© 2001/2002/2003 2004 by Lori Zecca.
No part of the text can be copied or used without written permission from the author.
An Excerpt . . .
He poured himself another shot, glad the song was over, and grateful
that he and Bryn didnt have a song. But just then, an image focused in his memory and he could see them dancing in her family
room, their bodies naked, still moist from their lovemaking. How beautifully she moved, her slender body, tanned and fiery,
and those beguiling violet eyes, ever so luminous in the twilight. But what was the song they were dancing to? He could almost
hear it, but he didn't recognize it. Then, too entranced by Bryn to concentrate on anything else, he remained spellbound by
that look in her eye . . . the one that strangles his will to survive. He shoots back another tequila.
That song is
gnawing at him now. He has to know it. He needs to know it, because it makes them move so wonderfully together. He's
holding her with one hand wrapped around her bare waist, the other rested gently on her long sultry neck, his palm resting
just below the hollow. He studied her glorious face, the way her brows arch so flawlessly over those incredible eyes, long
lush lashes sweeping down across high cheekbones when she closes them peacefully, letting him guide her, trusting his every
move as she becomes one with the music. What was that song!
Finally, weariness takes over where anxiety had been the mainstay. Images of he and Bryn fill
his mind, lying side by side, gazing lovingly at her perfect oval face, tracing the gentle curves of her dainty nose, lusciously
full lips, and delicate though determined chin with the tip of his finger. The soothing memories lull him to sleep. The last
image he sees is that of her soft sweet smile.
At six forty-five he awakes retching, the tequila had taken
root in his belly, and he runs for the powder room. For the next thirty minutes, he pukes his guts up, the bitter umbrage
an almost welcomed relief.
Bryn rolled over to look at her alarm clock . . . eleven-fifteen. She was grateful
that it was Sunday and the kids were still with Travis. That was about all she was grateful for. The outpour from her emotionally
tormenting evening had her head pounding this morning. She immediately pushed away her memories of last night, simply not
ready to deal with them again. She left her bed to pee and wash her face, taking notice of her swollen lids and the puffy
pockets beneath. With a groan, she went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, and while she waited, she played the messages
that she hadn't reviewed last night.
The first was from Avery, claiming if she were having this child, which the time frame alone
seemed to be determining, then she was going to eat and enjoy her plumpness, and did Bryn want to get together for lunch or
dinner one night next week. The second was from Devin's guitar teacher, changing their lesson. The third was a hang up and
she didn't even want to go there. The fourth was from Irene Vine the goddess of all mothers who was already calling
about car pools long before necessary. Bryn just rolled her eyes. Get a life lady it's still a month away! The fifth was another
hang-up, and she just continued her eye roll. The sixth was her mother wondering if Bryn was alive since she hadn't heard
from her in so long. Guilt! Thanks, Mom . . . I needed that just about now. The seventh call was from her sister,
Kara, just calling to say hi and to warn Bryn, "Mom is on the prowl seeking information as to your whereabouts." Bryn couldn't
help but laugh.
And that was it. Her heart sank. She had half hoped Chase would have called. She sighed heavily.
Fat chance! She poured herself a mug full of coffee and returned to her bed for the rest of the day.
morning, Chase decided he was not going to have another pitiful day like the one he had the day before. Nursing a horrible
hangover, his worst in years, and lying around feeling bitterly depressed was just not his thing. He forced his body from
the bed at six-thirty, made an extra strong pot of coffee, and by seven; he was out the door and en route for the five-mile
run that would hopefully, revive his purpose.
Chase struggled during the third mile of his trek and decided to change
his route, heading toward home. As he came to the corner of Elm and Forest, he recognized her car immediately. At first, his
smile grew at the sight of her behind the wheel, a natural response, and while his heart raced automatically, he unconsciously
took a step toward her, then he halted abruptly. Oh, Christ! He had forgotten. Suddenly the most natural desire in the
world could no longer be. I forgot - I dont love you any more. "Oh, Bryn . . . " he said out loud, and his heart
sank into his stomach. To make matters worse, she had just noticed him and the distress on her face was nearly suffocating.
They remained stationary, entranced, she in her BMW at the stop sign, and he catching his breath less than fifty feet from
her. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, and from her expression, he knew she was suffering as well. Surprisingly,
he felt an overwhelming urge to go to her. The sensation was so intense that the physical restraints against his own will
was a challenge that left his chest and throat tight with emotion.
Then he saw her tears. There werent many, but enough
to indicate how horribly she was feeling, and he wanted to go to her even more, but he just stood there, and they gaped at
each other. With a wry smile, she put the car into gear, and slowly moved forward. He wanted to jump in front of the car and
stop her. Do anything to keep her there until he had the courage to . . . to . . . to do what?
was made, Bryn looked straight ahead determinedly, and sped off down the street. The tightness in his chest made it difficult
to breath. He was dizzied by emotion, and felt very weak. He sat down on the curb with his hands supporting each side of his
face until he regained his composure. "Please let this pass . . . oh please let this pass . . . it hurts . . . Christ it hurts
. . ." he chanted his mantra while rocking to and fro, willing his emotions away. Oh, God, this hurts! How am I going
to do this? How am I going to live anywhere near the woman without wanting her? Who are you kidding you would feel the same
way if she were a thousand miles from here. "Oh, Bryn!"
Three blocks past Elm, Bryn pulled over,
her tears blinding her vision, choking her, shaking her so that she could no longer maintain her poise. Deep heart wrenching
sobs racked her body. If only he had taken a few steps toward her . . . just a few, she would have jumped from the car, into
his arms, begged for forgiveness, and bestow the courtesy upon him as well. "Oh, Chase, you idiot!" A long wail managed to
escape the chokehold on her throat. "I miss you . . . God, help me, but I do."
Weakened by the intensity of her emotion,
Bryn turned the car around, taking a different route back home. There was no way she could work today.
the confines of her bedroom she stripped off her clothing, tossed on a robe, and called in sick to work. And she was
sick for all practical purposes. She was love sick and heartbroken. She lay upon her bed as the tears continued to flow
from her effortlessly. How she wished she could go back in time, just a week, to when she was deliriously happy in Chases
loving arms. This all seemed wrong so very, very wrong.
send to a