Best of 2017

“Thirty Seventh.”

“Okay, do you know the avenue?”

“Lexington. I have to go.”

“Please, stay on the—” Without another word, I drop the call. I break. I fear I will pass out from the racing of my heart. Slumping down on the stoop of the apartment building, I let it all out.

It hammers to the point of pain as my small hand touches the ice-cold pavement.

A light sheen of sweat collects down my back. In the distance, through my fog, I hear my name.

There he is. His gaze sears mine.

“What are you doing here?” I mutter out, drained and hollow.

“I needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“So you found me?”

“Of course, I found you.”

“Are you here as my doctor or as my friend?”

“What do you need me to be?”

“Everything. I need you to be everything.”

“Then that’s what I’ll be.” My shoulders shake on a sob. “I’ll be anything you need.”

“Please hold me,” I plead. He nods and sits down on the stoop beside me. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never.” He pulls me closer into his embrace. Cradles me. My body wracks with another wave of sobs. They won’t stop. They just keep coming.

“What happened? What’s going on?”

“I-I can’t. It’s too much.” He tilts my chin up, locking our eyes together.

“Please.”

“It wasn’t an accident.”

“What wasn’t an accident? I don’t understand.”

“My dad . . . Not an accident.” With that, I slump forward, laying my head against his legs. He traces soft circles on my back. They comfort. They soothe.

“Breathe. Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale. One, two three.” The air once restricted, flows back. He must feel it as he waits, trailing circles until I calm. “What do you mean it wasn’t an accident?”

“I-I found a letter. He did it.”

“Did what? What did he do?”

“He took his own life,” I say. “He lost everything and took his own life. He left us on purpose. He left me on purpose,” I cry. “Why am I never enough?”

Preston holds me. He holds my trembling body against his until I can’t cry anymore. Until no sobs leave my body. Until I’m numb.

“Please don’t abandon me,” I whisper.

“Shh. Shh. I have you.”

“Please don’t leave me,” I cry out again. This time I raise my head to meet his stare. I have said so much more than words can say, but he understands every word.

“Never.” He stands and lifts me to my feet, taking on my weight.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home.” With slow, steady steps, Preston guides me down Lexington until we get to Thirty-Fifth. I expect him to keep going, but instead he turns down the block and up to his brownstone where he fishes for his keys.

“I thought . . .”

“I didn’t want to leave you. I needed to make sure you were okay. So I brought you to my place.”

“Thank you, Preston.”

Together we walk into his apartment. He takes my coat and hangs it by the front door, then leads me to the living room.

“Tell me what happened?”

“It’s so hard to say. To understand.” He nods and takes my hand in his, squeezing with reassurance.

“I was at Richard’s apartment, cleaning out his closet and I found a box. Inside were all types of personal belongings. The papers from my mother’s investment, the deed to the apartment that the company bought for us in the building. Then there was a book. A Jane Austen book. When I grabbed it, a letter fell out.” All the words dry up. They feel like chalk.

In, out. In, out.

“I got you.”

“He said he was sorry. He said my mom was right about him.” I take gulps of air. “Mom t-told him we were better off without him. He had lost everything, and she told him that.” He nods in understanding. “How could she say that? How could she tell him we were better off with him dead? It’s her fault.”

“I know you’re angry right now. And it’s understandable for you to blame your mother. But your father was obviously going through something very emotional and not thinking rationally. He felt he had no other way out besides taking his own life. As much as you want to blame your mother, you can’t. From what you’ve told me about her, it’s obvious she blames herself enough. You need to forgive her.”

“And him? How do I forgive him? How do I forgive the fact he didn’t love me enough to stay?”

“You have to know it in your heart, that he truly felt he had no other option. He was in pain. Forgive him and love him despite his actions.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You can. And you will. You’re an amazing person, and if anyone can forgive, it’s you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I believe in you.”

And again he says the words. The words I’m so desperate to hear. The words that I need to hear.

“It will be the salve for your heartbreak. Forgive her. Forgive him.”

“You speak as if you know.”

“I do.” I quirk my eyebrow up at him.

“No, this is about your loss. I don’t want to make it about mine.”

“Or you just don’t trust me with that part of yourself.”

“I do.” He lets out an exhale. “I told you when I was in college I had a girlfriend. We’d dated since high school. She was amazing, but there was another side to her, as well. I know she suffered from bipolar disorder now, but at the time, well, obviously I didn’t know. She was reckless and fun, but when she was off, it was bad . . .” His voice trails off. “She committed suicide our sophomore year.”

“I’m so sorry. Is that why?”

“Is that why I became a psychologist? Yes. I never saw the signs. If I only knew, I could have helped her get through her nightmares.” My eyes grow wide at his choice of words. My heart beats frantically in my chest.

“Nig

htmares?” I whisper to myself, looking up at him, letting the piece of the puzzle fit together.

“Oh, my God. All this time you’ve been so scared that what I had was transference, were you with me because . . . Am I a replacement? Am I some way for you to right your wrongs?”

Preston’s self-restraint snaps. He leans forward and cups my face, and before I know what’s happening, I find myself kissed with abandon.

When we pull apart, his ragged breath tickles my lips.

“How can you doubt me? How can you imagine this is anything other than what it is?”

“And what is it? What is it you feel for me?”

“Everything. I feel everything for you. You’re all I think about. You’re all I dream of. Every second I’m not with you is a second too long. Don’t you think this is killing me? Don’t you think I’m hurting, too?” And with that, our mouths collide and my lips part again.

Tasting each other’s mouths, savoring each swipe of the tongue.

The feel of his thumb running alone the curve of my jaw makes me open fully to him.

He takes me in an all-consuming kiss.

Strong arms pull me closer. They surround me, engulf me. They pin me to him.

His touch is electrifying.

Every inch of my skin burns to feel more. To experience more of this heady sensation.

Preston eases back until our eyes lock.

The feel of his breath tickles my lips.

Our breathing mingles.

Our mouths barely touch as we inhale each other.

Steam puffs between us.

I curl my arms around his neck as he lifts me into his arms and pads his way to the bedroom.

Once in the room, he eases me onto the bed and lays another deep kiss before lifting off me. His icy blue eyes study me.

He’s silent as he removes his clothes . . . and then removes mine.

My body shakes and trembles from the emotion swirling around us.

This is more than sex.

This is more than comfort.

He might not say it, but I see it in his eyes. This is two people falling in love.

When he gets back on top of me, he presses tiny kisses to my neck, trailing them down to the hollow of my chest. His warm hands feel me.

My body arches into his touch. To the feel of his fingers caressing each nipple. To the feel of him stroking them into hard peaks. The tip of his tongue circles them. One, then the other. He licks with careful precision until I’m writhing with pleasure.