Angels Everywhere - Debbie Macomber [112]
Chet didn’t know what he intended to say. It was too damn hard not to bring her directly into his arms, hold her against him, and breathe in her softness.
“Whatever you’ve done has got to stop,” he said between clenched teeth.
“Done?” she echoed, and blinked as if she didn’t understand what he was saying.
“Leave me alone,” he ordered.
She nodded once and waited, apparently for an explanation.
“I can’t eat or sleep, and now I’m hearing voices as well.”
“Voices?” The edges of her mouth quivered with amusement. “And what did these voices say?”
“That I was a fool for walking away from you.” Chet rammed his fingers into his hair.
Monica smiled boldly at that and Chet swore he’d never seen a woman more beautiful. He shouldn’t have come, and now that he was here, God help him, he didn’t know how he was ever going to leave.
“I wish I could claim credit for that, but I can’t,” she said softly. “Dad told me he suspected you were drinking heavily. My guess is that it was the liquor talking.”
“Not this time,” he argued. “I haven’t had a drop all day.”
“I can’t help you, Chet,” she said sadly and raised her fingers as if to touch his face. He meant to jerk away, but found he couldn’t. As it never failed to do, her touch rippled through him like an electrical current. Her softness had branded his life and his heart. There was no escape. He could run to the far ends of the world and every breath he drew, every beat of his heart would be for her.
Capturing her wrist, he roughly drew her palm to his mouth, where he planted a series of tender kisses.
“Dear God, Monica,” he said, hauling her into his arms. He buried his face in the delicate curve of her neck and drew in several deep, uneven breaths. “I can’t make myself leave you. I tried. God knows I tried.”
The sheet music she’d been holding fell to the sidewalk as she clung to him. He felt her trembling, her tears moistening his face and her breath coming in soft gasps that fanned his throat.
He held her against him, his chin resting on the crown of her head. His eyes were tightly closed. “We’ll get married, just the way you want, although I can’t help but feel you’re getting the bum end of this deal.”
Nineteen
“You’re my real-life dad?” Timmy asked, staring up at Jeff with wide, disbelieving eyes.
“Yes, son, I’m your father.” Although Jeff answered Timmy, his gaze was leveled on Jody, his look expectant and filled with nervous anticipation.
Her pulse had yet to right itself, and the dizziness from the frantic beat of her heart continued. He was terribly thin, she noticed. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes seemed to sink back into his head. This was a man she didn’t know and barely recognized as the one she’d loved.
Jeff seemed greedy for the sight of Timmy and her, staring at the two of them as if he couldn’t quite believe this moment was real.
Timmy opened the screen door and Jeff walked inside the house, pausing in front of Jody.
Her eyes begged him to convince her this was happening and that he was as real as he seemed. She’d been under a good deal of stress and she feared that this was all a figment of her imagination. Some dream she’d wake from with a start. When Jeff had first disappeared she’d repeatedly dreamed of a moment like this when they’d be reunited. Then she’d wake with a heavy heart and the loneliness would close in and swallow her.
Her hand trembled as she worked up the necessary courage to touch him. She laid her fingers against his forearm. He felt solid and real. Warm and alive.
Alive. Jeff was alive.
“Where were you?” she asked in a sobbing breath, pressing her hands to her throat. “Why did you leave us? Why?” The questions crowded on top of each other, damming her mind and her tongue. The only one to escape was the least important.
“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked, and Jody realized how terribly shaky he was. “I’m a bit weak yet,” Jeff explained.
It was all Jody could do to nod.
Timmy took Jeff by the hand and led him to the sofa. “You don’t look like my dad,” he commented, carefully