WE ARE ONE: Volume Two

by Jewel, Bella

  My smile gets bigger.

  His gaze drops to it. “Fuck. Come here and give me those lips again. I’m not done with them.”

  I drop down and give him my lips again for a long, long time.

  When we pull apart we’re both panting. “Is it too soon for more?” I gasp.

  He grins. “I’ve fucked you twice, honey. Give it a bit longer.”

  My eyes drop to his exposed chest. God, he’s beautiful.

  “Okay,” I murmur.

  He moves quickly, flipping me over and pinning my back against the mattress.

  “I thought you needed time,” I say, my voice soft and low, seductive, even to my own ears.

  “Oh, I do—but that doesn’t mean I can’t make you whimper my name again.”

  I swallow and look up at him through my lashes. “Oh yeah?”

  He slides down my body, taking hold of my knees and gently pushing them apart. “Oh yeah,” he murmurs, right before he presses his mouth between my legs.

  Oh. My.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Lucy!”

  Pounding on my front door wakes me from my sleep, and it takes a few minutes for me to come to. I’m in Heath’s arms. His big body is hot and solid, securing me in. I don’t want to move; I want to stay here all day with him. But whoever is at the door isn’t going to let that happen.

  I get out of bed and push to my feet, running my fingers through my hair and listening.

  “Lucy!”

  Gerard.

  Shit.

  My heart pounds as I turn, shoving Heath’s shoulder. He wakes up with a grunt and looks over to me, the expression on his face shows he is less than impressed. “What?”

  “Gerard is here. I have to go answer the door.”

  I don’t give him any chance to reply. I just pull on a robe and rush out of the room, slamming the door behind me. I run down the stairs and to the front door, swinging it open to see Gerard and Heather standing there, looking pissed.

  “Thanks for the wake-up call,” I mumble. “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong is you requesting more than we agreed on in the settlement,” Heather snaps.

  I glare at her. “I’m sorry, when did Gerard forget how to speak for himself? If you don’t mind, I’ll discuss this with him and not you. Last time I checked, we were never married.”

  She scowls at me.

  I turn to Gerard. “You couldn’t have phoned me?”

  “I tried,” he mutters, looking tired. “You didn’t answer.”

  “So you came to my house and woke me up early in the morning?”

  “It’s ten a.m.”

  Oh.

  “Well, I can’t discuss it right now,” I say, glancing behind me.

  “Have you got someone in there?” he demands.

  I turn to him. “I have a visitor, yes.”

  “Who? Is it your imaginary friend?” Heather scoffs.

  Gerard snorts.

  That makes me angry. So angry. I cross my arms, and even though Heath has asked me not to, I snap, “Yes, actually.”

  Gerard’s eyes flare, and he shoves past me, Heather in tow. I let them. I hope they go up there and find my naked man in bed, looking as gorgeous as he is, then they’ll wish they’d never doubted me. I follow them up the stairs, a grin on my face, and enter the room.

  Gerard turns to face me. “There’s no one here?”

  I narrow my eyes, and look around him. The bed is made. There is not a trace of Heath. Fucking. Asshole.

  “He was here all night,” I say, rushing into the bathroom and shoving the door open. Not a trace.

  “I see you still haven’t gotten help,” Heather snaps. “I think we need to mention that to the lawyers. She’s asking for more than she’s entitled to, but until she gets help, I think we should definitely fight it.”

  Gerard looks sadly at me. “I agree.”

  “I’m only asking to keep my car!” I cry.

  “The car that belongs to Gerard,” Heather points out. “It’s in his name.”

  “He has a work car.”

  “We’re not discussing this with you,” she hotly informs me, crossing her arms.

  “Gerard,” I croak, looking to him. “Surely you’re not going to be this cruel.”

  He looks miserable. “Listen, I need the car okay? I don’t want this to get messy, Lucy. I care about you enough to not want that.”

  “You’re supposed to love me.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “And you’re supposed to love me but you just happily told me you were sleeping with someone else, real or not.”

  He has a point.

  “I don’t want this to get ugly, please. We spent so long together; we loved each other so fully. Can we end this . . . cordially?”

  He opens his mouth to speak, but Heather cuts him off. “We’re not discussing this any further.”

  “Gerard,” I whisper.

  “Sorry, Lucy, I think she’s right. I think you need help. I’m really worried about you.”

  I study him. “Please leave my house.”

  “If you just give me the car, I’ll—”

  “Leave, Gerard. Go ahead and do whatever you think you have to. That’s my car, and I have no money to buy another one.”

  “But—”

  “Leave or I’ll call the police.”

  “Let’s go, Gerard,” Heather says, snatching his arm into hers and pulling him out of the room.

  I watch him go, my eyes holding his. He looks like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. Once again, he lets his sister speak for him.

  When they’re gone and I hear the front door slam, I turn and study the room. I walk over to the bed and jerk the covers back. A small note flutters out. I pick it up, staring down at the neat but masculine handwriting.

  Sorry, Lucy girl, I couldn’t stay.

  I’d bet about fifty that you brought them upstairs to prove a point?

  Yeah. You did.

  I wrote my number on the back.

  H x

  I can’t help but roll my eyes, and maybe I smile a little.

  “You’re a dick, Heath,” I mutter to the piece of paper.

  But dammit.

  I can’t get enough of you.

  * * *

  I make myself a coffee, have a shower and get changed before I decide to text the number Heath left me. I know he’s a savvy texter when his phone is actually turned on; I witnessed it at the baseball stadium. I think about what I’m going to say to him, and then smile slyly when I figure it out.

  L – Asshole.

  I send the message with a triumphant smile, and go to place my phone down but it buzzes in my palm almost instantly.

  H – I’m not sorry.

  I laugh softly.

  L – That’s the worst part. I looked like a crazy person.

  H – From what I recall, you are.

  I flush.

  L – Thanks for last night. I’m locking my windows from now on.

  H – There are many other ways to get into your house.

  Jerk.

  L – I’ll lock them all. When will I see you again?

  H – I don’t know. I’ll call you when I can.

  L – Okay well, go and fight crime, GI Joe.

  H – Later, honey.

  I put my phone down and get ready for work. I’m doing a lunchtime shift today, so I get ready a little quicker than usual, considering I slept in. I grab my things, lock the house, and head out, trying to take my mind off everything. Mostly, Gerard. I hate fighting with him. I hate that things have gotten so cold between us. I never wanted that. Not even for a second. I know things deteriorated after the attack, but I didn’t think that we’d ever look at each other the way we do now.

  Then there’s the guilt over having Heath in my life.

  It’s been such a short time since Gerard left, and while I know it’s for the best and that we were never going to make it through, I can’t fathom the fact that I already have feeli
ngs for another man. I don’t know the depth of my feelings for Heath; I just know they feel real and that I can’t stop thinking about him. Being with him last night was hands down the best experience of my life and that scares me, because it was so intense, so incredible, that I have to wonder if it was the situation making it seem like something it wasn’t.

  I think about this through my entire shift at work, and when night falls, I grab the newspaper on the way out the door, waving to everyone. I’m going to visit my parents tonight, then . . . well . . . then I don’t know. I walk down the road to a Mexican restaurant and order my usual tacos, then I sit outside and wait while they’re being made. I flip open the paper and my heart skips a beat.

  Local baseball stadium to open Saturday for its first game since the horrific incident where so many lives were lost.

  My heart lodges in my throat, and my fingers tremble as I read and re-read the article. It’s opening up tomorrow for the first time since the attack. I know I should go—I want to go, I need to go—but the idea of walking back in there scares me in a way I don’t even want to think about. Will they come back? Does this mean it’s over and they won’t attack again? Or does it mean they’ll try to because they didn’t win?

  I pull out my phone and text Heath.

  L – The baseball stadium is opening tomorrow.

  He replies fairly quickly, which eases some of the fear lodged in my chest.

  H – I know, honey.

  L – You didn’t tell me.

  H – That’s because I knew you’d try and go, and I don’t want you there.

  I exit out of the messages with an angry push of the button. He didn’t tell me because, as always, I’m kept out of everything, and he wants me to be hidden away from it all. I had the right to know. I have the right to go. He can’t stop me from doing that—he won’t stop me from doing that. Facing fear is the only way to move on from it—even I know that.

  I want to move on.

  My phone rings. I ignore it and shove it back in my purse, heading inside to collect my dinner before getting in my car and heading over to my parents’ house. I’ve eaten my tacos messily by the time I arrive, and spend ten minutes in their driveway wiping myself clean before going in. If I’ve eaten, my mom won’t freak out and attempt to make me something. I know they’ll have finished their dinner already, and I didn’t tell them I was coming, which is sure to end in a frantic scrambling to stuff me full of food.

  “Lucy, sweetheart, we weren’t expecting you!” Dad says the second I step through the front door. He’s on the couch, watching his usual football, and Mom is in the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes.

  “Just thought I’d pop in and say hello after my shift.”

  “Have you eaten?” Mom asks, wiping her hands on a towel before coming over and embracing me.

  “I’ve eaten.” I smile.

  “Hi baby,” Dad says, snatching me from my mom’s arms and pulling me into his. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Me too, Dad. Sorry I haven’t been by. Things have been hectic.”

  He practically drags me over to the couch and pulls me down beside him. “What’s been going on?”

  I pat his hand. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

  “Have you spoken to Gerard?” Mom asks, sitting on the other side of me, giving me her sad eyes.

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “And nothing has changed?”

  “No.”

  She opens her mouth to say something but my dad cuts her off. “He didn’t do right by our Lucy. He should have stood by her, and he chose not to.”

  “He was confused,” Mom tries, but it’s weak.

  “He was her husband. End of story,” Dad says in his firm tone, then he looks back to me. “Is everything going smoothly?”

  “It’s going as well as it can go,” I admit. “His sister isn’t helping situations.”

  “That woman is awful,” Mom scoffs. “I never liked her.”

  “No, me either.” I sigh. “But she’s on Gerard’s tail everywhere he goes, so I’ve been unable to speak to him alone. Ending this is the right thing, I’m sure of that, but we loved each other, and I don’t want it to be awful between us.”

  “Have you told him that, love?” Dad asks.

  “I have, but things are complicated. Plus, he just keeps getting angry and demanding I get help.”

  “Have you thought of speaking to someone?” Mom says carefully.

  I give her a look. “Yes, Mom. I finally booked myself in to see someone next week, but honestly, I’m doing okay.”

  “The nightmares?” Dad asks.

  I shrug. “Some nights it’s fine—others it isn’t.”

  “And the . . . man.”

  Dad shoots Mom a look, and my heart breaks at the expressions on their faces. The concern. The worry.

  “I’ve let that go,” I say, and it pains me to do it because I so badly wish they knew that Heath was a real thing.

  “I’m happy to hear that. Let’s get you some tea!” Mom leaps up and rushes into the kitchen.

  My dad squeezes my hand.

  I squeeze back and we sit in silence. My phone is vibrating in my purse, and I decide I had better answer it, otherwise I’m not going to have a pleasant night with my family. “I’m just going to see who keeps calling.”

  I stand and disappear into the office at the front of the house and pull out the phone just as the screen flashes with Heath’s name again.

  “Hello,” I mumble.

  “I don’t do being ignored well.” His voice is gruff and sexy, and I’m not sorry.

  “Not a nice feeling, is it?” I throw back, lightly.

  “Why didn’t you answer?”

  “You already know the answer to that.”

  “I don’t want you at the stadium because I’m not a hundred percent sure it’s safe. I’m not trying to control you.”

  “But you are,” I snap. “You are, Heath. You refuse to tell me what’s going on here, you refuse to make contact—you refuse to give me a damned thing. I live every day wondering what the hell kind of lie I’m living in. I’m hanging onto threads of you. I’m . . . I’m so damned tired of it. I know you’re working something dangerous and you can’t tell me about it, but you left me in that house like a crazy person this morning. I hate feeling the way I feel. Like I have to lie. Like I have to feed the idea that I’ve lost my mind. So I don’t care if it’s dangerous—I’m going. I’m going because I need to go, and there isn’t a single thing you can do about that.”

  He goes silent for a second, then sighs. “Five minutes.”

  “What?”

  “Five.”

  He hangs up and I stare down at my phone, confused. What the hell does that mean?

  “Lucy!” Mom calls.

  I sigh.

  “Coming.”

  I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The pounding at the door shocks all of us, but mostly me.

  I’ve just sat down, tea in hand, when it rings out. Dad looks to me, and I shrug. My heart pounds, but I don’t want to believe it could be who I wish it were on the other side. Mom walks over, wiping her hands again, then she opens it and gasps. “Oh my.”

  “Hi there, you must be Lucy’s mom. I’m Heath.”

  My hands tremble so much I have to put my cup down on the table next to me. He’s here. He’s. Here. I turn slowly, my dad does too, and I see Mom step aside and Heath enter. My heart hurts just looking at him. He’s wearing all black—his jeans, his tee, his boots. His dark hair is messy, falling over his forehead, and his silver eyes pin mine and hold. I can’t breathe. I can’t . . . breathe.

  “Heath?” Dad says, standing. “As in . . .”

  “The man who was with her at the stadium, yeah.”

  I can’t move.

  Dad looks to me, Mom looks to me, but my eyes are on him. I launch out of the chair and run towards him, knocking one of my mother’s vases over on my way. I thr
ow myself into his arms, and he catches me with a grunt. His big arms close around me and my pathetic tears soak his shirt. “You’re here,” I croak.

  “I’m here.”

  I hang onto him for a minute too long, then reluctantly let him go. I turn to my parents and whisper, “This is the man who saved my life.”

  My mom makes a strangled sobbing sound and throws herself into Heath’s arms. “I’ve never been so happy to see a person in my entire life. And, thank you for saving my daughter.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am,” he murmurs.

  She lets him go and shuffles into the kitchen to hide the tears beginning to form in her eyes.

  My dad steps forward and extends his hand. “I have no words to offer, son, but I will thank you until my dying day for getting my baby out of there.”

  My throat gets tight.

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  “Call me Darren, please.”

  Heath nods.

  “Please, sit. We have a lot to talk about,” Dad says, smiling at me.

  “Yeah.” Heath sighs. “We really do.”

  We all sit in the lounge and Heath reaches over, jerking my hand into his. My dad’s eyes fall on our hands, but he says nothing. He will, though. After Heath is gone I’ll get the lecture, but that’s okay. Right now nothing can upset me.

  At least, that’s what I think.

  “I must admit,” Mom says, handing Heath a beer, “we questioned if you were real.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Heath says, his voice a little tight for my liking, but I say nothing. “Look, in conjunction with the police, I’m working on a case where the person involved has no idea I’m even involved. In fact, that person thinks I’m . . . dead. The case is on the up and up but it is very precarious situation.”

  I gasp. “What?” I breathe.

  “I can’t give you much information, but I have it on good authority that it’s what he thinks, and therefore I’ve been able to investigate him without any suspicion. I made a deal with the investigators on the case, because the person involved is . . . was . . . close to me. I’m finding out what I can, but I’m doing it discreetly. He doesn’t know I’m here, and because of that I’ve been able to get closer than anyone else has. I know him. I know how it all works. It’s why I’ve been keeping it low and was unable to confirm that I was there the night of the attack. That’s the basics of it, and all I can give you.”