by Marie James
“Griffin, don’t.” These words come out on a whimper as a harsh hand grips my right breast to the point of pain. “Stop!”
I shove him harder as terror that my childhood friend is going to do something terrible, or worse that I’ll cave and let him washes over me.
“What’s wrong?” The sleepy look in his eyes when he releases me and pulls his mouth back makes guilt swim in my stomach. I know he wasn’t trying to hurt me. Maybe aggressive is how he likes things, but that doesn’t stop me from scurrying off of the bed. “Where are you going?”
The husky gravel in his voice is intoxicating, but getting drunk on him when he can’t offer me what I need is the equivalent of him getting drunk to avoid his own problems.
“We can’t,” I say and turn to leave the room.
He’s too fast, and his hands are clasping my shoulders before I can make it to the front door. We’re both breathing heavily, and my lips sting from the harsh rub of his stubble on my sensitive skin.
“Why do you keep running from me?”
“What you’re wanting isn’t going to fix anything.”
“How would you know? Are you drawing on all of your experience?” His voice is bitter, laced with insult because of my rejection.
“We’ve already talked about this.”
“And that,” he points over my shoulder toward the bedroom, “is all I can give.”
“Then, once again, I’m not interested.”
“You expect too much from people.” He releases me, only to start pacing frantically as he pulls at his hair.
“And you don’t expect enough.” He huffs, a disrespectful blow of air from his mouth. “Talk to me. I can help you.”
I reach for him but pull my fingers back just shy of touching him. It’s clear he’s agitated, and I’m not sure if seeking out physical contact so soon after rejecting him is a good idea. He makes the decision for me, reaching for me and pulling me against him.
“Please,” he begs against my lips. “This is what will help me.”
I focus on his throat and the heavy pulse point pounding there. I don’t answer him or make a move to pull away, hoping it forces him to think about what he’s asking of me.
“Fine.” When he releases me and steps back, I feel abandoned, not just by his proximity but all the way around. The temperature in the house cools several degrees, and so does the look in his eye. “You should go.”
I stand stock-still as I watch him look around the living room. Not finding what he’s looking for, he heads to the kitchen.
“What have you done?” he roars from the other room, and I picture him seeing the empty liquor bottles lined up on the counter.
“You can’t keep living this way,” I tell him when he comes back to the living room to face me. “I can’t just watch you drink yourself to death. After what happened today at the sch—”
“I’m done chasing you,” he spits.
Chasing me? Is that how he sees things?
He wants to sleep with me, maybe get lost in my company for a little bit, but there’s no real effort. Showing up at the school was driven by his messed up idea that I somehow disrespected him by leaving without saying goodbye, not because he missed me or needed something other than self-satisfaction from what he imagines I can give him.
“I won’t bother you again. What I do with my life is none of your damn business.”
“It is my business. You have to face the things you’re struggling with. They don’t go away because you get drunk and ignore them. They’re right there waiting for you when you sober up.”
A maniacal laugh filters from his throat. “It’s the only thing that brings me silence.”
“Maybe silence isn’t what you need?”
“I definitely don’t deserve it,” he mutters as if talking to himself.
“You deserve peace,” I argue.
“I don’t.” He lifts his eyes to mine. They’re bloodshot and edged with unshed tears. He looks so exhausted, as if he’s run a thousand miles only to face the responsibility of running a thousand more. “I killed them, and now they’re haunting me.”
Chapter 19
Griffin
The look in her eyes is nothing like I’d expected to see. She isn’t glaring at me with disgust. She’s not turning her back on me to run away.
She looks sad as her lower lip quivers. That tiny quake makes the first tear roll down my cheek.
“Oh, Griffin.”
Her voice, laced with emotion is what sets off the torrent. Fat, hot tears chase each other down my cheeks, and even though my first instinct is to man up, my knees grow weak. Thankfully she doesn’t try to catch me as I sink to the floor because I’d crush her, but she’s right there with me a second later. Her arms encircle me, and she pulls me to her chest.
“Shh,” she purrs in my ear.
I don’t say a word. I don’t tell her all of the things blackening my soul. I couldn’t bear to have her or anyone I respect look at me the way those confessions would cause.
Crying only causes my burden to weigh me down even more. The last time tears fell from my eyes was the day I wrapped my finger around that trigger and pulled. There’s no catharsis to accompany my weeping; it only serves as a reminder of the vile, evil things I’ve done.
“Talk to me,” Ivy urges, and her arms around me strengthen. The warmth of her body and the slightly perfumed scent of her skin is comforting.
She’s one hundred percent correct in acknowledging that I can’t give her what she wants or what she needs, but at the same time, I know I can find respite in her. The sexual need she could fulfill isn’t the only thing I seek. Just her presence makes the voices quieter. She makes the clouds lift, and the pain seem not so acute.
“Ivy,” I whisper as my tears run dry.
What I want and what’s best are so far opposite of each other, I struggle with indecision.
I want to get lost in her, to use her as a distraction, yet I need to make her leave so she isn’t a part of my self-destruction or caught in the crossfire when Novo decides he’s done playing with me and it’s time to put me down.
“Talk to me,” she says again.
“I can’t,” I tell her honestly.
Sadness fills her eyes, tears staining her own cheeks when I lift my head to look at her. Her lips look softer, even more supple after her weeping. They are my only focus. Even after the double rejection, both today and the one a few days ago, I can’t imagine going another moment without them pressed against me.
Her perfect white teeth dig into the lower curve of her lip, and my mouth is suddenly a desert, and in my soul, I know she’s the only one that can quench my thirst.
“Don’t, Griffin.” Her warning echoes in my head, bouncing around for long seconds as I lean closer to her. “Please don’t.”
“Ivy.” Her name on my lips is an invocation, a two-syllable prayer, a pleading I feel down to my tired bones.
“Look at me.” Her small hands cup my jaw and urge my face upward as if she’s well aware of the trance her lips have put me under.
I give her a soft smile even though the third rejection burns like the fires of hell inside of me.
“That doesn’t fix anything.” Her eyes dart to my lips as if she herself is reconsidering her position. “It won’t fix anything.”
“I know,” I admit. “I’m sorry.”
She does her best to put a smile on her face, but I can tell the action is difficult.
“I wish…” She pauses, shaking her head as her throat works on a swallow.
“You wish what?” It’s my turn to palm her soft cheek.
Her blue eyes flutter, and in that very moment I know that I can tell her what she wants to hear, and she’ll give me whatever I need. One simple lie and she’d be putty in my hands. With that realization, my hands ache to feel her, and my muscles burn with my resistance.
I wish I could say I toss the thought out as soon as it hits me, but the temptation makes me pause much longer
than it should take a gentleman.
“I wish I’d brought my reusable grocery bags.”
“Wait. What?”
“You need groceries,” she says with a forced smile as she pulls away from me and stands. “I don’t have my reusable bags, but we can grab some more at the market. Let’s go.”
She holds her hand out to me as if I need her help to stand on my own two feet. I take it just to appease her. I’ve hurt her enough over the last week.
“I don’t really cook,” I mumble as she waits for me to lace up my boots.
“We can get things that are super easy to make.”
“Like microwave stuff?” My nose scrunches at the thought of eating nothing but processed foods. I blame my mother for my expectations. She has always cooked from scratch, and I can admit I’m spoiled.
“Gross. No. Like one-pan dishes and stuff.”
“Or you could just cook for me,” I offer in jest, grateful that she isn’t focusing on my little breakdown from a few moments ago. I’m embarrassed about it as it is.
From the look in her eyes, I can tell she’d love nothing more, but cooking for me is one of the benefits from the package I have no interest in picking.
“So like sloppy joes?” I ask as we exit the house. I take my time making sure the door is secure and keep my eyes moving all over the yard as we make our way to her car.
I don’t offer to drive because I know she wouldn’t let me, and being reminded that I drink too much would be one too many hits to my ego today.
“I was thinking more like stir fry,” Ivy says as she hits the key fob to unlock the doors.
“That actually sounds amazing, but I can promise you it’s still out of my range of cooking.”
“It’s super easy,” she assures me as she backs down the drive.
Silence fills the car, only interrupted by the low hum of the radio. I’d turn the volume up with the hope of hearing her sing again, but I’d much rather listen to her voice if she decides to speak.
We get halfway to the market, and I can no longer take the silence.
“Since you work all week, does that mean you have time to come over after work tomorrow to teach me how to make a stir fry?”
She worries her teeth over her bottom lip before speaking. “I’m actually going out tomorrow night.”
“A date?” I ask before I can catch myself.
“Not a date,” she assures me. “My friend is here from Rhode Island and wanted a night on the town before she goes back on Monday.”
This must be the same girl Cannon was so interested in hooking up with. I feel like a total asshole knowing I’ve taken so much of her time during her friend’s visit.
“You’re not going back so soon, are you?”
“No, not until summer school is over. They still have a couple more weeks.”
“There isn’t much of a nightlife in Farmington,” I remind her.
The smile on her face spreads. “I told Melissa that, but Cannon suggested Jake’s. So we’ll probably end up there.”
“She considers Jake’s a night out?”
Ivy’s laugh is musical. “It’s like she thinks we’re foreigners or something. She’s convinced that we do things differently from anyone else.”
“Why in the world would she think that?” I find myself smiling back at her for no good reason. This girl just lifts my spirits. She’s better than any drug or shot of whiskey I could want.
“She has her own opinions about the club, and then there’s Lawson and Delilah. She doesn’t understand people being okay with their relationship.” I frown at her words. “She doesn’t have a problem with it, but she’s floored that Jaxon and Rob have given them their blessing.”
“What does she think the MC is like?” This is the part I focus on the most. Our dads have worked their asses off to make the club what it is, and just the mention of her friend possibly thinking ill of it gets my hackles up.
“Well.” She worries her lip between her teeth once again, and I have to look away. I can’t seem to look at her without watching her mouth. “I think she was hoping the clubhouse was full of guys looking to—”
I grin when I realize she can’t even say it. Her friend is looking to dick down with a bunch of bikers, and sometimes the clubhouse is like that, but the guys work so much these days that they spread out around town and get pleasure where and when they can. Not much of that goes on at the clubhouse these days.
“So she’s been disappointed with her visit.”
“Hardly,” she says with a chuckle. “Cannon has made sure she isn’t lonely. Although I do feel bad for leaving her at the house so much.”
“I’d apologize, but it’s been nice seeing you.”
She gives me a soft grin as she puts her car in park outside of the market.
“She’ll get to see me all the time when I go back to school, and she knows you’re a friend I haven’t seen in a while.”
I don’t know what crushes my spirit more, the fact that she just slammed me into the friend-zone or knowing that she won’t be a permanent person in my life.
“Are you ready to grocery shop?”
I cringe for effect but follow her inside. I almost cave and sneak off to the liquor aisle, but I bargain with myself that I won’t need the alcohol if I could somehow convince her to stay the night again.
Chapter 20
Ivy
“Why are you nervous?”
My eyes dart to the front of the vehicle, but Jameson and Gigi only have eyes for each other and don’t seem to be paying any attention to us. I can say the same for Lawson on the other side of Delilah. He’s still holding her hand, but his eyes are focused outside of the vehicle.
“Ivy,” Delilah says with a whispered hiss, and I realize I didn’t answer her question.
How do I tell her that I’m a total cliché? I’m going out with friends and family, and I want to have a good time, but on the other hand, I’d rather be in front of the TV sitting close to Griffin. No, I don’t want to sit next to him. I want him to cradle me in his arms while we argue over what items are worth on the Antique Roadshow. That’s my idea of a good time rather than the one I’m facing.
I wonder if he wanted the same thing when he begged me not to leave last night. The pain in his voice when I told him I couldn’t stay kept me awake half of the night. All day I convinced myself that we’re friends. It’s all we’ll ever be, and I need to be okay with that.
“I’m not nervous,” I assure her with a quick grin that I hope she can’t tell is fake.
I’m not fine. I’m overcome with guilt. I’ve yelled at Griffin more than once for drinking excessively, yet here we are heading to a bar. Granted, I’m not old enough to drink, and I have no desire to do so, just the atmosphere leads to that very thing. It’s almost hypocritical of me.
“I want you to have a good time tonight,” Gigi says as she turns in her seat to look at me. “Let loose, dance with some boys, and maybe sneak a drink or two.”
Jameson clears his throat from the driver’s seat, but Gigi just rolls her eyes at the warning.
“I’m not drinking,” I assure her. “I don’t even think dancing is a good idea.”
“It’s just Jake’s, Ivy.” Her tone is very similar to the way she used to speak to me, and it makes me wonder if she has actually changed. “It’s not like you’re walking into The Hale-ish Retreat and Spa.”
“Georgia Leigh!” Jameson snaps, and his tone sounds so similar to my father’s that goosebumps race down my arms.
Gigi simply bites her lip to hide a smile and turns back around. Her eyes are glued to the side of Jameson’s face, and they seem to be talking to each other without even using words. Man, what would it be like to have that with someone?
“What’s the Hale-ish Retreat and Spa?” Delilah asks, and I’m grateful for her question because I’m curious too.
“It’s a—”
“Gigi,” Jameson warns again, but my sister doesn’t listen to him.
“Caleb’s friend?” I ask.
Our second cousin and our dad grew up together, and we try to spend as much time as we can with that side of our family. If I’m not mistaken Cannon recently did some sort of internship with Garrett’s cousin Ian up there this last year.
“Yep,” Gigi answers.
“A place? That’s all we get?”
Lawson chuckles at his girlfriend, and her eyes widen. She may understand, but I’m still stuck in the dark.
“Jameson took me there. We had an amazing time.”
“Like with couples massages?” I ask since no one seems to want to explain fully.
They all laugh, and my cheeks turn pink. I hate being the only one confused.
“What’s so funny? It’s a spa, right?”
“Bless—”
My eyes snap to my sister as I interrupt her. “If you bless your heart me, I’ll kick you.”
“Ivy.” Delilah rests her hand on top of mine. “It’s a sex club.”
I choke nearly swallowing my tongue, and the heat filling my face is hot enough to set the SUV on fire.
Gigi winks at me, and I turn to stare at my oldest friend. “Wh-what?”
It wasn’t long ago that Delilah wouldn’t have a clue, but things have changed drastically over the last two years. I know she and Lawson do everything together, and she’s caught herself telling me things I have no business knowing, but surely she hasn’t been to places like that.
“The entire way there, I had a plug in my—”
“Enough,” Jameson hisses with so much authority that we all stare at him. “Why don’t you guys go ahead and go in while Gigi and I have a little talk.”
“Gigi?” I look at my twin, checking her face and the position of her body for terror.
“Just go,” she whispers, out of breath as if she’s just finished a grueling workout.