Me: I beat him up because he stole you from me.
She took a long time to reply, and I could hear her thoughts as if they were my own. He didn’t steal me. You pushed me into his arms. He didn’t take my virginity. I gave it to him as I was over being hurt by you.
My shoulders slouched, and I reclined back into my sleeping bag, cursing myself all over again. By the time her message buzzed in the dark, I was ready to agree to whatever she wanted if only to try to make amends to her, David, and frankly, even to myself.
Della: Closure, Ren. I think we both need it. I think you need to understand what we’re doing. You need to accept that we’re leaving together—just like old times. But unlike old times, we know exactly what we’re going to do out there…alone. You can’t lie to yourself anymore. You can’t imagine a life of happiness with us side by side and believe it will be like before. It will be better. Because this time, we aren’t lying. We ARE going to sleep with each other. We ARE going to learn about each other on an entirely different level. And if you can’t accept that in front of David, then…I’m actually terrified that you’ll never be able to accept it. What’s to stop you from changing your mind if this gets too hard? What if you can’t stop the images of me as a kid when you see me naked? What if you break down the moment you slip inside me and can’t go through with this? Where does that leave me? What will that mean for us? I want this, Ren. You have no idea how MUCH I want this. But I’m also so scared because if this doesn’t work, if you can’t accept it, then I’ll lose so much more than just a lover. I’ll lose you all over again, and not having you was the worst thing I’ve ever endured.
My breathing was loud and heavy. My eyes flying over her message again and again. We were no longer talking about David. She’d somehow opened the vault of her terrors and shared them with me. I hadn’t stopped to think how hard this would be from her point of view. I’d returned to her, told her I was in love with her, flipped her entire world upside down, and asked to take her away from the people who knew her, all with only a vague promise that we would try for more.
There was no guarantee this could work.
I couldn’t promise I could get past my ethics.
Of course, she panicked and didn’t believe me.
Of course, she doubted me when I’d kept so many boundaries between us for so long.
I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to make her see that my mind was made up—even if there would be struggles along the way. I was willing to work through them because I’d do anything required to keep her.
Once again, before I could put my thoughts in order, she sent another message.
Della: Sorry, Ren. I…I don’t know where that came from. Just please, tomorrow when we leave, come collect me from David’s. Say goodbye to him and Natty. Hug me in front of him. Tell him what I’ve been telling him for months. Let him be the first to see you do mean this. That I’m not imagining it. That this is real. Please…
The glowing phone lit up the empty bedroom where Della had slept innocently for so many years, all while I’d banished myself to the pull-out couch, desperate for distance. Certain that if I could keep physical distance between us, it would manifest into emotional distance, too.
It never did.
It’d only made my need for her increase because all my life, I’d been used to sleeping with her beside me, of her breathing in the night, of her warmth in the dark.
And I’d forbidden myself to have that comfort the moment her kiss changed everything.
Was it weak to admit that I’d been living a half-life since the day we left Cherry River? Was it twisted to acknowledge that I’d gone from having affection and kisses from the one person I loved more than anyone, to months on end of no touch, all because I couldn’t understand how a hug could hold so many different languages and complications?
I wasn’t fluent enough to hug her while pretending it was platonic.
I wasn’t brave enough to touch her while masking every unsaid craving between us.
And now, Della wanted me to hug her in front of David.
But that wasn’t what she was asking.
She was asking me to stop pretending. Begging me to stop fighting, to finally permit myself to sink into those cravings, knowing full well I would never be able to swim back out.
She was afraid I could walk away from her after this.
Afraid I was about to steal her entire life and leave her broken when I realised I couldn’t do it, after all.
But it was the wrong thing to be afraid of.
What she should fear was the part of me I’d kept hidden from her.
For seventeen years, she’d brought out the best in me. She’d nurtured my sense of honour, duty, and devotion to the point where she didn’t know any different.
She never glimpsed the other part of me.
The part that had steadily grown worse the longer I denied myself what I wanted.
The savage part.
The violent part.
The first person to see it was Cassie.
After our first time having sex, she’d chuckled and told me I was far more dominating than her other lovers. That the boy who used to flinch when she kissed him was no more.
She said I had a tornado wrapped around my heart—tightly coiled and mostly contained until it came to sex.
At the time, I’d denied it.
It made me sound like a monster, even if she tried to assure me it was just a primitive part of me taking over. That it was normal. That some men were more aggressive than others. But as we sneaked into the stables again and again, I’d learned something new about myself.
She was right.
I couldn’t stop it.
The Ren who would give his own life to save Della’s vanished during sex when he no longer thought about others but himself. Only himself.
I hated it.
And as I shared hollow fucking with faceless women to rid that steadily building desire for Della, I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
I wasn’t as noble as I liked to believe.
In all aspects of my life, Della came before me. I sacrificed everything I could for her. I gave her the clothes off my back, the sweat off my brow, and the promises from my heart.
Nothing was too much.
No request too crazy.
But when it came to sex…I wasn’t giving.
I wasn’t selfless.
I wasn’t soft.
And that was yet another thing that kept me awake at night, because even if I could come to terms with sleeping with Della, how the hell could I ever tell her that the Ren she knew would not be the Ren she loved when I was inside her?
I trembled in my sleeping bag as I shoved aside such thoughts and focused on putting her mind at rest even while mine rode a stormy sea.
Me: Okay, Della. If you need a public display of affection, I’ll do it. I’ll come to his place tomorrow once everything is done, and I’ll hug you in front of him. I’ll lay claim to you. I’ll kiss you if that’s what you need. But then, we’re leaving, and we’re never coming back.
I didn’t mention my rapidly building concern that, once we were in the forest, surrounded by all-seeing trees and all-knowing birds, things would change once again.
That the fight to see her as my…lover…and not just my friend, was just the first of our many problems.
Hopefully, by the time we were alone and ready to do whatever it was we’d do, I’d have that part of myself under control. And she’d never have to see me as anything other than her sweet, protective Ren.
My phone vibrated just as I rolled onto my side, ready to rest so I wasn’t wired from lack of sleep tomorrow.
It would already be hard enough; I didn’t need to be fighting exhaustion.
Della: I never want to come back. Kiss me. Hug me. Let him see that this is real, and you can take me wherever you want, for however long you want, any way you want. And yes, that’s a thinly veiled sexual innuendo. The kind that I’ve been dying to sa
y to you for years. To be free to finally do it…I have to keep pinching myself to believe it’s real. Until tomorrow, Ren. Xxx
My body hardened at the thought of kissing her again, followed immediately by the nauseous feeling of doing something wrong.
Here she was messaging me things we’d danced around for years, all while sleeping in the same house as the boy she’d lost her virginity to. Strange how actions had driven us to this place, and they were about to drive us to somewhere new entirely.
Sighing heavily, I adjusted myself before typing two words.
Two terrifying, exhilarating, life-changing, heart-winging words.
Me: Until tomorrow.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
REN
* * * * * *
2018
MY BACK ACHED from carrying two sets of camping gear.
One clinging to my shoulders, the other dangling from my hands.
Two over stuffed backpacks. Two sleeping bags. Two wardrobes for two people about to say goodbye to buildings and bills and people.
Unlike when I was a kid—fearing I didn’t belong and would be noticed—I boldly wore my earth tone t-shirt and cargos. Wanting them to see that I didn’t bow to fashion or conformity, that I only wore clothes for one purpose: practicality.
My pockets were full of matches, lighters, knives, and first-aid kits.
I had enough snares and traps to ensure we didn’t need a supermarket for weeks and enough packets of rice, pasta, and other easy-to-cook things that meant we could vanish into the woods and never been seen again.
Not by this city or its inhabitants, at least.
Good riddance.
Coming to a stop outside the house I knew well, the same street where I’d stood and watched Della with despicable shame, I couldn’t take another step.
My boots—complete with yet another knife tucked by my ankle and tramping socks protecting toes from blisters—froze to the pavement. I physically couldn’t open the white picket fence or stride up the pretty garden path.
The same path where David had hugged and kissed my Della. The same path where I’d carried Della from accidentally punching her the night I tore her from David’s bed.
Fuck.
The front door swung wide as Della bounded from the house, her blonde hair secured in a ponytail, her lithe body encased in sturdy jeans, dusky pink t-shirt, and matching hiking boots.
No dresses or stupid sandals.
An outfit to run.
A dress code of living in the forest.
We’re really doing this.
My stomach clenched for the fortieth time since I’d handed back the key to the apartment, done one final sweep of the place, tossed out the last of our accumulated junk, and made my way here.
Early afternoon and our lives were about to swerve into terrifying territory—not because we were homeless again, but because I was petrified of what would happen the moment our tent was erected and the stars announced our bedtime.
Would we sleep together tonight?
Was I ready?
Would I ever be?
She didn’t stop until she flew to the gate and unlatched it, granting me invitation to step onto another man’s property. “You came.”
“Of course, I came.” I scowled, unable to stop my stress from tainting my voice. “This is hard enough without you doubting me and acting surprised every second.”
She smiled, dipping her head. “You’ve been gone for six months, Ren. You’ll have to get used to me poking you at random times just to make sure you’re real. I missed you.” Stepping toward me, she ducked around the backpack I held in front of me, slotting her body into mine. “I missed you so much—you have no idea.”
My fingers tightened on the rucksack straps, desperate to drop it, but propriety still commanded I keep it as a barrier between us, even as my heart yearned to gather her close.
My temper softened at the pain on her face. “I have some idea, Della.” Ducking to kiss her swiftly on her cheek like I’d done for years—an innocent peck that was permitted—I murmured, “I missed you, too. Enough to make me face things I never wanted to face.”
She stared into my eyes, studying me. “In that case, I’m glad you left.”
“What?”
“I’m glad because if you didn’t, maybe you’d never have…”
“Been brave enough to admit it?”
She nodded.
My fingers clenched on the straps, begging to release so I could cup her cheek.
But then, I looked up.
And there he was.
David.
And all my tenderness vanished beneath seething temper.
Arms crossed, lips thin, eyes narrowed as he glared at me from the front door. He judged me in ways I’d already judged myself.
Paedophile.
Sick fuck.
Blasphemer.
It didn’t help that I agreed with him.
The urge to hit him all over again thrummed in my fists. Della noticed my quaking, turning to look over her shoulder. But as she twisted against me, I remembered what I’d promised her last night.
A hug.
A declaration.
A vow to this new direction.
She wanted me to accept this. Us. Well, I wanted to make him pay.
My fingers released the straps and, as the clunking sound of a survival-filled bag tumbled to the pavement, I reached for her in ways I’d never reached before.
My arms latched around her, holding her deep against me, forcing her to inhale me, feel me, accept me as my boots nudged against hers, and I hugged her so damn hard.
She made a noise of surprise as I deliberately slipped one hand to the back of her head and one to the bottom of her spine. Once I had such a dominating grip on her, I splayed my fingers through her hair, fisted the ponytail dancing down her back, and spread my touch along the top of her ass. In one seamless move, I pulled her hair down to tip her head up and pressed her hips shamelessly into mine.
She gasped as I held her prone and helpless, but I didn’t kiss her.
I captured her in ways I ought to go to hell for.
And I looked up toward the man watching my every move. The man who’d had what I never could. And I let go of everything decent as I waited for him to understand he’d never have her again.
Not a single touch.
Not another anything.
This wasn’t about me.
This was about some caveman insanity driving me to stake ownership in absolutely terrible ways.
My fingers tightened in her hair, fighting off the whispers that this was wrong, ignoring the man I truly was—the man who would never lay a hand on Della this way.
But then David’s eyes flared with surprise and darkened with rage, and nasty triumph spread devil-hot blood through my veins.
I couldn’t stop myself.
After all, I was only doing what Della had asked me to do. To lay claim on her. To prove, once and for all, that I was hers. What a shame that I lost sight of that and used a moment that ought to be pure as a weapon to destroy my competition.
And once David was fully aware how Della melted in my arms, submitted to my harsh hold, and feathered her breath with lust, I ignored him and looked down into the blue, blue gaze of my Little Ribbon.
She trembled hard, her chest panting, her gaze wild.
Images of her, young and innocent, tried to delete the pinpricked red cheeks and sinful invitation.
I shook my head, squeezing my eyes from the messy double imagery. I focused only on one Della. The one I held. The one who begged me to finish what I started.
And then, I kissed her.
Right there.
In public.
Where anyone could see.
And something brittle shattered between us.
Something that wasn’t wholesome but filthy and twisted and held shades of black and grey and red, red desire all wrapped up in punishment.
I was punishing her for making me need
her this way.
And she was punishing me for making her wait so damn long.
The kiss started with a crush of lips and bruise of mouths, but it quickly turned from explosive to desperate.
My fist yanked down on her hair, forcing her mouth open as I struggled to hide that violent side of me.
She groaned long and low as I kissed her deep and dark, full of disgust for what I’d done and drowning with desire for what I needed.
My body tightened, tingled, tangled, and my mind went from a single thought to crazed with memories of threading my fingers through Della’s hair in simpler times. Of brushing back curls as she slept as a four-year-old. Of wiping away sweat as she battled chicken pox as a seven-year-old.
And fuck, I was appalled with myself.
I pushed her away.
I wiped my mouth.
I picked up her backpack, forgotten on the street, and shoved it into her arms.
She stumbled, blinking back passion, dazed with being taken, and licked her lips as worry and fascination and that strange light I didn’t like assessed me as if she didn’t know me but very much wanted to.
“What was that?” she breathed, stepping toward me, forcing me to trip back.
“What was what?”
“That kiss.”
“The kiss you asked for.” I cleared my throat, choking on yet more lies. “The promise I made to show you that I won’t go back on my word.”
David strode down the path toward us; Della rushed in a whisper. “That was more than that, and you know it.” She cocked her head; her ponytail messed from where my fingers had ruined it. “That wasn’t you. That was—”
David arrived in hearing distance with blond hair and distrusting blue eyes, and she cut herself off, smiling sweetly at him. “Hi.”
I wanted her to finish. I wanted to tell her that it was me. Just a me she’d never seen before.
But David looked me up and down, his arms crossing harder over his preppy-boy chest. Ignoring Della, he grunted, “Hello.”
The Girl and Her Ren Page 10