The Reunion Ch 04 1

James.

The blood drained from my face. We stood motionless, staring at each other for what felt like an eternity. I wanted to melt into the floor, to run from the body shop and into oncoming traffic. My heart thumped madly against my rib cage, and I began to feel the tell-tale shortness of breath that heralded what was sure to become a full-blown panic attack.

James.

Mercifully, he spoke first. "Becca," he said.

I couldn't read his expression. What was he thinking? Did he still hate me? Of course he hated me. But what if he didn't? What if he didn't care at all? Maybe I was nothing to him, just some girl he used to date and seldom thought about. That was probably right. He was married, after all. He had found his true love in the end, so what could my sudden appearance possibly matter to him?

At this thought, I found my voice. "Hi," I croaked.

"In town for the reunion?" he clipped, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag. He wore a blue jumpsuit with a "J.J.'s" logo over the right breast.

I nodded. "Thought so," he added. He rubbed a dark hand across the back of his neck. "Pop tells me you've got a flat." Again, I nodded, feeling a little dumb but unable to think of anything to say. What did you say after ten years of silence? What could possibly be said? Not that I had never thought about what I might do if we ever did meet again. I couldn't count the number of one-sided conversations I'd had with myself while stuck in traffic, or washing my hair, rehearsing what I would say if I ever got the chance. But none of those rehearsed responses came to mind. ***

He moved from behind the counter and crossed the lobby, tossing the grease-stained rag over one shoulder. I felt a jolt of panic as he quickly closed the space between us, but he didn't stop. He brushed past me, barely glancing my way as he breezed through the shop door and out into the parking lot. I watched as he exchanged a quick word with the tow truck driver, who had just finished unloading my car into an empty parking space. Then James crouched to examine the offending tire. He rubbed a hand against the treads, jotted something on a scratch pad and then strode back towards the lobby.

"Looks like you caught a nail," he said. Again, he passed me without a glance. "Shouldn't need to replace it if that's the only one. Won't know until we get it off, but a quick patch should do the trick."

His business-as-usual tone drove me crazy. I was just another customer to him. Nothing in his demeanor would suggest that my presence bothered him in the least, or that he had ever cared for me. No anger. No spite. Certainly no love. "James-" I whispered.

"I'll get started on it now so we can get you back on the road as quickly as possible," he said. Then, exiting through the back door to the garage, "Twenty minutes tops. Pop will ring you up."

Then he was gone. I stood alone in the lobby. Dumbstruck. Dazed. How fast had he swooped back into my life, only to swoop right back out?

Twenty minutes crept by at a snail's pace. The whole while, I remained acutely aware that only a cinderblock wall separated me from the man I had once loved. I caught a glimpse of him once as he carried my deflated tire and a hand-jack across the parking lot to the open bay door of the shop. I battled with myself. Should I march to the back and confront him? Get everything off of my chest? When would I have another chance to make amends? But then I wondered what good could possibly come of it. James probably cared nothing for my apologies, my regrets. Even if he did, he was married. I deserved his indifference, I reminded myself. I had no right to ask forgiveness, no right to dredge up the past that I was sure he would rather forget.

My heart hammered in my ears. When the back door finally opened, I nearly jumped out of my seat. James' dad greeted me with a polite smile.

"He's almost done out there," he explained. "Just putting the tire back on. Good as new."

"Oh," I said. Time was up.

He rang me up, but he grimaced when I tried to pass him my Amex. "Sorry, we don't take American Express."

I didn't have any cash on me, but he let me cut a check for the $20 patch job. And that was it. I hesitated for the slightest moment after he handed me the receipt. As much as I wanted to say to James, I also owed a few words to his dad. "Thank you, Mr. Cable," I said. He nodded, clearly impatient for me to leave. "I was sorry to hear about Mrs. Cable," I said quickly. He nodded again, this time glancing down at the counter. "She was always very sweet to me. You both were."

I turned to leave. I made it half-way across the lobby when I heard him say, "It was hard, you know." I turned to look at him. He continued to stare down at the counter. "Losing her, that is." It was my turn to nod. "We saw it coming, knew for years that it would happen eventually. Didn't stop it from hurting like hell when it finally did." He paused, scratching the back of his neck with a grease-black hand. He gave me a look I couldn't quite place. "But somehow, we got through it," he finally said. "When terrible things happen, you do what to whatever it is you have to do to get through it." Somehow, I got the feeling he was no longer talking about just Mrs. Cable.

His words hung in the air. He gave me a small, sad smile, and then raised his hand as if to say goodbye. I turned and left.

* * * * *

I barely remembered driving the nearly 300 miles back to Atlanta. An overcast sky gave way to a light but constant rain that filled my car with white noise for almost the entire drive. I didn't turn on the radio, just listened to the rain and sound of my own thoughts.

I couldn't get my mind off of James. Even though bumping into him had been one of my chief fears in going back, I still couldn't believe I had actually seen him. It didn't feel real. The encounter played over and over in my mind until every word he'd spoken took on poignant new meaning. But most agonizing of all, what filled me with a deep, penetrating regret were the things I had not said.

I banged my hands against the steering wheel and screamed in frustration. What an idiot I was. I should never have gone back. I should have tried harder to get out of it, found some excuse. Hapville was nothing but a den of bad decisions and bad memories, my own little hell on earth that clung and dug into me like a thorn in my brain.

I still loved him. Damn it all to hell, I still wanted him. This was the mark I bore, the terrible, unbearable penance I had been given for my many mistakes. Ten years had dulled the pain to a quiet ache, a hunger that flared when triggered but otherwise laid dormant. Now, the full, searing force of it was back. Seeing him had twisted the knife again, reopened the wound as fresh and stinging as it had been in the weeks after I first left town.

By the time I pulled into my space in the parking deck, my face was streaked with tears, my voice hoarse from sobbing.

* * * * *

My 750 square-foot studio had never felt so big. So quiet. So empty. I had no pets, no roommates, nobody at all to come home to but a few recorded episodes of John Oliver. I dropped my overnight bag by the door. I didn't bother with the overhead lights, but flicked on a lamp. The last light of day was fading through the ominous clouds outside. The steady rain grew louder, more incessant as it spattered against my window. Thunder rumbled quietly in the distance.

I picked up the remote and fell onto my couch. I couldn't bring myself to press the button to turn the television on, so I stared at the black screen in the dim light. Tomorrow was Sunday, but Monday, my life would resume its familiar cadence. I would wake up at 4am, shower, and drive to my office. I would stay there until around 7 or 8pm, maybe squeeze in a half hour at the gym before returning home to a frozen dinner and falling asleep with the TV on. Then I'd do it all again on Tuesday.

It was full dark outside when I heard a knock at my door. My eyes snapped open and I hoisted myself up, groggy even though I had not actually slept. Saturday, I thought. Who would be knocking on a Saturday? I hadn't made any plans to go out this weekend, knowing the reunion had the potential to eat up all of my time and energy. It might be one of the coeds from next door. I shared the building with a handful of GSU students, and on a couple of occasions they had come over and asked me to buy alcohol for them. I usually didn't mind, but nothing was going to move me from my apartment this evening.

I smoothed my tangled hair down around my neck to conceal the bruises, and then opened the door.

James stood in the hallway.

For the second time that day, I was struck speechless. "Hi," he said, a little sheepishly.

"James," I stammered. "How - What are you doing here?"

He held up a rectangle of paper that I recognized as the $20 check I'd written for the tire patch. My address was printed in the top left corner.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

Without thinking, I nodded. I said a silent prayer of thanks that the cleaning service had come by mid-week, so my apartment was relatively tidy. I let him in and closed the door behind him.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't understand why you're here. Did I leave something at the shop?"

He stood such a short distance away that I caught the piney, soapy scent of him. He'd showered and changed out of his blue J.J.'s jumpsuit into a flannel button-down and a pair of worn jeans.

He shook his head. "After you left, I had a talk with Pop," he began. "For a long time, I thought I would never be able to understand how you could do what you did, how you could just leave."

And there it was, the unspoken wound that I'd inflicted on us both, formed into words and out in the open. I flinched as though I'd been slapped, but I let him continue. "I wasn't really mad, Becca. I was just heartbroken. It destroyed me," he said. I felt tears prickling my eyes, but I forced them back. "Even after Kelly told me everything that had happen, I still couldn't understand why you wouldn't just talk to me about it."

"I know," I whispered.

"I figured you wanted nothing to do with me or anyone back home, so I let you be. I knew where you were - Kelly told me - but I thought it was best to leave you alone. I figured that you would come back when you were ready," he said with a helpless, beaten look. "But you never did. What was I supposed to think? I waited for months, but eventually I had to face the fact that you were never coming back.

"I did my best to move on," he said. Then I remembered.

"Does your wife know you're here?" I asked, immediately regretting it. I didn't want to care what a woman I didn't know, but instinctually hated, thought about him standing in my doorway.

He lifted his left hand. No ring.

He shook his head, "It's a long story," he explained with a small chuckle, "or I suppose I should say a very short one. Let's just say that I've never been very lucky in love."

That was all I needed. I felt a weight the size of a boulder lift from my chest. He wasn't married. And he was here. He had driven four hours across state lines to be standing here in my apartment for - for what?

"James, what are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that when terrible things happen, you do what you have to do to get through it," he said. I remembered his father's words from earlier that afternoon. "Mom dying was a terrible thing. You leaving was a terrible thing. But Becca, letting you leave again without at least trying to win you back... that would be a disaster."

The space between us dissolved. Lightning lit the room as his arms closed around me and our bodies melted together like two pieces of a puzzle. Our lips met for the first time in ten long years.

Bliss was the only word that came to mind. Complete bliss. My head felt lighter than air and my knees trembled to the point where I thought they might completely fail me. I clung to him as though afraid to let him go, afraid that at any moment I would wake to find that none of this was real.

As we kissed, I found myself wondering what it might be like to have him, at last. Despite dating for nearly three years, we had never gone all the way. After Cody, and realizing that I was way too young for a physical relationship, I swore off sex, even going so far as to say that I would never do it again until I was married. James, like 95% of Hapville's residents, also happened to be religious at the time, so the issue was never forced.

Over the course of our relationship, I came close to saying fuck-all and breaking my oath on a couple of occasions, but never actually did (at least not until one sloppy night Sophomore year with a third-string defensive end). Specifically, there was one time at his uncle's cabin during Spring Break my senior year. We came in after an afternoon of swimming in the lake, soaked to the bone and wrapped in dripping, useless towels (a strong wind had blown them off the dock and into the water). We were laughing, and then we were kissing, and then my bathing suit top was off. I could still remember the way his rough hands felt on my wet, naked breasts. Beneath his wet swim trunks, his penis stood fully erect. He grabbed my ass as I ground my hips against his hard cock, delighting in the way his firm outline felt against my pussy. Before I knew it, we were both completely naked, our skin damp and dewy from the lake. I stroked his cock as he explored my pussy with large, determined fingers and gave me my first honest-to-goodness orgasm there on the couch in the cabin's game room. I was ready to do more, and we would have if one of us had brought a condom. Even so, the memory was one I often recalled on lonely nights as I pleasured myself, even several years later.

This time, there would be no hesitation.

I pulled him further into the dimly lit apartment, feeling more drunk every second his mouth lingered on mine, and consequently more confident. Every bit of him felt familiar and inviting. I was torn between wanting to curl up in his arms and revel in the warmth and safety that rushed over me as our bodies pressed together, and wanting to forcibly tear our clothes off and fuck him with an intensity born from ten long years of anticipation.

My bed occupied a space adjacent to the couch, against the wall. The single-room studio did not take very long to cross, and within moments I was gently pushing him down onto the mattress, our bodies tumbling together on top of the crisp blankets. His large hands gently roamed across my back, as though hesitant to explore anywhere else. He was too damn respectful, but I loved it at the same time. Just not enough to allow it. I guided one of his hands further down my back, until he cupped one of my ass cheeks through my jeans. His grip tightened and he moaned, his breath warm on my mouth. "Becca," he breathed.

I love you,

I wanted to say, but I couldn't force the words. Part of me felt that it would be unfair. How could I possibly expect him to know exactly how he felt about me, much less reciprocate? Another part feared it might scare him off, and I couldn't bear to lose him again.

I felt one of his hands teasing up the bottom of my shirt. I took his cue and broke our kiss just long enough to yank my top off. He began undoing the buttons of his shirt. As he pulled it away, I noticed that a fair amount of short, dark hair covered his chest. Why I found this particularly arousing, I could not say. I ran my hands across his naked torso and pulled him on top of me. The bare skin of his chest and torso pressed against mine, enveloping me in warmth. Between my legs, I felt the firm outline beneath his jeans pressing into me. I wrapped my legs around his thighs and pulled him closer.

Our half-clothed bodies ground together much the same way they had many times in our adolescence. I began to feel the years slip away, fade to nothing until I was once again that eighteen-year-old girl, so in love that being together felt like the only thing in the world that mattered. Only we weren't kids anymore. Whatever reservations we had back then had long been set aside.

Almost in unison, a sense of urgency overtook us. His kisses became more forceful, my breathing shorter. We broke away from each other just long enough to tear away the last of our clothes. My hands trembled as I undid the buttons of my jeans and shimmed them off of my legs, along with my underwear. As I undid my bra clasp and shirked the fabric off of my breasts, I watched him peel down his boxers. His erection sprang free and he stood.

We took each other in. Of course, our bodies were not exactly the same as they had been ten years ago. In addition to chest hair, his body had filled out a bit. He no longer had the lean, slender physique of a track racer, but the toned arms and sturdy core of a man who worked with his hands. His cock, however, had not changed. Where Cody's was large to the point of being almost grotesque, James was probably slightly above average. How many nights had I imagined that naked cock, remembered it from the few occasions where we had not gone all the way, but dangerously close? I had felt it in my hand, my mouth, but never where I wanted it most.

As I took him in and felt myself growing tense with desire, he looked me over as well. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. "God, you're beautiful," he finally said. I beamed.

He crawled toward me on the bed. His fingers traced a line up my torso. As his warm hand cupped one of my breasts, he kissed me again. Then his hand left my breast and found my neck. His fingers gently brushed the places where bruises still lingered, ugly and purple where Cody had left them. I felt a sudden pang of embarrassment, and then an icy stab of fear that he would ask about them, or worse, guess what had caused them and decide to leave. But he didn't. Instead, he kissed my neck and pressed his naked body against mine.

I felt the firm, thick shaft of his penis press against my exposed pussy, the tip digging into my stomach. I wrapped one leg around him and pulled him harder against me, and he matched my rhythm as I ground my aching clit against his hard girth.

The anticipation was almost unbearable. Every moment that he stretched naked on top of me, the need to feel him inside of me grew more urgent. "Please," I finally whispered in his ear. "Please take me."

With his hand, he dragged the tip of his penis down my stomach, lingering for a long moment against my clit before using the head of his cock to part my pussy lips. He tore his mouth away from my neck and looked me in the eye. Then he kissed me again.

Slowly, he moved his hips forward. I gasped as he entered me bit by bit. I felt every inch of him stretching me, filling me up. When the full length of him was inside of me, he lay on top of me motionless, both of us panting. "Oh my God," he said. "You feel so good."

All I could think was that this was what it felt like to have someone you loved inside of you. I felt as though at any moment I might die, consumed by unbridled happiness and the intensity of my desire. Lightning briefly lit up the room and a sharp crack of thunder quickly followed.

As if on cue, our bodies began moving together. He slowly slid himself out of me, again allowing me to feel every contour of him as he did so. For one tortured second, I felt an agonizing sense of loss as his penis withdrew, only to feel him re-enter me a moment later with more force. He did this several times, slowly in, then even slower out. I gripped his buttocks hard and tried to force him deeper with each thrust.

Eventually our pace quickened. I could feel my pussy juices dripping, soaking the bed beneath me as his thrusts became more frequent, more determined. I was not going to last long. With every thrust, I felt the tip of his penis penetrate deep inside of me. Every time my clit pressed against the soft patch of his pubic hair and the firm flesh beneath, I grew closer to ecstasy.