Chapter 8

Henry

Maybe this was a bad idea. Actually, I’m sure it was. What am I thinking, asking her what she means by throw it away? I knew, didn’t I? A small part of me knew, and yet, like a pervert, I turned the conversation in that direction.

Then on top of that, offering to cuddle?

As Chloe arches her full round bottom into me, every part of my brain dissolves completely to mush. Even though there are alarms ringing in my head, the sloshing of my brain matter can’t process enough to form a response.

Unfortunately, my arms are on autopilot. My hands slide down Chloe’s curvy hips, and dammit, if that little gasp she releases in reply doesn’t go straight to my manhood.

The feelings that I thought were dormant are suddenly right on the surface, like a raw nerve. Do I want to poke the bear, so to speak?

No. This is dangerous territory, especially considering Chloe’s lack of experience. I need to put an end to this and quick. But shit, at the same time, I know that Chloe is vulnerable about this stuff. I don’t want her to think she’s done something wrong. She’s a sensitive soul, and if she thinks I’m upset by this or don’t like it, she will be hurt then too.

“You ready to get some rest?” I manage to ask, though my voice is clearly shaky.

She yawns. “Yeah. I’m beat.”

Giving her hip a little squeeze, I roll back to my side of the bed. There. That hasn’t been a disaster. Just a little cuddle. My world hasn’t imploded. Not entirely, at least.

Chloe is softly snoring within minutes, but I toss and turn for a long time. A million thoughts race through my mind, all at the same time. How good it felt to talk about Sarah again. How good it felt cuddling with Chloe. How much I’ve missed the touch of a woman, the intimacy. How jealous I really am that Jameson found a wife this year. How L.A. has good memories too, like the beach and surfing, and my favorite barbeque spot.

I take a breath to try to calm the thoughts. Maybe it is time I do a little healing, I start to think. Surely Sarah wouldn’t want me to be miserable and isolated on her account. She was too kindhearted for anything that cruel. I wonder what she’d think of me, living alone most of the year in a cabin in the wilderness. Would she recognize me?

When I finally break out of that loop of questioning, the oldest wounds I need to heal_my relationship with my mother_take center stage.

Based on what Thandi told me the other day, my mother must have been informed about the details of Sarah’s passing. There’d be no logical reason for her to donate to the medical team at UCLA to research the very thing that took Sarah from me... that took my baby from me...

My mother may have a decent bone in her body after all. Is that what she wants me to see? That she is doing something thoughtful on my behalf? I don’t like how happy that idea makes me feel. I have held a grudge against her for twenty years, that’s all I know how to do.