Reclaim Me

by A. O. Peart

  “What?” I pretended innocence.

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head from side to side, smiling a little. “Jack McCoy, you’re such a helpless tease.”

  “What makes you say that?” I was enjoying myself. She was so cute, trying so hard to appear indifferent, but I knew better.

  “And full of crap, as well.” She chuckled. I loved that sound.

  “That hurt.” I mocked, pressing my hand over my heart.

  “See? My point exactly—full of it.” By now she seemed almost completely relaxed. I just needed to keep working on her. Still sitting on the floor, she leaned her back against the bookcase and casually looked around. “I like your man-cave.” She nodded in appreciation. “Where’s that well-stocked bar you boasted about?”

  I hooted in delight and clapped my hands. “You better believe it. Come.” I got up and reached out my hand to her to pull her up from the floor. She grasped it and let me haul her up. I loved how her small fingers wrapped around my large hand.

  For a moment she was close to me, and I had to fight the urge to hold her tight against my stirring-in-need, shameless cock. . I moved away from her, giving her space, but not before her body brushed against mine, sending electricity through me. She must’ve felt it too, because she gasped lightly and looked away. That made me harden even more.

  I was sure Willow didn’t just remember the bad things from our past, but also the wonderful ones: the heat that nothing could douse, the longing for one another, and simple joy of being together. She was thinking about the past, I could tell. I only hoped she wasn’t about to dwell on what finally tore us apart. I had to help her concentrate on the possibilities at hand.

  “Let me show you what I’ve got.” I walked toward my bar, realizing how what I just said sounded. I chuckled to myself and shot Willow a quick glance. She rolled her eyes. That was a good sign: she was playing along.

  I turned on the spotlight inside the cabinet, illuminating the space behind the glass. More than two dozens of varieties of liquor were proudly displayed there, occupying a couple of shelves above the wet bar. To the left was a large wine rack, housing Chardonnays, and to the right stood a tall, climate-controlled red wine cabinet with over twenty bottles of fine Pinots, Merlots, and Cabernets.

  She whistled in approval, leaning forward to read the labels. “Wow. I finally understand why you’re so proud of it.” She nodded.

  “Impressed?”

  “Definitely. So, tell me, Jack.” Willow turned to look at me and leaned her back against the counter. “Do you spend a lot of time at home? By yourself?”

  “What gives you that idea?”

  She shrugged, feigning indifference. “A room designed for entertaining that has a bookcase and a favorite chair for reading in solitude doesn't quite belong together, does it?”

  It would be hard to deny that I liked my seclusion and sought after it rather often. With a ridiculously large, close-knit family and many buddies, that wasn’t an easy task to accomplish. But I managed.

  “You’re quite observant.” I inclined my head. “No surprise though, since you’ve always been able to notice details, put them together, and draw the right conclusion.”

  Willow grunted good-humoredly, hiding a smile. “Has Rita ever seen your place? I’m sure she would appreciate it a lot.”

  “No. We’re friends, but not that close. She’s never been to my house. And I’d never been to her place before yesterday. Feel free to come back here later, if you want a drink, or to read,” I emphasized the last word.

  “I might do that. Will you show me where I’ll be sleeping?”

  “Yep. Follow me.”

  We walked out of the room and onto the hallway. I opened the door to the guest bedroom and stood to the side, letting Willow pass. “After you.”

  A queen-sized bed stood in the middle, flanked by two sturdy side tables. A dark coverlet was stretched over the bed, with a few pillows piled by the headboard. The room was free of frills and knick-knacks, which only emphasized the fact it was a man’s home.

  I didn’t have good decorating sense, but I tried to keep it simple and practical. There were two pictures on the wall though: a large black-and-white framed photograph of the Pacific Ocean taken from the shore in Cannon Beach last summer hung over the bed, and a small watercolor depicting a lone figure of an old man in a well-worn coat, walking on a deserted street at night. That last one I picked at a shabby gallery in Lincoln City some time ago.

  “This is great!” Willow exclaimed turning around and beaming at me. Her excitement was genuine and highly contagious. She went to the window and peeked between the blinds.

  The window faced my driveway and the front yard. A few trees and tall shrubs grew along the fence, guaranteeing privacy from the street.

  “I didn’t realize the yard was completely isolated. All these trees there are quite mature. How old is this house?” She asked curiously.

  “Over twenty years old, so close to our own age. I bought it last year in a foreclosure. It was an incredible deal, especially with the veteran’s loan option; but it needed some work.”

  “I would never have known it needed any work. You did great.”

  “Check out the bathroom. I retiled the counter and the shower.”

  She disappeared into the bathroom, and I followed. The space was even more utilitarian than the bedroom with only a few necessities, including an unopened bar of soap in a small dish on the counter and a bottle of shampoo and body wash in the shower. The towels were stacked on the shelves above the toilet.

  “The tile looks beautiful,” Willow praised, running her hand over the earthy-colored counter. “Did you do it all by yourself?”

  “My cousin Ethan helped me in exchange for help with a kitchen remodel in his lake cabin. You remember him from school, right?”

  “A lake cabin? Wow, sounds awesome. And yes, of course I remember Ethan.”

  “I will bring up your luggage. We can stow some of the stuff that you might not need right away under the bed. The closet is empty too, so you should have enough space, but if not, feel free to utilize the other bedroom.” I walked to the door while talking. “I need to run to the store to get something for dinner.”

  “Do I need to come with you?” she asked.

  “Only if you need to. You’ll be fine staying here. It won’t take me long.”

  I didn’t think she wanted to go anywhere before the bruising and swelling were gone. I’d noticed how she kept covering her face with her hair in public, and my heart ached for her. Fucking bastard Seth. Too bad I didn’t have an opportunity to rearrange his face without Willow knowing. She wouldn’t let me, but he deserved it and then some. The thought made me mad. Maybe it was better for him to be locked up in jail, because I would be tempted to find him and make him pay for what he did to Willow.

  I went down the stairs and hefted the largest suitcase. It was heavy and cumbersome, as expected, but that didn’t matter. I brought it into the hallway, left it in front of the guestroom door, and then returned to fetch the remaining luggage. When all pieces were lined up by the door, I knocked and said, “Hey, Willow. All your stuff is here. Do you want me to bring it in?”

  “In a moment. I’m changing!” her muffled response sounded as if she was inside the small walk-in closet.

  Oh, crap. My imagination kicked in, no matter how hard I tried to keep my mind out of the gutter. Well, I didn’t try very hard. Instinctively, I touched the spot above my left hip where I had a small tattoo—an elaborate letter W embellished with roses and hearts. When we were juniors in high school, Willow and I got matching tattoos. Hers was of letter J with a similar design as mine. She insisted on having it done over her right hip while mine was above my left hip. Her reasoning was that when we embrace, the images would come together. I smiled at the memory. She always liked to incorporate some kind of a symbolism into everything. We were young and quite stupid back then, but nevertheless in love and completely devoted to each other. Who k
new I would screw up so badly?

  I found myself standing frozen in spot with my fingers still pressed to the spot with my Willow tattoo. I closed my eyes for a brief moment, remembering how we would line up our tattoos so they touched. Willow was much shorter than me, so in order to do that I would have to lift her up and hold her with my hands supporting her under her butt, while she wrapped her legs around my waist. But my most favorite position was with her lying under me while I drove my cock inside her wet, tight cleft. By now my dick was demanding some serious attention. Fuck, I needed a cold shower. Or a hand job.

  I rushed downstairs, acutely aware of my raging erection rubbing uncomfortably against the fabric of my underwear. I started to realize it was going to be difficult to stay in control. Willow’s proximity was more than I could easily handle.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As soon as Jack closed the door to the guest bedroom and went to get my luggage, I opened the small duffle bag he'd brought upstairs with us and rummaged inside. I pulled out my favorite University of Oregon Ducks t-shirt and took it with me into the small walk-in closet. I took off the shirt I’d worn and looked around, trying to decide what to do with a dirty laundry. For now, I just dropped it onto the floor and immediately wondered if Jack would think I was a slob if he saw it.

  I lifted the shirt up and went back to retrieve a shopping plastic bag from my duffle. I deposited the sweaty t-shirt in it and placed the plastic bag on the closet floor. I concluded this was much better.

  A knock sounded on the bedroom door, and Jack’s voice called out, “Hey, Willow. All your stuff is here. Do you want me to bring it in?”

  I stood inside the closet in my lacy bra that concealed little from sight. Fortunately, Jack stayed on the other side of the bedroom door.

  “In a moment. I’m changing!” I hollered out to him.

  He must’ve left because I didn’t hear anything else. With the Oregon Ducks shirt on, I returned to my duffle to find deodorant. Next, I took my hair brush from the side pocket and ran it through my hair. It was tangled and I realized I probably looked awful. There was a large mirror over the sink in the bathroom, so I decided to take a look and fix my appearance the best I could.

  I’d been avoiding mirrors lately, not wanting to see my disturbing reflection. Not much had changed since I checked this morning. The bruises actually seemed to stand out even more against my pale complexion, but the swelling had definitely diminished, which was a good sign.

  I turned to the side, making sure my shirt wasn’t stained or ripped. When I lifted my arms, the fabric rose above the waistband of my jeans. I caught a glimpse of my tattoo. Slowly, I put my arms down and reached to pull the t-shirt up from my right hip. I stared at my tattoo, mesmerized, as if seeing it for the first time. My fingers traced the ornate lines that formed letter “J”, two small hearts, and roses.

  Pain stabbed through me. So much had happened lately. It was hard not to feel confused and uncertain.

  Did I really need to leave Rita’s apartment and come here? After all, tt was weird to accept my ex-boyfriend’s help and protection from another ex-boyfriend. My self-esteem took a nosedive right then. Have I always been drawn to men with anger issues? What was wrong with me? Was it because of my childhood abuse?

  I felt like banging my head against the wall until I could clear my mind of chaos and desperation, but that was the last thing I needed. The fabric of my shirt slipped out from between my fingers and covered the tattoo. I knew Jack had a matching one with the “W” letter and similar design elements to mine. I called them “kissing tats” back when. I smiled at that thought. It seemed so long ago.

  Absentmindedly, I started to brush my hair while looking into the distance. I tried not to think of the past, of what drove us apart. I desperately didn’t want to remember the other Jack—the one with a serious anger management problem and a special taste for getting involved in fights. Time and time again, back then, he would promise to behave. At first, I trusted he would, but nothing changed in his wild ways. I had nursed his cuts and bruises, and my heart broke each time he showed up after a fight.

  Luckily, he’d never been seriously injured, but the problem was not with the severity of the run-ins. The actual problem lay in his anger and some unexplained, weird passion for violence. It went against my strongest beliefs to be with someone who wanted to live such way.

  I stuck by his side for three full years, because I loved him so much, but there were many times…too many times…that I was ready to call it quits. Finally I did—on our prom night. I’d told Jack I would go, but only if he swore that there will be no problems. Despite what he promised, he ended up in some stupid argument over football. Then push came to shove, and the shove was followed by a heavy punch or two, and I finally decided I’d had enough.

  That was one of those rare times when I made a life-changing decision on my own. Walking away from Jack was excruciating, but staying with him back then was impossible. My choice was clear.

  I heard another knock on the door, and Jack’s voice, “Willow, I’m gonna drive to the store now. Do you need anything?”

  I put the brush down on the counter and rushed to the door. “Hey,” I said, opening it wide. “I have all I need, but thank you for asking.”

  “My pleasure. Is there anything you don’t eat? I’m just planning to pick up something from a restaurant, since I’m not much of a cook, unless you want mac and cheese.”

  “Anything is fine, unless it’s super spicy or super greasy.” I went to the bed and picked up my purse. “Here, let me give you some money.”

  “No need.” He shook his head. “I got it.”

  I stared at him, holding my wallet in my hand.

  “It’s okay, Willow. You don’t have to look at me with such surprise.” He laughed.

  “Oh, sorry. I kind of spaced out.” I felt blushing.

  “So, nothing from the store? No preference for dinner, either?”

  “Nope.” I shook my head. “I’m easy.”

  Jack looked at me as if he wanted to say more, then he only nodded and turned to leave. “I’ll be back soon. You have my cell phone number, so if you think of anything, give me a call.”

  “Sure thing!” I called after him.

  When Jack left, I sat down on the bed and let my mind wander. There was a jumble of thoughts in my head, but I had no energy to try sorting through it now. I scooted back further onto the bed, swung my legs up, and lay down for a moment. My eyes closed, and I drifted off to sleep.

  I wasn’t sure how long I slept, but when I woke up I heard him whistling downstairs, and making all kinds of noise from banging pots and pans and the clinking of glasses.

  I got up, went to the bathroom, and a few minutes later walked downstairs to see what all the commotion was about.

  Jack stood by the sink with his wide back to me. He was rinsing something under the running water and humming a tune. I couldn’t stop marveling how much broader and bigger he’d gotten since high school. Back then he was one of the tallest boys at school and far from skinny with his muscles already well-developed and honed by practicing football. Now, at twenty-four, Jack looked even better.

  I made myself stop drooling over him and walked over to see what he was doing.

  He noticed me and said, “Ah, here you are. You disappeared on me.”

  “I fell asleep.” I smiled sheepishly.

  “That’s good. Feeling refreshed?”

  “I guess. Do you need help?” I motioned to the dishes in the sink. He was scrubbing a medium-sized pan.

  “I’m about to rinse this one. Grab that dish towel so you can dry it for me.”

  I looked at where he pointed with his chin. A blue-and-white checkered towel was neatly folded on the counter. I picked it up and shook it to unfurl it. Jack passed the clean pan to me, water dripping onto the counter. I took it from him and ran the towel over it, soaking up all the moisture.

  Next, he gave me a large glass pitcher. “Careful. This one
is heavy,” Jack warned.

  It was quite heavy, because the glass was thick, especially on the bottom of the pitcher. I dried it and gently placed it on the counter next to the pan.

  “We make a good team,” Jack observed.

  I nodded, “We do.”

  “I got Chinese for dinner. Is that okay?” he asked.

  “That’s what smells so delicious in here. Good choice.” I looked inside a large paper bag on the other side of the counter. Several white takeout containers with red pagoda icons on the sides were arranged in the bag. The smell made my mouth water.

  “There is a variety from their menu, since I wasn’t sure what your favorite is.” Jack came up to my side and peeked into the bag. His head was very close to mine, and I felt his hair brush against my forehead. “It does smell good.” He looked at me, grinning. “Hungry?”

  “Yes.” I grinned back at him.

  He rubbed his hands together, which made me giggle. I realized I haven’t been around a laid-back guy like Jack for a very long time. Seth was always uptight and quite difficult to handle. I never knew what to expect from him. It was easy to feel relaxed with Jack, and I appreciated it a lot.

  My thoughts kept wandering back to Seth. No matter how much he hurt me, it was hard for me not to feel sorry for him. I wished our paths had never crossed. I also wished I was a person who didn’t give so selflessly, because in the end, I was the one to get screwed over.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I brought the bag with the takeout to the kitchen table and started taking out the cardboard containers. Jack placed the napkins and chopsticks in their paper wrappers in front of two chairs facing one another. The table was small and rectangular with four chairs around it.

  “Let’s eat. No sense in waiting till this gets cold.” Jack pulled his chair out and then looked at me while I walked up to the table.

  Before I could grab a chair, he pulled one out for me, too.

  “Wow, you’re such a gentleman,” I goaded him.