Free Afterlife by Joey W. Hill

regrouping. But
    the clothes she’d worn to the club
    were stil crumpled
    beside the coffee table, her purse left
    there. In the kitchen,
    dishes piled in the sink and dirty
    countertops showed the
    remains of the lackluster meals she’d
    made. Though he
    seemed to take al that in with a quick
    glance, his steps
    didn’t falter as he headed for her
    bedroom, fol owing the
    easy-to-discern path to it.
    She’d never had a man carry her.
    Didn’t even remember
    her deceased father doing that,
    because the last time it had
    happened she’d likely been too young
    to remember it.
    She’d scoffed at the way they did it
    in the movies, so
    smooth and easy, even if the woman
    wasn’t expecting it or
    resisted, which would, in reality,
    result in an awkward flurry
    of limbs, a hitch in his movements to
    handle her weight.
    With her yoga muscles, heavy breasts
    and curvy hips, she
    was a solid one-thirty, but he’d
    plucked her off her feet as if
    she weighed much less. But of
    course, this was a man who
    could easily hold his own weight on
    his arms.
    She’d started shaking again and she
    didn’t want to fal to
    pieces. But it was as if her body and
    mind had been
    waiting specifical y for this. While
    she was apprehensive,
    she couldn’t deny pretty much every
    part of her was glad to
    have him here. And that was bad.
    Laying her down in the rumpled nest
    of covers, he
    planted his very fine backside on the
    edge of her bed,
    keeping her hemmed in. He glanced
    at the side table.
    “Aspirin and compresses?”
    She shrugged. “It’s the best thing for
    helping it do what it
    needs to do. What are you doing
    here? And how did you…”
    “I came to check on you. Leland and I
    know one another.
    He noticed my card in your purse and
    assumed something
    about you that I was more than
    pleased to have him
    assume. That you’re one of mine.”
    Digesting the mortifying shock of him
    knowing Leland
    Kel er took a moment. Then she
    blinked. “Excuse me?”
    He put a hand on her face, the
    uninjured side. “Rachel,
    why did you do this?”
    When he was little, her son had taken
    martial arts
    training. For some reason, at Jon’s
    direct look, the firmness
    in the hand on her cheek, she
    remembered one of Kyle’s
    instructors. He’d been gentle, careful,
    intel igent. Yet when
    he helped the boys spar, there was a
    concentration in his
    gaze that suggested it was best not to
    underestimate the
    power of a gentle, focused man.
    She closed her eyes. “Jon, we can’t
    have this
    conversation. I can’t have this
    conversation. It was stupid
    and pointless. That part of my life
    was over a long time ago.
    I’d accepted it. It was just…”
    “I started something I didn’t finish,
    and left you nowhere
    else to go.”
    “No.” She opened her eyes
    immediately. “This was my
    stupid decision, Jon. You weren’t
    responsible. I appreciate
    you coming by to check on me,
    but…”
    It was as if he were weighing the
    significance of every
    word that came from her mouth,
    noting every minute
    change in her expression, the
    uncomfortable shift of her
    body. Since he was sitting on her
    bed, his hip brushing her
    thigh, he now slid his hand from her
    cheek to her shoulder,
    his thumb resting on her col arbone. It
    effectively stopped
    her babbling. She couldn’t seem to
    continue, to tel him she
    was fine, that he needed to leave.
    “Breathe,” he said. “Like when you
    start your class. Three
    count. And keep your eyes on mine.”
    His thumb shifted so it was on the
    pulse in her throat,
    making short strokes there as she
    drew in a breath. She felt
    foolish, but she took that deep breath,
    drew it in for a count
    of three, even as she remained
    conscious of those two
    points of contact, his hand on her
    throat, his hip against her
    leg. When she let it out, emotion wel
    ed up in her chest,
    making it tighter. She got the second
    breath out, and it got
    worse, such that more tears spil ed
    forth.
    “I don’t want you to