by Hazel Grace
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “It wasn’t right. I should’ve never done what I did and sent you the proof. I wanted to destroy you and make you feel as worthless and devastated as I was. You lied...you made Chase up...you made me fall—you had another woman that shared your name. You were never mine. You could never be mine, and that ate at me. I felt like I was waiting for you my whole life and you weren’t...mine.”
His thumb grazes my cheekbone as I let my long held sob go.
I want to rest my head on his chest but refrain. There’s no point in reveling in anything because it’ll come to nothing. In another lifetime, if those even exist, I hope I find him in time before it’s too late again. I was too late on this go, and I’m having a hell of a time swallowing it.
“You have to go,” I finally mutter, pulling out of his touch. “If your plan is to murder me in some love story gone wrong, it’s working. Nothing is right anymore, my whole life is ruined, and I can’t even go home. I’m isolated and alone, happy?”
“Not when you’re screwing men that aren’t me.” His expression is dull—serious. The mask that he wears for everyone else is on, and he’ll never tell me out loud how he felt afterwards.
I don’t need to be told. I'm familiar with the feeling of being stabbed repeatedly in the chest, severing little pieces of your heart.
I vigorously wipe at my face. “You seem to be doing just fine.”
“Why do you think Indie looks so much like you?”
My shoulders slump. “Because she’s hot...if you like the duplicate model.”
“You’d be surprised at the things I do, Shelton. Stupid-as-fuck things. Shit that woman is going to murder me over one day.”
“I don’t want to talk about her. You do what you need to. And just let me do what I need to not feel so battered and marred.”
“I called her by your name tonight, it’s dumb as fuck how much you still affect me. I can’t have a good night’s sleep because the moment I wake up, you’re still not there. And I hate you for meaning so much to me. I can’t keep trying to run a country when my mind always runs to you. You may not have meant to throw a leash on me, but it’s there. I’m tethered to you. I lied, but that bitch was just a scourge on my life that I was trying to pry free from. I didn’t have a plan, you weren’t supposed to become what you became to me. And now...I fucked myself for even letting you in, and yet, I still wouldn’t change it.”
“What do you want me to say?” I ask, throwing a hand in the air. “That we can go back to what we were? You want me to honestly be okay with a woman that sits in your house, the First Lady, and become what that lookalike is to you now? I can’t—”
“No one is asking you to,” he deadpans, and he might as well have just punched me in the gut. His words bounce off its walls, ping-ponging around with sharp, knife-like stabs. “You take care of yourself, Sox, don’t take any shit from anyone. Not even the most powerful man in the world.”
He begins to turn to leave, and that’s when I betray my own damn self. It’s when I’m legendary for making rash decisions and reap the consequences later.
I’m on my feet, latching on to the back of his T-shirt and wrapping it around my fist to make him stop and turn around.
Wade pivots, roughly cupping my face and slamming his lips to mine. Our tongues meet immediately, battling and needy to taste the other. To remember this one last time before we say goodbye because this is it. There are no more hidden-away moments or the fact that we still love each other.
It’s time to move on.
My arms wrap around his neck, keeping him there for another second before I’m up in the air, his hands on my ass and my legs wrapping around his hips. He doesn’t move us to the bed, just keeps us in the middle of the room where the only things we can hold on to are each other.
I can feel his cock harden underneath me, brushing against my inner thigh, which releases a light moan in his mouth.
He is everything I want right now—right or wrong, Wade Lockwood is my weakness. He is the dark entity that seeped his way into my body, and it doesn’t function right without him.
Because right now, I feel more alive than I’ve felt in a year.
“Let me go,” Wade utters into my mouth before he counters his words with another deep kiss. “I can’t survive you a second time.”
“So I guess goodbye sex is out of the question?” A feral growl evades his body, and he’s striding the three or four steps towards my bed.
“Last chance, Shelton.” He tosses me on the bed without abandon, my body bouncing off the mattress as he peels off his shirt.
I answer by peeling off my shorts, his hand grips them and tugs, hurling them somewhere in the room. Digging my heels into the bed to pull myself forward, I hook my hand around the waistband of his jeans and work the button.
His large hand grips my face, a pileup of lips on lips as he shoos away my hand from his pants. “I’ll save your work for the good parts.” Biting on my bottom lip that he knows drives me fucking crazy, he wiggles out, and my hand—like it has a mind of its own—grips his hard cock through his boxers.
A primal groan gives way as he drives his tongue into my mouth, narrating how much he’s missed all of me.
Once my old friend is out, I break from Wade’s lips to wrap mine around the head, pumping and licking while Wade lets out another moan.
“Fuck.” I hum in agreement, as his fingers fasten through my long locks, giving me the freedom to torture him in ways I wish I could spend hours doing.
He tears me from sucking him off and upward to look at him.
“Second to last chance,” he pants. “Because when I’m on top of you, I’m not getting off. When I’m inside you, I’m not stopping. When you’re screaming, you better hope it’s because you like it because I’m going to fuck you so hard it’s going to erase everyone after me.”
“Shut the fuck up and do it, Lockwood.” His weight forces me back, using one hand to keep both of my wrists over my head as he covers his mouth over my lips again. With his free hand, he peels my panties down to my knees while I move my legs to free myself from the fabric.
He positions himself to enter me but not before he breaks our kiss to look into my eyes.
Neither of us speak, our heavy breathing the only sound in the room as he slowly enters me. My eyes begin to roll back, taking my head with it before his thumbs pry my chin to stay with him and focus.
“Only me,” he says. “Your eyes locked on mine, baby.” I arch into him, demanding more of his cock, and his eyes snap shut on a pained expression.
I lower myself down then gradually back up, riding him from below at my own torturous pace. “Is this what you wanted? Does she feel like this?”
His blues snap open, securing with mine. “Not even close.” I take another inch, relishing in the confident way he just said that. His palms catch my hips, guiding me deeper to further interpret what I mean to him.
How I feel to him.
“Shit, Shelton,” he gripes. “You’re milking my cock so fucking tight that I’m not going to last long.” He doesn’t wait for me to reply, nestling his head in the crook of my neck and trailing a path with his tongue to my earlobe.
His soft lips clasp around the sensitive part of my body. His stumbled breathing puffs into my ears, only turning me on more. Seeking more of his length to go deeper inside me.
“Mhm, just fuck me, Wade.”
“I want to,” he replies. “But I want to drive away every—”
“You do,” I vouch. “Trust me, I hate it.” I feel the curl of his lips against my heated skin, and he licks it away to send a shudder down to my pussy.
“I fucking love it.”
“You would.” I wrap my legs around his hips to grasp more of him, but he stops himself from going balls deep.
“Tell me,” he mutters, pulling his head from my neck. “Do you wish things were different?” I nod, because I can’t speak the bittersweet words and face the reality that lies w
aiting for us outside this room.
“I do too, Sox. Every—” He sinks deeper into me. “—single—” He thrusts all the way in. “—day.”
Lowering his body, I welcome his mouth and tongue as he pumps into me faster. I don’t bother keeping my moans and groans in check. Could give a shit that he knows that he does this to me. That he can send me panting in two minutes flat.
Because he’s enough.
He’s sufficient to make everything in me buzz no matter what his position or background is; Wade is the key to opening everything.
Wade returns his attention to my lips, leaving another deep kiss there before pulling away to watch me lose myself. His blue eyes are glossed over, seering this to memory.
Just like I am.
His hand that still keeps mine grounded over my head moves down to my clit, brushing it with his thumb as he kisses my forehead. I move my hand to the stubble on his chin, feeling my buildup intensify as he begins to work me faster.
Getting onto his knees, he looks down at where we’re joined. Where his cock is entering into me and his fingers are toying between my folds. His eyes flick to me again, and that’s when I come—hard. My whole body starts to convulse as he continues fucking me, my arms and the tips of my fingers going numb from the sensation of it.
Mercilessly, he thrusts into me, holding my thigh with one hand and still grazing my clit to intensify the aftershock of my orgasm.
“Fuck.” He groans loudly and quickly pulls out, shooting his cum in his hand. He didn’t wear a condom, but that doesn’t fuck around with me as much as the downfall of what we just did.
This is goodbye.
We both agreed to it.
We both have to live with it.
We’ll both die knowing that it’ll never be us for each other.
We’re the definition of a bad romance.
♫ Love Bites — Def Leppard ♫
I thought I’ve been in awkward positions before, but sitting with Indie the next morning at breakfast takes the cake. I cheated on her when we weren’t even dating, but it still leaves a sour twinge in my gut when she came knocking on my door this morning to come down to the lobby to eat. As though I never called her the woman I was madly in love with and can never be with.
Her and I, we need to end.
And Reagan and I, we’re not so different after all. We’re both fucked up and in a situation that neither of us can cope with on our own. The idea of ignoring the wrong wouldn’t be something hard for me to bypass, but Demi isn’t something I’m willing to gamble on. I won’t leave bread crumbs this time for her to find.
“Something wrong with your breakfast?” Indie croons from across the table, looking absolutely stunning in a yellow sundress. Her dark hair falls from her shoulders as I glance up at her, forcing a grin from my lips as she blinks at me expectedly.
I’m so sorry I can’t be anything more to you.
“No, everything’s fine,” I quip, grabbing my small mug of coffee and taking a sip. “How’s yours?”
She rolls around a strawberry. “Good. Their fruit is really...fresh.”
Right.
We’ve never had a forced conversation like this. If anything, Indie and I clicked from the gate. She ignored my broody-ass ways, and I delve into how much...well, we already know all about that.
Add on that she wasn’t naggy, petty, materialistic, or a raving bitch, she had that going for her too.
“Indie, we need to talk about—” Her hand abruptly extends over her head as she waves at someone behind me. Peering over my shoulder, one of the waitresses extends a finger with a smile that she’ll be right over.
“I am so thirsty,” Indie professes, downing half of her water from her glass. She places it down with a satisfied thud. “Do you have a lot of meetings when you get back?”
I nod. “Yeah...I’m sure that I do. Em will brief me probably before I even get off the plane.”
She chuckles with a weak roll of her eyes. “She’s...amazing.”
“Yeah...she’s something alright. So, we—”
“What can I get for you?” the waitress asks, now standing next to our table.
“Some more water, please,” Indie replies then perks a brow at me. “Did you need something?” I shake my head, and the woman takes off to grab her beverage.
Indie is evading, and I’m not playing this shit anymore. The best thing to do for her is to be a complete dickhead and have her hate me.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I deadpan, hitting her with my stare.
“Do what?”
“Indie…”
She shrugs when I don’t continue with the obvious. “What?”
“You don’t deserve this. I’ve used you for way too long.” She picks up her fork and stabs a piece of pineapple.
“I’m fine, Wade. I knew what this was when I walked into—”
“It’s not right,” I stress, leaning over the table. “You don’t need me weighing you down. I’m no good for you. I’ll never be, alright?”
“I’m okay with that,” she replies through her chewing, keeping her eyes locked on her food.
She’s as okay with it as I’m good with knowing Reagan is out free in the world for any motherfucker to mend her heart and take her from me.
I lean back in my chair, suiting up for this to be either a sob fest or for her to shock me and lose her entire shit in the middle of this dining room. “I’m not.”
Indie’s grey eyes narrow in on me. “Since when?”
It’s a challenge.
Her trying to keep me.
Her not aware or ignoring the things I’ve said in the past about how I’m never going to build us into a relationship. That I didn’t want one. My heart that she’s tried seeking a few times, doesn’t beat for anyone but Reagan Shelton, whether I’d like it to or not.
“What happened last night was a mistake. I’m...not upset about it anymore. If I called you by an ex-boyfriend’s name, you’d probably do the same.”
I heave a brow. “No, I wouldn’t because I’m not your man. If you called me John or Bill, I’d slap your ass and fuck you harder to remind you what my real name is. But it wouldn’t drive me into what you were last night. I hurt you, Indie. I nick away your self-esteem and—” She drops her fork against her glass plate, getting me to shut up.
“Since when do you care that I have feelings in any way, shape, or form?”
“Since I fucked Reagan last night in her hotel room.” Indie’s eyes slowly widen as she gapes at me, digesting my words into her brain.
“You flew her here?”
“No.” I shake my head. “She...was here.”
“You expect me to believe that?” She glowers at me as though I’m the most disgusting thing she’s ever seen in her life. In her eyes and the perspective of many, I no doubtly am. I’m wired differently, my morals never have been the best, and nine out of ten times, I don’t give a shit. However, I didn’t know Indie and I would come to head with the core of everything that made me content. The only person that could make me whole.
“No,” I reply. “I don’t expect you to. But I need to let you go, things are—”
“Don’t feed me a line of bullshit,” she seethes quietly, bringing her napkin up to wipe at the corner of her painted pink lips. “I thought you were done with her.”
“We are done.” The words feel empty and rancid, but for both of us, I need it to be true. I’ve already made Reagan collateral damage and strung her mother along with her to almost be murdered in a house fire. I’m never going to let that happen again.
“Doesn’t sound like it. I can’t believe you screwed me then went right to her afterward. You really know how to make a woman feel special, Wade.”
I raise my chin, ready to lock Wade Lockwood into place to make sure that the last thing Indie would ever want to do, is see, hear, or look at me again.
“I never said I wasn’t an asshole,” I disclose. “And, frankly, I remember one of the first thin
gs I told you was not to get attached. That I wasn’t going to commit to anything else but what we were doing in that moment—fucking.”
Her face pinkens, warding off her hurt expression by detaching her frown from me. The bustle of the dining room and soft whimpers of laughter surround us. The food in front of me is going to go to waste because I’m not as famished as I was ten minutes ago. I honestly didn’t think doing this to Indie would affect me, but I owe her more than she’ll ever know. She kept me on life support when my whole world died around me.
And now it’s time to cut the cord.
“You really are a piece of shit.” Indie pulls her eyes back to mine, glimmering with tears, and I want to tell her to please not waste her time on me. I don’t deserve it.
“I won’t disagree with you on that bit,” I tell her.
“Don’t be so damn accountable,” she shoots back. “I wasted almost a year with you, trying to figure out how to fix—”
“You can’t fix me,” I snap, my elbows banging on the table. Our silverware clatters but not loud enough to make a scene, just my point. “I didn’t bring you into my life to be a miracle worker and make me whole again. I did it so I could fuck a memory to death. Didn’t work.”
Indie abruptly stands from her chair, looking uneasy on whether to go or stay. A traitorous tear falls, and I deserve to be punched in the nuts because I put them there.
“Leave, Indie,” I croon. “I don’t want to see you cry.”
“But you should,” she vouches. “You should see what you do to people for your own gain. How many lives you affect by your selfish ways of thinking. I knew you’d never love me, but I thought I could be someone you could deeply care for.”
“I’m not capable of it.”
Unless it’s her.
“It seemed...like it was working. You appeared as though you actually saw me. That you were excited—”
“That’s enough,” I break in. “You’re fooling yourself if you thought anything but what I told you. We’re done. Get over me.”
“Are we...do you mean we’ll never talk again?” Her frame starts to tremble, and I force my eyes to stay open, on her, to allow her to see the mask I put on when I really want shit to happen. It blacks out everything that is really happening behind the scenes.