I close my eyes and take his scent in with my nose. He smells fresh and tastes minty. I wrap my arms around him, and my hands go directly to the nape of his neck and twist in his hair. He is damp from the shower. Everybody around us has disappeared. In this moment, there is just Jarrod and me, and he is kissing the absolute shit out of me.
When our kiss breaks, we hear catcalls, mostly from Libby and Victoria, and I can’t help but smile.
“Good game, Jarrod,” I whisper against his lips.
“Played the whole game for you, baby. I could still smell you on me the whole fucking time. Best feeling in the world, knowing you were in those stands and watching me,” he says low so that no one can hear him.
Then, he slips his arm around my waist, and we walk to his Ferrari before meeting everyone for lunch.
I am standing in Jarrod’s beautifully awesome bathroom, putting the finishing touches on my hair. I have decided to curl it, probably to procrastinate in seeing my brother. I text him with the name of a small wine bar that is within walking distance to Jarrod’s apartment.
He responds with a, “K,” and that was it.
It’s typical Niklas—short, curt, and annoying.
Lunch with the teammates and their wives was fun. I had more enjoyment with them in a few hours than Jo and I have had in years. I couldn’t believe how easygoing and welcoming they all were. Alana and her nasty crew hadn’t been invited, and I was thrilled. I got to know Maggie a bit better, and I found that, although she had been painfully shy and extremely quiet she was sweet. But her husband, Sammy, was kind of a dick. He was nice enough on the surface, but I had been with a dick for years, and I could spot one from across the room. Sammy was just that—a dick. However, I loved my three new friends more than words could express, and I could tell immediately that they were their own support system. They immediately engulfed me into their fold, and I had never felt so comfortable in all my life.
After lunch, Jarrod took us home, and we celebrated his victory for a few more hours. Then, I had to get up, so I could get dressed to see my brother for the first time in three years.
The last time I laid eyes on Niklas was outside of my apartment building three years ago. He was fuming mad, standing on the sidewalk, with his hands on his hips, while glaring at the ground like its mere presence pissed him right off. He didn’t say hello, didn’t hug me, nothing. When I walked up to him, he just started yelling at me.
He said things like, “How could any sister of his treat his brother this way?”
He was referring to Eric. I tried to explain to him that Eric was the one who had treated me poorly, but Niklas wouldn’t listen. He told me I was a worthless excuse for a woman, that I didn’t know how to keep my man happy, and that Mor (mother) was right in cutting me off from her life. He told me if I didn’t fix my issues with Eric that he would be done with me. Then, he walked away, and Eric walked out from the shadows with a smile on his face. Eric’s sinister smile and the fear that crept through my body was the last thing I remember about that night. I woke up in the hospital three days later—beaten, battered, bruised, violated, and broken. I called my brother three weeks after the incident, the day I was released from the hospital, and I tried to tell him what I remembered happening that night. He called me a liar and hung up on me.
I haven’t seen or spoken to him since. I spent a year in counseling and a year being scared of every single noise I heard. Jo thought Eric hung the moon. She had crushed on him since we were kids, but Eric wanted me, and this had always pissed Jo off. She told me that Eric couldn’t have been the one to do those things to me. He loved me way too much to ever hurt me. She said I must have just imagined it was him, and it had to have been somebody else. I felt betrayed, and I still do, but I forgave her for her ignorance. She is my oldest and only friend. Nobody truly knew what Eric was capable of, except for me.
Eric and I had been together for four years until I left for college. At first, he had just been my brother’s cute friend, and then he’d started showing more interest in me. He had been funny and sweet, and we always went out together with Niklas, Jo, and our other friends. As time had gone on, I’d noticed subtle changes in Eric’s behavior toward me. He would get pissed off so easily. Another boy would check me out, and that would piss him off. I would wear something he didn’t approve of, and that would piss him off. I would smile at somebody, and that would really piss him off. In the beginning, he would yell at me, call me names, make me feel guilty for another boy even glancing in my direction, and then it’d slowly started to escalate.
A tight grip on my arm had turned into a smack on my leg or my stomach, but the worst had come when we became sexually active. I’d wanted approval from him so badly that I accepted everything he did to me. I hadn’t known what a loving relationship between a boy and a girl was supposed to be like. My mother wasn’t one to talk girl talk, and my parents never showed each other or Niklas and me affection, so I hadn’t known. I had been naive and grasping at anything I could get. Eric would force himself on me. It hadn’t mattered if I wanted to be with him or not. If he hadn’t liked something that happened that day, he would inform me that I owed it to him. I should have left before he started physically and sexually abusing me, but I had been stupid and scared, and I’d had nobody to go to for advice. Then, sometimes, I would see a glimpse of the sweet boy I had fallen for, and I would try to hold on to that, staying with him.
When I’d turned eighteen, we had all gone to a party on the beach, and a friend of mine from a class had given me a hug. Nerdy and funny, he’d been my lab partner in chemistry. Eric had seen this, and he hadn’t liked it. Eric had taken this as me acting like a whore, and he’d beaten me for the second to last time. The next day, I packed my shit and had taken off for Boston. Three months later, Jo had joined me, and we’d begun college courses.
From the age of eighteen to twenty-two, I’d ignored Eric completely even though I talked to my brother. Our relationship was strained, and I’d found out that he and Eric went to the police academy together and were sworn officers. This scared me. Eric shouldn’t have been a police officer. He was volatile and explosive. I’d found out how explosive he truly was that night three years ago when my brother came to talk some sense into me, and Eric had attacked me when he didn’t like what I had to say about coming home—as in, I wasn’t coming home. Eric had thought that if he gave me some time to think that I would eventually come back to him, miss him, and continue the way we were. Four years apart from him had given me the freedom I needed and shown me that I didn’t need anybody, that I could get by on my own.
I try to push all the ugly memories out of my head while I curl my long blonde hair. I apply my makeup a bit heavier than usual because not only is it nighttime, but the makeup is also a shield, a mask for what is about to come. I slip on some stud earrings and slide my mint-green wrap dress over my nude lace bra and panties. I slide my feet into nude peep-toe pumps and walk out of the bathroom and over to the living room where Jarrod is sitting, punching buttons on his phone.
“Jarrod, I’m ready.” I sigh, not really wanting to do any of this.
Jarrod stands and walks over to me, his expression completely unreadable.
“Tell me what I’m going to expect. If I don’t know and he says something that pisses me off, I might not be able to control my anger,” Jarrod growls, standing two inches from me.
I can feel the heat resonating off his strong tall body. I like that he cares, that he wants to be informed of the dynamics between Niklas and me. When he growls, my body springs to life.
“Last time I saw him, we fought about my ex-boyfriend, who happens to be his best friend. It didn’t end well,” is all I can tell him. I can’t describe what “didn’t end well” truly means. I don’t want to see the pity in his eyes—at least, not yet.
I was brutally violated, and Jarrod is the first man I’ve trusted enough to possibly tell my secrets to. I have been with a couple of men since the incident happe
ned, but I always felt guilty, dirty, and ashamed afterward, so I stopped being with men altogether. But with Jarrod, all I feel is happiness and acceptance. The nightmares and the flashbacks stopped almost two years ago, but I haven’t had a desire to actually be with a man in over a year until Jarrod burst into my life. One look at him, and I knew I would be safe.
“He says anything unsavory, and we leave.”
I just gape up at Jarrod. I smile, and then I burst out laughing.
“Unsavory?” I ask in between giggles.
Jarrod doesn’t verbally respond to me laughing at him. Instead, he wraps his arm around my waist, hauls me over to his body, and assaults my mouth with his tongue. That shuts me up, and I open my mouth for him. The man has a libido like I have never encountered or felt. I can feel his hard length against my lower stomach, and it causes me to moan into his mouth. He is hard like he wasn’t inside me just a couple of hours earlier, and my body roars to life like I didn’t just come so many times that I’ve lost count.
“Don’t laugh at me,” he says with a chiding me with a smile on his face.
He grabs my hand, and we leave his apartment. The night is cool and crisp. I know summer is coming, but the spring feels wonderful, and I am enjoying this when we arrive at the bar.
I immediately notice my brother. Maybe it is a twin thing, or maybe it is the fact that his matching pure white blond hair is like a beacon in the dark bar setting. He looks broader and bigger than I remember. His jaw is squarer and harder, and when he looks up, his eyes look worn-out, tired, and possibly sympathetic. The last one is most likely wishful thinking on my part. Niklas is much like my mother, who uses cruel words without thinking of how they affect other people, and they never apologize—ever.
Jarrod and I walk hand in hand to Niklas’s table, and he rises from his seat as we arrive. We are the exact same height, but because I am wearing heels, I have to tip my chin down just a bit to look him in the eyes.
“Soster,” he croaks harshly. He always calls me sister in Danish. Since we only spoke Danish at home, it is natural.
It is hard hearing the word since I haven’t felt like his sister in so long. I have been ignored by my entire family and left alone. The word soster has meant nothing to me for so long.
“Bror,” I reply.
Then, he envelops me in a huge bear hug. This man hugging me I do not know. Niklas and I had fun, and we were friends, but hugging wasn’t us. Our family just wasn’t affectionate. Niklas breaks away from our hug first and then looks from me to Jarrod and back to me with a questioning look on his face.
“Niklas, this is Jarrod Harrison. Jarrod, this is my twin brother, Niklas Aagaard,” I introduce.
They shake hands, and then Jarrod pulls out a chair for me to sit down. Niklas sits across from us. Jarrod immediately places his hand on my knee and gives me a reassuring squeeze. I feel calmer, more settled and grounded by having his warm skin on mine. I can breathe.
“I didn’t know you were dating, Lee Lee,” Niklas begins.
I just look at him. “Why wouldn’t I be dating?” I ask, my defenses in place.
“It’s only been, what? Seven years since you and Eric split up.”
My eyes bug out of my head. Of course he brought Eric up.
“Niklas, seven years is quite enough time to get over someone, especially since I never really loved him,” I state.
I watch my brother’s face fall. I knew this meeting would be about Eric. Does Niklas realize how absurd he sounds?
“Thought you two would get married, Lee Lee. I would have liked him to be my real brother, you know.”
I just stare at him. I can’t believe that after not speaking to me for three freaking years, he actually starts our evening off with a conversation about fucking Eric.
“Niklas, I really don’t want to talk about Eric. I have no desire to talk about him or to him ever again. Why did you call me? If you only called me to discuss Eric, then I must say that you have wasted my time and yours. Eric was horrible to me. I know you don’t believe me, but he was. I am with Jarrod now, and I’m happy—for the first time in my life. Eric doesn’t ever enter my mind—or at least, he didn’t until you called me the other day.”
“Lee Lee,” Niklas sighs.
Jarrod’s arm goes around my shoulders and holds me tight. I am beginning to tremble.
“Eric admits that he didn’t always treat you right, but he still loves you. He wanted me to come and find you to tell you that he will be in Boston next week. He would like to get together to talk to you, apologize, and hopefully start over.”
My whole body begins to shake, and I start seeing spots. Breathing is becoming difficult, and I just look up into Jarrod’s cobalt eyes. I can’t do it. I can’t be in Boston and meet up with Eric. I would rather die. I try to calm down and take a deep breath of air.
“Niklas, I think you’d better switch topics now.” Jarrod’s timbered voice vibrates next to me.
“No, she needs to face the facts that you don’t throw away a four-year relationship just because things get rough,” Niklas says, pointing his finger in my direction.
“Enough,” I snap. “Tell Eric I won’t be there. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want anything to do with him. If he even tries to fucking call me, I will be phoning the police. Also, let him in on this little tidbit of information. The statute of limitations is not up on what he did to me, and evidence was collected that night. It can and will be used against him. If he even breathes air in Boston, I’ll run to the police and file charges against him so fucking fast that his head will spin.”
With that, I stand up and walk out of the wine bar with a stunned, shocked, and worried Jarrod on my heels. I am practically sprinting. I am full of adrenaline, fear, and straight pissed the fuck off.
Fucking Niklas.
Fucking Eric.
Jarrod keeps his hand firmly around my waist until we arrive inside his apartment. I can’t even look at him. My eyes are trained straight ahead of me and on the floor. I know he’s going to ask me questions, questions I have only ever answered to police detectives and my therapist. I don’t want him to look at me with pity, disgust, or sympathy. I don’t want it anywhere near me. I just want him to look at me like he did this morning in bed, like he can’t get enough of me.
My therapist told me that there would be a time when I would have to release this secret to a lover, that there would be someone I would have to trust this to, but I honestly never wanted that time to come. I thought I could bury the whole situation and just never think about it again. I worked through all my emotions, all the stages of grief, in counseling, and it has all been behind me—until now.
“Amalie,” Jarrod speaks, breaking my staring contest with the lavish dark wood floor.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I whisper, finally looking up at him.
“You need to tell me what that was all about. I don’t feel comfortable with this at all.”
I purse my lips together and cock my head to the side. What doesn’t he feel comfortable with? Me? Oh God, he’s going to break up with me.
“I’m ashamed of what I allowed him to do to me because it led him to believe he could do anything to me,” I admit, breaking my eyes away from his, tears threatening to spill over. I haven’t cried about this in over a year. Tears are not something I am accustomed to.
I watch Jarrod as he takes two steps in my direction. Then, he lifts me like a bride on her wedding night, his arm behind my knees and the other wrapped around my back. He briskly takes us toward his bedroom. Then, he deposits me on the bed, sits against the headboard, and leans forward, grabbing me under my arms and hauling me on top of his body. He does all this in complete silence.
“Tell me, baby,” he coaxes, so very sweetly running his long fingers through my hair.
So, I begin from the beginning where it all started in Denmark.
“My mother is not the maternal type of woman. She’s a scientist in every sense of the word. S
he didn’t bake cupcakes for my birthdays or even throw me a parties. She is logical and straightforward. She did not do hugs or kisses. She taught me. From birth, she just lectured to me and taught me things like reading, writing, and scientific equations. My father is the same. Hugs were not given—ever. Tonight was one of the only times my brother has ever hugged me.
“So, when I met Eric at the age of fourteen, he showered me with attention, compliments, and simple little touches, holding hands and all the things that normal fourteen-year-old kids do. It felt amazing. I craved it, craved his touches. He was so sweet at first, but as time went on, he started to morph into a cruel boy and then a vicious man.” I told Jarrod everything about my relationship with Eric.
He never interrupted, never said anything. A few times, when I was recalling a particularly bad situation, his body would tense, but he never spoke.
I surprise myself by keeping my voice even and calm during the story of my life, reliving my deepest and darkest moments. It’s not the first time I have told my story, but it is the first time I have ever told anyone who isn’t a professional.
When I finish, I tip my head up to rest my chin on Jarrod’s hard chest and look into his cobalt eyes. I am immensely afraid of the emotion I might see in his eyes. I don’t see sympathy or pity in them though. What I see seems like compassion.
He gives me a small smile. “You are so strong, Amalie. The life you had, your childhood and then your teenage years with him—I don’t know how you did it without breaking or without becoming a complete mess. Look at you now though. You’re successful, beautiful, kind, and sweet. You went through hell, and then you just dusted yourself off, got help, and went on with your life, never looking back and not holding on. Most people would hold on to that, letting it grow like a cancer, and it would destroy them.
“You deserve so many good things in this life, baby. You deserve happiness, love, tenderness, and a family. Let me at least give you happiness and tenderness for now. Hopefully, as we grow together, I will be able to offer you love and a family. Let me be your man. Let me harbor your hurt and pain. Let me shower you with genuine pure affection. I have a lot of that to give you. Will you let me do all of that for you?”
Pitching for Amalie Page 9