The Solitude of Passion (12 page)

Colton lives in Janice’s guesthouse behind the castle-like Townsend estate. His den of debauchery sits a good half-mile away so he doesn’t feel like his “mommy” is watching over him.

“Look at you!” I say, stepping inside with an armload of take-out. Colt’s house is spotless, the magazines all fanned out over the coffee table as if this were a dentist’s office, and the windows have nary a fingerprint on them. “This place is immaculate.” God, it’s neat as a pin, which only exemplifies the fact I live like a pig. Or maybe I’ve just forgotten what a house without a child in it looks like. No Barbie dream house, no layer of Legos covering the floor.

“I can’t take the credit.” Colt swoops in with a kiss. I turn slightly and he outsmarts me, landing his lips square over mine.

“Wow,” he winks, taking the bags from me. “We’re getting right to the action.”

“That was an accident—on my part.” I shoot him a wry look. “What’s with the hygienic environment? One of your floozies finally call the health department? Is the FDA cracking down on those obscene desserts you’ve been rumored to serve?”

We make our way to the kitchen. The counters are strategically lined with beer bottles from around the world. A picture of a naked cantina girl stares back at me from over the sink.

“Very funny,” he says, plucking out the Chinese food from the bag like pulling a rabbit out of a hat. “Truth is, I hate the upkeep around here so I’ve finally resorted to a cleaning lady. I assure you she’s a thing of beauty and most pleasurable to watch. If I throw in an extra fifty she vacuums topless. And now,
that’s
service with a smile.” He pauses and looks up at me with those twin emerald green eyes, same ones that Mitch took with him. Colt smolders into me a moment and my stomach pinches tight. “But I think you know I couldn’t care less about the smile.”

A moment of silence bumps by as he bears into me with an intensity I’ve never seen before. He’s holding my attention, making my insides quiver, but it’s all for his brother and he knows it. I reach out and touch his cheek, his five o’clock shadow, rough as sandpaper. He’s got his hair slicked back just the way Mitch wore it. He’s lost his drunken playboy appeal and layered beneath that was Mitch all along.

He waves a hand over my face.

“You okay?” He plucks out a couple of champagne bottles and holds one up in each hand, a lewd grin brimming on his lips.

“No thanks. I rarely take in the wine I sell, let alone down champagne for no good reason.”

His cheek pulls up one side, no smile. “You’re right. Marrying Max is no good reason,” he says, struggling to pop the cork.

I ignore his potshot and dish myself some food. “It’s nice to know you’re okay with this. I guess it’s an improvement from last week when you threatened
litigation.
”

“Hey, I haven’t taken that off the table.” He bumps me playfully with his shoulder as he loads his plate.

“It figures. You do realize you rival Stella’s best efforts at being a two-year old—well, almost two.” Although, thankfully Stella approves of Max. Daddy was her first word, and he more than appreciated it.

Colt doesn’t say anything, he just goes into Mitch-mode again with his ultra serious demeanor, those hooded lids that I swear are trying to lure me into the bedroom.

“Look, I know this isn’t easy for you,” I whisper. “But if it makes you feel better, Max and I haven’t even slept together yet. I want to do everything by the book because I know how much Mitch would hate this.”

Colt comes to life with a little chuckle. “You cut him off, huh? You know what Mitch would appreciate even more? If you continued to give him the shaft
after
the nuptials. You could have one of those celibate marriages that are all the rage.”

I avert my eyes at his absurdity. “Celibate marriages are not ‘all the rage.’ More like an
outrage
, maybe.”

“Yeah, well”— he jabs his fork in food and spins it in a circle like a little boy—“why don’t you try it out and report back to me.”

My heart drops to my feet. It’s like Mitch is in there hiding, listening in, speaking through his older twin. I swear if Colt donned a suit, wore that tragic smile of Mitch’s I couldn’t tell them apart.

I push my plate back. No point in even trying to eat. All this talk about Mitch, these circular thoughts, I know where they lead. It takes hours to recover from having my heart shattered all over again. Death does a lot of things, but it doesn’t take away the patina of misery once you lose somebody. Time doesn’t heal all wounds. I’ll grieve Mitch until the day I die, and I’m grateful Max understands that.

“I saw Viv today.” He pulls my plate back and does his best impression of his brother again.

“Lucky you,” I smear it with sarcasm. Who knew it would be Viv saving me from this catastrophe of a conversation. “I’ve seen her around town a few times—still very single—always inquisitive when it comes to my future husband.” There. I’ll keep the focus on Max and ditch out the door after dinner. Too much more of Mitch in this room and I might jump out the window just to escape him.

“She gives it three months.” He blinks a smile and morphs into Mitch with the long commas inverted on either side of his shit-eating grin. My stomach gives a tight squeeze, and I try to ignore it.

“Really?” I belt out a laugh. “Only half the time she was married to Max? She thinks she’s that good, huh?”

“Yeah, well, I told her not to worry.” He wraps an arm around my waist. “I let her know I had plans to steal you away”—Colt drops a kiss to the back of my neck—“that the wedding wouldn’t happen.”

My stomach cinches as he sears me with his touch, and for a second I fool myself into thinking it
is
Mitch. He’s crawled into my head for the evening and now there was no escaping him.

“Right,” I huff. “Like I’m going to let you seduce me into oblivion.” I’m starting to wonder if Kat was onto something. “You’re delusional.”

We move over to the couch where there’s a playoff game on TV, and I let Colt enjoy the last several minutes while I zone out and stare at the ceiling—so blank and wide, it invites me to drift wherever I want.

The wedding swirls through my mind, but something else is clawing at me, and I can’t pinpoint what. It keeps eluding me like a dream I long to remember. I can feel change coming like a wave, ready to crest on the horizon. Something earth shattering this way comes. It unnerves me, makes me shake on the inside. Sure, I’ve been with Max for a while now, but this was a monumental event. Marriage—becoming Mrs. Max Shepherd.

It’s losing that final part of Mitch that hurts the most—his name. Stella has it, and after Max adopts her, she’ll keep it as a second middle name. I have it as a business.
Townsend
. I try mouthing it, but it only makes things worse.

Images of Mitch and me on our wedding day come back in snatches—how young we both were, how beautiful. He was ready to leave the reception to start our honeymoon right after Colt gave the toast. So happy, so much joy.

I look over at him next to me on the couch.
Why did you have to die?
I gaze out at Colt as if the answer were about to spew from his lips.

“What’s on your mind?” Colt gets up and puts in a DVD.

“Your brother.”

“Which one?” He blinks a sarcastic smile. Janice insists Max calls her Mom. Janice is everyone’s mom, always has been—hell—
Kat
calls her Mom.

I pull a face. “Your
favorite
brother.”

“My favorite?” He stabs a finger in his chest. Colt sports an early spring tan. He’s lost weight and his features are more cuttingly handsome than usual, which would explain the line of women trailing him all over town. “You mean the one that used to be
your
favorite.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair, Lee. So what’s going on? He haunting you?”

“I wish. It bothers me, though, you know, about what he’d think.”

“He’s rolling over.” Colt’s demeanor changes—darkens unexpectedly.

“Spinning. Mitch is spinning.”
In his grave,
but neither of us will say it. “So, get me some champagne. I think I need that drink now.”

The movie drones on. It’s so dark in the room, I feel immobilized as the television spasms over us with an assault of light. Colton keeps replenishing my glass, and I pretend not to notice. I think the game plan is to get me good and drunk then disrobe me once I pass out on the couch. I told Kat I’d be out late. Late night, early morning, what’s the difference? It’s clear I’m spending the night. Besides, I don’t plan on adding a DUI to my list of horrific new life events. Not that marrying Max is horrific.
God
no. I love Max. I wish he were here instead of Colton.

I close my eyes, and my head rolls with its own velocity. The world swills side to side, threatening to take me down with its exaggerated gravity.

“Maybe that champagne wasn’t such a good idea.” I struggle to stand and make my way to the window. Townsend sits in the distance with the moon illuminating the brilliant green vines as far as the eye can see. The cold night envelops the fields, cloaks it in an electric glow like a pale blue canopy. It’s an amazing world through a midnight lens—a portal to anywhere, anytime. It lies to you and tells you that all things are possible—that what you desire most is right at your fingertips if only you believe.

Colton crops up behind me and fills my flute to the brim. He fiddles with the remote and lands the TV on some sappy music channel. I squeeze my eyes shut and drain the glass—tell him I want another. I’m not one to hold my liquor. It slows me down. I like the way it heats through me, sets fire to my veins like racing lava. It makes disorientation feel like a whole new dimension, challenges me not to care or rationalize what I’m about to do next.

I down glass after glass like a repeat performance.

Mitch pulls me in, gurgling his affection into my neck and my hair as I wrap my arms around his waist.

“I miss this,” I say just below a whisper.

“You’re gonna be on the floor soon,” he says, warming the top of my head with his oven-heated breath.

“Come on.” I pick up his hand and start to sway. I meant to say
let’s
dance
, but my tongue can’t seem to navigate the words. “God—I miss everything about you.”

“I’m right here.” His smile brightens the entire room.

“Why were you gone so long?” I pull back to take him in, and the ceiling spins.

Mitch doesn’t say anything. He just gives me those bedroom eyes with his lids hooded low because he knows I’m susceptible to all of his devices. He glides his hands inside my sweater, and I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. I miss his touch, the special way he looks at me just before he dives in for a kiss. We dance away from the television, and his face gets lost in the shadows. It transforms into a thing of beauty and I gasp.

“You’re really here,” I marvel. It comes out dull, unrequited.

I pull him in tenderly by the cheeks and land my lips over his and linger. My heart soars, my insides detonate with my pent up lust for him.

An urgency takes over as I bite into his lips. I swipe my tongue over his, soft and fluid, before indulging in a kiss that supersedes time, and space, barriers as wide as the sea—even death has proven no match for our love.

A moan gets caught in my throat as I pull off his T-shirt. My hands spread over his chest in a smooth circle. I pull him to the floor, running my fingers along the lip of his jeans. Mitch pulls my shirt off and touches his heated flesh to mine and my insides quiver as he extinguishes this primal ache within me. I’ve missed him with an exploding passion. It feels so good to feel his skin—touch his body one last time.

We peel off our clothes, run our hands wild, like stoking a fire. His lips track a line of molten kisses up and down my body, nothing but a trail of lightning.

His bare flesh rakes over mine. My legs wrap around his back like a vine. Mitch lands his hands over my breast as thrusts himself into me with a forceful plunge. I throw my arms up over my head and let Mitch move inside of me.

A seam of light penetrates my lids, and I struggle to pry them open. They’re heavy as lead, gritty with sand, and for a moment I wonder if I fell asleep at the beach again. Of course, Stella is always nice enough not to drown when I do that. Not that I make a practice of it.

“Stella?” I try to lift up my head, but it holds the heft of a bowling ball. I give several hard blinks as the scenery around me blooms into some alien environment.

The scent of bacon lies thick in the air as Colt’s living room reconfigures itself in snatches.

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bacon,” Colton sings, setting a dish on the coffee table before scooting it toward me with his knee.

“Crap.” I get up on my elbow only to see my boobs hanging low with a surprise greeting of their own. “Shit!” I pull the blanket up to my chin before peeking below and confirming my theory. “I’m naked,” I groan.

“Relax. It wasn’t a catching condition.” He shoots me a sharp look as he takes a seat on the table.