Promises (Coda Book 1)

by Marie Sexton

  He sat up and started fidgeting with the label on his beer bottle—another gesture that was achingly familiar. “Cherie told me.”

  Jealousy gripped me, hot and angry in my chest, and I tried to force it down. But my voice was sharper than I intended when I asked, “How is Cherie?”

  “How is she?” He made an angry laugh. “Christ, Jared, she’s awful. She’s boring. She wears too much perfume. She hates being outside and hates the mountains. She babbles through the football games. She doesn’t even know what a first down is. And she only talks about two things: how much she hates her job and how much she hates her piece-of-shit ex-husband.”

  “Um….” I was fighting to keep the smile off my face.

  He was quiet for a minute but then said, “The worst part is I knew all of that going into it.” He glanced over at me. “Aren’t you going to tell me what an idiot I am?”

  “Would that make you feel better?”

  He laughed without much humor and went back to picking at the label. “These last few weeks have been miserable.”

  That hit me. I was quiet for a minute, but then I managed to say quietly, “They’ve been miserable for me too.”

  “I’m sorry. I really am. I know I should have called or come by. I just….” He shook his head. “I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know how to face you.”

  I understood that. I always had, even if it hurt. “It’s okay.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you for hating me.”

  “I don’t.” I couldn’t, regardless of everything.

  He nodded, his gaze locked on the floor between his feet. “I’ve missed you.” It was barely a whisper. But when I started to reach across to him, he said, “Don’t.”

  I pulled back, feeling stricken.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighed and leaned back again. “I just… I’m not ready for that yet. I just need—” He stopped, biting his lower lip. “I know I have no right to ask you for anything after what I did, but can I just stay here for a bit? I just….” He took a shaking breath, “I just want to be here. With you. Please?”

  “Anything.”

  So I turned on the TV, and we nursed our beers. We mostly talked football and easily fell back into our old banter—a little more awkward than before, but it still felt great. And I watched him slowly relax, layers of tension and sadness falling away. He even smiled once, if only for a second. Eventually, he leaned back, and within minutes, he was asleep.

  When I got up in the morning, he was gone. I hoped this time, it wasn’t for long.

  THE NEXT day, Ringo came into the back of the shop to get me.

  “Jared, Mrs. Rochester is here to see you.” I knew by his voice he was concerned about it.

  It took me a minute to place the name. “You mean, Alice Rochester?”

  “I don’t know her first name.”

  “The high school principal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shit.” After the incident with the police, all but two of my students had returned with permission slips. But it seemed that wasn’t enough. Some parent had obviously called the school to complain. “Tell her I’ll be right out.”

  I spent a few seconds composing myself, getting ready for what I was sure was going to be an ugly confrontation.

  Mrs. Rochester was in her forties. She was in good shape and wore a navy-blue skirt and matching jacket. “Mr. Thomas.” She smiled as she shook my hand. She had teeth so white and perfect she could have been in toothpaste commercials. “I don’t think we’ve ever officially met before.”

  “Call me Jared.”

  “Jared. You can call me Alice.” She kept smiling. “You may not realize what a buzz you’ve created at our school.”

  Her cheery tone was damned annoying. “I’m really sorry about that. I was just trying to help.”

  She looked a little confused. “Why are you sorry?”

  “You’re talking about the tutoring, right?”

  “Of course. I know this is unexpected, but I wanted to ask you if you’d be willing to meet with me and a couple of the teachers, just for a few minutes?”

  “Shit.” Had I said that out loud?

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.” I took a deep breath and made an effort to smile. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll come if you think it’s important.”

  “Oh good.” The toothpaste smile came back in its full glory. “This close to Thanksgiving is crazy for everybody. How about the first Monday in December? Could you come to the school at three thirty?”

  “Sure.”

  When she was gone, Ringo asked, “What was that all about?”

  “That was probably the end of our tutoring sessions.”

  Chapter 20

  TWO NIGHTS later, Matt pounded on my front door hard enough to rattle the hinges.

  “I broke up with Cherie,” he said as soon as he walked in.

  “Oh.” I hoped the joy those words awoke in me wasn’t too evident in my voice. “Why?”

  He glanced sideways at me, and there was anger in his eyes. “Don’t! Don’t do that. You know why.”

  “Matt—”

  “No!”

  I went silent, my heart in my throat. He paced back and forth in the tiny space, looking angrier with every pass. I was pretty sure anything I said would be the wrong thing, so I just waited. But instead of talking, he turned and drove his fist into the wall.

  “Feel better now?” I asked.

  “No.” He leaned against the wall with his head in his hands. There was blood on the paint, and the drywall was going to need to be patched. “I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks.” It sounded like he might break into tears at any moment. “I’m so fucking tired. And I’m so confused. Part of me wants to kiss you, and part of me wants to just beat the hell out of you.”

  I have to admit I was a little bit alarmed by that. “Do I get a vote? Because I definitely prefer one over the other.”

  He didn’t laugh. “I wish I could stop thinking about you. I wish I didn’t miss you so much.”

  His earnestness touched me. “I miss you too, Matt. I’d give anything for us to just be friends again.”

  It took him a moment to answer. “Would that work for you? Could you be happy with just being friends?”

  “It wouldn’t be my first choice, but yes, if that’s what you want.” It was the truth. Better that than to be alone again.

  Another short silence, and then, quietly, he said, “I don’t know if I can do it, Jared. I wish I could. But I don’t think I can go back to that.” He took a deep, shaking breath. “I miss you so much, but I wish I didn’t want you the way I do.”

  “Why do you have to fight it? Why can’t you just accept that you’re as attracted to me as I am to you?”

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  He grabbed my arms and slammed me against the wall. “You think it’s so easy? I’ve spent my whole life denying these feelings. I don’t know if I can accept them now. I don’t know if I want to accept them!” His face was only a foot away from mine. The look in his eyes was torture. It was pain, and fear, and loathing, and desire, all fighting for dominance. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t bear to see it.

  But when I dropped my gaze, I stopped short. In looking down, away from his face, my gaze had inadvertently landed on his groin. And I was surprised to see a telling bulge inside his jeans.

  A simple biological response, but it spoke volumes.

  Matt wasn’t a violent person in general. Months of friendship had taught me that. His erratic behavior now was the result of being conflicted to a degree he never had been before.

  Maybe getting him through the conflict had nothing to do with talking.

  Knowing I was possibly making a huge mistake, hands shaking in both fear and anticipation, I reached out—he still had my arms pinned to the wall, and I could barely reach—and started to unbutton his pants.

  He went completely still. He might not even have been breathing. Then
, “What are you doing?” I didn’t look at his face. His hands were still on my biceps. He could easily stop me if he chose to.

  “Taking a chance.” My hands shook a little less now. I waited for him to step away, to yell, maybe even to punch me. The last buttons came undone and his erection, covered in the smooth black of his briefs, bulged through the flaps of denim.

  “I don’t think you should be doing that.” But his voice had gone low and husky.

  “I’m sure you’re right.” I brushed my fingertips lightly over the fabric that still covered him. His breath caught, but he didn’t move. I flattened my hand against him, felt the whole length of him against my palm, and squeezed a little. He gasped, held his breath, then gave a small sigh of surrender. He took a last tiny step toward me, his forehead hitting the wall above my shoulder. His hands slid down from my arms to rest on my waistband. I rubbed him harder, pushing my fingers down inside of his jeans. I could tell by his breathing that he was becoming more aroused. Was he even leaning into my hand, or was that my imagination? I didn’t want to push him too far, and yet, maybe….

  I stopped, wondering what exactly I was expecting. And then, barely a whisper, I heard in my ear: “Jared, please don’t stop.”

  I didn’t hesitate. With one hand, I pulled the waistband of his briefs down out of the way. When my right hand closed around him, he groaned low in his throat. I started stroking him, softly at first but then harder as his breathing quickened. His fingers gripped my sides so hard, I was sure I would have bruises. His head rested against the wall next to mine, his face in my hair. Soft lips and sandpaper stubble both brushed my skin. He didn’t kiss me. Didn’t even move, but I could feel his breath hot against my neck, and it felt wonderful.

  I grabbed his shirt with my free hand, turned, and pushed him against the wall. I dropped to my knees in front of him and took him into my mouth, as deep as I could. He actually stopped breathing, held his breath for a few seconds, and I thought he was going to stop me. But then it all came out in a low moan, and he relaxed against the wall.

  I kept one hand around the base of his cock as I worked my mouth up and down, trailing my tongue in a circle around his head every time I reached the top. I couldn’t remember ever being more turned on in my life. I was dying to kiss him and pull all his clothes off him and fuck him—or have him fuck me, I didn’t care which. But he certainly wasn’t ready for that yet. So I just kept sucking and licking and pumping a little on the bottom of his shaft with my fist. He was definitely responding, pushing into me and moaning. His hands kept reaching for me, but then he’d pull them back and clench them at his sides again. Finally one landed on my shoulder and touched my hair a little. I remembered my birthday, the way he’d held me against the counter with both of his hands in my hair, and I knew what he wanted.

  I stopped just long enough to say, “You can grab. Just don’t push,” before returning to sucking him.

  He gasped out, “Oh Jesus, thank you,” and his hands both gripped tight into my hair. He didn’t push. He didn’t have time. As soon as he grabbed me like that, he groaned, and he started to come. Despite being caught off guard, I managed to swallow fast without choking and kept sucking until the tremors had stopped.

  Only then did it occur to me that I didn’t really know where to go from here. My own erection was begging for some attention, and I tried talking it down. What had happened felt less like sex and more like stress release, like letting steam out of a pressure cooker. I knew I couldn’t expect any kind of return.

  His fingers pulled out of my hair, but before I could stand up, he slid down the wall to sit in front of me with his face buried in his hands. He leaned into me, just barely. I started to put my arms around him, but that made him tense up immediately, so I settled for one on his shoulder, the other on the back of his neck.

  I felt like I had to say something, but had no idea what. “Matt?” And then I heard his breath catch again. Not like before. A torn, shuddering breath—and I realized he was crying.

  “Hey, it’s okay.” Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t this.

  “I’m so ashamed.” His voice was so quiet I could barely hear him.

  My heart fell a little. My intention had certainly not been to shame him in any way. “Look, I’m sorry—”

  “No.” He took a deep breath and then said in a rush, “I’m ashamed of how much I liked it. How good it felt. How much I wanted it. How I want it to happen again already. Nothing, with any girl, has ever felt as good as that. It was….” His arms slid around my waist and held me tight. “Oh God, Jared….” The despair in his voice was enough to break my heart. But there was something else in his voice too. Something that sounded like awe.

  “We don’t need to talk about that right now. You’re exhausted. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I think what you really need is some sleep. What do you think?”

  I spoke like I might to a scared child, but it seemed to work. He took another deep, shaking breath, let go of me, and stood up, turning away from me while he got his pants back in place. He wouldn’t look at me, but there was no anger in his face, only sadness and confusion… and just maybe relief. “Yeah, I think I could sleep now.” But he wasn’t moving.

  I pushed him gently toward the bedroom. He went, but then he stood there looking at the bed with something like terror in his eyes.

  “Take the bed,” I said gently. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

  I tried not to feel hurt at how relieved he looked. He stripped down to his briefs and climbed into the bed. Once again, I felt like I should say something, but I had no idea what he needed to hear right now. That I loved him? That my heart was breaking for the pain he was in? That I was sorry for pushing him, or that I wanted nothing more than to climb in beside him and make love to him all night? What I settled for was, “Well, good night.”

  I was at the door, headed for the couch when he stopped me. “Jared?” He lay facing the wall, unable to turn around and look at me. “Will you stay? I don’t want you to go.”

  “I’ll do anything you need me to do. But….” I hesitated. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” I hardly dared to hope.

  “I’m sure. Just lie with me. Nothing else. I really just want you close. That’s all.”

  “Of course.” That left me with a quandary of what to do about my clothes. Undressing would add a level of pressure I was sure he didn’t need right now. On the other hand, sleeping fully clothed was going to be damn uncomfortable. I stood there for a second, telling myself I was a fool for worrying about it. I finally pulled off my shoes and socks and T-shirt but decided to keep my pants on and climbed in beside him. I lay facing his back. We would have been spooning except for the foot of empty space between us. He sighed. Even from where I was, a foot away, I could feel some of the tension leaving him.

  “Just a little closer, okay? I want… I just want to know you’re here.”

  I inched closer, so that I was almost against his back, our skin barely touching. My own body responded to the nearness of his smooth back, but I made sure that part of me wasn’t against him. He didn’t need that right now. I put one arm over him. “Sleep now, okay? We can worry about everything else later.”

  His breathing was already slowing down, and I thought he might already be asleep when he said quietly, “Thank you.”

  What I thought was, I hope you still feel that way in the morning. What I said was, “Anytime.”

  I lay awake long after he was asleep, wondering what would happen in the morning. Then, in his sleep, he shifted closer, leaning back against me. He made a contented sigh that made my heart break all over again. I wrapped my arm tightly around him and told myself to take my own advice. We could worry about everything else later.

  I AWOKE once in the night and got up long enough to use the john, brush my teeth, and take off my damn jeans. When I got back into bed, he immediately moved back into my arms, although he didn’t say a word. When I woke in the morning, he was stil
l there. He was normally such an early riser, I’d fully expected him to be gone by the time I woke up. The slight tension in his back and the sound of his breathing told me that he was awake. He had to be able to feel my morning erection pressing against his backside, but he didn’t move away.

  “You were talking again.”

  I laughed. “What did I say this time?”

  He hesitated for a moment. “You said my name.”

  Still he hadn’t moved. “How do you feel?”

  He sighed. “Better.”

  “And how do you feel about this?” I tightened my arm around him a little to let him know what I meant.

  And I knew he was smiling although his voice was very quiet when he said, “Okay, I think.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

  “I’ve been awake for a while, thinking. And I realized a few things.” He stopped for a moment, and I waited. “I dated quite a few girls over the years. I was attracted to them, and I even cared about a couple of them. But I never loved any of them. And the relationships just weren’t ever very satisfying. They always seemed like more trouble than they were worth. And so I gave up. I decided I wasn’t cut out for it, that I liked being a bachelor, and that I wasn’t ever dating again. And my life got a lot easier after that.

  “And sometimes I’d be physically attracted to other men. But it wasn’t ever anybody I really knew, so I ignored it. I didn’t want those feelings, and I buried them down deep inside of me until they were gone.

  “And things were okay for a while. But you know how it is. Pretty soon, all of my friends were married. And I always felt like a fifth wheel.” Yes, I did know how that felt. “The only time I wasn’t the odd man out was when they were trying to hook me up with someone, and that was worse. So I started making excuses, quit hanging out with them. And one day I woke up and realized that they were gone.

  “So I changed jobs, and I moved here. And I met you. I was so tired of being lonely, and I was so glad to finally find somebody to just hang out with.”

  I squeezed him when he said that and whispered, “Me too.”