Free Afterlife by Joey W. Hill Page A

see this.” Her
    voice broke. “I can’t—”
    “One more,” he said, not unkindly,
    though his hold on her
    throat increased, underscoring the
    relentless command.
    It was a shudder of sobs, more than
    an indrawn breath,
    and as it crested, they broke. She’d
    cried a lot over the
    past day and a half, but this was
    different. This was the way
    a person cried when someone was
    there to hear, to help.
    Pul ing her into his arms, he turned
    them so they were
    stretched out on the bed together, one
    of her arms wrapped
    around his back and the other around
    his neck, her face
    buried into his chest. He stroked her,
    crooned to her as she
    shook and cried, until she’d cried out
    the fear and shame,
    and was left limp with exhaustion.
    If she was going to experience soul-
    deep weariness, she
    couldn’t have asked for better
    immediate surroundings. He
    smel ed like sage and sandalwood
    aftershave, and
    beneath that, more faintly, something
    that was like motor oil
    and burning wood. His hair was
    under her fingertips, silk
    she was able to stroke in nervous
    movements, trying to
    regain her composure. Since he was
    wearing slacks and
    dress shirt, his tie loosened, she
    realized he’d come from
    work. Because she’d had her cheek
    pressed to the tie, it
    was now water spotted. Drawing
    back enough to see it,
    she saw it had a subdued silhouette
    pattern of dark blue
    dolphins against a deep ocean blue,
    like seeing the
    magical creatures leaping through the
    waves at night.
    “I like your tie,” she rasped. She
    smoothed her hand over
    it, the man beneath. “What you said,
    ‘one of mine’. I don’t
    understand. I can’t—”
    His hand closed over hers, held it stil
    . “I want to know
    more about you before we start
    talking about me,” he said.
    That velvet voice became irresistible
    when it dropped to a
    rumble, like now. “What did you
    mean when you said this
    part of your life was over a long time
    ago? Have you served
    a Master before?”
    He made it sound so normal. Of
    course, it was part of his
    life, like yoga class or going to work.
    It made her want to cry
    again, but she had no tears left.
    “No. My husband…he and I divorced
    some time ago, and
    he wasn’t into that. I’ve never been
    able… I’m not real y,
    either. I got confused. Chalk it up to
    midlife crisis.” Her
    other hand pleated and worried at the
    tie under his grasp.
    Her fingers were cold compared to
    his.
    “Hmm. So if it’s never been a part of
    your life at al , why
    did you say this hasn’t been part of
    your life in a long time?”
    Catching both her hands now, he
    brought them into a
    prayer mudra and folded his over
    them, giving her warmth
    but also bringing her gaze up that
    pointed direction of their
    fingertips, to his penetrating gaze.
    “Jon.” Why was she saying things she
    couldn’t possibly
    explain, to him or anyone? “It was a
    mistake. Can we
    please leave it there?”
    “The only mistake you’re making
    right now is not trusting
    me.”
    “I’m not going to tel a man young
    enough to be my son
    that sex hasn’t been part of my life
    for nearly six years.”
    Longer, if she counted when she’d
    stopped being able to
    enjoy it.
    Then she realized what she’d said,
    and panic clutched
    her stomach. If he asked her about
    Kyle…
    “Al right,” he said gravely. “You
    don’t have to tel me that.
    But maybe you could tel me why.
    And I’m only old enough
    to be your son if you had me when
    you were barely a
    teenager.”
    The relief that he hadn’t taken it as a
    direct reference to
    her being a mother was quickly
    replaced by another sick
    feeling. He was going to make her
    say it. Despite the blow
    to her already nonexistent pride,
    maybe it would push him
    the necessary step back from her. It
    stil shamed her to
    speak the words.
    “I can’t do it. I don’t get…excited.
    Not the right way. And
    the things I want…” She sat up, pul
    ing away, and huddled
    on the edge of the