One Moment More - S. J. Evans (books for men to read .TXT) 📗

he had done—and tried to do—to me, no way I could shrug it off as if nothing happened and trust that he would never try it again. It was all just too soon and too complicated, and I was still trying to work out the jumbled up mess this night had spiraled into. But with his apology ringing in my ears—and having absolutely no desire to watch another fight break out—I nodded, very slowly, and mumbled a broken, "It's okay." (Even though we all—with the exception of the intoxicated pervert who appeared to be moments away from emptying the contents of his stomach all over the bushes just outside the building next-door—knew it was far from the truth.)

   A heavy silence settled over us, as no more words were exchanged. 

  Mark was already half-running, half-stumbling down the nose of the alley, keeled over, when I felt something brush against my arm. I jumped, startled, an image of Mark's lust-filled gaze flashing across the back of my mind. And for a moment, I could still feel his hands exploring my body, as if it wasn't just a memory, but actually happening . . . right here, and right now. But then the images were gone, along with his repulsive touch, and it was just Gavin and me, his hand unbelievably warm against my own frozen skin.

  "Reina?" He called my name softly, as if not to frighten me, and, in turn, I cautiously tilted my head up to meet his gaze. That was when I noticed the small, swollen bruise on his left cheekbone. "I am so, so sorry, Reina. I should have come looking for you earlier."

  Tears sprang into my eyes at the tormented look on his face, his gaze haunted, lower lip trembling. My heart ached, seeing him so torn up, feeling responsible for the defeated look in his eyes. After all, I had been the one to first push him away, I had been the stubborn one who just couldn't admit that she was afraid, and I had been the one who ran off, all alone, into an alley where unspeakable things were bound to happen. 

   I was responsible for all of this mess. No one else. 

  And I tried to tell him just that, tried to assure him that (this time) he had done nothing wrong. But before I could, his face crumpled even more—if that was even possible—and he let out a long, shaky breath, ran a hand through his hair, and crushed me into his arms. "Jeez, Reina, I was scared to death," he whispered, his voice just as defeated as his expression. "When I couldn't find you inside, and then heard you scream for help, I thought I was going to lose you, forever. And then I saw Mark . . . abusing you . . ." He trailed off, swallowing hard, and I could feel his fear and disgust as if it was my own. "I had never been more afraid in my life, Reina. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you like that. If I lost you, period. " 

   A sob tumbled from my lips, as those words haunted me, shattering any frail resolve I was still hanging onto. "Gav," I breathed, hugging him back with all the strength I had left in me, as if my life depended on it, "you saved me. You saved me from that monster." My thoughts were all jumbled up again as I tried to piece together what I really wanted to say to him. He shuddered, and I realized he was crying, too, unraveling right before my eyes, in my arms. With that realization, came another. And before I could stop myself, words were spilling out of my mouth in a rush, filling the space between us. "I'm sorry, Gavin. So, so sorry. I never should have lied to you. Or pushed you away. Or pretended to be okay with things when really I was scared out of my mind. I never should have hurt you like that. And I'm just so, so sorry." Nuzzling my face in the warmth his chest provided, I tried to banish any bitterness or ill-thoughts provided by the memory of his departure, living in the moment, nothing else.

   And in that moment, while we held onto each other in the bitter cold, our hearts beating in time with one another, our fears (or at least a few of them) exposed for what they truly were, our worlds finally colliding as one again, there was nothing I wanted more than to just stay with him, one moment more.  

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity but had, in reality, only been a few minutes, Gavin cleared his throat, planted a gentle kiss on my head. "It's okay," he said, hushing me, as he rubbed slow, soothing circles on my back. "It's okay, Reina. We've both made mistakes. But you can't blame yourself for our falling out. That was all me." He pulled away, hands at my waist, and I had to bite back the urge to wince as they covered the bruises there. Then his blue eyes found mine, crystallized with stray tears, and I felt an overwhelming surge of warmth flood through me, despite the mid-February weather. "I was the one who left. I was the one who ignored you. I was the one who was a cowardly idiot."

   "Don't forget an ass," I cut in, just to try to lighten the mood a little.

  He chuckled, but his eyes were still very serious. "And an ass," he agreed, shaking his head a little. "What I'm trying to say, though, is . . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry for lying to you and leaving you with false hopes. I'm sorry for being such a selfish, cowardly lion. And most of all, I'm sorry it took me this long to finally realize just how desperately I want you. Just how much I can't live without you."     

   Even though I wasn't sure if I should believe what he was saying or not, I couldn't help but smile at the thought that he really had missed me, he really did—and still does—care about me. He'd just made a mistake. A mistake he'd admitted to. A mistake I could forgive, no matter how greatly it'd left me torn apart and scarred. Because, as my great uncle had always said, "Everyone deserves a second chance, kiddo." 

   "I know," was all I told Gavin, though, with a more-or-less genuine smile on my face. But that was all that truly needed to be spoken aloud. After all, we'd always had our own special language, and even now—after months of separation—I still knew that he knew exactly what I meant. No words were left unspoken between us. Not even the most obvious ones: I forgive you, Gavin. And I, too, want you. Desperately. "Just don't screw things up this time. Okay?" 

  Grinning at me, Gavin shrugged, as if it was no big deal. "Okay," he said, as I shivered from another cool breeze that blew into the alleyway as the late night's temperature dropped even further.  He must have noticed, because before I knew it, he was slipping out of his leather jacket and draping it over my shoulders, saying, "You're freezing." By the way that he said it, you would have thought he hadn't noticed up until that very moment that yes, in fact, I was a bit (insert sarcasm here) cold. 

   Biting back the urge to scoff at his fantastic (again, sarcasm) observance skills, I accepted his jacket with ease, slipping into it and sighing as an instant blanket of warmth covered me. My legs were still cold, but at least I would be able to feel my arms and hands again, with time. "Thanks, Gav," I said, and flashed him a smile. "For everything."

   He nodded in reply, returning my smile, something I'd grown accustomed to in the past few years I'd gotten to know him. He had never been a fan of the phrase you're welcome or anything along the same lines. So instead, he made up his own language for that, too. And if I was being completely honest, it was just one of the hundreds of other quirks I loved about him.

   Bending down to give me a quick kiss on the cheek, he ran his fingers through my hair, pushed a fallen strand of it behind my ear. (Just another thing he often did that I adored.) "Let's get out of here," he whispered in my ear, and I tensed up for a second, feeling his breath on my face, remembering the way Mark whispered things into my ear, against my skin. "You could probably use a warm bath. And I have hot chocolate—with those little, bite-sized marshmallows you used to love. It'll help you relax." His smile was so genuine, so inviting, it was impossible to refuse his offer. Even if I could risk being hurt in the end by doing so. "And we've got a lot of catching up to do."

   This was it. My last chance to run away. All I had to do was turn down his offer, find my way home, and close off all ties to him forever, pretending he didn't exist. 

   But I couldn't do that. Not now. Not after all the tears and confessions and fights. Not when I had already decided to give him a second chance, whether he had earned it or not—which, in my heart, I believed he had.  

  And not to mention there was something about him, something warm and familiar and comfortable, that I just couldn't let go of, couldn't ignore. Something beyond his good looks and loving gaze that made it impossible not to go running back into his arms as if the past was nothing but the past, and falling ever-so-helplessly in love all over again. 

   So, choosing to allow myself to fall under his spell (once again), I pulled his hand into mine, entwined our frozen fingers together, looked deep into those captivating blue eyes, and said, "I'd love to get out of here with you. Your place or mine?" 

   "Wasn't that pretty obvious?" he countered, flashing me a wink. 

  I bit my lip, feeling heat spread up my cheeks, and tried not to smile too widely as I whispered, "Yours it is." 

  Desperately hoping I wouldn't regret this later. 

 

Imprint

Text: All Rights Reserved, Stephanie Jane, 2013. Do not copy, steal, or re-post elsewhere. Thank you for your cooperation. :)
Images: Google images
Publication Date: 06-06-2013

All Rights Reserved