Still Beating

Lily is hogging my hair straightener as we squeeze together in my tiny bathroom. She has her own date she’s getting ready for… with Lars. The towering tattoo guy from the brewery the night I tweaked out and landed on Dean’s doorstep.

I can see it. He was dark and brooding—a little intimidating, maybe, but Lily can hold her own. I think they would make a sexy couple.

“Okay, so, underwear or no underwear?” Lily wonders, running the wand through her chocolate tresses.

I crinkle my nose. “How frisky are you planning on getting on the first date?”

“You tell me. I was asking you.”

I smack her shoulder, snatching the flat iron from her hand. “I’m planning on taking things slow, for your information. I don’t want to jump into bed with him right away, only to have him drive home to Bloomington tomorrow and settle back into his new life.”

“Oh, please,” Lily counters, reaching for the makeup bag and skimming through it. “You ended a hot and heavy sexual relationship cold turkey, then haven’t seen each other for eight months. There’s no way you’re not getting freaky tonight. Insertion is inevitable.”

“Insertion is inevitable? You frighten me sometimes.”

She puckers her lips in the mirror, debating on a lipstick color. “I vote no underwear.”

“Noted. Thanks.” I shake my head, half irritated, half amused—my general reaction to every word that comes out of Lily’s mouth. Then my insides start to warm at the prospect of… insertion.

Dammit. That’s a terrible word.

And a terrible idea.

I flip off the straightener, fluffing out my hair and gauging my appearance in the bathroom mirror. My makeup is natural but flattering, accentuating my champagne slip dress and my still lightly bronzed skin from the warmer months. I touch my finger to the locket around my neck as a nervous energy climbs up my throat. Then I turn to Lily and ask, “Is this a bad idea?”

My friend doesn’t hesitate as she pops the cap back on her cherry red lipstick choice. “Nope. You need to get laid, girl. You’ve been in vagina limbo.”

Oy.

“I’m not talking about sex, Lily. I meant… spending time with Dean. Reconnecting.” I shoot her a warning glare. “Do not make a joke about the reconnection of body parts, please.”

“Jeez. How immature do you think I am?” She winks, then turns to face me, giving me her full attention. “You want honest?”

“Of course. I know you’re good for it.”

Lily runs her tongue along her teeth, leaning her hip against the sink. “I think it’s been a long time coming. You two are meant for each other, Cora. And you’re in such a better place now—God, I can’t wait to be a godmother to your adorable babies one day.”

“Okay, that escalated a bit,” I frown, but a grin peeks through despite myself. “You really think so? You think there can be a happily ever after for a story like ours?”

“Are you kidding? A story like yours just makes the happily ever after that much sweeter.”

I smile.

Then I picture it: me and Dean.Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

A future.

Dinner dates, cuddling, movie nights, vacations by the beach. Children. Dogs.

More dogs.

Even more dogs.

I can picture it all—and for the first time ever, I can truly see it.

The knock at my front door makes the butterflies in my stomach take flight.

Lily left twenty minutes ago, and I’ve been sitting on the couch practicing how to breathe.

Breathing is good. Breathing is important. Breathing keeps us alive.

Jude and Penny beat me to the door as I traipse across the living room in my black pumps, repeating the mantra to myself. I close my eyes for just a beat, collecting my nerves, then I pull the door open.

Dean goes completely still when his eyes find me, his gaze trailing me up and down, slowly and purposefully. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as we stare at each other for a few moments, unsure of what to say.

Finally, Dean sucks in a deep breath. “Holy shit. You look…”

Penny skips out onto the porch and starts pawing at his ankle, circling both of his legs. This seems to snap him out of whatever daze he is in, and Dean crouches down to give both dogs attention. But his eyes keep flicking up to me as I linger in the doorway, biting my lip.

I clear my throat, calling for the dogs to retreat, so Dean can step inside. “Hey, you,” I mutter with a smile, happy to have found my voice. “Looks like they missed you.”

He rises to his feet and steps through the threshold, his stare still hot and pinned on me. He swallows again, sliding his hands in his pockets.

I feel my skin start to singe from the fire in his eyes, so I turn away, wringing my hands together and walking towards the coat rack to grab my jacket. “So, where did you want to go? I’m up for anything. We can even do The Oar for old time’s sake, even though I’m—”

My breath catches in my throat, possibly indefinitely, when I feel two warm hands capture my waist from behind with a feather light touch. And then his lips are up against my ear, his heartbeat pressed into my back, his proximity a painful reminder of everything I’ve been missing for the last eight months.

“I promised myself I’d be good tonight, but I feel like you might make a liar out of me.”

His low, gravelly voice tickles my ear, sending the butterflies in my belly into overdrive. In fact, they may have exploded. My stomach is now a butterfly graveyard.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Those breathing exercises were garbage.

I force myself not to shut down completely and slowly turn to face him. His hands fall from my waist when he takes a step back.

Dean shoots me a grin and a wink, likely to lighten the mood, but all it does is murder more butterflies. “The Oar sounds good to me.”

“O-Okay. Great.”

Lord. It’s going to be a long night.

Or a very short one.

I manage to slip my coat on, all too aware of Dean’s eyes on me as I fasten the buttons and reach for my purse. I suck in a replenishing breath and lead him back to the front door, giving Jude and Penny ear scratches before we step outside.

Dean places his hand against the small of my back, then points through the dark veil of night. “Check it out,” he says, averting my attention to the vehicle in the driveway, parked behind mine. “I got my baby back.”

His hand gives my hip a tiny squeeze before he pulls away, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s still talking about the car. My eyes widen as we approach the black Camaro. “Oh, my God. Is it… the car?”

“Nah. I’m pretty sure that asshole liquified it somehow, but she’s an identical replacement.”

I make my way to the passenger’s side, sliding in as Dean hops into the driver’s seat. My senses are inundated with leather, nicotine and cedar, and a torrent of haunting memories that zap me right in the gut. “It’s a beautiful car,” I whisper through a breath, clicking my seatbelt into place.

Dean hesitates before placing the key in the ignition. His shoulders deflate as he presses his lips together, turning his head to look at me. “Monday is November 8th,” he says softly.

I nod, our eyes holding, the air charged with emotion. “Yeah. The timing is not lost on me.”

It’s almost our one-year anniversary.

But we’re not celebrating an engagement, or a marriage, or some kind of superficial milestone. We’re celebrating survival.

And I will celebrate on Monday. I’ll celebrate by waking up extra early, watching the sunrise with my dogs and hot cup of coffee in hand, and breathing in the crisp, November air.

Then I’ll smile.

Because I have a hell of a lot to smile about.

Dean reaches over the console to my lap, clasping my hand inside his palm. He brushes his fingers over my knuckles and says, “We fuckin’ made it.”

A grin spreads across my face—a real, big, genuine grin. “Hell yeah, we did.”

He returns the smile and lets go of my hand, starting up the car and reversing out of the driveway. Fifteen minutes later, we pull into the familiar parking lot of The Broken Oar. We both stall as we stare at the front of the building, swarming with groups of people, smokers, and loud laughter. I worry my lip between my teeth, remembering my first interaction with Earl against the building. I think about that uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as he leered at me. I recall Dean’s car cruising into the lot while I watched him hop out with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, totally unaware of the horrors we were about to face.

I exhale a choppy breath, my anxiety spiking, when Dean finds my hand again. He squeezes it gently. “You know what? I’ve got a better idea.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting at the edge of a grassy ravine, looking out at the lake with bags of fast food scattered around us. We’re side by side, shoulder to shoulder, munching on greasy cheeseburgers and french fries, feeling totally ridiculous but even more liberated.

“I’m a little overdressed for this date, Dean,” I tease, popping a fry into my mouth and nudging his shoulder with mine.

He eyes my bare legs stretched out beneath my peacoat, and they flicker with heat. “You are a little overdressed.”

Another wink. Another dead butterfly.

Dean chuckles as he continues. “I’m not usually such a cheap date. I just figured the occasion called for something… simple.”

“It’s perfect,” I smile up at him, truly meaning that. These are the things I took for granted one year ago—fresh air, ripples on the lake, blades of grass between my toes, cheap fast food. I would have given anything to experience even one of those things.

I gaze out at the dark water, hugging myself when a breeze sweeps through.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dean asks, wiping his hands along his jeans.

I turn to him, blinking through the memory. “Do you have a penny this time?”

“No.”

“Unfair trade,” I say, quirking a grin.

“A thought for a thought, then.”

“Or a confession for a confession…”

Dean leans back on the heels of his hands, his leather coat parting and falling to his sides. He spears me with a devilish look, his eyes dancing beneath the moonlight. “I got myself into all sorts of trouble last time.”

“Ah, yes,” I agree, pretending to conjure up the memory, even though it has never left my mind. “You fell in love with me when I walked into Mr. Adilman’s class looking like a deer in headlights, wearing a hideous purple blazer that I may have burned.” My eyes narrow. “Then you showed your love by hiding Terrance the Tarantula in my gym shoe.”

“Shit.” Dean can’t hold back his laughter. “I was such a fuckin’ idiot, Cora. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, I feel like I’ve gotten you back just as good,” I sigh, lying down, my hair splaying out across the grass.

“You have. I’m not sure if I had more fun pranking you or anticipating your retaliation.” Dean leans back all the way, resting beside me and twisting his head to face me. We glance at each other, his expression soft and thoughtful. “You go first.”

“Okay…” I avert my eyes, rolling a thin button on my coat between my thumb and forefinger. My heart rate increases when I meet his gaze again, and I whisper softly, “I haven’t been with anyone else.”

Dean studies me, unblinking, and replies, “Neither have I.”

My eyebrows raise up, startled by the admission. I was certain he was out there enjoying the bachelor life. “Seriously?”

“Of course I’m serious,” he says, rolling onto his side to face me fully, propping his head up with his elbow. “I don’t give a shit about other women.”

“Oh.” I gulp, turning to look up at the starry sky. I can’t deny the relief that washes over me, even though we were never officially together—Dean had every right to date around and sleep with other people. We both did.

But we didn’t.

Dean continues, returning to his back and linking his hands behind his head. “I saw Reid today. He said he wanted to talk to me about something personal. Something he was afraid I’d get pissed about.”

I know exactly what Reid wanted to talk about, but I let him finish.

“He told me he started seeing Mandy back in May. Things got serious pretty fast and he’s thinking about proposing, but he wanted my blessing first.”

Oh, my God… proposing? I knew they were dating and that Mandy was over-the-moon happy, but I had no idea they were that serious. It’s only been six months—it took Dean fourteen years to propose to Mandy. They never even moved in together.

I can’t help but wonder if those were red flags. Maybe there was always some uncertainty there.

“I knew they were together,” I reply, taking a moment to process his words. “I had no idea Reid wanted to propose. That’s so exciting.”

“I know,” Dean says. “I’m happy as hell for him. For both of them. He honestly thought I’d punch his lights out—he said it goes against ‘bro code’ or some shit like that.”

“I think we’re all past codes at this point.”

He chuckles, catching my eyes. “Yeah. We are.”

We lie like that for a while, silent and comfortable, watching the stars twinkling above us as the wind picks up, sending the tree branches into a mesmerizing dance. Then we talk about the last eight months, swapping stories and laughs, somehow inching closer and closer to each other on the grass. At one point, my head makes its way to the crook of his arm, and I take solace in the feel of his voice vibrating through me as he speaks.

Before we know it, two hours have swept by and my legs are starting to freeze from the crisp air. We collect our bags and wrappers, discarding them in a nearby trash can, and Dean hands me a piece of nicotine gum as we make our way back to his car.

“You’re not smoking anymore?” I wonder, plucking the piece of gum from his fingers and studying it.

“I quit a few months back. Just doing the gum now.”

I pop it in my mouth. It tastes pleasant at first, but then my throat feels like I swallowed a beehive. “Ack, it burns. It’s awful.”

Dean laughs, holding open the passenger’s side door for me. “It’s a good burn. It’ll give you a little buzz,” he winks, then closes the door after I’m situated inside.

Damn him and his winks. Like I need anymore of a buzz right now.

When we pull into my driveway, my nerves reappear, uncertainty looming in the air. We glance at each other at the same time, and I lower my head, gnawing my lip between my teeth.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” Dean says, that raspy edge returning to his voice.

Walk me to my bedroom, you say?

I shake my head, knowing we shouldn’t. Knowing my stitched wounds will only rip wide open when he heads back to Bloomington come morning.

We saunter up to my front door, dead leaves crunching beneath our shoes. My heart starts to thump inside my chest as we linger on the porch, turning towards each other. The porch light illuminates the conflict in his eyes and the heady unknowns that are surely reflecting in my own.

Dean raises his hand to my face, his thumb skimming along my cheekbone and causing me to inhale a sharp breath.

“What do we do now?” I wonder out loud, nuzzling my cheek into his palm.

The gesture seems to awaken him and he moves in closer, until our bodies are almost touching. His hard gaze caresses my face, trying to read me. Trying to pull answers out of my eyes—like if he looks close enough, he’ll find them.

He will.

Dean lowers his hand to my neck, his fingers catching on my hair. He leans down to press a light kiss to my forehead, his lips hovering against my hairline as he whispers, “I’m not sure, Corabelle. All I know is that I want to kiss you more than I want air.”

My knees start to quiver and I tip my chin up to meet his eyes. “I don’t usually kiss on the first date.”

He tightens his hold around my neck, his fingers curling around the nape. “Would you consider making an exception?” he asks, inching forward until I’m leaning back against the brick pillar and Dean’s chest is pressed to mine.

I lick my lips, grateful for the support behind me. “I suppose I can be persuaded.”

“Yeah?” Dean moves in, dipping his mouth to my neck, breathing in my scent and peppering heated kisses up along my jawline. Our groins are touching, prompting a whimper to escape my throat. Dean lets out a small groan near my ear. “Tell me what I have to do.”

“You’re doing it.”

He raises his other hand until he’s cupping my face, then he pulls our mouths together, arching me back against the brick post. I cling to him for support, out of necessity, out of desire, and his tongue pushes past my lips, invading me and making me mewl. I expect the hunger and raw need to overtake us, but Dean remains soft and careful. His tongue kisses mine with gentle strokes, his hands clasped along my jaw, cradling gently—lovingly.

Dean pulls back and presses our foreheads together. “Inside?” he suggests breathily, my fingers curling around his leather coat.

I nod, taking him by the hand and leading him to the door, my own hand trembling as I insert the key into the lock. Dean hovers behind me, so close, brushing my hair aside and kissing the curve of my neck as I try not to collapse. The door pushes open, happy snouts and tails greeting us as we stumble through the threshold, then we come back together like a magnet as soon as the door closes. I unbutton my peacoat with shaky fingers, Dean’s lips on mine, and let it slide from my arms before they encircle his neck. Dean moves back to look at me, taking in my slip dress that resembles a sexy nightgown.

He makes a possessive, growly sound, his fingers reaching down to fist the hem of the silk fabric. “Fuck, Cora… you almost killed me when I saw you in this dress.”

My head drops back as he ravishes my neck with more kisses, his hand trailing up my inner thigh. I part my legs instinctively, desperate for his touch. “Mmm…”

That’s all I got.

Dean stills his movements when his hand reaches between my legs, letting out a groan. “No underwear?”

I shoot him a naughty grin that has him kicking off his shoes, yanking his coat off, and diving back into me. I try to tug him towards the couch, but he picks me up instead, carrying me down the hall to my bedroom.

“I want to make love to you in your bed.”

I kiss him as we shuffle into the room, landing clumsily on the mattress, our mouths still fused. We only break apart to discard more clothes, until the only thing between us is my gold locket. Dean fingers it for a moment, his eyes drifting up to mine as he hovers over me, a tenderness seeping in. I sift my fingers through his hair, my touch soft and delicate. “Thank you for bringing it back to me,” I say, rising up to press a sweet kiss against his lips.

Dean kisses my nose, then my forehead, his arms resting on each side of me. He pulls my gaze to his, holding it as he says, “You said I didn’t fight for you, but that’s so far from the truth.”

I almost choke on a breath, my wrists linking behind his neck, trying to pull him back to me.

He resists, keeping our eyes locked and stroking his knuckles along my cheek. “Corabelle… that was me fighting for you. That was me fighting for your healing, your joy, your smile, your laughter… your beautiful, broken spirit. I never stopped fighting for you and I never will.”

My heart swells, my eyes water with tears, and my soul surges with absolute love. A small cry passes through my lips and he catches it with a kiss. We lose ourselves in each other, in the moment, in the time lost—in the possibility of a real future. And when he pushes inside me, his mouth raining kisses along my face, my neck, my breasts… it’s different.

He’s slow and steady. I don’t look away. Our bodies move together with a perfect certainty. There are no desperate touches or fear-infused kisses, and we aren’t clinging to each other, holding on tight to the idea of something more.

We just are.

And maybe we always have been.

Dean holds me that night in steadfast arms, our bodies exquisitely entangled, relaxed and content. He holds me like a lover. Like my own, personal defender.

Like my savior.

After all, he saved me from a serial killer.

He saved me from an overdose.

He saved me from myself.