by C. R. Ellis
“Whatever. You’re dealing with Jade.”
I took a deep breath and gave Dean an exaggerated eye-roll before turning to open the door. He cleared his throat. I spun around and realized he was holding my bra in his hand with an annoyingly smug grin on his face.
“Don’t even say it,” I hissed before snatching it out of his hands. He just chuckled as I quickly redressed. With all clothes back on properly, I took another breath and opened the door.
“Hey, JP,” I said casually.
It took Jade approximately half a second to realize I wasn’t alone. Her eyes traveled from Dean to me and back again.
“Oh, gross, you two. Really? Here?” she asked, arching a brow. “Mom told me you were outside making a phone call, D.”
“Jas and I needed to talk, and she was hiding out from me in here,” he explained, as if that justified what we’d just been caught doing.
I rolled my eyes once more in Dean’s direction and was on the verge of a snarky response about me “hiding” from him when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Yikes. Never mind the fact that we hadn’t actually done it, I had a serious case of sex hair.
Dean shot me a wink, clearly proud of his handiwork. Asshole.
“I’ll bet that’s the first time you’ve had to sneak into your parents’ house to see a girl,” Emmett remarked from behind Jade, his blue eyes glinting with mirth.
Ugh. Et tu, Emmett? I couldn’t contain the groan that escaped my throat. Are they fused together at the fucking hip?!
Three sets of eyes landed on me, and I realized a fraction of a second too late I’d spoken the thought out loud. Now I was seriously wishing for that meteor to crash into the bathroom and strike me dead. The four of us stood around awkwardly, unsure of how to handle the situation anymore.
Jade seemed to sense my growing discomfort and wove her arm through Emmett’s. “Come on, Boston. Let’s see if Mom’s got a bottle of vino.”
As soon as Jade and Emmett were gone, I realized how much of a mistake it was to let them walk away. The moment was gone, but that meant nothing; all it took was a single heated look, one electric brush of skin to ignite the fire between us again.
Panic rose in my chest as reality sank in. I’d been trying to convince Dean, as well as myself, that we needed to walk away from each other, but instead I would’ve let him fuck me in his parents’ guest bathroom like a cheap hooker. I hated my body for being a traitor, and I hated myself for letting things get so far out of control. Things had gotten too real, and I needed some distance to get my heart in sync with my head.
In the past, sex had never been meaningful, never led to a more personal connection I couldn’t sever. But this was Dean—the man who, like it or not, shaped the very essence of my soul. I needed a lobotomy for thinking that sex with Dean could ever be just sex.
Dean had calmly smiled his way through the interruption, like it was no big deal that we’d been moments away from doing something monumentally stupid, while I couldn’t stop the real panic attack I was about to have.
My fear must’ve been etched into my features because Dean stepped toward me, concern swirling in his eyes.
I instinctively moved back.
“Jasmine, look—”
“Don’t,” I said sharply, raising my hands to stop him before turning on my heel to get the hell out of the bathroom.
Chapter 18
Dean
They say you should count to ten when you’re angry, like that’ll fix everything. They are idiots.
Dean Preston, counting to ten six times with the same result
I stood in the bathroom for what felt like an eternity, wondering if I should go after Jasmine or let her walk away for the thousandth time.
She’d said we should walk away from each other, but I could tell she was trying to convince herself of the idea as much as me. It’s called self-preservation, asshole. She was probably trying to protect herself from me. After over a week without seeing her, without touching her, I’d been so consumed by the need to have her in my arms again that I hadn’t even given my words or my actions a second thought.
She was still trying to decide if I was the same worthless asshole who’d torn apart her heart all those years ago, and instead of asking myself the same thing, instead of trying to offer her proof otherwise, I was too busy losing myself in the prospect of getting her back into bed. Clearly I am still the same worthless asshole. Unworthy of having any sort of second chance with Jasmine.
Once again, I’d realized a little too late that I did, in fact, want a second chance with her. Whatever that would entail.
Dinner was already being served when I finally made my way back to the kitchen. Thankfully my parents were completely oblivious to the mounting tension between us. I’d stolen a few glances in Jasmine’s direction, but she never met my gaze. She hardly spoke for the duration of dinner, inching me closer and closer to desperation in my desire to know what thoughts were consuming her mind. I’d never seen her this quiet. Not since our first encounter post-New York.
“Jasmine, you’re awfully quiet, sweetie. Is everything okay with you and Paul?” Mom asked innocently enough, completely unaware of the panic those words would cause her.
Jade choked on her wine and started coughing wildly, whether in an attempt to distract everyone from our mother’s question or in a sincere effort to clear her throat, I couldn’t tell.
“Um,” Jasmine said, grimacing. “I thought Jade would’ve told you…” she started, shooting Jade a questioning look.
I was still relatively new to these weekly dinners with my parents, but something told me she’d had her fair share of uncomfortable situations when it came to telling my mom about the men she’d been seeing. Of course, my presence only intensified her discomfort. Pretty sure she would’ve rather swallowed her whole dinner plate than explain why their relationship ended.
Jade cut in and saved her. “Mom, Paul’s moving to LA for work.”
One look at Jasmine warned my mom against questioning her further. Instead, she just patted Jasmine’s hand and said, “I’m so sorry, honey. He seemed really good for you. It’s his loss.”
A forced, sad smile appeared on her lips, but she didn’t respond. Her caramel-honey eyes were solemn for a moment before she got up, muttering something about getting more wine.
The rest of dinner passed without incident, though by the time it ended I still had no idea what to do about Jasmine or how to convince her to give us, the new us, a chance. I was hoping to catch her once we got back to our apartment building, but I knew when she pulled out of my parents’ driveway that she wasn’t heading back toward the city.
The days leading up to my next NYC trip flew by. I had texted Jasmine, asking to talk, but her response came a day later and was short and vague. I need time, Dean.
So I forced myself to respect her request, even though it was slowly killing me. After so many years of screwing things up with her, I was desperate for a chance to atone for my past mistakes.
By the time Nate’s graduation rolled around, I was actually thankful for an excuse to get out of the city. As the president of his student body, Nate was tasked with giving a speech at graduation.
“You’re going to be great up there,” I said, clapping a hand on Nate’s ever-broadening shoulder. I swear, one day soon I’ll be the one looking up to meet his eyes, not the other way around.
“Easy for you to say. You aren’t the one giving a speech in front of a thousand people. I wish they could be here,” he mumbled, almost to himself.
His family.
He didn’t need a verbal response. He needed my support. I pulled him in for a hug and kept him there until a woman came around the corner to tell Nate the ceremony started in ten minutes.
Nate’s words gutted me. I would’ve sacrificed our entire relationship if it just meant he could’ve had a normal childhood, a normal upbringing. Being forced to accept the world for the dark and shitty place it was at times was somethin
g a kid should never have to do. The fact that our relationship was rooted in such a dark and pain-filled part of our lives meant we were closer than brothers in a lot of ways.
Lately, I’d been thinking a lot about Lilly and the past. Most days I imagined putting a bullet in Nathan and Lilly’s father, knowing he had destroyed his family. Their mother wasn’t blameless, but her part in the destruction was a direct result of the brutality her own husband had shown her.
Most days I hated Lilly for the havoc she’d wreaked on my life. The logical, highly trained part of my brain knew that a junkie would ignore their dying mother or their dying child if it meant they’d get another hit, so I shouldn’t blame myself for her actions. The less logical part of my brain couldn’t stop questioning what more I could’ve done to save her.
Maybe if I’d skipped one more day of classes…
Maybe if I’d forced her to check into rehab…
Maybe if I’d found a way to keep her sober for more than a few hours…
She’d still be alive.
She’d be the one giving Nathan a pep-talk before his speech at his high school graduation. She’d be lighting up the room with her laugh, with her vigor for life.
But she wasn’t. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it, except lend Nate all the emotional support I possibly could.
Minutes ticked by, and suddenly I was the nervous one when they called him to the podium for his speech. He calmly walked up, shook hands with the principal of his school, and launched into his speech like a pro. Standing up there, composed and having shred all traces of nerves, I couldn’t help but feel so proud of the man he’d become. However much I’d fucked up when it came to Lilly, knowing I’d played a part in shaping the incredible man her little brother had become was enough to choke me up with emotion. This, my bond with Nate, was one relationship I’d managed to get right.
“…that brings me to the future. For most of us, this means college. Someone really wise and really important to me recently told me college is going to be a blank slate, an opportunity for us to mold our lives into whatever we want them to be. He said to embrace it. He’s right. It’s an opportunity like no other. Who we are, who we’ve been up to this point, doesn’t have to define us.
“Life after high school, whether it means college or the work force, can be whatever we make of it. So, I implore each of you to make the future whatever you want it to be. You don’t like the person you’ve been up to this point? You have some aspect of your life you’d like to reinvent, to change? Do it. Don’t wait for a day to come that you’re finally happy with the person you are.
“Take the time to carve out the life you want, not a life you won’t be one hundred percent happy with. I know it’s cliché, but trust me when I say, this life is too short, too unpredictable, to waste.
“This wise person also told me that we’ll turn around and thirty will be knocking on our door, so don’t wait. Embrace the fact that, while this part of our lives is now in our past, what’s waiting for us on the other side is entirely up to us. It’s no longer dictated by our parents, our GPAs, whatever social circles we ran in, not even Principal Stevens. So live it up, my fellow graduates; we’re on the verge of freedom. Tonight is our night to jump into the future together before we’re scattered about, living the lives we’ve only dreamt of until now,” he finished, flashing a smile to the crowd while searching for me. His smile broadened when his eyes found mine, and I was on my feet clapping for all I was worth.
I hadn’t expected the words I’d once said to Nathan to come back to me and have such a profound impact, but they hit me directly in the chest. His speech might’ve been meant for his classmates, but it’d drawn my laser focus, and all I could think about was Jasmine. I’d royally screwed things up with her, but Nathan’s heartfelt speech made me want to sort through my own shit to see if there was a way to figure things out with her.
He’d given me no preview of his speech, and I was completely shocked to see the way it’d struck a chord with everyone in the entire auditorium. I looked around and saw several people wiping away stray tears.
The kid was wise beyond his years, and I couldn’t have been more proud of him if I tried.
Chapter 19
Jasmine
If not for the four wine bottles, my grocery basket would basically match that of an eighteen-year-old college kid. Whatever. Adulting is hard.
Jasmine Winters, eyeing the ramen noodles, pop tarts, and pizza rolls in her cart
Three weddings, a last-minute meeting with Alexa, and an hour-long phone conversation with Jade should’ve been exhausting enough to make me immediately fall asleep.
No such luck. It was Sunday night, and I’d successfully avoided thoughts of Dean all weekend. Until now.
In my exhaustion, I’d thrown myself on the wrong side of my bed—the side he’d slept on three weeks ago. Without questioning my actions, I rolled onto my stomach and breathed in the scent of his pillow. When I realized it didn’t have traces of Dean’s cologne, the first tear fell from my lashes.
Why?
Then a sudden tsunami of tears broke the floodgates that had held back the questions I’d been avoiding for weeks now.
Why was I trying so hard to push Dean away?
Why did I let myself believe loneliness was better than heartbreak?
Why was I afraid to let people in?
Why couldn’t I let go of the words Dean never meant?
Why couldn’t I let go of the person those words had molded me into?
It’s not like the barriers and flimsy excuses for relationships I’d had the past six years had made me happy. The very walls I’d built to guard my heart were now suffocating me. What good is it to protect a heart if you’ve never given it the chance to heal?
Why had it taken me so long to realize that running from relationships and bouncing from one meaningless sexual encounter to the next had only set me up for a depressingly lonely life of solitude and unhappiness?
As much as I loved Jade and valued her advice, I wasn’t ready to discuss the details of that summer with her. But there was someone who already knew the details and would be straight with me.
Luca.
We didn’t talk much anymore, but ours was one of those friendships where we could go without speaking for months, then seamlessly pick up where we left off when we did talk.
After a few rings, Luca’s face filled my phone screen. These days he kept his head shaved and sported a short beard that I didn’t hate. The look suited him. “This better be good. You do know how to tell time, right?” He saw my tear-stained face and immediately sat up in bed, rubbing a hand over his eyes to wake himself up. “Oh, fuck. What’s going on, Jas?”
I shook my head and swiped at a tear. “You know how I forbade you from ever bringing Dean up in conversation?”
“You mean Dainty Penis?” he asked, brows shooting up.
Despite my shitty mood, the reference made me burst into laughter. Luca came up with the nickname when I was at the height of my Dean-depression that summer, and from then on that’s all we used. “I can now definitively say that nickname is not accurate. At all. I need to talk to you, but I need you to listen and not say anything until I finish. Okay?”
“Okay,” he agreed, settling back against his headboard. “But let me just say I knew he’d have a magnificent dick.”
I rolled my eyes, but ignored his comment. I told Luca everything, and as much as I hated to admit it, talking things out felt really good.
True to his word, he didn’t interrupt. But the words he did leave me with kept me up long after we said goodbye.
“Baby, it’s time to dig out the BB. I don’t have all the answers for you, and the box might not either. But I think this is the exact reason she left it for you.”
The Bethany Box.
It was a box of letters my mom left me.
I was crestfallen when Mary embraced Jade before our junior prom and I didn’t have my own mom there, n
umb when she wasn’t at my high school graduation, and angry when she wasn’t able to put the pieces of my heart back together after Dean broke it.
I may not have had her to comfort me and witness all the milestones in my life, but she’d left me as much wisdom and advice as possible in the form of letters.
I headed for the box; it was safely tucked in the back of my closet, right behind my second-most prized possession – my pair of sleek black Manolos that my mom had promised she’d let me borrow one day. I riffled past the first several letters without even reading their labels, having their order memorized from the countless times I’d thumbed through them.
Each envelope was a different color. My mom was an artist, and though she’d never succeeded in passing on that interest to me, I developed an obsession with the color wheel after my dad gave me the box that was bursting with colors.
Open me when…
you have your first fight with Dad. Bright orange.
you have your first boyfriend. Light orange.
you’ve had a really terrible day. Yellow.
you wish I could be there. Yellowish green.
you graduate high school. Bright green.
you graduate college. Bluish-green.
you need a good laugh. Bright blue.
you have your first heartbreak. Navy blue.
you need a reminder of how much I love you. Lavender.
you’re falling in love. Violet.
you know you’ve found ‘the one.’ Red.
you walk down the aisle. Pink.
you have your first child. Maroon.
Obviously they weren’t all opened – as much as I’d wanted to tear through each word she’d left me, I knew I had to wait. She’d taken the time to write me thirteen letters when she was so ill she could barely sit up without help, so I owed it to her not to hastily open them.
Before settling on the one I was searching for, I studied the unopened ones—lavender, pink, maroon, red—as if just looking at them would be enough to absorb all the unread advice she’d penned for me.