he says. “I’ve sat on this hill a hundred times, and all I used to see were lights that represented places where I wasn’t wanted, where I never belonged. Now, when you aren’t with me, I look east and know that one of those lights represents you, and I don’t feel alone anymore.”
I stare out onto the east side of town. The sparkling lights in that area are more spread out than on the south side. “Where is your light, Isaiah?”
Isaiah shifts as his hand goes into his pocket and extracts a lighter. In one smooth motion, he flicks the wheel against the flint and a single flame bursts into the darkness. The small wild flame licks against the night and fights to stay alive as the wind blows over the top of the hill. Like a moth, my hand slides over the flame—craving the warmth, daring to be burned.
Maybe this is what happens when you fall in love. On the outside a lighter is nothing amazing, but it holds all the ingredients that can create something wonderful. With a few pushes in the right direction, you can inspire something so brilliant that it pushes back the darkness.
As Isaiah holds the light close enough to warm me, but far enough away to keep me safe, I wonder if this is the reason why I’ve always been drawn to a flame. I’ve been hoping to be burned. I’ve been hoping to be loved.
I turn my head toward Isaiah. His silver eyes glow as he stares at me with the same intensity as the first night in his apartment. That night, his gaze frightened me. Tonight, I know that it means love.
“You’re the first person to ever see me,” whispers Isaiah as he releases the lighter. He flips the top back on and in a swift motion he presses the still-warm metal into my hand. “I want you to keep it.”
My mouth drops open. He’s protective of that lighter. I’ve seen how he holds it, how he looks at it, and now understanding what it means, it would be like me giving him my car. “Isaiah...”
“I want to know I’m with you. It’s all I’ve got to give, so please, take it.”
I touch the double row of silver hoop earrings hanging from his left ear, trail along his jawline, his neck, down his shoulder, to the flaming tail of the dragon on his arm. He leans into the caress, and my own body feels on fire with the continued way his eyes gaze upon me. The first moment I saw him, the night people clamored over each other to step out of his way, I was frightened. The guy with earrings and tattoos and an energy radiating danger. Now—inside and out—all I see is beauty.
“Isaiah...I love you, too.”
Chapter 51
Isaiah
A NORTHERN GUST HEAVY WITH moisture sweeps across the hill, and Rachel shivers. Cold water droplets hit my bare skin. There’s a chance we could lose our mild winter tonight to snow.
I stand, snatch the blanket off the ground and love how Rachel automatically accepts my offered hand as I guide her to my car. She hesitates as I open the passenger-side door. “I don’t want to go home yet.”
There’s innocence in her eyes, an innocence I lost years ago, so I know there’s no underlying meaning in her statement. I move the seat and Rachel slides into the back. Freezing rain pelts like bullets as I follow. I shut the door and rain patters against the car.
“Did you get wet?” I ask her.
Rachel shakes her head as she grabs for the blanket. I lean into the front, turn the engine over, crank the heat and click on the parking lights to illuminate the console. I slip back beside Rachel and wonder how the two of us ended up like this. “I’ve never had a girl in the backseat of my car.”
The wrinkles in her forehead scream disbelief. “I’m not stupid, Isaiah. I know I’m not your first kiss or...you know.”
No, she’s not. “Sounds awful, but I respected my car too much to bring girls...” I’m right. It does sound awful.
Rachel grows quiet. The rain drives harder against the windshield and even with the heater running, the temperature plummets. “Honestly, do you not want me in your car?”
“Rachel, you’re the only girl I’ve wanted in this car.”
Her body trembles as if she’s having a seizure. “Ar-re y-you s-sure?”
I wedge my hands beneath her legs and lift her onto my lap. Rachel relaxes her head into the crook of my neck as I bundle us in the blanket. “Never been more sure of anything.”
Resting my cheek against her, I inhale her sweet scent. “You remind me of the ocean.”
“It’s my perfume.” I hear the smile in her voice. Her hand peeks out of the blanket and I knot my fingers with hers.
“My mom took me to the ocean once,” I tell her. “I think her parents lived in Florida, and she went there for help.”
I don’t remember much other than the visit was short, there was a lot of yelling, and the wallpaper in the entryway curled near the floorboards. “We left and spent the day at the ocean before we drove back to Kentucky.”
Rachel squeezes my fingers. I like that she doesn’t feel the need to make me better with words when I tell her something from my past. She understands that all I need is the strength in her touch. “I’ve always wondered if Mom’s parents didn’t welcome her because of me. They refused to take me in when my mom went to prison.”
“What did your mom go to jail for?”
