by Marie James
I’ve only seen her leave her apartment a couple times in the last four days, but I know she’s home now, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking about this night the same way I am—an anniversary of sorts.
Silence greets me as I close myself into the apartment and softly flip the lock back into place. Shrugging off my jacket, I fold it over the back of the couch and make my way to her room. I wipe my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans, trying to ignore my pulse as it thunders in my ears. I know she’s going to freak out when she sees me, but it doesn’t extinguish my need for her in the slightest. She may throw me out, call the cops, insist I leave and never come back. I was fully expecting divorce papers while I was in lock up, but they never came. I’m taking a gamble by showing up, betting on our love she’ll be receptive. I don’t need her immediate forgiveness, just the opportunity to explain my unacceptable reasons for keeping her at a distance.
I know I should walk away. Anyone within an arm’s length of our fucked up situation has the same opinion, but I have to try. My heart’s not whole when she’s not around. Being in this town, knowing exactly where she is and not touching her, talking to her, holding her…it’s unbearable.
Expecting to find her asleep, I stiffen when I hear her gasp as I open the door.
“Blaze!” She clutches her chest, clearly startled anyone is here, not to mention her asshole husband.
“Hey, beautiful.” My heart warms, the acute ache I’ve felt for months easing a fraction. Standing in the doorway, I wait for her to chuck something at my head. If months of pain and unanswered questions didn’t separate us, I would walk straight to her and kiss her perfect lips before she could say another word. It’s been our thing since the night of the first party, but I’m not pushing my luck tonight.
She stares, wide eyed, as if a ghost has invaded her privacy. Closing the textbook in her lap, she wipes at the tears that fall to her cheeks.
“I’ve missed you so much,” I confess, taking a few steps farther into the room. I attempt to swallow the lump of emotion filling my throat. My wife has always been the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met, but the sight of her tonight makes her even more so. I lick my lips, wanting to feel just how soft the tears have made hers.
Her chin quivers as her eyes scan over me. “You didn’t have to. We could’ve been seeing each other every week for the last two plus months.”
Her rough tone is betrayed by the waiver in her voice. She’s not angry, but heartbroken over what happened the last time she visited me.
“It was destroying you. I could see it in your eyes.”
“It was tolerable, Blaze.” She crosses her arms over her chest, almost defiant in rejecting my reasoning. “You accusing me of cheating and refusing to see me destroyed me.”
“I’m sorry.” Such simple words for the infinite amount of torment I inflicted. I could explain how much I hurt myself. How many times I needed to cry myself to sleep for the pain I caused her, but couldn’t because showing weakness in Clark County Jail was the equivalent of signing your own death certificate.
Her eyes search mine. For what, I’m not sure.
I let down every piece of the wall I’d built around myself the last seven months since I’d been incarcerated and show her everything—my love, my pain, my need for only her.
“I don’t know if sorry is going to be enough this time.” She cuts her eyes from mine to the wall, staring at nothing, trying to get her emotions under control. Her fingers twitch, a mirror reflection of mine. My desire to touch her is palpable, radiating off me with the limited control I’m able to maintain as every cell in my body urges me to go to her, climb in bed, and remind her just how good we are when nothing comes between us. I’m greedy with need, the burn under my skin almost unbearable.
“I’ll give you anything you need,” I whisper.
Her eyes close as her jaw clenches, bringing a hardness so foreign to her beautiful face. “I need you to keep your word. Give me the life we talked about.”
I swallow the grapefruit sized lump in my throat as tears mist my eyes. I’m going to make a promise I have no power to keep and it shatters the already fragmented pieces of my heart. I should turn around now, avoid the inevitable pain I’m going to cause, but selfishness keeps me rooted in place.
“I need you to be the man you swore you were, the man I fell in love with.”
That man died the night I wrecked the Jeep.
“I’m still me,” I insist, lying even to myself as I inch forward, gauging her reaction to my nearness.
“You said horrible things to me,” she persists as she swipes angrily at the tears snaking down her cheeks.
I grip the back of my neck as nausea roils in my gut at the thought that she’s getting ready to reject me.
“I regret every shitty thing that has ever come out of my mouth.” That’s one truth I’m not ashamed to confess.
“Don’t hurt me again.” Her head tilts up, eyes pleading, offering me her heart once again.
Relief washes over me as she acknowledges a second chance. Fear of rejection melts into a voracious hunger to prove to her through actions, not words, I can be the man she deserves.
“I’d die before purposefully causing you pain.” It’s the best I can do, a non-answer. Self-preservation at its finest.
Tears streak her beautiful face as she looks straight through to my soul. I wonder if she can see my black heart, the one that beats only because of her, or the malice I have for the world and my place in it. I have to live in this moment. Not doing so will lead to the habits and behaviors that destroyed us in the first place.
“One hundred percent? It’s you and me?” The hope in her voice causes a momentary pause. My brain tries to force me to turn away from her, to walk away. The initial pain would be brutal, but in the long run, she’d be better for it. My heart, however, aches for her.
“It’s just you and me here,” I lie as the demon on my back claws at my neck, running its sharp talons over my shoulder, reminding me of the throbbing pain there. Ghost pain, the below standard jail counselor told me. The same type of pain an injured soldier would feel after losing a limb. The injury had been repaired, but the pain never went away. Some days, it’s stronger than my love for anyone could fight, and tonight is no exception.
“Do you still love me?” I inch closer, hoping the hitch in her breath as my mouth nears hers is a positive sign.
“Always,” she pants.
“And I love you,” I whisper against her lips before taking her mouth with mine in a ferocity I have no hope of controlling.
We both groan as our tongues tangle for the first time in seven months. My hands tremble, betraying my desire as I pull her t-shirt over her head. She whimpers as I move my lips down her throat and over the tightened peak of her breast.
“Jesus, I’ve missed you.”
“You have no idea,” she moans, arching her back, forcing more of her body against mine.
The tight bead of her nipple keeps my mouth busy while my hands fumble with the miniscule sleep shorts she’s wearing. I push them down her legs with a rough shove, moving her underwear right along with them. Her legs part immediately, revealing the perfection of her glistening seam.
Hungry eyes devour every inch from her heaving breasts to the delicate curls framing her pink flesh. I grin at the sight, knowing she’d be bare if she had anticipated me being here tonight. It doesn’t, however, keep me from needing to hear she’s waited for me all this time.
“Anyone else been here?” My thumb grazes her clit, rubbing delicate, skilled circles, the exact way I know drives her crazy.
“No,” she pants, her hips lifting from the bed, circling against my attention.
My mouth covers her slick cleft less than a second later, and the taste I’ve longed for ignites all my senses. Her sighs, moans, and keening mewls feed my savagery as I flick, lick, and suck her to orgasm.
Breathless, I pull my mouth away and shove my jeans down my thighs, no
t bothering to kick my shoes off. I stand, tugging her to the edge of the bed, and find a sated calm with an edge of rekindling desire when I tease her entrance with the head of my impatient cock.
“Ready?”
Her hands grip the blanket at her thighs and her toes flex as she plants her feet flat on the bed. “Please,” she begs.
“I can’t go slow,” I warn. “This is going to go faster than either of us want.”
“I’m yours,” she sighs.
My eyes slam closed of their own volition as I thrust inside her in one fluid motion.
Dual cries fill the heavy air at our searing connection.
“Fuck,” I grumble when I feel the tightening of release in my sac after only a few strokes. “Damn it, Fallyn. I’m going to owe you one.”
I don’t even have enough time to release her leg and stroke a thumb over her clit before I’m pouring inside her.
When the world comes flooding back in, I find her smiling up at me, eyes full of love. It’s then I realize her leg is resting in the crook of my right arm and the ache in my shoulder hits the second my eyes land on it.
I take a stumbling step back, breaking our intimate connection, forcing her leg to fall. Her smile never falters, making my betrayal even worse. I struggle to pull up my jeans so I don’t fall flat on my face, avoiding her eyes.
“Let me get you a towel,” I offer as I turn and leave the room.
Numerous attempts to swallow the lump clogging my throat are fruitless as I grab my jacket off the back of the couch and lock myself in the bathroom.
“Piece of shit,” I whisper to the asshole in the mirror. “You’ll ruin her.”
I don’t pull my eyes from my own reflection, knowing I deserve every tear running down my cheeks as I open the prescription bottle and toss back a handful of Percocet.
Chapter 25
Fallyn
Waking up in Blaze’s arms now is nothing like it was the first time, and there’s no way for me to even pretend it’s similar—that there’s a way to start over and forget the pain. A heaviness surrounds us I can’t seem to ignore—no, refuse to ignore. I love him, but loving someone and letting them drag you down are two different things.
He made promises last night, ones I pray he’ll be able to keep because I want him in my life—need him in my life. The always present defeat seemed to dissipate almost the second he stood in my bedroom door. Modest unease mixed with a yearning I’d nearly forgotten at the sight of him. I know people make mistakes—hell, I’m guilty of some erroneous choices of my own—but that’s why there are second chances.
I do my best not to disturb him as I untangle myself from his arms and legs. My eyes scan over him, and in the light of the sun streaming through the window, I notice he’s lost some muscle mass. I trace my finger over several raised pink scars around his right shoulder as my heart breaks all over again at how only a few seconds can change your entire future. How the stars aligning, one vindictive bitch at a party trying to get the entire football team in trouble, combined with a stray cat darting into traffic, can destroy something Blaze has been working for most of his life. Years of hard work and determination wiped away in the blink of an eye.
He’s no longer the man who spent more time on the field than any other teammate getting ready for the championship game. He’s now the fallen-from-grace ex-football quarterback, a junkie. That’s what the newspapers said when he was initially arrested, and again when he was locked up for the failed drug test. How quickly everyone cheering for him on the sidelines just a few weeks before the car accident turned in favor of gossip and insults.
That may be the way everyone else sees him, and most people looking at it from the outside probably would. I look deeper, though. I resist the urge to run my hands over his hair, wanting to feel the spiked shortness against my fingertips, still seeing glimpses of the man I fell in love with—the arrogant boy who knew the second he laid eyes on me I had to be his. The same man who knew I’d end up in his arms, in his bed. What I never bargained for was finding my way into his heart, and I can only hope the love we have for each other is strong enough to overcome the pain.
Leaning forward, I place a light kiss on his temple, letting my lips linger on his warm skin, then creep out of the room, not wanting to wake him. He has to be exhausted. Months in jail must be horrible. He would never tell me about his day-to-day routine when I’d visit, explaining our short time together didn’t need to be spent rehashing his boring life while incarcerated.
Head against the door, I release the knob with ease so it doesn’t squeak, and jump, nearly banging my head when Brittney pops me on the ass.
“Busted,” she singsongs before gliding down the short hallway to the kitchen. The knowing smirk on her lips tells me she came home last night before Blaze and I fell into an exhausted sleep.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, feigning innocence as she sets to filling the coffee pot and scooping grounds into the reusable filter.
She angles her head back toward the bedrooms. “You finally give into Stone? There has to be a reason you’re trying to be quiet.”
Her piercing stare is presumptuous. The thought of sleeping with Stone makes my skin crawl. I mean, on a carnal level, I can agree he’d probably be amazing in bed, but we’ve become really good friends over the past couple months, much to his disappointment. He’s playful with his hints of more, but it’s never made me uncomfortable. He knows I’m married and dedicated to Blaze. After the breakdown outside the coffee shop a couple months ago, I had no other choice but to explain what was going on. I hated having to tell that story and taint my new friendship with the sad details of my marriage.
He listened and let me cry on his shoulder, and even though he didn’t tell me to move on, he also didn’t try to convince me not to give up on him. Blaze, by silent agreement, is a subject we don’t talk about. I’ve worked hard to compartmentalize the different areas of my life.
Stone is the only other man I spend any time with, so of course she’d assume he was the one in bed with me.
“Stone and I are just friends,” I say, taking a steaming cup of coffee from her.
“With benefits?” she asks, lifting an eyebrow. I shake my head. We’ve had more than one conversation about the golden-skinned pre-med student. “You know he wants to fuck you stupid?”
Had she said something like that yesterday, I would’ve grinned at her ridiculousness, but today is a totally different situation. My husband is in the other room and can walk out any minute. Although there’s nothing going on with Stone, I don’t have any desire to explain my friendship with another man less than a day after him being back, especially when he already accused me of cheating.
“Shhh,” I urge, looking back down the hall. “Blaze is in my room.”
Her frown is immediate, and I hate that look on her face. She tries to cover it quickly by blowing on her coffee, but her disappointment is glaring.
“You deserve better,” she says, her tone soft and eyes telling me she’s not going to stand in my way, that my decisions are my own, but she wants me to know where she stands with the situation.
“He’s my husband.” I search her eyes, needing the reassurance I’m struggling to produce on my own. Finding none, my shoulders slump forward. I’m starting to sound like a broken record. I’m tired of saying it, and I know she’s tired of hearing me defend him. The only thing that bothers me about my friend is her readiness to remind me that there are “better options” out there for me, Stone being at the top of her list.
She sighs, her frustration apparent in the way her shoulders tense and eyes narrow just a fraction. She even grips her coffee cup hard, as if she wants to throw it across the room and shake some sense into me but is trying desperately to maintain her control.
“He refused to let you see him for months.” A kindness I don’t want to see on her face spreads to her eyes as they warm with the compassion I’ve gotten to know better. Right now, I’m leery of it. “Please
ask yourself why he wasn’t concerned about you then, but after he’s released, he shows up here.”
“He loves me, Brit.”
Why else would he be here?
“He has nowhere else to go, Fallyn. I don’t doubt that he loves you, but look at it from every angle. If he didn’t come here last night, where would he have gone?”
I shrug because I don’t know. Not many of his friends stuck around for him. They stopped asking about him on campus. Not one teammate stopped by after he went to jail. They just carried on with their lives, concentrating on school, football, and easy women.
“I owe my marriage a chance. We’ve never had a decent chance.”
“Because he nearly killed you less than six hours after getting married.” Sadness marks her face as her eyes plead with me to understand, begs me not to be mad for pointing out the truth she must think I’ve forgotten.
“He was drugged,” I argue. “He didn’t show one single sign of impairment when we got into his Jeep that night. I never would’ve ridden with him had I thought he couldn’t drive. It was a freak accident.”
“And the drugs in his system that landed him in jail last semester?”
He wasn’t drugged then, but those were the pain pills to help with his shoulder…even if he willingly overused them. He told me as much when I visited him in jail the very first time.
I shake my head as my eyes sting from unshed tears.
“He’s a junkie.” Her words are deadpan, no pleading, no inflection trying to get me to see reason. She’s just stating a fact as she sees it.
“He’s been in jail seven months, Brit. That’s long enough to get and stay clean.”
She acknowledges that with a brief nod, but remains silent.
“I need you to support me. I don’t need you to like him, but I need a friend.”