other."
"You all seem really tight," I say.
"We are." John picks up some more papers, glancing over them and handing them to me to throw away. "We all lost the security that a kid needs to thrive. Dad, well, he showed us how much stronger we were with each other. He taught us to trust each other, to rely on each other. He made us a team… his dream team, he called us. He created a family out of twelve individual lonely people." He sighs long and low. "I can't believe he's gone."
It's instinct to reach out and take John's hand in mine. An instinct that drives me to try to comfort him. I know what he's potentially here to do. If they voted in favor of trying to get me into a Danna style relationship, then it's John's role to soften me up to that. He could do that in lots of ways, but sympathy would seem like an easy option at this time.
The thing is, I have to be sympathetic. I have to empathize with him because I feel the same loss. We are in the same place of stunned grief, with the knowledge that neither of us quite has the right to feel like a child who has lost a true parent. Dad was a stand-in for these men and absent for me. I don't know if that fact makes things different for us or the same.
John's hand is big and warm, his fingers strong. I don't know if he plays offense or defense, but either way, he has hands that look like they could deal with just about anything. I keep my eyes on the ground because holding his hand and looking into those dark brown eyes would be dangerous. Dangerous for both of us.
John's fingers wrap around mine, his thumb gently grazing my skin. It's intimate and soothing, and the empty space inside me where self-worth, love, and security should reside craves more. This is why I ended up in Justin's bed. This is why I give myself over too quickly and don't hold anything back. I shouldn't look at him, but I'm drawn like a moth to a flame, too weak not to seek out the comfort that I know he can offer.
Those soft brown eyes seem to reach inside me and cup my heart like a gentle hand. I see his breath hitching in the movement of his shoulders. It's not a static attraction that exists between us, just hurt and pain, and a deep need for something to soothe it.
I want him to kiss me. To pull me into his arms and make me forget. There is too much in my life that I wish I could put in a box, close the lid, and staple shut for good. Justin helped me do that for a while, and my life was a damn sight less complicated then.
John blinks, and his lips move as though he already imagines what it would be like to press them against mine. When he drops to his knee in front of me and does just that, I slip into his kiss like a spoon into honey. It feels good when he teases me with light exploratory kisses, and better when our mouths part and his tongue slides against mine. Oh God, I shouldn't be touching his shoulders. I shouldn't be letting him tug my hips until my legs are around his waist. I should have more sense than to open myself up to more hurt and more disappointment, but I don't.
I'm like an addict for this. I seek out physical comfort, knowing it's only a short-term fix for the emptiness that runs so much deeper. But while I'm letting John thread his fingers through my hair, and while I'm breathing in his scent and falling against him like a drowning woman, it feels too good to stop and do what's right.
It's not until the phone rings in another room that I'm jolted back to my senses, pulling back and breathing hard.
John's eyes scan my face, his own shoulders rising and falling as though he's been running. Seconds pass as we both search for what to say next. I could tell him it was a mistake. I could tell him we can't do it again, but I don't want to hurt him or make it awkward, and anyway, I'm terrible at being honest about my feelings. Maybe he struggles in that way too because he doesn't find the words