The Days Between: A Novel by Robin Morris

Author:Robin Morris [Morris, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2024-11-19T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sunday, May 14

Andrew

Kathryn’s long hair spilled down her shoulders onto the bare skin of her back. Her full lips were a deep garnet red, the same color as the dress she wore, and she drew him closer. His hand met her smooth skin, shattering the wall between them; he surrendered all control.

Andrew pressed his lips to the skin of her shoulder, and she faced him. Her dress was gone, and his fingers wound into her hair. His mouth traveled her, kissing her neck, her breasts, down her belly. Her hands were on his head, guiding him, and then he was above her, her tongue on his. They were together, moving as one, and Andrew could feel himself—both of them—climbing higher and higher. She called out, and he spiraled above her, then unspooled in circling waves of ecstasy. He tried to clutch her close, but she began to fade. No. He reached out, but she was gone.

Andrew bolted upright, surrounded only by the darkness of his room, the duvet in a pile on the floor beside the bed. Where was Amy? At work. Of course she was at work. Disoriented, more alone than he’d ever been. “Fuck.” In the quiet, his heart thudded, his breath ragged. His eyes adjusted to the light as his dream swam in his mind.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” He darted into the bathroom, where he attempted to clean himself. Relief, pleasure, and shame flowed through him. It was mortifying. That hadn’t happened since he was in high school.

Andrew lumbered down the stairs, the harsh light of the kitchen assaulting his eyes. At the counter, he watched the coffee maker spit, the liquid collecting in the carafe, all while lost in his dream, trapped between the warmth of the fantasy and his harsh, unforgiving reality.

“Andrew?” Amy’s voice sliced his thoughts. She stood at the entrance to the kitchen, her face weary and worn, wearing her scrubs and socks. Her crooked name tag hung where it was clipped to her top. She smelled, as she always did, like medical hand soap, and the scent cut through the kitchen to stir an aching nostalgia, a longing for something he wasn’t aware he was missing. Guilt surged through his system. Going out with Kathryn, learning about his son, he could lie to himself, say he didn’t want to hurt his wife. But the dream—so visceral, so raw. He couldn’t rationalize the desire he felt for another woman. A throb of remorse. He ached to brush Amy’s cheek with his thumb, to smooth back the flyaway strands of hair. But if their skin touched, would she sense a change in him? Amy cocked her head to the side. “Are you all right?”

The coffeepot hissed, drawing his attention. “Hey—yeah, how was work?”

“It was fine.” Amy unclipped her name tag before she pulled off her top and headed into the laundry room. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I didn’t sleep well.” Andrew rubbed his eye with a knuckle.

“My mom called last night.” Amy’s voice came from down the hall as he spilled coffee into a mug, her words waking him.

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