Down Down Deep by Christina Delay

Author:Christina Delay [Delay, Christina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

16

JESSE

GABE WALKS me back to the suite, slowly, as if I’m easily breakable. My spine straightens, and I want to tell him that I’m not an invalid, but then he might take away his hand, and I’m starting to crave his touch.

He stops in front of the door. “Think you’ll be okay from here?” The question is a tease, and a smirk tips his lips.

“I think I got it.”

“So much for our fun day.” He shrugs, and his expression is so disappointed-little-boy that I laugh—which hurts.

“Hey, the day’s not over yet. I’ve still got items on my list, and I need your help to do them.” My voice sounds like a horde of hornets, buzzy and harsh.

Gabe’s gaze softens, and I lean into him, crossing that physical boundary once again, letting him know that it’s okay that he does too. He picks up on my non-verbal and strokes my arm with the back of his finger. “Whatever you need, whenever you need. Just give me the word.”

My lips spread into a smile, and I can tell they are dry, chapped, in major need of lip gloss, but under his gaze, it’s not a crisis. “If I’d known all it took was almost drowning to get your attention, I would have arranged this years ago.”

His eyes widen. “Jesse…you’ve always had my attention.”

“Not like this.” I find his hand, place my palm flat against his, and bring it up between us. His hand swallows mine, but it’s not threatening. Not at all.

He pulls me in and wraps both his arms around me, kisses the top of my head. “Not like this,” he echoes, and I’m not sure I want to decipher the sadness I hear in his voice. “Rest up and call me whenever you’re ready.” He squeezes my hand then leaves, his broad shoulders commanding the space in the narrow hallway.

The stateroom door barely closes before Momma jumps up and grabs me by the chin, eating away at the peace I found in Gabe’s arms.

“I’m fine. Just took in some water.” I back away from her prodding hand. She’s not good at mothering, and I’m not good at accepting.

“Don’t tell me you tried to kill yourself.” She crosses her arms over her protruding belly, jiggling in a one-piece orange swimsuit that was stretched out ten years ago. It takes up all the visual energy in the room, like a construction barrel that’s survived a ten-car pile-up.

“I didn’t try to kill myself.” I don’t roll my eyes, but it’s all there in my tone.

“Oh, my Jesse-girl. How sad your little life is. To think about killing yourself while on vacation—” She interrupts herself to have a dramatic moment. Her words drip with sticky, sugary lies. I used to lick them up and swallow them down as love and acceptance, but I’ve lost my taste for her sweets.

I turn my back, and this time, I roll my eyes. “We both know you couldn’t care less about my well-being.” I drop the bag I was about to fill with ice and clink two cubes in a whiskey glass instead.

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