Page 48 of All I Have Left

EVIE

T hough Grayson says we’re waiting to have sex, and it probably won’t happen tonight—his words, not mine—it’s on our minds.

And you might be tired of hearing about it, probably as much as we’re exhausted by the constant push and pull resisting it.

It’s consuming and distracting, but I think that’s why we’re hanging on.

For two people who are desperately trying to overcome trauma, distractions are key.

The night passes slowly, but it doesn’t prevent us from finding each other throughout the night. It happens about once an hour where we get lost in the moment of kissing and touches. In the kitchen, the hallway, the bathroom once, and anywhere there isn’t a crowd.

Around ten, they’re getting ready to set off some fireworks. Grayson is on the dock with Ethan and Josh. “Evie, can you get the blankets?” Frankie asks, wheeling the cooler down to the water’s edge.

“Yeah. Where are they?”

“Under the deck in the storage benches.”

Making my way back up to the house, my legs burn at the incline, the smile on my face never wavering. As I’m digging through the benches, warm hands wrap around my waist.

His face nestles into my neck releasing a playful growl. He turns me around and steps forward again, his eyes on my chest.

“I can’t help myself.” His hand comes up to rest along my jaw, moving back slightly so his fingers run past my ear and rake through my hair.

He leans down, kissing me once more. With a sigh, he draws back, his mouth lingering.

“Every time I look at you… I have to be touching you. Do you know how frustrating that is?”

My arms snake around his shoulders, his breath passing over my ear, and it’s hard not to beg for more. “It’s like we’re in high school again, sneaking touches when no one is looking.”

“This is so much worse. Back then I didn’t know what I was missing. Now I know what it feels like. It’s unbearable.”

My fingers work their way into the hair at his temples, pulling him back to me. “I don’t know about that. Remember that time we were at the drive-in with Frankie and Ethan and you were sitting behind me?”

At first, I don’t think he remembers and then it hits him. Sixteen. Drive-in. Blankets over the top of us. Nodding, his eyes light up. “First time you let me touch you, here.”

“To not make a noise the entire time, that was excruciating.”

He blows out a quick breath. “Ha. Maybe for you. I had to fucking resist moving against you.”

A memory works through me. “You disappeared after that. Why?”

His cheeks flush and he shrugs. “I don’t remember. Concession stands maybe?”

And then it dawns on me. “Grayson!”

“What?”

“Did you…?” My voice trails off, my implications obvious.

He swallows, rolling his eyes and stepping back away from me. “Aren’t we supposed to be getting blankets?”

I hold him still, my hands on his biceps. “Did you?”

His breathing increases, his voice husky. “Why do you want to know? ”

“Because it’s fucking hot.” My own words tremble. “Did you?”

“You’re relentless.” Pushing me back on the bench, the lid snaps shut, his hands on the tops of my shoulders.

Dropping to his knees in front of me, he works himself between my legs, his hands on my ass as he yanks me flush against him.

But there’s no answer, just a dirty smirk, like he’s holding a secret at bay. It’s incredibly frustrating.

“Did you?” I ask again.

He searches my eyes, the hunger in his undeniable. “What else was I supposed to do? You left me hanging.”

“I tried to help, but you stopped me.”

He laughs. “Not exactly something you can do discretely. At least with you, it goes unnoticed.”

“So you what, did it in the bathroom?” My words actually shake, the heat between my legs unbearable. I want to grind against him so bad that I actually squirm, the wetness pooling in my panties.

He nods. “It took like two fucking seconds.” Low laughter escapes him, his forehead hitting my shoulder. “I could taste you on my fingers.”

Yep. Soaked.

I push against his shoulder. “Okay, we have to stop this crap. I’m dying. And need to change my panties.”

He pushes forward, his chest meeting mine and growls into my neck. “If I thought I could stop there, I’d taste you again.”

I kind of go crazy after that. Hands everywhere, feeling him flex and tighten beneath my grasp.

At that moment, I slide slightly against the wall behind me, no idea how I went from the bench to the wall, my head hits the side of the house and immediately, and I do mean immediately, I think of Shane and that night at Aiden’s parents’ house.

Fuck you, memories. Fuck. You.

My body starts to shake against Grayson, our position shifting again .

I can feel him between my legs, hard, grinding against me, but the moment is gone for me. Now all I feel is nausea.

This, this is what he’s been talking about. I’m ready. Don’t get me wrong, I still want to have sex with Grayson. I do. But not against the side of a house.

His mouth is on my neck, his hips moving slightly against mine, and there is no denying what is going on here every time he rubs against me, the feel of him evident through his shorts. He curses, his mouth on mine, frantic with need.

Part of me wants to do it against the wall here to prove I’m fine. I almost do just to rip off that emotional bandage I’m clinging to.

I fucking hate this feeling in my chest.

My heart hammers, breathing escaping me entirely.

Grayson makes a noise in my ear, somewhere between a gasp and a groan. “I want you so bad,” he mumbles in my ear. He moves his hips one more time.

I clench my eyes shut. “Grayson,” I whisper, trying to work my hands between our chests. I want this, but not here.

He takes me whispering his name as encouragement, pushing against me again, sucking down on my neck, his hands moving lower and on the edge of my panties.

Oh God. Is he going to do it here? What happened to waiting?

“Grayson,” I repeat, firmer this time. I place a hand to his chest and push back lightly. “We have to stop.”

He looks at me, appearing almost confused as he continues to breathe heavily, trying to keep his lips closed, but eventually giving up and gasping for air again. “What?”

“I can’t,” I whisper quietly. “I don’t want to do it down here. Not against the wall.”

I don’t want a public display. I want private. I want seclusion and I want him alone, with just me.

He’s quiet for a moment, still holding onto me, but no longer touching me anywhere else as he stares at the ground.

“Yeah,” he whispers in return. His back continues to move up and down as he bends over slightly toward me. “Just… give me a second here.”

“Sorry.”

He reaches inside the front of his shorts, adjusting himself. It’s as hot as it was outside his truck earlier. He’s hunched forward as if he’s uncomfortable.

My cheeks break out in a fresh fire as I wait for Grayson to collect himself, neither of us talking.

“Are you okay?”

Finally, he stands up and draws in a deep breath, smiling at me. “I’m good.”

“I’m sorry.” I bite my bottom lip, waiting for his reaction.

“No, you shouldn’t be sorry,” Grayson says, reluctance and a haunting look evident in his eyes.

We make our way down by the lake about the time they are lighting off fireworks.

Grayson’s hesitation with me the rest of the evening is evident and he disappears during the fireworks.

As the fiery sparks burst through the night, inks of light scattered over the canvas of the stars, I watch them with Kelly and Josh.

Constantly searching for Grayson behind us, I wonder if he’s okay, if he’s in the bathroom doing you know what, or what the hell is going on.

I know he probably feels like we crossed a line we shouldn’t have, but what he’s failing to realize is I was as much a willing participant until the overwhelming memories took over.

A night when my control was ripped from me.

The thing is, when I told Grayson to stop, he did.

“Where’s Grayson?” Kelly asks as the fireworks near an end.

I glance around the yard. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

It isn’t until they end that I finally spot him, stumbling through the yard with a six-pack in hand. “Found him.” I laugh when he slumps against my back, his head on my shoulder.

“Thirsty?” he asks, holding the six-pack up and then falling backward onto the grass. Flat on his back, he holds the beer, his cheeks red, eyes half-closed .

I slide down next to him, taking the beer he offers. “Where’d you go?”

“Bathroom,” he mumbles, staring at the sky.

Smoke fills the air between us. I lie next to him on the grass, my head on his chest. His heartbeat, wild and uncontained, tells me otherwise. He’s not fine. I don’t dare ask why.

Rolling onto me, he buries his face in the crook of my neck. “I’m fucked up,” he mumbles.

When he pulls back, I know he’s not fucked up from the beer. I touch the side of his face, his scruffy jaw prickly against my heated skin. “I know.”

Our eyes hold in the darkness. There’s commotion all around us, but we’re locked in the haunting reality that we can’t change our past. His hand grips my hip tighter. “I wasn’t in the bathroom.”

I smile. “I know. Was it the fireworks?”

Blinking slower than before, he doesn’t answer me and lays his forehead against mine. “I just want it to fucking stop.”

“The noise?” I’ve heard of this before. People coming back from war and unable to tolerate loud noises, crowds.

All the warning signs are there, he just won’t admit it.

And right then, in the grass with him shaking beside me, I now know how hard it must have been on everyone else in my life when I refused to admit what was going on with me.

“All of it. I want it to fucking stop,” he begs, pressing his mouth to mine. For the first time, I realize how badly it hurts to want to take away someone’s memories and replace them with good ones, and being unable to do that for them.