I’m not sure I can sleep now for want of touching him, and I can’t stop wondering if he’s going to touch himself like I am right now, thinking about him.
Letter 17
Cash,
When the kids are ready, when you are ready, paint the room. Start fresh.
The painting was there only for you to tell stories to the children as they grew, but when they are done with the room they share together, when they get too big, paint over the room. Let them move on; let yourself move on. You don’t need the painting anymore.
I’m putting that picture up of Clayton and me so you have something to focus on. I want it to burn at your gut because I love him more, and in the end, it’s his hand I want to hold on my way to the Moon, not yours.
When it doesn’t burn at your gut anymore to look at it, you are ready for someone else. You’ve let me go, and that’s all I really want. You deserve to share love and be loved in a way that I could never give you or want to give you.
Remember, I will always choose him, not you.
Kennedy
Chapter 18
Red Swirls of Emotions
The sound of the shower wakes me. The sun isn’t even up yet as I slide out from underneath the bed with shame clinging to the bones of my spine. Tonight, I’ll try again. I need to change.
My room is dark, and so is the bathroom, but the door is cracked slightly, and I can make out Cassius just enough through the shadowed glass to see the hard outline of his body.
This isn’t appropriate, but this is the first time I’ve seen Cassius completely stripped out of all the layers he usually wears. I’ve seen males walk around without clothes, I’ve seen males after their shift, but this.
Cassius is just more…
Soap is being lathered between his hands. I can see the movement of him cleaning his neck, his chest, working along the line of his torso. More soap is lathered. He bends, cleaning his thighs and lower legs. He runs his hands up his thighs again and stops in an area that holds the maleness of his scent. A rush of breath is pulled in from his mouth just underneath the noise of the shower. My breath also becomes a quiet race out.
Narrowing my eyes, I try to bring more of him into focus from the shadow of the glass shower. If he were to come out, I’d be standing here, guilty of spying on him. What would he say to me? I should leave, crawl back underneath the bed, but I don’t leave my spot; in fact, I creep up a few inches closer. I want to make more of him out, not just the outline of movement.
This isn’t right, yet I make no effort to move.
Another low moan just below the fall of water, his one hand is pressed against the tile. Warm water is felt coming out of the room like a summer breath on my skin.
What would he say if I joined him? Open the shower door, catch him with his hand around his cock? Would he stop what he’s doing? Would he touch me? What would happen if I slide the glass back and step in?
The water keeps pouring, and I keep standing here, unable to move. A heat spreads below my mound; a slickness starts. I feel myself growing slick with the way his low sounds barely make it out from underneath the spray of the showerhead.
A part of me wishes I’d be caught by him. Another part would be mortified.
He never notices me when I want him with my ruby earrings in. He only notices when I struggle with training or when I’m a sweaty mess from pulling weeds in the garden. When that stupid goose chased me through the yard and he yelled for me to get him. He never notices the important parts, the red parts of me that showed him I was available. He never noticed those times I gathered my hair up at the top of my head to expose those earrings; he never even glanced in the direction of me. Never.
I want to touch myself the way he’s touching himself right now. I can hear his breathing becoming lower, his body shifting, another quiet noise from his throat. His shoulders curl, head angled down.
The space between my thighs is warmer now, the slickness pressed into the cotton of my underwear. My nipples are sensitive, and I reach up to squeeze one of my breasts that barely fit in my hand, wishing it was his big hand that palmed me through his t-shirt. Thighs can’t handle the weight of all this; they shake now.
A whimper escapes through the sound of the water. His body stills, no more movement before the now coldness of the shower hits me in the face; he’s turned it on to freezing cold. The water stops, and I back up into his room, slip underneath the bed, and hold my breath until he dresses and leaves as quietly as he can.
The minutes are counted, one, two, three… I make it to ten before I come out, dash for my room, and look in the shower, imagining I was in there with him. I’m on edge, ready to explode. The coldness of the room does nothing to stop the fire in my belly from growing.
Something is wrong with me. All I can think about is Cassius as I lay on my bed, feeling the flat line of my belly, squeezing my thighs together tight. I ache.
My hand almost feels soothing pressed against the material of my underwear before dipping underneath the band, sliding down my smooth mound. I imagine myself stepping into that shower, him with those surprised eyes. His hand now replaces my hand; it’s his fingers lazily rounding against my sex. I’m spurred on with the blurred display through the shower glass of his outlined body, the way his throat made those sounds that were barely loud enough to hear.
Sunrise is starting to peek through the open blinds.
Working myself harder, faster, pressing my teeth into my bottom lip from making any noise, I feel desperate, sweaty, too hot for the t-shirt that’s clinging to my skin now.
There’s different energy now from seeing Cassius doing that, something more concrete to concentrate on while my slick fingers work myself up into something that provides a few seconds of mind-numbing bliss. Everything is forgotten when I search for this release; nothing else matters but this, right now. This overpowering feeling that takes over my entire surface and insides.
Opening my legs wider, pretending it’s him I’m opening up for, not my own hand.
A helpless moan comes out from my throat, breathing heavier, the sinking feeling of my spine pressed against the mattress, thighs are trembling now, toes gathering the material of bedspread up, holding on tight as my pulse races up my throat, another moan, hard this time, a sound louder than I thought possible coming out of my throat.
His name in my head on repeat over and over again, eyes squeezing shut.
Another moan out and the click of the door knob before it opens.
I freeze, eyes still closed.
“Treajure, are you all right?”
My heart’s pounding…oh no… Quickly, I take my hand out from between my legs.
Opening my eyes, I have to blink again just to make sure he’s really standing there with this shocked expression on his face.
“I thought something was wrong.”
My legs close quickly. His eyes pull up to mine but look away, quickly.
“I heard a noise—” He almost stutters the words out.
I can’t move, and he’s trying not to acknowledge what he’s just seen. His eyes are going everywhere but to mine. They fall on the slickness of my fingers. He inhales, looks away quickly, and I am frozen in my spot.
“I thought something was wrong.” He steps out of the room. My gut wants to spill around me, and I have to concentrate on not letting my bowels get the best of me.
“I’m sorry.” He closes the door, and all I want to do is crawl underneath the bed and hide for the rest of my life.
Letter 18
Cash,
Tell your mother and father thank you. They have hearts of the Moon. It wasn’t easy for them to keep loving me when I never gave them much of anything back. I heard your father explain to you once that we only learn from the hard things in life. Watch her, learn from her, think before you act. He was giving you advice, but you were making excuses for everything he said; you weren’t ready to listen to him. You were only ready to keep punishing yourself. You need to stop
and start learning to love yourself again.
Love yourself.
Nothing good comes from hating yourself. The past is gone. It won’t come back to us no matter how much we want to change things. Nothing will bring back the past, but what we can do, what you can do, is start by loving yourself again.
Start with the little things by looking at yourself in the mirror and not just hanging your head while you brush your teeth. Look at your eyes. You have beautiful blue eyes.
Start by listening to music again, you loved music, but now it only hurts your heart and you can’t bear to listen to anything that makes you happy.
Start with a song and let it stay on until it ends without shutting off the radio. Let the songs finish, and soon you might even start to hum along to them.
Start by buying yourself something new—a shirt, jeans, shoes, something that’s a little too much money—but understand you’re worth the splurge.
Start by talking with someone. Let your feelings out, Cash. You need to get those knotted-up feelings out and in the open so someone can help you the way you need to be helped. Talk about your feelings.
Start by playing games again. You and your brothers used to play a lot of games. Start with playing again. Start winning again, start losing again, just start playing.
Start by living, not staying dead inside. You get to live. Don’t regret not living a life meant for you because no one can live your life. It’s yours. Own it. Love it.
Start with the sun on your face.
Start with rain on your face.
Start with a clear conscience. I didn’t want to live. That’s the truth. I’m scared to die, scared to live. I’ve given up, and it’s settled me now.
I’m calm.
Be calm, Cash.
Kennedy
Chapter 19
Emotions Cling on Soft Lips
It’s mid-afternoon when Cassius calls me into my room.
“The other night and the next day,” he whispers, “it was inappropriate. I’ll try not to let it happen again. It got ahead of me again.” Cassius seems uncomfortable and shifts around on his feet, his eyes trained on my ears. He walks out without anything more to say. It’s been the most he’s said to me in the last two weeks besides awkward thank yous and “do you want something, Treajure?” before he turns his back to face the wall while I slip underneath his bed in the middle of the night when the weight around my neck makes it unbearable to breathe anymore.
Every night is a fight to stay on top of the bed, and every night is a failure when I slide underneath his bed, promising myself I’ll stay in my bed tomorrow.
Everything becomes all noise and growls downstairs, a commotion of hard stomps on wood floors.
“Cash, back up,” Alpha Clinton demands as his body fills the space of the front door.
“I’m not going to do anything.” There is a measure to Cassius’s word; they feel real this time. Different from the last time when Clayton showed up to go into the Wilds of Valentine, he challenged his father’s decision about letting Clayton eat. It’s not his pack, it’s not his right to do that, and Alpha Clinton told him it’s the right thing to do. We will always do the right thing no matter how hard it might be. The look Cassius gave his father felt like a deep betrayal; it pushed his father back slightly, and his mother had to come to her mate’s side and tell her son that right now it hurts, but in time you’ll understand that it’s the right thing to help those weaker and suffering. His mother also told him that it was her decision to allow Clayton to go to the Wilds and not his father’s. So if you are mad at someone, be mad at me. Her chin went up, waiting for Cassius to say something.
He didn’t.
Cassius moves away to stand in front of the big bay window, creeping toward him until I’m slightly behind him but can see outside.
Clayton gets out of the SUV and looks around, inhaling. It’s hard to hold the grimace in when Hazel gets out from the passenger side. She’s dressed in a small t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops. Her hair falls past her shoulders, and she’s wearing sunglasses.
Caleb gets out from his minivan, and Tommie jumps out, opening the side door for Addie.
“That’s Clayton’s new Beta?” Alpha Clinton asks Dallas, who is trying to muscle his way around his father, who is stuck in the frame.
“Dallas, settle down.” His father shoves an elbow underneath the ribs of his son.
“You knew he was coming. This shouldn’t be a shock.” The Alpha’s voice is controlled, but there is a huff of breath out when his son tries again to muscle the jam of his father from the door frame. He moves him to the side but barely.
“Not in the house.” Luna Grace now comes from the other end of the house. Alpha Clinton settles tight muscles down, and Dallas seems to stop flexing.
There’s not a crack of white in the blue sky when we all step outside. The sun’s harsh, and I can’t stop squinting while looking at the wolves milling around until Luna Grace and Alpha Clinton greet them formally.
Clayton’s got a stiff back as Dallas approaches behind his father.
“It’s nice to see you again.” Luna Grace greets Clayton first.
“Thank you for having us, and thank you for allowing Tommie to come here and be given a chance to let his Wild out.” Clayton is serious and extremely polite. He wears his hair like the available males of the Valentine Pack do. He’s nothing like he is when he has to handle Cassius.
“Not a problem.” Alpha Clinton’s voice has the visitors not moving forward. They all stay where they are, inspecting the big silverback male, who has a dusting of grey at his temples—he’s holds a commanding shape.
“Welcome to the Valentine Pack.” The Luna looks on at the rest of them.
“This is Tommie. He’s my new Beta.” Tommie wears his hair short, cut to his scalp, and he’s as big as Caleb.
“This is Hazel and Addie. They’ve decided to join the pack.”
The Alpha nods his head to each of them. The Luna goes to Hazel. “Nice to meet you, Hazel.” There is a quick press of cheek together. Hazel keeps her chin raised, shoulders even; there is a swing to her cherry drop earrings.
“Addie, nice to meet you.” Addie’s cheek presses to her. She doesn’t meet Luna’s eyes, and her shoulders do curve around slightly.
“I’ve brought you some fruit wine.” She hands the Luna the gift, and a smile stretches wide across her face.
“Thank you, I’ve never had fruit wine before.”
“Tommie, enjoy yourself out there and let your Wild lead you.”
“Thank you, Luna.” Tommie gives a small nod, head bowed, cheeks flush.
“We were going to have a barbecue tonight. Would you like to stay?” The Luna offers, and I can see the bristle along Dallas’s spine.
Clayton and Dallas are both looking at each other. “Thank you, but we need to get back. We wanted to see Tommie off.” Clayton looks down the driveway when Ken and Dee come running toward their father, and Chance follows behind them toward his father with arms outstretched.
Cassius picks both of them up and nudges at their cheeks before putting them down.
“They look like her.” Clayton moves toward the twins, but Cassius becomes all teeth.
A warning growl pushes through his chest, and Clayton stops, drops his hand. “Sorry.” An apology that I never heard come from Clayton before.
Chance points his finger at Clayton. “Who’s that?” No one answers him.
The look in Clayton’s eyes could make me cry mercy for him. All these times I’ve seen him, I never knew how much devastation he held inside him. I knew he was hurting, but I never thought he was in pieces.
“We need to go.” Clayton turns toward the two females, but his entire body freezes. Coming down the driveway is Rya in a light flowered dress. She’s nothing but flowing hair and pregnant belly.
Clayton holds his hands behind his back, and nothing breathes excepts for Clayton. There is a soft flush that holds to the back of his neck.
It takes a few moments before I can see movement from Clayton’s chest.
“Rya.” One word sounds of thick sorrow, hard pain.
Rya’s not smiling—neither is Dallas.
“We were going.” Clayton backs himself away, creating a giant space. “I just came here to drop off Tommie.” His voice sounds faster than normal; usually with Cassius, he has a slow drawl.
“I—” He pauses, a hard blink from Clayton—his pieces are falling around him. “I’m happy for you, Rya.”
Clayton turns his back on them before any more can be said and walks toward his car. Hazel comes up beside him.
“Are you all right?” Hazel questions.
“I’m fine.” The door shuts, and Clayton is gripping the steering wheel, tight, with white knuckles before he turns it on.
Addie and Hazel both hug Tommie before getting inside with Clayton.
They pull away—it’s quiet until Caleb opens his mouth. “Barbecue?”
Dallas and Rya walk into the house holding hands. Cassius is already inside with the twins.
Tommie passes by with a backpack slung over his shoulder. “Hi, Treajure.”
It makes me smile. He’s remembered my name.
They sit around the table and talk with Tommie. The pups are wild and showing off for the newcomer. I take Chance and the twins outside when more wolves show up at the house for the gathering. Friday evening bean bag toss and sippers to whoever can make it after work.
Warm sand slips through my fingers in the sandbox. The kids are playing with their dump trucks, and more little ones join them. It’s not only a gathering for the adults and juveniles, but for the pups as well.
Dee’s burying my feet underneath a mountain of sand.
I’m watching Cassius, who is sitting in a lounge chair drawing in his book. There’s no more beard on his face, and it’s hard to get used to looking at his neck, all exposed as if waiting for something to happen.
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