Reckless Abandon (27 page)

“I know.” She hooks her arm around my waist and walks us into the house.

David Bryson has floated in and out for the last forty-eight hours, and we find him busying himself in the kitchen. The sound and smell of frying bacon fills the house and Monica helps herself to a plate.

“That smells delicious.” She sits at the table and digs in.

“Thank you. Ember, would you like some?”

Monica snorts.

“She’s a vegetarian,” Bo chimes in from behind me.

David shakes his head, mumbling something about “hippies” before turning his attention back to the bacon.

“There you are. You slept heavy last night.” I stick out my hand to catch an apple Bo tosses from the refrigerator. “Thanks.”

“Thanks for staying.” His tone is flat and, if I didn’t know the situation, I’d say it sounded sarcastic.

Bo pulls away from the fridge and I watch him in silence. His grey suit matches the look on his face, and his mechanical movements catch my breath. This is what it looks like when someone is actually “going through the motions.”

Pour coffee.

Pour creamer.

Stir.

Sip.

Look around.

“You know,” he starts, looking at the three of us gathered around the table, “today will go a lot smoother for me if you all stop staring at me like I’m a bomb.” His half-empty coffee mug crashes into the sink and he storms out of the room. Monica and I stare at each other, her fork mid-air.

“It’s OK, girls,” David says softly. “He’s going to feel a wide range of emotions for a long time. Stick with him.”

* * *

Monica finishes my hair, and when I’m finally dressed, we head downstairs. I don’t trust my tears today, so I’ve opted for no makeup. Monica receives a text from Josh saying David and Bo are at the church. It almost bugs me they didn’t tell us they were leaving, until I realize David may have wanted some one-on-one time with Bo. Maybe Bo needed to be alone.

“You slept together last night?” Monica asks as she turns onto the main road.

“Not like that. He said he didn’t want to be alone ...” I close my eyes and remember the feel of his hair through my fingers, as I lay awake.

As we come upon the First Congregational Church, the sheer number of people present overwhelms me. Traffic is being directed by a lone police officer in black cotton gloves. It’s just like W.H. Auden wrote it, and I really wonder if anything can ever come to any good in a world that no longer holds Rachel Cavanaugh.

We park a block away and walk quickly to the church. It seems weird, having a funeral in the middle of summer on a gorgeous eighty-degree day. I picture all funerals happening in winter; grey skies, people bundled in black pea coats burying their faces in their scarves. No, today there isn’t anywhere to hide our sorrows. I should have worn yellow or something, I realize too late as we file up the church steps like ants. Rae would have liked color.

I bob my head up and down and side-to-side trying to spot Bo, as we make our way down the center aisle of the church. I see him in the front row, but the pearl necklace sitting next to him stops me in my tracks. Ainsley’s perched directly between Bo and Regan. Before irritation takes over, I grin and lead my eyes upward, sharing a laugh with Rae over her choice of jewelry. Two rows behind Bo and what appears to be family, Josh flags us down. We slide into the row, acknowledging uneasy condolences from C.J. before the service begins.

The prayers and hymns are lovely, yet lonely. Although I’ve only been in a church once, I recognize “Amazing Grace” as “The Weeping Song” and when it’s sung, I sink into the pew and bury my forehead in my hands. C.J. sits next to me and tries to suffocate the shaking of my shoulders. When it’s over, the final song plays and the casket is positioned to glide out of the church with family behind it. Bo rises. David and Ainsley each try to stand and walk out of the pew with him, but he waves them off.

The congregation stands as Bo starts down the aisle. For the first time since we went to bed last night, Bo’s eyes connect with mine just before he reaches my row. Time stops its sovereign march for a moment, and lets us take a breath in each other. Before his chin quivers a second time, I push past Monica and Josh and root myself at his side. Grabbing his hand, I give it a slight squeeze before he interlaces his fingers with mine. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wonder what people thought of me—a girl most of them don’t know, escorting their lost son out of the church behind his dead sister.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The house is empty again. After the mourners, and the hugs, and the casseroles, everyone’s journeying back to their lives. Regan sat with Bo in the backyard most of the afternoon, while I continued arranging food. I plainly told Carrie that I’d be taking the week off, and she didn’t argue. I’ve never taken care of anyone but myself before, and it’s taken completely over; I don’t want to be anywhere else but here. I begged Regan not to leave the country without saying goodbye, but I know he will. I would too.

When the last of the dishes are put away and I’m sure Bo has passed out from emotional exhaustion somewhere, I slide out of my heels and press my sore feet onto the cold tile floor. I sigh, wincing on my exhale, as my aching shoulders feel the weight of the last two days. It hurts.

“You’re still here.” Bo’s relieved voice startles me, forcing me to grip the edge of the counter.

I turn tiredly and find him in the doorway wearing his suit from today—minus the coat and with a loosened tie. His messy dark hair shows how often he ran his hands through it today, and his blue eyes are tired.

“I promised you I wouldn’t leave. I meant it. Not until you kick me out.” I giggle. He doesn’t.

My heart races with uncertainty as he walks toward me with a look of purpose in his eyes. Bo takes the dishtowel out of my hand and tosses it carelessly on the counter. I glance in its direction but am stopped by his hands grabbing my face. His lips part as he scans my face, eyes darting back and forth, trying to find words.

I shake my head in question. “Bo ...”

He kisses me. A deep, hard, anguished kiss that curls my toes. One moan from his throat instructs me to open my mouth. I do. Bo’s hand runs up my neck and his fingers fumble with the elastic keeping the hair out of my face. When my hair finally cascades around my shoulders, he lifts me up onto the counter and pushes himself between my knees. Breathing hard through his nose, he grabs a fist full of my hair, pressing me deeper into his mouth. I echo his movements by setting his face in my hands. After a few minutes, he pulls away with a muted growl.

“Come with me.”

Hesitating, I touch two fingers to my swollen lips, as my legs swing free from the counter. Bo holds out his hand, but it’s not pleading—he’s demanding my compliance. Sliding off the counter, I follow him wordlessly up the dark wooden stairs. I have no idea if this falls under any category of appropriate, but he doesn’t seem to care. Bo begins unbuttoning his shirt, as his bedroom door swings open. He nods his chin toward my body and speaks barely above a whisper.

“Take off your dress.”

I nod and guide the dress over my head, leaving me standing in my black bra and matching panties in front of Bo, whose raging blue eyes stalk me as he takes off his pants. He walks toward me as I back up to the bed. I can’t believe we’re about to do this. It’s been months, but his touch has never left me. The first time we were together in my apartment flashes through my mind as my breath catches up with my body. I’ve craved him every second he’s been gone, but he never really left.

“Bo ...” I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I want this. Badly. But, like this?

He shakes his head as he repositions himself between my legs, his boxer briefs gone.

Scraping his fingers around my hips he tears off my panties a second before thrusting into me with such force that we cry out simultaneously. He fills every essence of my being, and I’m rendered senseless apart from feeling him. I reach around my legs and dig my fingers in his thighs, bringing him deeper into me as he anchors his hands on either side of my shoulders.

“My God, I’ve missed you.” Bo presses his forehead into mine, silencing any response I might have with a forceful kiss.

I raise my arms over my head and knot them through my hair as he pushes faster. Ecstasy cries out of my throat as he gently bites my lower lip. If I’d had my eyes closed this entire time, I would still have known it’s him—my body knows him. Bo slows for a moment, pulling back to look at my face. He looks absolutely broken. A tear finds its way down his face, clinging to his chin for a moment before free-falling to my neck. Reaching up, I dry his eye with my thumb. He turns his cheek into my hand as I draw my hand down his face, taking my thumb into his mouth for a second before burying his face in my neck, while he pushes harder and faster into me.

My hips and legs go numb as I try to find traction by releasing my hands and raking them through his hair. It shouldn’t feel this good at this moment, on this day, but it does. Oh my God, it does. Bo sits up on his knees, still inside me, and puts one of my legs up on his shoulder, stretching every muscle in my body as he leans back into my chest. I moan into his mouth as I force myself to silence the “I love you” brewing in my brain.

“You feel so good, November.” His eyes are closed and his face looks distant, as if he’s pretending we’re somewhere else.

He pulls out and grabs both of my hips, forcing them over wordlessly. I position myself on my hands and knees, sweeping my hair over one shoulder. Bo kneels behind me and brushes his hand slowly from my hips and up the length of my spine, before gripping my shoulder and entering me again. I grab at his bedsheets for balance as he slams into me over and over with low groans, gripping my hips with both hands now. Grief, anxiety, lust, love, and missing the absolute hell out of him brews an orgasm within me so intense that my arms give out and my shoulders press into the bed.

“Bo!” My scream is muffled into his mattress.

Bo’s fingertips dig painfully into my hips as his relentless pursuit of release nears its end. His movements become ragged as he starts to pulse inside me and I know he’s close. I reach between my legs and rub him as he pushes in and pulls out. It’s his breaking point. Bo throws his head back as he wails through me, collapsing onto my back when it’s over. He clumsily pulls out of me and rests his head on my shoulder when I roll over, his ragged breathing filling the oppressive silence of the house. Within a minute I watch the rise and fall of his chest even out, telling me he’s asleep. I lay motionless as silent tears roll from my cheekbones, off my earlobes, and onto his pillow.

* * *

The sweet smell of Bo’s cologne lifts from the t-shirt of his I’m wearing. I tiredly fumble my way through making coffee. The sun has risen again. At least we have that. The open windows on the first floor of the house usher in the sound of a car coming up the driveway. I grab the jeans I was wearing the night Rae died and slide them over my hips as I walk to the door. Ainsley’s bleach-blonde hair glows as sunlight bounces off her empty head.

“What do you want, Ainsley?” I try to sound bored as I open the door, but my heart is galloping through my chest. I know exactly what she wants.

She flips her hair over one shoulder and pushes past me and stands in the foyer. “What the hell are you still doing here? Don’t you live in Massachusetts?”

“I do. Bo asked me to stay.”

Well, he didn’t, but it was kind of implied.

Ainsley dips her chin as her eyebrows curl into a wicked stare. “Oh, and I’m the tramp, am I?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You should. Why are you wearing his t-shirt? You really are no better than you make me out to be, are you?”

I calmly set my coffee on the small table reserved for keys and walk toward Ainsley. She wisely takes one step back.

“Bo asked me to stay. Unlike you, I didn’t muscle my way into his grief. God, you’re such an opportunist—a self-righteous one at that. I’ll tell Bo you stopped by. I’m sure it’ll make his day.” I turn back to my coffee when Ainsley’s hand snakes around my forearm, turning me to face her.

“Don’t you dare order me around, you arrogant bitch.”

I swallow my rage and my desire to smack her across the face. I settle for clenching my fist. My tone is cool.

“I suggest you let go of me.”

“Or what? Seriously, what will you do?”

I can’t swallow it anymore. I take my free hand and crack her porcelain cheek. It echoes through the house, as she drops my hand and puts hers to her face. Her wide ice-blue eyes fill with tears, and I wonder for a moment if she’ll hit me back. I’ve never hit anyone before, and she looks as surprised as I feel.

“Get the hell out of his house, Ainsley! If Bo wants you back, he knows where to find you.” I open the door and wait for her to exit.

“Oh, he wants me here. If he didn’t, he would have asked me to leave the night you bailed on him after the concert.” With the red cheek, her arched eyebrow makes her look maniacal.

Bo’s heavy footsteps down the stairs stop both of us. “I’m asking you to leave now, Ainsley.”

“But Spen -”