War Zones and Paradise

Chapter Sixteen, Part Three - Don't Let Me Go

Once upon a time, I was the early bird. I cooked the breakfast, I got the Keurig running, and it was me who ensured Tyler made it out the front door in time. Now, things were different. Our roles were reversed. And if I had to be honest...

Tyler did it better.

New Year's Eve, Tyler woke me with a kiss to the forehead , and a steaming cup of decaf.

"Oh-my-god! What-time-is-it!" I sat up, reaching for the alarm clock. Sabotage! I grabbed the cord, staring at the silver prongs. "You unplugged my alarm? No! Why!"

"You left me no choice!" Tyler raised his free hand in defense. "You slept through it. It was like the damn Energizer Bunny--it just kept going, and going--so I turned it off. But it's okay, I know how tired these new meds make you. If I had fondled you last night, you wouldn't have even noticed."

"If you had fondled me in my sleep, I'm sure I wouldn't have woken up so cranky." I raised my arms above my head, intending to stretch--and stopped. "Tyler--no! I missed my alarm! I was supposed to call the hotel at six to make sure the front desk gave the planners the keys to the room!" I groaned, clapping both hands to my face, letting them slide like runny eggs. Tonight's party had to be perfect. We couldn't ring in the New Year miserable.

"Ali, deep breath, m'kay? I already took care of it. In fact, the planners updated me a half hour ago. The decorations are halfway finished."

"Half-way? How long did I sleep in?"

"Noon." Tyler kissed my cheek, passing me the coffee mug. "Now, hurry up and get dressed. Me and Buster are waiting, and my mystery-flavor pancakes are getting cold. Pip-pip! By the way, the mystery is cinnamon, sugar, and nutmeg. Paula Deen might be Satan's witch, but her recipes are the shi-i-i-i-it."

"You don't make pancakes! When did you buy nutmeg?" I glared at my boyfriend, tossing a pillow. "Who are you, and what you have done to my boyfriend!"

Tyler moonwalked right out the door.

This time, he wasn't exaggerating, his pancakes were delicious. I ate one, then two more for show. For my good behavior, I was rewarded in the shower. At breakfast, the chatter never stopped. Here, we were silent, no need for words. The love was so much louder.

Tyler washed my hair, and conditioned it, using that same attention to detail he put towards phone calls home, and the songs he wrote. His fingers performed miracles, running through my curls, pulling in all the right places. He rinsed; like a baptism, I was brand-new.

We lingered beneath the jets a while longer, lost in a jungle of soap and steam. Tyler hugged me from behind, his nose to my cheek as he whispered sweet nothings...

Are you okay?

Fuck, you're pretty.

Grab it.

I love you.

The water ran down, the heat consumed us.

We consumed each other.

My head lolled. I closed my eyes, lifted by the soft pressure of his lips on my skin, the reassurance of Tyler's chin bobbing up and down my neck. Sex was always good, but sometimes his touch was all I needed. It healed, and what it couldn't heal, it made numb. His remedy was never-ending.

Later, in the back of the town car, as our driver navigated Manhattan to the Gansevoort Hotel, Tyler and I finally put some space between us. I kept my eyes on the gray world beyond the water-dripped window, jolted by an electric thrill each time his leg brushed mine. Things were certainly different for us in New York, but underneath it all, we were still the same childhood sweethearts from Harbor Village.

At the Gansevoort, the party planners Tyler hired had spent all morning preparing our Manhattan suite for the New Year's party. By the time we arrived, I could hardly see the decorations for the people. In between the white-teeth smiles, the noisemakers, and the bodies swaying to the music, I caught glimpses of catering, fairy lights, and silver and gold balloons. We rang the New Year in style.

All night, my hands were grabbed, my cheeks kissed, my ego stroked with compliments and pretty invitations. We hadn't done a lick of invites for tonight–just a shout-out on Instagram. Famous YouTubers had shown, actors from Hollywood, models from Paris. I could count on one hand the people I actually knew, but with Tyler at my side, everyone there seemed like family.

At forty to midnight, multiple someone's popped champagne, spraying the crowd with foam as we danced beneath the strobe lights. Tyler spun me in his arms, kissing like mad as confetti fell like rain.

"I love you! Meet me on the roof!" Then Tyler was gone, carted away by a mob in top hats and New Year's glasses.

Time for dinner, the real reason for tonight. Thanks to global warming, my friends and I would enjoy a private dinner on the rooftop, where we would toast the New Year, together. I wasn't far from the suite's exit, when something happened to make me reconsider.

I saw a ghost.

Leather jacket.

Dark eyes.

A pretty, wicked smile...

Valentine.

My lips formed her name, but I couldn't breathe to speak it. I turned, watching as the girl strode past me, melding with the crowd...

It wasn't. It couldn't have been. But every once in a while this happened–I'd see a face in the crowd, and wonder if it was her.

Sometimes, I wished it could be.

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