(CHRIS)

I know I should be sitting in my hotel, alone and bored, waiting for the phone to ring. Or sitting there staring at the wall, watching the stupid thing not ring is more likely. It's in my pocket, and quiet as a mouse. It can ring here, just like it could in a hotel room. I sigh. But in a hotel room, I'd be alone and far from the evil things I'm thinking. There's the rub.

I watch as Mel weaves through the living room furniture, carrying a coffee cup in each hand; no silly tray and cream and sugar needed. She knows how I like it. I feel a familiar warm th spread from my chest and down my arms until my fingers tingle. I get up and meet her halfway, just to have something productive, and innocent, to do with my hands. This was a bad idea, but I don't notice my feet carrying me to the door. Of course, when have my feet ever been in charge of any of the decision making in my life-good or bad?

Mel sits quickly, curling one leg up under herself. The familiar sight does nothing to calm my nerves. I pace to the window and put the coffee cup on the sill. Caffeine is probably the last thing I need right now. I watch her watch me in the reflection in the glass, and correct myself. It's the second to the last thing I need. I pick up the cup and take a long, slow sip. Deliberately, with her watching every little move, I turn and put the cup on the sill again, and push off toward her. I feel enough like the Big Bad Wolf, that I expect her to jump up and run for cover, or at least flinch. She does neither. And that's the problem. She's not afraid of me, even when she should be. My brain flashes back to a night we spent together at her lighthouse. The room took almost as much abuse as we gave each other that night, but for all we broke, we fixed something too.

She hiccups with with relief or regret as I walk past her instead of stopping. It's just part of the dance; she knows it. We've been here before. But the circumstances we re so very diffe rent. Before it was almost a game, something born of boredom. There's something more desperate in the air tonight. I walk to the stereo and look over my shoulder at her, eyebrow raised. She looks away, and that intrigues me. Just what is she listening to that would make her blush? It takes a second to get the iPod snug in the dock, but that's all. I push the buttons and I hear the hum just before the music starts. I listen a second and then reach for the remote to change the song. I flip through her playlist, spending only a moment on each tune before moving on. It's all Griffin . There's something equally sad and amazingly touching about that at the same time. I replace her iPod with my own and look for the song that has been torturing me all day.

I turn as the piano starts and hold out my hand to her. "Dance with me." It isn't a request but she tries to decline just the same. Picking up the beat of the music, I step toward her and say again, "Dance with me." She stands up and takes my hand, and looks shocked to find herself up against me. We've danced many times together but not in many years. It was another life, for us both, when she was the one pulling me into the music. But that was her job wasn't it? She was my Muse. Unconsciously, I reach up and trace the outline of where the mask used to rest on her cheek. She shudders at my touch, and I know that th ere won't be any turning back. We'll hate each other, and ourselves, in the morning light, but the night has always been our friend.

Lines on your face don't bother me
Down in my chair when you dance over me
I can't help myself
I've got to see you again

Late in the night when I'm all alone
And I look at the clock and I know you're not home
I can't help myself
Mel pulls away but I don't let her get far. I won't let go of her wrist, and I spin her back to me, closer than she was before. She looks up into my face, "We can't."

I put a finger over protesting lips, "We can."

"Morgan…."

I trace her bottom lip with my thumb and finish her sentence, "Isn't here, and if she cared where I was I'd be feeling my phone vibrate against my hip." I pull her even closer, my leg between her thighs as I dip her down. As20she clings to my arm, I whisper in her ear, "Instead of you."

I've got to see you again
I could almost go there
Just to watch you be seen
I could almost go there
Just to live in a dream

Whatever battle she's been waging inside herself, didn't end the way she hoped. I can see the defeat in her eyes. There's something else though, and that I can feel in her hands as she grips my arm and shoulder. In a flash, I'm suddenly her hostage, instead of the other way around. Or maybe I'm the one who surrendered?

But no I won't go for any of those things
To not touch your skin is not why I sing
I can't help myself
I've got to see you again

The song mentions skin and I put my lips to hers, in that warm tender spot at the base of her throat. I can feel her heart beating wildly, as I move up her neck. She sighs and I move my hands from her hips. One settles in the small of her back, and the other buries itself in her hair. The slightest pressure with each hand, and I have her where I want her. With her hips pressed tight to mine, leaving her no place to run, and with no doubt of my intentions, and her head back, leaving her mouth mine to take, we are frozen on the brink. The20tightrope we're walking is thin and unstable.

I'm not sure who makes the first move. Did I lean down to kiss her? Did she pull me in? Does it matter once the deed is done?

********

(MEL)

I can lie to myself tomorrow, but right now I will myself to stop thinking. Is there really a right and wrong at this point? I'm going to hell for this anyway, something in me is tired of being brave, of being strong, of being good. And parts of me remember very well how to be bad; and this man knows where I've hidden those parts.

I could almost go there
Just to watch you be seen
I could almost go there
Just to live in a dream

Is this a dream, or a nightmare? As his hands teach themselves the curves of my body, I don't care. I've been overwhelmed by grief, and being strong for my kids, and because people need me to be okay. Even if I'm not okay, no one really wants to hear how I feel. Sadness and grief make them uncomfortable, and so you hide it all behind this shell of "okay" that lets them fool themselves into thinking they helped in some way; that you're all better.

It's the saddest when you start to believe the lie too.

No I won't go to share you with them
But oh even though I know where you've been
I can't help myself
I've got to see you agai n

Oh I can't help myself
I've got to see you again

I reach up and pull on the sides of Chris's shirt until I hear the satisfying ripping of fabric. The buttons give way before much real damage is done, and the still sane part of my brain makes a note to hunt them down before one of the children decides it's candy and chokes. As I put my lips to the warm skin of him, and I feel him shudder at the contact of my tongue and his chest, all thought ceases. This is about feeling. This is about letting the heat of him, the heat of us, melt the ice I've been cocooned inside of since Griffin left me.

I've felt like I've been trapped inside a glass box. I can see the rest of the world moving on around me, but I can't join them. I scream and no one notices. My hands are bruised from beating against the glass trying to get out. As if he knows, Chris takes my hand in his and kisses my palm. My knees go weak as he nips at the fleshy area under my thumb.

I grab hold of his neck to steady myself. He takes advantage of my lack of balance and scoops me up into his arms. There's no way we'll make it to the bedroom; there are too many stairs, and the children are all sleeping up there.

The couch was never an option.

The balcony doors are open and he carries me out into the night air. The cool tendrils of the sea breeze try to break into the steamy bubble of heat around us, and give up. There's no place for anything cold for us tonight. Chris kicks the support on the back of the lounge chairs and falls flat with a bang. He puts me down and before he can move away to take off his pants, I reach up and the waistband of his jeans. If he moves away the spell will be broken. We'll come to our senses. I run my thumb over the button at the top of his fly and then slip my fingers behind it. The only sound is the rasp of his zipper as it slides down.

The dress I'd worn on a whim, slides up my thighs as I kneel before him and he reaches down to slip his hand beneath the soft cotton fabric. I feel his strong fingers as they slip beneath the elastic on my underwear and I hol d my breath as in one motion he pushes his jeans to his knees, and the light blue silk of my underwear to the side. There might be time for something slow and tender later. This is about need.

And I need to be consumed by the fire I see in his eyes, by the heat I can feel in his fingertips as they graze against me. A smile touches his lips as he discovers that I'm more than ready for him. I reach up and put my hand on his neck and pull him down hard into a kiss. He growls into my mouth as my hand replaces his, to hold the fabric out of his way. He doesn't need anymore encouragement to seal our fate. Until this moment, when the ultimate line is crossed we had some hope of redemption.

All hope is gone as he lowers himself into me and I wrap my leg around his to keep him close. No matter all the years and all changes we've been through, some things never change, and our bodies know the rhythm that suits us. It's hard and fast, then slow but more tortuous than tender. I sink my teeth into his shoulder to keep from crying out as he finally finds a way to shatter the icy box that has help me prisoner.

We lay there listening to the waves, trying to calm our racing hearts, covered only in the tattered shirt and each other. We're going to hell and we know it, but just for now there was a bit of heaven still left to be had.

(PAM)

Katy and Jack are both in bed. Declan is out on the back porch making a short phone call that has now lasted for thirty minutes. Frankly I'm getting tired of him being on the phone all the time. It's the first thing he does every morning, and just about the last thing he does at night. And that's not even counting the times during the day when he's checking to see if he has a text or an email. If he's that worried about what's going on back home why doesn't he just go home? Maybe I'll suggest that to him if he comes back inside before I go to bed.

The house is unnaturally quiet, there's a window or two open and I can hear the crickets and other night bugs outside putting on a concert. There wasn't anything on TV that held my interest and I don't want to put any music on. A sure sign that something is wrong. I've been in a strange mood ever since Katy wanted to look through the scrapbooks, looking at pictures of my wedding with Declan there was just weird. Although I have to admit it gave me quite a thrill when Declan said that I looked stunning in one of the pictures. I don't think I've ever been called stunning before.

Maybe it's just the time of year. It's October.... It was in October that I finally realized I was falling in love with Joe. I can still remember the Halloween we first took the kids trick or treating, Lily was a fairy princess, Connor was Bob The Builder, and Katy was a lamb. That Halloween was also when we decided to try and get pregnant. It worked. But I lost the baby after a car accident. Joe was drunk. October was his six month check up after cancer surgery, he was declared healthy and cancer free. And now later this month we will be divorced. I guess that's the reason for the weird mood.

Sitting down on the couch. I grab a magazine and start flipping through it. Five minutes later I'm throwing it back on the table, too restless to concentrate on the articles. Getting up I walk into the kitchen and open the fridge. There are some wine coolers way in the back and I hear them calling my name. Twisting off the top, I walk out the back door onto the porch where Declan is. He's laughing at something the person on the other side of phone has said. And I'm suddenly jealous of someone I've never met.

I don't believe for a minute he's talking to someone back home all these times. If I want to guess, I'd say it's probably another woman but right now I don't even want to go down that path.

Sighing I walk off the porch down the stairs, and across the grass stopping when I get to the fence at the back of my property. Leaning on the wood, I take a long drink of the cooler and stare out at the gathering dusk. There's just enough of light wind to stir the hair off my face. Closing my eyes I raise my face into the breeze.

Right now I wish I could turn back time, all the way back to when I told Tommy there was a possibility I could be pregnant. But If I did that, there would be no Jack and God only knows what Katy's life would be like. But maybe I'd be in a better place, maybe I'd still be head over heels in love with Tommy and he with me. Maybe we'd be one of those couples that defied the odds and was still together despite the rock and roll life style.

A night bird calls, and I listen to see if its mate answers, when it does I feel lonely. I want a mate that will answer me when I call. Something tells me that Declan McGiness is not that man. There have been moments here and there that hinted at more, but they have been few and far between. We're great in bed, but I want more than that. Much more.

I can feel him behind me before he even says a word. His arm slides around my waist but I side step away from him.

"What's wrong??" he asks as he leans against the fence.

"Guess I don't like being ignored." I shrug. "If something has happened in Ireland that you need to take care of, maybe you should head back home."

"I don't need to go home."

Well if it wasn't family on the other end then I guess that leaves only one other option, it is another woman. To delay answering him I take another drink of the wine. Then I finally say, "If you'd rather be somewhere else, with some one else then yes I want you to leave," I tell him, and start peeling the label off the cooler bottle.

He's silent for so long I start rehearsing goodbye speeches in my head and at the same time all those well hidden feelings of rejection and all the associated pain start re-surfacing. And then just as quickly they're pushed right back down to the depths when he gruffly speaks, "I'm where I want to be, Pam. You and me, we've been up front with one another, haven't we?"

"Well I thought we were," I reply, rolling my eyes in the darkness. This is the part where he tries to let me down easily.

"Well then, if I wanted to be somewhere else, I'd tell you, wouldn't I?"

"Look Dec, you don't have to...."

He cuts me off. "Lass, I know I don't have to do or say anything but I'm telling you as honestly as I can that this is where I want to be." He pauses for a heartbeat then adds, "Unless of course you don't want me to be here any longer. Is that really what's going on?"

Now it's my turn to be silent. Do I want him to leave? Am I keeping him around solely because I'm afraid to be alone? Afraid to get out there and give it yet one more try? Then again, maybe I should just relax and stop seeing ghosts of past relationships around every corner and enjoy my time with Declan. So it's not going to last forever, so he's a little preoccupied with something, not like I haven't dealt with that before.

Turning towards him, I put a hand on his arm. "Stay. I'm sorry that I'm in some weird kind of funk tonight. Probably the memories stirred up by the scrapbooks. In case you hadn't noticed, I come with my own set of baggage." I laugh but it's far from a happy one.

"Maybe you just need a good night's sleep or something?" His response is more of a question than a suggestion but I'm really not in the mood to try to figure out the meaning. He's right, a solid night's sleep does sound like a good idea.

And if I'm really likely maybe my children won't decide to coincide the start of their day with the sun's rising.