Getting Real

“We still have time,” he said.

She shook her head. “I was thinking about how much time we wasted before we got to this point.”

He smiled and stroked her back. “I think maybe we needed all that to get to here.”

“Maybe.” Rielle felt tightness behind her eyes. How could she leave this man whose every touch told her he loved her without conditions? Who’d promised her he’d never ask for more than she could give, and never had?

“Ah Rie, what’s wrong?”

She closed her eyes. “I guess I am sleepy.” Rielle let

the pull of tired muscles and the threat of tears drag her into fractured dreams.

For Jake, sleep was elusive; kept away by a growing sense of bitterness born of the knowledge that despite what they’d become to each other, Rielle fully intended to walk away, and he had no idea how to stop her.

44. In the Hand of God

The default setting was drift. Jake knew it and let it happen. He and Rie drifted through the next two days, wrapped in each other, avoiding any talk of the future, of coming apart—of ending. They slept late and woke to make love, stayed close until it was time for the show, and afterwards came together again with a strength of emotion that left both of them gasping.

He gave up any notion of proper sleep. When Rielle finally closed her eyes, he lay awake to watch her, memorising the contours of her face, the shape of her eyes, the line of her cheekbone and the curve of her jaw.

This would be what he’d have to survive on; this and the memories of touching her, loving her, making her claw his back and call his name. He listened to her breathing, her soft sighs, and once, the grinding of her teeth as she dreamed darkly. He dozed but was awake the moment she stirred, any sense of exhaustion banished in the face of another day by her side. When it was over, he could sleep. There’d be nothing important to stay awake for.

There were moments when he had more hope. When she would reach for his hand and ask his opinion, laugh with him and seem to crave his closeness. Hope that he would see her again when the tour was done, when she had her life and time back, and could make different choices. Those moments, when he pretended they had a future, were when he knew himself to be deep in thrall to his addiction.

On the day of the final show, Rielle woke early. She’d been curled against him and he felt her moving. He opened one eye and smiled, drew her into his arms. “Go back to sleep.”

She brushed her lips across his lightly. “Why are you awake?”

He closed his eyes, mock snored, hugging her closer. She traced her finger under his eye, where he knew the skin had darkened from lack of proper sleep. “Tell me.”

“Nothing to tell. Come on, we can both sleep some more,” he said, but when she went stiff in his embrace, he opened his eyes again. “You don’t want to know, Rie.”

“I do. You’ve been different.”

“No I haven’t. Kiss me.”

She shook her head. “Talk.”

Jake moved Rielle away from him. He sat up against the headboard and steeled himself. She was right, he was different. He was being torn apart by the thought of losing her and never telling her how he felt. He couldn’t be Zen—couldn’t wear the disguise of ambivalence any longer.

“Oh God, Jake what is it?”

He filled his lungs and breathed out slowly, tucked his chin down and swept his eyes over her face. “I adore you, Arielle Mainline.”

She smiled, relieved it wasn’t something awful, but he went on to make it that way. “I understand I don’t have much to offer,” he snorted, “not much at all, but I love you, and I’d do anything for you. And I’m having trouble with that promise I made not to ask you for more, because I need more. I want to hear you say I mean something to you too.”

“Oh Jake,” she said, her voice cracking. She shook her head, adamantly. “You can’t love me. I’m not worth loving.”

He took her hand. “I do love you. Your bitterness and your sweetness, Rie. All the twisted little parts of you.”

Rielle looked away but not before he saw tears welling in her eyes.

“Look at me, Rie. Tell me you don’t feel something for me too,” he plucked at the sheet, “something more than this lust.”

Her voice shook but her words were clear. “You’ve been important to me. I’ve valued your friendship.” Her eyes were down on the sheet. “You got me through my fear.” She looked up, but she seemed so unhappy. “You got me, when I needed help most.”

Listening carefully, Jake had reason to be grateful he knew the difference between past and present tense because all he heard was that this was already over for her.