sympathy. Their eyes locked, time slowing until a silent understanding flowed between them. He took her in his arms, allowing her pain to come up finally in quiet gasps.
And as her grief was purged, as her trembling subsided, a truth emerged. Her head rose from his shoulder, their faces inches apart, feeling each other’s breath on their skin, a near kiss that built in sexual tension. The moment hung there, their breathing falling into a synchronized rhythm, until the unspoken barrier finally dissolved away.
It was like nothing Jack had ever experienced in his life. Mia’s lips were full and warm, filled with passion. They inhaled each other’s soul until they were one. Tearing each other’s clothes off, they fell to the couch in a tangle of arms and legs, seeking and giving pleasure. It was animalistic yet heartfelt, sensual and honest, a moment of perfection that neither had dreamed of. Thoughts and worries drifted away. They were safe in each other’s embrace, complete in the moment. The music continued to play, growing ever distant as they fell into their own world, where the only sounds were their passionate sighs of urging and joy, their quickened breaths and pounding hearts.
And in the after-moments of silence, their beating hearts slowing, the sheen of sweat cooling their heat, they understood.
Without a single word necessary, they knew.
So often, as love takes hold, it sharpens the focus, the selflessness, imbuing confidence in one’s abilities, providing the self-assurance to be able to achieve anything. It fills the heart with hope and possibilities, opening the eyes to the joys of life that can become obscured by the trials and tragedies in life’s journey.
And so, what was to be a fifteen-minute frozen snack to discuss tort reform and judicial process turned into a sixteen-year relationship,with two kids, mountains of bills and stress, but a deep satisfaction and reward from a life filled with love.
Jack looked back down at the article one final time:
District Attorney Jack Keeler and his wife, Mia, were killed just after midnight, their car plunging off the Rider’s Bridge. Their bodies have yet to be recovered from the Byram River, the recovery effort proving to be futile in the raging, storm-swelled waters.
Unconfirmed reports of bullet casings at the scene have bolstered rumors of foul play and that the accident is being treated as murder.
H E PUSHED HIS grief aside and allowed his logical mind to begin to take over. He was the one who could always see the forest for the trees, who could sift through the evidence and glean the truth where others saw nothing but disjointed facts.
The sensational nature of newspapers, any headline to sell a copy, always angered Jack. How could the newspaper declare him dead when a coroner had not, when his body had yet to be recovered (which, point in fact, wasn’t about to happen)?
And if he was standing there, then maybe …
Mia was tougher than any woman he had ever known. If there was even a shred of possibility …
As he stood there in the kitchen, a glimmer of hope began growing in his mind, but it grew only so much as it hit an obstacle. It was as if the memory of the night before was hidden behind a wall that he couldn’t get around, couldn’t climb, couldn’t penetrate. His frustration grew to be overwhelming as he realized that he had lost some part of his mind.
CHAPTER 3
F RIDAY , 6:50 A.M .
F RANK A RCHER STOOD IN the Keelers’ kitchen, his hand on Jack’s shoulder, his eyes equally confused and relieved, looking as if he were staring at a ghost.
The two had sat in silence for more than three minutes, both coming to terms with the situation. Jack had explained everything he knew. He showed his injuries, the wound in his shoulder, the cuts on his face and neck; he showed his mud-encrusted, wet pants. Finally, he unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and slowly rolled it up to reveal the dark tattoo that wrapped his forearm.
Frank looked at
And as her grief was purged, as her trembling subsided, a truth emerged. Her head rose from his shoulder, their faces inches apart, feeling each other’s breath on their skin, a near kiss that built in sexual tension. The moment hung there, their breathing falling into a synchronized rhythm, until the unspoken barrier finally dissolved away.
It was like nothing Jack had ever experienced in his life. Mia’s lips were full and warm, filled with passion. They inhaled each other’s soul until they were one. Tearing each other’s clothes off, they fell to the couch in a tangle of arms and legs, seeking and giving pleasure. It was animalistic yet heartfelt, sensual and honest, a moment of perfection that neither had dreamed of. Thoughts and worries drifted away. They were safe in each other’s embrace, complete in the moment. The music continued to play, growing ever distant as they fell into their own world, where the only sounds were their passionate sighs of urging and joy, their quickened breaths and pounding hearts.
And in the after-moments of silence, their beating hearts slowing, the sheen of sweat cooling their heat, they understood.
Without a single word necessary, they knew.
So often, as love takes hold, it sharpens the focus, the selflessness, imbuing confidence in one’s abilities, providing the self-assurance to be able to achieve anything. It fills the heart with hope and possibilities, opening the eyes to the joys of life that can become obscured by the trials and tragedies in life’s journey.
And so, what was to be a fifteen-minute frozen snack to discuss tort reform and judicial process turned into a sixteen-year relationship,with two kids, mountains of bills and stress, but a deep satisfaction and reward from a life filled with love.
Jack looked back down at the article one final time:
District Attorney Jack Keeler and his wife, Mia, were killed just after midnight, their car plunging off the Rider’s Bridge. Their bodies have yet to be recovered from the Byram River, the recovery effort proving to be futile in the raging, storm-swelled waters.
Unconfirmed reports of bullet casings at the scene have bolstered rumors of foul play and that the accident is being treated as murder.
H E PUSHED HIS grief aside and allowed his logical mind to begin to take over. He was the one who could always see the forest for the trees, who could sift through the evidence and glean the truth where others saw nothing but disjointed facts.
The sensational nature of newspapers, any headline to sell a copy, always angered Jack. How could the newspaper declare him dead when a coroner had not, when his body had yet to be recovered (which, point in fact, wasn’t about to happen)?
And if he was standing there, then maybe …
Mia was tougher than any woman he had ever known. If there was even a shred of possibility …
As he stood there in the kitchen, a glimmer of hope began growing in his mind, but it grew only so much as it hit an obstacle. It was as if the memory of the night before was hidden behind a wall that he couldn’t get around, couldn’t climb, couldn’t penetrate. His frustration grew to be overwhelming as he realized that he had lost some part of his mind.
CHAPTER 3
F RIDAY , 6:50 A.M .
F RANK A RCHER STOOD IN the Keelers’ kitchen, his hand on Jack’s shoulder, his eyes equally confused and relieved, looking as if he were staring at a ghost.
The two had sat in silence for more than three minutes, both coming to terms with the situation. Jack had explained everything he knew. He showed his injuries, the wound in his shoulder, the cuts on his face and neck; he showed his mud-encrusted, wet pants. Finally, he unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and slowly rolled it up to reveal the dark tattoo that wrapped his forearm.
Frank looked at
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