Crave

by Jennifer Dawson

  Michael’s big, strong palm settles in the curve of my spine. “Let’s go home, sugar, and you can tell me all about it.”

  Back in our comfy clothes, we’re settled on the couch. I’m nestled in Michael’s lap, Belle on the chair watching us, right where I belong. I don’t want to have this conversation, but I need to. It’s the only way, because leaving isn’t an option.

  Life is too precious to throw away what we have out of fear. I understand that now.

  I rest my head on his shoulder, and his arms curl around me. I feel safe. Protected. Like I can make this confession that’s been weighing heavy on my soul and finally forgive myself.

  Michael kisses my temple, squeezes me tight, and says in that voice that holds no argument, “Tell me.”

  It’s like coming home.

  The tears well, and my chest squeezes, but I’m no longer fighting. No, I left all my fight back in that office.

  All I have left is surrender.

  It’s hard. There’s nothing easy about it. But I do it anyway. Because he deserves it, and so do I.

  I clutch his arm, but he doesn’t protest the digging of my nails into his skin. Calm now, after the release of all our pent-up tension, he brushes his lips across my hairline and gives me another tight hug. “It’s okay, Layla.”

  I let it free. The last secret that lies between us. The one that haunts me and is tangling me up inside. “He’d had a bad day at work. Several client meetings had gone badly, and they were in damage control. He had to go to an early-morning strategy meeting the following day. He called and left a message saying he didn’t want to go the club.”

  I swallow hard and take a deep breath. “It’s the last message I ever got from him. It’s still on my phone.”

  When I falter, Michael prods me on. “Go on, let it out.”

  “I was mad. I was in a mood and not willing to be pacified. The club was new to me, and I’d been on a real public kick. It was fun and exciting and I wanted to go.”

  I remembered John walking in the door, looking exhausted, but I didn’t want to see it. I thought, if we just got out of the house, he’d forget all about his workday. In fact, I believed I was doing him a favor.

  “When he got home from work, I begged him to go. I pulled out every trick I knew.” I looked up at Michael, my eyes watery, my lip quivering. “We’d been together since our freshman year of college, I knew how to flip his switch. I knew how to play him and get what I wanted.”

  Michael smiled down at me, wiping the tears from my cheek. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

  “He said no. But I persisted and in the end, I won.” I twisted the fabric of Michael’s sweater, needing something to do with my restless hands. “He wasn’t like you that way. You wear your dominance much closer to the surface than he did. He was more a bedroom-only type.”

  Michael nodded. “I understand.”

  “Nobody would have ever guessed the way he was, whereas, with you…” I trail off, and sweep my hand over him.

  He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and smiles. “Subtlety’s never been one of my strong suits.”

  I would have laughed, if the subject matter weren’t so serious. I do manage a wobbly smile. “We went to the club, but I don’t know, his heart wasn’t in it and it wasn’t enough for me. We’d started, but I wasn’t satisfied. I needed something edgier. More dangerous. When we left the club, I dragged him into that alley, despite his protests. I told him I needed to feel the scrape of bricks against my bare skin. That I needed to be hurt.”

  I start to cry in earnest, all the loss, and tension, and crushing guilt spilling out of me like bile. “It was because of me. I did it. I made him go and he died because of it. Because of me.”

  Michael doesn’t say anything, he just holds me close as the sobs rack my body. Shaking all over, I whisper my secret shame.

  It was my fault. All my fault.

  The ugliness I’ve carried around inside me demands release and I grant it. I let it all out. I have no idea how long I cry, but it’s hard and exhausting, and I don’t stop until there’s nothing left.

  When I finally still, Michael reaches under my chin and raises my head. He gives me a searching look before brushing a kiss over my lips. “He didn’t die because of you, Layla. He died because some drugged-out, crackheads thought it would be fun to torture someone. You didn’t kill him. They killed him.”

  I press my fingers to my temple. “It’s not logical, I know that, but I feel responsible.”

  He nods, his jaw hard. “You do understand you can play it the other way, right? If you’d died instead of him, don’t you think he’d have gone over that night with a different lens?”

  “But it was me that started it.”

  “And he could have said no. He could have put you over his knee and gave you the spanking you were asking for. He could have put tape over that mouth of yours to get that sassy attitude under control. He could have tied you to the bed until you calmed down. If it had been him that lived, he would have played over in his mind a thousand ways he could have saved you. That’s how survivor guilt works.”

  I bite my lip. “He’s not to blame.”

  Michael’s voice softens. “No, he’s not, and neither are you. That’s the point. Like you, there are a million things he could have done to stop the sequence of events that played out that night. Yes, you could have relented. And he could have said no. But neither of you is responsible for the actions of those men in that alley that night.”

  I push past my arguments and guilt and let the words sink in.

  He grips my chin and holds me firm. “Do you understand?”

  It would be easy to agree, but suddenly, I don’t want to. I don’t want to hide anymore. Or pretend. I want him to know it all. “I feel responsible…for you getting shot.”

  His gaze goes wide before he narrows. “What?”

  I turn my head and he releases his hold. I swallow hard. “I know it sounds crazy, and I don’t know, maybe I am, but you can’t deny I’m the common denominator.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m lost.”

  I clasp my hands tightly together. “You went all that time without anything happening to you, then the night I told you I loved you, someone shoots you.”

  “Shit,” he says, the word a bark of agitation. “I’m such an idiot. I should have known.”

  “I didn’t want you to.”

  “I should have pushed you to talk to me.”

  I look past him, to Belle resting on the chair, her head in her paws. “But you didn’t.”

  He strokes down my arm. “I’m sorry, can you forgive me?”

  I swallow hard. “Of course.”

  “On our first date, I told you I was bound to fuck up sooner or later.”

  To my surprise, I find a smile lifting the corners of my lips. “I remember.”

  He trails a path down my jaw, and I shift my attention back to him. He kisses me, a slow brush of his lips over mine. “I was afraid, Layla.”

  “I know.” I put my head on his shoulder. When I first met him I couldn’t imagine him being afraid of anything. He’d seemed like a god, not flesh and blood, but he’s real now and all that comes with it. Yes, it’s his job to take care of me, but it’s also my job to take care of him. Love. Relationships are two-way streets, he gets to be imperfect too.

  I’ve been unfair to him. And I’m going to make it up to him, starting now.

  “All this time, I didn’t want to push because I was too scared you’d leave. And I meant what I said at the restaurant, I seriously considered quitting for you.”

  I’m laying it all on the line, because that’s what needs to be done if I want to be free. “I’m selfish. I know it’s wrong, but I wanted you to.”

  “Do you understand why I can’t?”

  I’m growing stronger by the minute and like a light bulb going off, I get it. It’s like when John made me jump off that cliff all those years ago. “Because my fear can’t win.”

>   He smiles and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Exactly. It wouldn’t work, Layla. It’s not what’s best for me, you, or us.”

  “Your right.” Because, of course, he is.

  “I should have pushed you. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  I shudder, knowing someday I’ll be on my knees both loving and hating those words. “And I won’t hide my feelings from you.” I flutter my lashes up at him, a lightness that wasn’t there before taking hold. “Although I can’t promise I won’t need a little gentle coaxing from time to time.”

  He laughs, and it’s like music to my ears. It’s a sign that everything is going to be okay. That we haven’t lost who or what we are. “Gentle coaxing, huh? Is that what you call it?”

  “Yep,” I say, grinning.

  He kisses me, long and deep, and when I’m breathless and moaning, he pulls away. “You’re going to move in with me.”

  I raise a brow. “Is that an order?”

  “It is.” Another hard press of his lips.

  “Then I have no other choice.” My tone is light and teasing. And it feel so good to have fun again. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m so in love with you.”

  “It is lucky how that works out.” His fingers snake under my top. “I love you too.”

  I’m standing over John’s grave, dusting my hands off after having cleared the leaves away. I run my hands over the stone, tracing his name, the dates of his birth and death with my fingers, before sitting down in the grass. I love him and I miss him. But, it’s time to choose life.

  And I’m ready. Ready for all the joy and heartache that goes with it. Ready to rediscover who I am now, instead of trying to recapture who I used to be.

  I pick up a leaf and study the grave where my beloved now lays. Before he died, I never really understood the purpose of a cemetery. But, I do now. It’s a way to connect. To remember. To talk to the dead. It’s for peace. Closure.

  I take a deep breath and begin to speak. “I met someone. Maybe you already know that, I’m not sure. I suppose, someday, I’ll see you again and find out. You’d like him. His name is Michael, and he’s brought me back to life. He’s helped me heal, and even though it’s hard, I believe you want that for me. You always had my best interest at heart.”

  I twist the leaf between my fingers. “I love you. I will always love you. I miss you every day. And I’m sorry. So sorry I didn’t listen that night. I should have. If I had, you’d be here right now. But I can’t change the past. I just have to learn to live with it. I know if you were here, you’d tell me not to blame myself. And I will try. For you. I will honor your life, by living mine. I will laugh and love, cry and grieve, and I will do it because that is what you deserve. And I do too. Michael has helped me understand.”

  I brush away my endless fall of tears.

  I smile to myself, to John. I pick up my cell phone, scroll through my messages and come to that last one. Without listening, I delete it. His tired voice, telling me he wants to stay in that night is not the last time I will hear him. Instead, I play the second to last one.

  His low, smooth voice, filled with amusement comes over the line. LayLay, I’m running late, but I’ll be home by seven. It’s been a hard day and I need to do filthy things to you. So be a good girl and be naked and ready when I get there.

  I play it again.

  And again.

  And finally, one last time.

  Through my tears, I whisper, “When I get to where you are, I’ll be ready for you. Although I don’t know how I’ll handle you both. Neither of you likes to share.”

  I swipe my finger over his name. That name that is as familiar to me as my reflection. “I love you.”

  I delete it.

  The wind picks up, blowing over my cold cheeks and ruffling my hair. For a split second I feel him. Alive and vibrant, filled with joy and laughter, just like he used to be. I lift my head to the sky, the air kisses my lips and, then, it’s gone.

  Real or imagined, it doesn’t matter. I felt him, and at long last, I am at peace. All my tormented, angry, fearful emotions finally smoothed over into something fresh and clean.

  The contentment that has eluded me for so long settles deep into my bones. I stand, brushing off my pants and turn, raising my hand to shield my eyes from the sun.

  Michael is standing by the car, waiting for me, wearing dark sunglasses, looking dangerous and strong. Capable and alive. My heart fills with love for this man that dragged me back from the dead and taught me how to live again.

  I walk toward him, my future unknown, but with him. Always with him. For as long as life allows. Because, in the end, we have no real control. We only have choices.

  And I choose him.

  But more important, I choose me, and the life we will build together.

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  Read on for a special sneak peak at Sinful, the next book in the Undone Series, coming in Fall of 2015…

  Get a taste of Sinful…

  “Is he going to be there?” My roommate Heather Cowan asks, carefully studying her bright, glittery pink nails. She’s been painting them on my nightstand table as I’ve been tearing through my bedroom like a mini tornado to get ready for this evening’s festivities.

  The he in question is my brother’s best friend, and tonight, I’m going to put an end to our extended game of cat and mouse, once and for all. I grin at Heather in the mirror. “Oh, he’ll be there.”

  In answer, Heather gives me a long suffering smile.

  The party is for my older brother. Its his birthday, and he’s recently been promoted to the next rank of homicide detective in the Chicago Police Department. He’s one of those over achiever types and my parents couldn’t resist the urge to throw him a big bash.

  I survey myself in the full-length mirror, twisting and turning in my minuscule dress. I turn to my roommate. “So what do you think?”

  Heather flicks a glance over me. “I think you’re going to give your poor brother a heart attack.”

  “Don’t you worry about Michael, he’ll be fine.” Yes, he’s annoyingly overprotective, but I’m twenty-eight, and there’s not much he can do but grumble and scowl. Since he can’t help himself, I take it in stride. I don’t deny him his big brother privileges; I just smile, nod and do what I want. See, a win-win for both of us. “You didn’t answer. “

  Heather sighs, and flops down on my bed, holding her hands in the air as to not ruin her manicure. “You look like I hate you and I’m glad I don’t have to stand next to you all night and watch men drool all over you.”

  “Perfect.” I’ve achieved the intended effect, although the man I want to drool all over me refuses to bend to my seductive will.

  “Please, Jillian, I’m begging you, let this go.” Heather’s voice is a pleading whine.

  We’ve had this conversation before, but I’m nothing if not determined.

  “Not going to happen. So just deal.” I twist once again in the mirror. I’m not normally this vain, but tonight I have to look perfect. Impossible to resist. “And the dress?”

  “You look like a very expensive escort.”

  “Excellent.” I beam, my lips extra full and pouty with the dark crimson gloss I’ve slicked on. It goes with my light olive skin, long, dark wavy hair, and hazel eyes.

  I must say, I do look spectacular. Yes, my red dress is painted on, short on my long legs, extra slinky, and maybe a bit slutty. But I’m going for show stopping here.

/>   Subtly is not one of tonight’s words.

  No, I’m going for hit-you-over the head bold.

  Heather rolls her eyes. “This will only end in disaster, and I’ll be gone this weekend and unable to pick up the pieces.”

  I step away from the mirror and put on a pair of nude, stiletto heels. “Yep, it will probably be a disaster. But, I’ve tried everything else, I’m running out of options.”

  Most girls probably would have taken no for an answer a long time ago, but I’ve been told I can be a bit stubborn at times.

  Heather rolls off my bed and stretches her long, lean frame. She’s a ballerina at the Joffrey Ballet, and with her platinum blonde hair, fine classical features and clear blue eyes she looks the part. Dressed in black yoga pants and a tank top, she reaches for her heel and stretches her leg to the ceiling. Her flexibility is something to marvel.

  I tilt my head at her. “Are you sure you won’t come tonight? Even for a little bit?”

  “As much as I’d love to watch you make a fool out of yourself, I’ve got to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow.”

  “I know,” I say, and as much as I’d like her there to support me, which she would despite her belief that I’m being dumb, I’ll know plenty of people at my brother’s party.

  My father had rented the back of the hot new Irish pub featured in all of Chicago’s what’s trending magazines. Michael protested the celebration, but my father refused to budge. His only son being a homicide detective wasn’t what my investment banker father wanted, but he was proud and showed it. At least my older sister took pity on him and married a partner in my dad’s firm.

  I was the last hold out. After college I gave it a try, taking a low-level entry job in my dad’s office, but I hated it. I’m not cut out for corporate life. I lasted three months before I quit. Since then I’ve flitted around in various careers, abandoning each one much to my parent’s worry.

  I’m what is affectionately known as a free spirit. Aka, I have no idea what I want to do with my life.

  Something artistic and free— in other words— poor. But I’m not worried. When I finally hit upon that elusive “thing” I’ll know. And I’ll give it everything I’ve got. In the mean time, I support myself by waitressing at my best friend Gwen’s trendy restaurant.