by M Johnson
If I’m honest, I’m not sure I want to.
Chapter 14
Sofie
I glance at the clock. It’s almost one on a Saturday morning and Zave’s still not home. Considering it’s the weekend, he might just be working late, but I haven’t heard from him since yesterday. Last night, he didn’t come home at all. I keep telling myself I’m overreacting, but the truth is, I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. Every time things get difficult, he runs away and closes himself off. I feel like I’m always going to be fighting a losing battle to get through to him. If things are this tough this early on, maybe it’s not worth it? Things are only going to get harder if our relationship progresses enough for us to tell Dad.
I swallow, because the real question I need to ask myself is whether being with Zave is worth the possibility of losing my father. Maybe if I could be sure he wants this as much as I do, that question would be easier to answer, but the way things are right now, I just don’t know. He’s so hot and cold I’m getting whiplash.
Standing up, I grab my keys and my jacket, then order myself an Uber. I know I’m not going to get any answers waiting, so I’ll just have to go to him instead.
The Uber rolls to a stop outside Traction. I thank the driver, get out, then walk over to the door, surprised the sign on the door reads Closed. I’m pretty sure Zave’s still in there, because the lights are still on. I turn the knob, half-expecting it to be locked, but it’s not. Pushing aside the doubt creeping into my mind, I walk inside.
The smell of fresh paint hits my senses and as I look around, it’s like I’m seeing this place for the first time. It’s looking good, I’ll give him that. He’s done an amazing amount of work in a short space of time, which I guess shouldn’t be surprising, since he’s always here. The old posters on the walls of bands from way back when gives the place a touch of nostalgia and the newer, bigger stage area in the corner overlooks a small space perfect for dancing, or a great standing space for a larger crowd to listen to their favourite band.
“Sofie.”
Zave stands behind the bar, his eyes dark and guarded. His clipped tone makes me feel anything but welcome, but I pretend not to notice and wander over to him. Sitting down on one of the stools, I watch him as he meticulously wipes a glass over and over with a towel to avoid looking at me. He’s wearing a different shirt since the last time I saw him, which makes me think he planned on not coming home last night. Uncertainty mixes with dread, creating a wave of nausea in my stomach because I’m not sure what that means.
“I think it’s dry,” I say, nodding at the glass.
He finally places it in the cabinet behind him, then turns to me, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. The cool, distant expression in his eyes as they level on mine scares me. I have no idea what is wrong, or whether it’s something I have done.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“You didn’t come home,” I say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, trying to sound the least stalkerish as possible. “I was worried about you.”
“It’s the weekend. It’s busy.”
“And last night?” I dare to ask.
“I spent most of the night painting.” He shrugs. “After hours is the only time I get the chance to do it.”
“Fine, but you could’ve sent me a text or something.”
“Sorry, I didn’t think.”
He shrugs again, his indifference making me feel like I’m making something out of nothing. I have no idea where this attitude is coming from or why. I hate even thinking it, but maybe he was just after one thing, and now we’ve had sex, he’s backing off.
No.
This isn’t just some one-night stand I picked up at a bar. It’s Zave, a man I’ve known my entire life. He would never risk his friendship with my dad for a quick fuck. They’ve been friends for so long, they’re practically brothers. I cringe, because that makes this whole thing between us feel even worse.
“Are you sure it’s not more than that?” I keep pushing. Accepting this doesn’t feel like an option. “I mean, it’s a bit of a coincidence that you go running off right after we have sex—”
“Not everything is about you, Sofe.” I blink at his harsh tone, my heart thumping in my chest. He sighs and rubs his hair, agitation clouding his eyes as I stare at him, hurt. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to upset you.”
“I’m not upset, I just want to know where we stand.” Anger rises inside me, bubbling in my chest. I really don’t think I’m asking too much. Sometimes I wonder which one of us is the teenager. “I’ve made my feelings clear—”
“How do you know what you want?” He cuts me off, his voice so calm, it’s unnerving. “You’re barely eighteen. You’ve got so much to learn about yourself. What happens next year when you go to university and some kid your own age shows interest in you?”
“Is that really what you think will happen?” I ask, his words cutting deep. I lower my arms and clench my fists. I’m shaking like a goddamned leaf. “That I’ll lose interest in you the moment another shiny new toy comes along?”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters. He curses, then slams his fist down on the counter, the action making me jump. “Look, I’m just questioning how ready you are for a relationship.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” I laugh. “Now you decide to question things?”
He scowls at me, but I don’t break eye contact. I just stare right back at him, refusing to give in to this powerplay, or whatever the hell this is. He might be able to scare everyone else away, but I’m not everyone else. I’m not leaving here until he admits that he is the one with the problem, not me.
“What’s going on, Zave?” I whisper. “Talk to me.”
He walks around the bar and over to me, backing me against the bar. I swallow. He’s so close I can feel the heat radiating from his skin and the breath expelling from his lips. Lips I so badly want to kiss, to feel against mine. Warmth rushes through me as he stares into my eyes, then he lifts his hand to my face. I hold my breath, everything around us stopping as he brushes the back of his fingers against my cheek. I sigh, closing my eyes, his touch leaving me breathless. I lift my hand up to his and tighten my fingers around his wrist. I open my eyes again and meet his gaze, his eyes dark and brooding, then he draws in a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s not you.”
He takes a step sideways and I breathe out, relieved it’s not me. I can work with that at least. He leans over the bar and grasps a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a shot glass in the other, then he pours himself a drink. He swishes it back and then empties more whiskey into the glass, without even so much as a look in my direction.
“Want one?” he asks after necking the second shot.
“Sure,” I murmur. “Why not?”
He grabs another glass and pours me a drink, then hands it to me and fills his glass for a third time. He leans against the counter, his head bowed in his hands. My heart racing, I take a sip, the liquid burning as it slides down my throat. Nausea sweeps through my stomach as I watch him. I’m not sure what to say. He’s closing down on me again, I can feel it, and it’s like there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
Pushing away from the bar, I walk around the room, desperate to get some space from him. I climb up onto the stage and look around, aware that his are eyes on me. I turn around, looking for something, anything to distract me from him. Spotting a guitar on a stand in the corner, I walk over to pick it up, even though I can’t play for shit.
“Put that down.”
Zave’s harsh voice rips through me and I turn around, surprised to find him standing next to me on the stage. His eyes black with rage, he reaches over and snatches the guitar from my grasp.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammer.
I step back so I’m against the wall, shocked by his reaction. He went from zero to losing his shit in three seconds flat and I have no fuck
ing idea why. I watch him as he carefully places the guitar back on the stand like it’s made of glass. He turns back to me, not meeting my eyes. I wait for him to say something, anything, because to be honest, I’m scared of him right now.
“I haven’t touched that thing in a long time. Not since…” His voice breaks and he swallows hard. “Not since Dylan died.”
Shit.
My stomach twists into knots because I feel for him. Music had been the one thing Dylan and Zave really connected over, so it doesn’t shock me he hasn’t played since he died. That’s the thing about grief. You learn to live with it, but the pain never really goes away. That ache in your chest when you think about that person, when you wonder what they’d be like today… it’s always there, always reminding you of what you lost.
“Why is it here?” I ask softly.
He shrugs. “Because I got it out of storage… I thought I could…”
He stops and shakes his head. Reaching out, I put my hand on his. He tenses but doesn’t pull away. My heart thumps. I feel like we’re on the edge of an abyss and if I don’t do something, he’s going to topple over. Once he’s in that black hole, who knows if I’ll be able to pull him back out?
“Shall I walk you home?” Zave asks a moment later.
I shrug. “Sure.”
We leave the bar and walk down to the main road. It’s late and not a walk I’d ever do on my own, but with Zave by my side, I feel safe. We’re about to cross a street when Zave directs us down it.
“Hey, you wanna see where I did my first ever live performance?”
It’s almost two in the morning, but the place is still open, a large crowd of men gathered outside. I look up, taking in the neon lights flashing the name Crave and the naked male silhouette next to it and stifle a giggle, pretty sure it’s a gay strip club.
“Your first performance, huh?” I say with a giggle. “Maybe we can go in and you can recreate the scene for me?”
“Well, fuck.” Zave rubs his jaw and lets out a laugh, looking more relaxed than I’ve seen him all night. “I guess nothing is the way it used to be, huh?”
“Guess not. This used to be like Traction, I take it?”
He nods. “I’d just turned eighteen and it was an open mic night. Some friend’s—your dad being one of them—dared me to get up on stage.”
“What did you sing?” I shiver as a gust of wind blows, and without missing a beat, Zave shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around me. My heart flutters as the scent of his aftershave envelops me.
“These Days by Powderfinger.”
“Sing it to me.”
Zave blinks at me, then laughs. “What? No.”
“Come on,” I coax, linking my arm though his. “It’s not like I’ve never heard you sing,” I remind him. “If it helps, picture me as a ten-year-old, sitting in that tree.”
“That doesn’t fucking help,” he chokes out through nervous laughter.
“Well, stop being such a pussy.” I grin and give him a little nudge. “Show me the guy you’re trying so hard to find again.”
“Fine, if it will shut you up.” He gives in.
He eyes me for a moment, then he shakes his head and starts to sing. Shivers race down my spine as I listen to the words. They resonate so deeply with what he’s been through in his life. Love, loss, trying to push through the pain to feel something again. If I close my eyes, I’m sitting right back there in that tree, listening to him and Dad jam.
“That was incredible,” I whisper when he stops, meaning every word of it.
It’s only when he stops singing and reaches over to wipe my cheeks, I realise I’ve been crying.
“I didn’t write it.” He laughs.
“I know, but you sing it so beautifully. Will you sing me something you’ve written?” I ask.
“One day,” he murmurs. “But not today.”
We keep walking until we’re standing outside my house. As silly as it sounds, I wish I lived farther away, because walking with him, my arm through his, I feel closer to him than I’ve ever felt. More than anything, I want to stay right here, in this moment, because I’m worried that once we go inside, he’ll close down on me again.
“I guess we should go in,” he finally says.
We walk up to the front door. I free my arm from Zave’s to unlock it. I swing it open, but before I can step inside, he takes my arm, turning me back so I’m facing him. Looking up at him in surprise, my heart flutters when his lips lift into a smile.
“Thank you.” His gaze burns through me as he lifts his free hand and brushes my cheek with his thumb, the friction of his skin against mine sending shockwaves through my body. “You mean a lot to me, Sofe. So much that sometimes it scares me.”
“Fear can be good,” I whisper, warmth creeping across my cheeks. “It means that something is worth fighting for.”
My heart races as he closes the distance between us. This isn’t just about sex, though the sex was great. I’d never risk my relationship with my father over something I wasn’t sure about. When I look at Zave, I see a man I want to be with, a man I’m sure wants to be with me, even if sometimes he can’t admit that to himself.
Lifting me into his arms, he carries me through to the kitchen, dropping me on the counter. I melt into his mouth as he kisses me, his hands roaming over my body, the need to have him inside of me intensifying with every passing second.
Eyes on me, he unbuttons my jeans and slides them down, peeling them off me. Then he sinks to the floor in front of me, his hand flattening against my stomach. I lie back, sucking in a breath as he spreads my legs. When his tongue slides over my pussy, I gasp, pleasure shuddering through me. I arch my back, pressing myself against him, deepening his reach, his tongue searing hot as he relentlessly sucks my clit.
“God,” I breathe, a moan escaping from my lips.
“Don’t come yet, baby,” he orders. “I’m not done.”
Rising to his feet, he sits me up, then grabs hold of my ass and pulls me towards him. I sit, balanced on the edge of the counter, my legs wrapped around his waist as his fingers tease my clit. Grasping his hand, I guide his finger inside me. He smiles, kissing me, his warm breath making my lips tingle.
“Faster,” I beg, but he keeps the same slow, steady rhythm, like he’s intent on driving me crazy.
I dig my nails into his shoulders, my orgasm building quickly as I fall apart against his mouth. My body, a trembling, shaking mess, explodes as I chase the climax I’ve been so desperately craving. I croak out a moan as waves of ecstasy crash down on me. In the distance, I hear a noise, but I’m too swept up in the moment for it to register. An audible gasp fills the air and my eyes fly open. Maria stands in the doorway, her eyes fixated on us.
“Fuck,” Zave hisses.
He slides his fingers out from me and helps me off the counter. My legs threaten to give way, but I scramble for my jeans and somehow manage to pull them on. Acid burns my throat as I fight back waves of nausea. I have no idea what to do or say, not that it matters, because her attention isn’t on me. She’s too busy glaring at Zave. He stares back at her, then rubs his neck, releasing a string of cuss words under his breath.
“Go upstairs, Sofie,” he says in a controlled voice. “I’ll handle this.”
I hesitate, not sure that I should leave him alone with Maria to clear up the shitstorm that is going to come from this, but Zave looks determined, and the truth is, I’m scared of Maria. I feel like I’m the other woman, even though I know it’s not like that.
With a quick nod, I lower my head and walk out of the kitchen, doing my best to avoid Maria’s fiery gaze. I head straight up to my room, closing the door behind me.
I sit down on my bed, fighting back tears. Thinking about what happened makes me feel sick, and not just because we were caught, but the look in Zave’s eyes, the hatred in his voice whenever he speaks to Maria, it makes me nervous.
He’s still so angry with her and in the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder�
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What if he’s still in love with her?
Chapter 15
Xavier
Maria’s cold eyes glare at me as Sofie leaves the kitchen. We both stand there, neither of us saying a word until we hear the soft click of her bedroom door closing. She pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Her other hand rests on her hip, as she mutters to herself like this is her problem, something she needs to fix.
What the fuck is she doing here, anyway? It’s nearly three in the goddamned morning.
“Seriously?” she hisses in the same scathing tone she used to use on Dylan. “She’s just a kid, Xavier.”
“She’s eighteen,” I snap.
“She’s your best friend’s daughter,” she presses, as if I don’t already know that. “And you’re married.”
“Like he gives a shit about our friendship,” I snarl, all my intentions of keeping my voice low going out the window. “And as for our marriage, what marriage?”
“Then think about Sofie,” she says, glaring me. “Think about how this will ruin her life.”
A pang of guilt shoots in my chest as I take in her words, but I push it away. I won’t let Maria guilt me into thinking something, or out of thinking something, just because she thinks it’s wrong. I fold my arms over my chest and lean my hip against the counter, refusing to let Maria get to me.
“Nothing you can say is going to change the way I feel about her,” I say.
“The way you feel…” Maria laughs erratically. “God, she’s a child. Why are you doing this?” A tight frown appears between her brows. “Is this because you want to get back at me?”
Something snaps inside of me, because she has no right to lecture me.
“This has nothing to do with you.” I spit the words at her. “And you’re in no position to judge me.”
She opens her mouth and closes it again without saying anything, because she knows I’m right. She fucked up, and she fucked up bad. A lot worse than what I’m doing, now. No, that’s not true, because I’m not fucking up at all.