“Lila, you need to breathe.” He edged closer.
He hadn’t shared himself.
“Breathe now.” He knelt in front of me.
My lungs were collapsed sacks, and he swayed across my vision.
“Breathe!”
I’d assaulted him.
He gripped my shoulders so hard I cried out. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know—” I clutched his forearms, but he shook me off and stood, towering over me.
“You have nothing to apologize for!” He paced away and then strode back, disgust and anger at war with his words.
I didn’t know what to say. Maybe he knew I hadn’t done it on purpose, but guilt had already drowned my bliss. I was adrift now, lost in a stupor as he stood before me.
“Physical attraction has always been a risk. I should not have embraced you.”
Embraced me? Fresh irritation snapped me out of my misery. You nearly barbecued me! I frowned at the mud on his khaki knees. And it wasn’t physical. Not entirely, anyway. And besides, it didn’t excuse what I’d done . . . Jesus! Could I possibly feel more mortified?
He knelt before me again. “I should have asked for your permission.” I opened my mouth, but he hurried on, “May I please have your permission? You are a lovely woman, and I confess that I do desire . . . platonic contact.”
I blinked. He wanted a hug?
He rolled his eyes with the same practiced flair as Eileen and tugged on his ear.
Oh! “Okay. Sure.” I took a deep breath to center myself as he reached for me. “Wait. Is Eileen . . . ?”
“She has not left the house.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” He leaned forward, but I stopped him.
“How are you sure?”
With a dramatic sigh, he scrawled in the damp sand. Will explain!
I scuffed his words away with my shoe. You better! I mouthed.
Shaking his head, he reached out again, but not in a hug. Taking my left hand in his right, he raised his other arm and curved his hand around the back of my neck. My breath caught, his lips parted, and then every muscle in my body lifted and tensed with anticipation.
Oh, God, what was he doing?
Do not be afraid.
I’m not . . . I’m . . . I couldn’t even form a thought. The sensations were so . . . I wanted to . . . Oh, God . . .
Do not be ashamed. Your nervous system is trying to process the additional stimulation as best it can.
He slid his thumb lower onto my neck, and I struggled to suppress a moan.
Focus on my voice, Lila. Look at me.
Eyes fluttering, that was harder than it should have been, but with effort I met his gaze, and he exhaled.
It will be easier now. Keep looking at me.
The rapturous tension melted away, and suddenly he was supporting me, balancing me on the log as I tried to remember how to breathe.
I am sorry that I could not warn you. The first time is always the most intense.
His lips weren’t moving, but I could hear him with every fiber of my being. Like his thoughts were a tuning fork and my body was the instrument. The fleeting thought made me blush, and surprisingly he reddened, too.
You know what I’m thinking?!
He nodded and swallowed hard.
It is the only way that we can speak without being overheard.
Ow! I jerked with a flash of pain like matches striking under my skin, and then a rushing wave of concern and fear made me gasp.
You should not feel that!
Is this what it was like for him? Tendrils of morose laughter snaked among the emotions, and I knew it was worse, much worse. Sadness flooded next, and then embarrassment, and my heart went out to him. His mouth tightened, and shock and revulsion and his sense of being violated flooded me—but in his eyes, his lovely gray eyes, there was a longing.
I see you.
His grip on my hand loosened, but I laced my fingers through his.
Help me understand. Please.
His touch was growing hotter, and a rivulet of sweat trickled down his forehead; but luckily, he wasn’t feeling the pain—
His pupils flexed, an infinitesimal adjustment, and suddenly I knew he was shutting me out.
Focus, Lila. Ask me anything, and I will answer as truthfully as I can.
But how could I ignore his suffering? I wanted to feel it so I could understand him . . .
Focus!
A rush of scalding blood boiled through my veins, wiping away all thoughts but pain. Licking, sparking flames tortured every shocked cell as my lungs begged my throat to suck in air, mercifully tepid air, my back arching, both of my hands gripping Sal’s in the manic grasp of desperation, an animal need to escape to be saved to run to fight to die.
My panic fed his fear, and the burning escalated in a vicious cycle of shared agony. Like powerful magnets, our bodies were connected at hand and neck, north and south, polarities that could never be reversed, we were joined, it was always going to burn, just burn and never stop, but it must, it had to—
Eileen.
Push through it.
Eileen.
One breath.
Eileen.
Another breath.
My daughter.
Daughter.
Amid the flames, behind them, around them, through them, I could feel her. Her heart pumped in peaceful contradiction to the flaring pain, and I focused on her. She was near. She was calm. She was safe . . .
The flames dissipated, and Sal’s head bowed under the weight of shame so deep and so cold that it quenched the last of the fire. His hand slipped from my neck, but I caught it against my chest.
Can you still hear me?
His shoulders slumped.
Was that you? Was that Eileen?!
Yes.
My fingernails dug into his skin, but he had no reaction to my onslaught of emotions. He knew there was no defense and merely waited in acceptance of whatever punishment I chose to inflict.
Can they feel her, too?
No. What I did has never been done. The additional data is meaningless to them without the context to decipher it.
But can they track her? Know whether she’s sleeping or talking or—
They can calculate her location, but her baseline
