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“No.”
“Why not?” I tease her—anything to distract her.
“Because you’re going to forget all about me the moment you fall into Ethan’s arms,” she declares confidently.
Rolling my shoulders, I feel some of the tension ease with my decision. I’ll be able to lean on someone soon. My someone. My Ethan.
Despite the desire to lay my head on his chest and sob out my pain, with my mother’s recent decree, I’m not certain I can. I bite my lip uncertainly. Some of what I think must be visible on my face because my mother amends her statement. Gently, she gives me, “Fallon, you can let him know I’m not well.”
I open my mouth to agree but I stop myself. If I open that door between me and Ethan, I know myself. I’ll tell him everything. There’s no in between. I’ll never honor her request for silence about her prognosis. I have a choice of betraying my mother or holding back her secrets from my lover—which is no choice at all.
I have to keep this news to myself for a little while longer.
“You just worry about your crush on Peter Freeman and let me worry about Ethan and the rest of the Kensingtons.”
“I still don’t understand how you don’t find him as gorgeous as the rest of America does, sweetheart.”
Just then, a commercial pops up touting the star’s newest episode. While yes, he’s attractive, he just doesn’t do it for me. “You can share your man, Mama. I’m a one-man kind of woman.”
Her lips purse. “But.”
That causes me to grin. “Okay, you have me there.”
One heartbeat. Two. Then we both burst into laughter just as Clarabel comes striding in. “Don’t worry, Fallon. I have no problems with sharing some quality Pete Freeman with your mother.”
My eyes narrow on the pretty doctor. This isn’t the first time she’s shortened his name as if she knows him. Could the handsome star be part of the reason she’s here? I’m distracted from my train of thought when she continues, “Her numbers just came back. No discharge for Helen until Tuesday for certain.”
I throw up my hands, knowing I’m beat but grateful for the respite at the same time. I need Ethan—not just for sex, but for the feel of his arms around me when I sleep. I need the tangible reminder that there’s more to pursue in this life than a race into death.
After a quick stop by my apartment, I drive four hours to Charleston with my mother’s request not to share her medical turn with my second family permeating my thoughts. Why? Why would she want me to hide this from my best friend? From my lover’s family?
The question tumbles over and over in my mind until I start seeing signs on the highway for Charleston. Then my heart quickens when I know I’ll be wrapped up in Ethan’s arms within the hour.
Feel his heartbeat beneath my ear.
His body pressing mine back against the mattress.
His fingers dancing along my skin.
My foot presses against the accelerator to shave minutes off an already long drive because suddenly each minute between us is too much. I wish I could levitate from my car and land in front of Charleston Place, but my body’s bound by gravity even if my heart knows it can fly.
Finally, I turn off and hand my keys over to the valet. Ethan had texted me our room number earlier, which I give them. Grabbing my weekender from the backseat, I stride confidently into the hotel and make my way to the elevator to the seventh floor.
The second I’m off the elevator, my stride picks up until I’m jogging to reach the end of the hall as quickly as I can. My breathing is erratic when I reach it. Unable to put a brake on my body or my emotions, I slam up against the wall next to the door. Before I even have the chance to curtail what I’m feeling, the door flings open.
And there he is.
Waiting for me.
He inspects me from head to toe without saying a word before stepping forward and clasping his fingers around my wrist. I’m not sure what he sees when he stares at my face, but for certain, he feels the leap of my pulse the second he opens his mouth and mutters, “It’s about time you got here, witch.”
Then he yanks me into the suite’s foyer, slamming the door behind me before his lips crash down on mine. Everything but this man is obliterated from my mind the second they do.
I should feel guilt, knowing my mother’s only a few hours away and deathly ill, but if Ethan can be nothing more than my silent strength through this ordeal, I need to absorb him into me for all the days I can’t have him.
Dropping my bag, I boost myself up and wrap my legs around his waist. He spins—not lifting his lips from mine—and heads for the bedroom.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN