by Carian Cole
“Then let me help you. I’ll take you to rehab. I’ll pay for it. We’ll get you clean, and then you can live here as long as you want. Look how nice this place is now. We’ll find you a job, or you can go to college. Whatever you want.”
“I’m not going to rehab, Jude. As long as I just do a little bit, I’m fine. I just need some money.”
I’ve said those exact same words. For a long time I believed them—until I woke up half-dead in an alley.
“You’re not fine, and I’m not giving you money to feed your habit.”
She paces around the island, pulling at her hair. “I can’t believe you’re being like this. You think you’re better than me? You’re not. You’re just like everyone else.”
“I love you, kiddo, but I can’t play this game with you. Been there, done that. If you want real help, then you’ve got it. A thousand percent.”
She sets her eyes on me like a wild animal. “Just give me some cash, then, and we’ll get the hell out of here.”
“We?” I repeat. “Who the hell is we?”
“Jimmy’s out in the van.”
A disgusted laugh erupts out of me. “I should’ve guessed. I want that fucker off my property. Now.”
Tears pool in her eyes, and I feel trapped in an impossible situation. This is a nightmare I never could’ve seen coming. I’d do anything for her. I’ve been down on my knees praying for her to be okay and to come home, but I never expected her to come back asking me for drug money, and I never expected her to look at me like she doesn’t give one shit about me.
I pull my wallet out of my back pocket and take out two hundred-dollar bills. I toss it on the island between us.
“You can take that. Get a motel.”
She snatches it up fast and shoves it down the front of her shirt, under her bra.
“Erin,” I say softly, hoping it gets through to her. “Let me help you. I know how hard it is. I’ve fuckin’ been there. Ditch that douchebag and let me help you get clean. You can start over. It’s not too late.”
As she shakes her head back and forth, she smiles weakly at me, and I catch a glimmer of the girl I remember—the one who still lives on in my memories. The one who had hopes and dreams and spent hours at the mall buying clothes. The one who used to wait up for me to come home, so she could tell me all about her day.
“I can’t do that, Jude,” she admits with the slightest tone of regret. “I can’t leave Jimmy. We stick together. No matter what.”
Defeated, I ask, “So what are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna take this and get a cheap motel, meet with Jimmy’s hookup for a fix, and then we’re going to Maine. Jimmy’s got some friends there.”
“Yeah,” I bark out. “I bet he does.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds, not saying a word. What is there to say? I can’t believe this is where we are. I feel overwhelmingly powerless and guilty as all fuck. This entire situation is the product of my bad choices, and I’ll never forgive myself for being the one who inadvertently put these wheels in motion.
I thought I had cleaned up my mess when I got my shit together. I had no idea it had spread to my sister.
All I want to do is go out to my driveway, haul Jimmy Vantz out of that ratty van and kill him with my bare fucking hands. I want to strangle him until his eyes pop out of his ugly head. But as tempting as that is, I’ve got Skylar to think about. My Sparkle. I can’t—I won’t—risk ending up in jail for assaulting or murdering a junkie and leave her by herself.
“Thanks for the cash,” Erin says. “Sorry this wasn’t the reunion you were hoping for.”
The knife twists deeper into my heart.
“I don’t want things to be like this,” I say.
“Just go back to thinking I’m dead, Jude. We’ll both be better off.”
She doesn’t hug me goodbye. She just leaves without so much as a glance back at me.
I sink into one of the chairs, completely fucked in the head.
Chapter 34
Skylar
Holy shit.
My heart is breaking for Jude.
From my bedroom window, I watched his sister leave. She stopped in front of the garage on her way to the driveway and peeked into the windows like she was casing the place. Then she climbed into the van, and I could see her and a guy, illuminated behind the windshield when she lit up a cigarette. Her hands waved frantically as she was, no doubt, giving the guy a recap about what just went down.
I’m proud of Jude for standing his ground. Turning Erin away had to be the hardest thing he’s ever done. After all this time, she showed up alive and well (high, but well). Only she didn’t come back to resume her life and integrate into her family. She came back to use him.
He has to be devastated.
A few moments ago, his bedroom door slammed so hard the walls shook and Gus ran, tail puffed out three times its size, to hide under my bed.
Worried, I sit on the floor and coax Gus into my lap. When she curls up on me, I pet her long, gray fur until she forgets about the big, bad noise and purrs with contentment. The house feels eerily empty and quiet, as if I’m the only one here, and the man down the hall is now nothing more than a ghost, void of breath and a soul.
I wait for an hour, but then I can’t take the silence anymore. I pick up my phone and send him a text.
Me: Are you okay?
Fifteen minutes tick by before the three little dots show up on my screen.
Jude: No. I’m not.
My heart cracks.
Me: Can I come see you?
Earlier, before he left for his job estimate, he said he missed me and wanted to see me. Maybe he still does, and we can talk about all this and try to find some sort of closure for him.
Jude: Only if you want to end up on the receiving end of my rage.
I think I can deal with that.
I go down the hall to his room, hesitating for a second at his closed door, and then open it without knocking. I find him sitting on the edge of his bed in the dark with nothing but his jeans on and a bottle of whiskey in his hand.
Oh, shit.
From what I’ve put together, Jude’s not an alcoholic. He used to drink a lot, but his real problem was with drugs. Now he’ll occasionally have a beer when he’s chilling out, but I’ve never seen him drink hard liquor.
Silently, I cross the room and kneel between his legs. He looks wrecked—his eyes are puffy and his face is blotchy, and his hair looks like he’s run anguished hands through it a hundred times.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, slurring his words. “I’m in a really fucking bad mood.”
I lay my hands gently on his knees. “I promised for better or for worse, remember?”
He scowls and tips the bottle against his lips. “That’s all bullshit.”
“It’s not,” I say softly. “I think we both know that.”
“I don’t know shit.”
“I’m sorry about Erin. I know how much you love her.”
He takes another gulp of whiskey and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “I don’t love anyone.”
My heart constricts. “You don’t mean that.”
He throws me a nasty look that chills my bones. “Yeah, I really fucking do mean it. You have no idea. I’m done with this bullshit. I’m sick of being treated like dirt and thrown away like trash. Fuck. It.”
“I do have an idea. I know exactly what it feels like. For once I’d like to be the one worth staying for and not the one that’s easy to leave and forget about.”
“A-fucking-men.” He raises his bottle to me. “I’ll drink to that.”
Shaking my head, I grab the bottle away from him and put it on his nightstand.
“I think you’ve had enough to drink.”
“I think you’re being a fuckin’ bad wife.”
Our little joke isn’t funny when he says it with such anger and hatred dripping from his voice.
I let out a slow sigh. “
Jude… tonight had to be really hard for you. Do you want to talk about it?”
He runs both his hands through his hair to clutch the back of his head. “No. I don’t wanna talk about her. Ever.” His eyes close for a long moment as he takes a few deep breathes. “I’m either gonna get drunk off my ass or have my brains fucked out. Give me the bottle back, or strip.”
So, this is how it’s going to be—self-destruction mode flipped on. Walls up and locked into place.
I’m not deterred.
Leaning back on my heels, I untie the sash of my robe then slowly let it slip down my arms and off my bare body. He watches the red silk pool on the floor beneath me, then drags his gaze up to my face.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Getting ready to fuck your brains out.”
He sucks in a harsh breath. “We did that already,” he says roughly.
“Oh?” I ask, determined to do whatever it takes to show him I’m here for him, no matter what. “Was it a one-time thing, then?”
Not taking his eyes from mine, he picks up the whiskey and takes another defiant swig. “Yup. This shit ain’t happening between us, Sparkles. I’ve fucked up enough.”
I snatch the bottle out of his hand again and put it back on the nightstand.
“We’re doing this, not that.” I cast my eyes over at the liquor.
“Don’t mess with me, Skylar. You’re not gonna like it if I put my hands on you like this.”
I reach up and touch his cheek, running my finger over the dark stubble. He stares at me through half-closed, dark eyes.
“Try me,” I whisper.
Without wavering, I hold his gaze. Whatever he needs right now—I’ll do it. I’ll be it. He’s been my rock since the day we met—never wanting or expecting a thing in return. He’s not drowning his feelings in the bottom of a bottle on my watch.
Suddenly, his hand flies up and grabs the back of my neck, pulling me hard to meet his lips. He kisses me ferociously, his tongue carrying the bite of whiskey. He palms my breast, twisting, pinching, and tugging my nipple between his fingers until I cry out.
He pulls his mouth from mine. “Touch yourself.” His voice is low and raspy, and my clit quivers in response, like a dog to a whistle. “I want to watch you finger your sweet little cunt.”
It takes me a beat to recover from the scintillating rush of heat that ripples from my breasts to my thighs. His voice is sinfully sexy, and I hold my breath, wanting to hear more.
Still kneeling before him, I arch my back and shift my hips in a slow, seductive, sway.
“Say please,” I say, dead serious, holding on to my half of the control.
A wicked grin tips his lips as he reaches for the bottle once more, but I grab his hand and bring it to my lips, sucking his middle finger between my teeth, ignoring my germ and gag fears with every bit of control I can summon.
“Please,” he drawls.
His gray eyes flash with lust when I slide my hand between my parted thighs and finger my wet slit.
My body pulses with desire—incredibly turned on by the darkness in his eyes and the mix of raw emotion emanating from him like heat from a blazing fire.
His chest heaves up and down with deep, even breaths as he watches me, shifting his gaze from my mouth to my hand pleasuring myself.
I swirl my tongue around his finger and his upper lip curls erotically. My stomach shudders with anticipation. I’m surprised that the excitement of turning him on far outweighs my anxiety over having things in my mouth. Every hitch of his breath and spark of desire in his eyes fuels my newfound feeling of power and confidence. It’s addicting and intoxicating—just like him.
He pulls his finger from my mouth with a wet popping sound, and slowly trails it down between my breasts, past my belly button, and down between my legs. Moving my hand to the side, he pushes his wet finger deep inside me, pumping it in and out from tip to knuckle.
Grinding into his hand, I lean forward to kiss him, but he pulls away and rises from the bed, towering over me until he grabs my shoulders and pulls me up. He kisses the top of my head, then moves down to cover my ear with his mouth.
“I want you on the bed,” he whispers. “I’m going to fuck you until I can’t remember a goddamn thing.”
Electric tingles race down my spine as I climb onto the bed then turn to watch him step out of his jeans. My thighs clench at the sight of his cock jutting from his inked-up body like a steel pipe.
Sauntering to the edge of the bed, he wraps his fingers around my ankle, and lifts my leg up high to rest my foot on his shoulder. Staring down at me, he lavishes kisses up and down my calf, then reaches down to grasp my other ankle, flipping me over, legs spread, in a mind-boggling, lightning-quick motion.
“I don’t want you looking at me.” The anguish and self-hatred in his voice and in his eyes rip my heart in two.
Turning on my side, I reach for him, wanting to kiss all the hurt away. “Lucky—”
“Do it or get the fuck out.”
With a quiet nod, I flip back over onto my stomach, and he grabs my hips, pulling me up onto all fours and yanking me back to meet him at the edge of the bed. His hands grip my waist and he drives into me hard, fast, and unforgiving. Moaning his name, I clutch the comforter in my hands, head down, as he slams into me, his balls slapping against my wet pussy with each pounding descent. I’ve never had sex from behind, and it’s painfully primal but so intensely erotic. I don’t know if I should be ashamed or proud of myself for enjoying the raw, animalistic sensuality of it.
And him.
Breathing heavily, fingers digging into my flesh, relentlessly ramming into me, releasing all his pent-up anger, sadness, and guilt into every powerful thrust.
Is it toxic? Maybe it is. But that’s all right. This is what he needs.
What I need, too.
Connecting with someone doesn’t always have to be pretty and beautiful. It can be raw and ugly and infected with need. I want all of him—the good and the bad.
Driving into me, he skims his hands up my ribcage to my small breasts. His rough palms graze against my taut nipples, heightening my pleasure. When I arch my back, pushing to meet his thrusts, my walls clench around him again and again as wave after wave of orgasm rolls through me. As I’m reeling from the last of the lingering shudders, I cry out when he suddenly pulls his cock out and pushes me flat down, covering my entire body with his. The length of his stiff shaft wedges between my ass cheeks and spurts hot cum onto my lower back. He bows his head down into my neck and kisses my shoulder blade, biting my flesh and panting heavily, whispering words like wet and tight and so fuckin’ perfect. A shiver of ecstasy cascades down my spine. He stays there for a long time, with his sweaty chest pressed against my back, and I revel in being entirely enveloped by him, trapped in his powerful embrace.
When our breathing calms, he lifts himself up and kneels behind me, between my thighs. I inhale a sharp breath when his hands come down at the base of my spine and slowly rub his cum into my skin like a lascivious massage. Flutters stir deep in my stomach and radiate down to my pussy and thighs. I feel completely owned by the possessive sensuality of it.
I lie there, utterly still, until he flops next to me on his back with his arm thrown over his eyes. My mind and body feel like an explosion of jelly and I want to curl up into his warmth while the pieces of us fall back into place.
“You deserve better.” His rough, soft-spoken words startle me in the dark, dead silence that’s been swelling between us.
“Jude, I—”
He puts his hand up. “You should go now.”
His words are sobering. My heart feels heavy in my chest, as if it might sever itself, fall away, and die.
“Jude…”
“Please,” he says in a desperate, gravelly whisper. “Just go.”
That’s the last thing I want to do. I want to stay here with him. Show him I’m here for him, that he doesn’t have to be alone, and not everyone leaves.
Blinking back hot tears, I pull on my robe, and silently walk away, hoping he’ll call me back with each step I take.
He doesn’t.
I take the near-empty bottle of whiskey with me, and dump it down the drain before going to bed, feeling very sticky, very sore, very confused, and very much like I left a big piece of my mangled heart in that room with him.
Chapter 35
Skylar
I’m glad I don’t have to go to school today because I’m mentally and physically exhausted from last night. Jude must be, too, but I heard his truck pull out of the driveway at five a.m., half an hour earlier than he usually leaves.
He didn’t peek in to say goodbye, which he always does.
He forgot to fill Cassie’s bowl.
And I didn’t get to make him a yummy chicken sandwich for his lunch to remind him that someone cares about him.
Routine is something I thrive on, and these little ripples upset me.
Jude is a pillar of stability for me, and I want life to calm down for both of us so things can be good again.
I’m due at the boutique at eleven a.m., so I have time to shower, feed the pets, and throw away any food that Erin’s dirty fingers may have touched. Later, I’ll stop at the grocery store and buy new groceries.
As I’m getting dressed, I send Megan a text:
Me: Have you ever had angry sex?
Megan: You’ve got my attention. Go on.
Me: Have you?
Megan: Maybe once or twice but it was lame. Why?